Shake Down. Jill Elizabeth Nelson
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a stitch or two in that head wound also.”
“Could you drive?” Every molecule of her independent streak protested the request, but what choice did she have?
“Happy to do it. Can you stand up?”
Janice nodded. Shane took her right elbow and helped support her weight as she struggled to her feet. A lifeline for a drowning person could scarcely have felt more welcome than his solid presence.
“Dizzy?” he asked.
“A little. My car is parked around the corner of the cottage. Here are the keys.” Grimacing, she fished in her jeans’ pocket and handed the ring to her rescuer.
“Let’s go,” he said. “But no faster than you’re able.”
Mild shivers coursed through Janice as Shane settled her into the passenger seat of the compact Ford. She reached for her seat belt, but he took the clip from her and leaned inside to snap the buckle into place. As his clean-cut profile paused near her face, a faint scent of lime and bay rum wafted to her nostrils.
Good taste in aftershave made another tick in the positive column for this new acquaintance. Janice closed her eyes as he withdrew and shut the car door. Too bad “acquaintance” was the most she could allow. She meant to keep her distance from anything and everything about this place. Completing her project here would sever the last link to her soiled family heritage.
The rear driver’s-side door opened and soft snuffles announced Atlas jumping onto the seat. Then, of all things, the slide and click of the seat belt informed Janice that Shane had buckled in the dog. She glanced over her shoulder and solemn canine eyes met her gaze. The animal perched on his haunches, shoulder belt across his broad chest. The whiskery muzzle pulled back in a silent grin as if to say, “What’s the matter, lady? Haven’t you seen a dog in a seat belt before?”
A chuckle spurted between her lips, but a throb in her head cut the sound short. She pressed the heel of her right hand against her forehead then gingerly investigated the lump forming on the crown of her skull. Her fingertips encountered a sticky substance that was likely drying blood.
“Don’t feel the area,” Shane said as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Germs.”
“Right.” Janice dropped her hand to her lap, eyeing the reddish residue on her fingers.
She must be a sight to behold. Beyond bedraggled, but why should she care? Even if this guy was cute and kind and smelled nice, she’d be gone in a few months, never to return.
Shane backed the car away from the cottage and another wave of dizziness swirled through her. As he headed the vehicle onto the dirt track that led toward the highway, Janice fought the urge to close her eyes again. If she didn’t strive to stay oriented, the dizziness could easily lead to an embarrassing upheaval from her churning stomach.
“The nearest hospital is twenty miles away,” Shane said.
“In Oak Bluffs. I checked such things out on the internet before I came to the island. With my refurbishing plans for the property, I wanted to be prepared for the off chance of an accident requiring medical attention. But I didn’t figure on needing the services of a doctor quite so soon. I’d hoped not at all.”
Shane gave her a sidelong look as they joined the sparse traffic on the paved highway. He opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it and returned his attention to the road.
“Good thing it’s early in the season,” he said at last. “When the tourists start mobbing the place, getting anywhere can be miserable. And forget about getting there fast. That’s why a lot of folks rent bicycles.”
“I may do that myself later on... Well, at least I was going to.” She scowled at her injured arm. “Now a lot of things will have to wait until I’m fit again.”
“You’re going to continue with your plans for the cottage, ma’am?”
“It’s Janice, not ma’am.” She was in too much pain to conceal her annoyance at his terminology. You’d think she was in her dotage rather than no older than he was. Probably younger, in fact.
He let out a mellow laugh. The pleasant sound smoothed her hackles marginally.
“Sorry, Janice. In my EMT training, ‘ma’am’ is standard address for an adult female.”
“You’re an Emergency Medical Technician? I should have guessed from the way you handled things back at the cottage.”
“Paramedic, actually, but I’m not practicing as such on-island.”
“You’re not from here? Of course not. You speak too crisply for a New Englander.”
His shoulders rose and fell in a slow shrug. “And your lovely drawl drips Southern honey, not sea salt.”
Janice clamped her lips closed. They’d established that neither of them was an island native, and both were here prior to the regular tourist season, so they weren’t on vacation. His familiarity with traffic conditions during tourist season said he’d been here before, but the same could be said of lots of people. Like Shane, Janice had no intention of going into her history. Not that her curiosity wasn’t piqued by this enigmatic stranger, but she could respect personal space.
Yeah, right, as her honorary niece Caroline would say. This tap and slide of verbal rapiers had energized her, chasing pain to the edges of her mind. A small grin tilted her lips. Getting to the bottom of Mr. Shane Gillum might be a pleasant distraction while she healed.
“Since I’ll be out of commission for a while do you have any suggestions for how to go about hiring someone to handle the renovations?”
He pursed his lips and tilted this head. “You’ll have to let me think about that one.”
“Fair enough. Maybe someone at the hospital will have a lead for me. What brought you to my beach in the nick of time?”
“Our daily walk.” Smiling, Shane jerked a thumb toward his dog, who offered a woof of confirmation.
“You live nearby?”
“Renting a ramshackle cabin about a quarter mile up the beach. I’ll be here for the summer. Bumming, basically. Mulling over my future.”
Had he experienced a recent trauma in his life, necessitating a change of direction? A divorce perhaps? His ring finger was as bare as hers. Or maybe his summer of discontent was due to boredom—though a career as a paramedic didn’t sound too dull. Suffering from burnout more likely. She could be brassy from time to time, but she wasn’t rude enough to ask the question outright.
“I might take up antiquing during my stay on the island,” he went on. “I’ve heard Martha’s Vineyard is a good place to pursue that hobby. Since you’re embarking on cottage renovations, I assume you own the place.” He shot her a raised-brow glance.
“I’m a Realtor and home stager by trade. The heir to the cottage has never lived anywhere near here and doesn’t care to do so. The cottage hasn’t been inhabited for nearly twenty years, so it’s my task to supervise the process of getting it ready to sell.”
There. She’d delivered the stock explanation she’d practiced in her mind on the flight to the island, and she’d even sounded casual about it. The words offered facts in a plausible light without betraying the whole truth that was none of anybody’s business.
“Must be an interesting career.” The frown in his voice negated his words.
She laughed then winced at a jab of pain in her head. “You don’t sound too enthused.”
Color tinted his cheeks. “No, I didn’t mean... Well, what I meant was that it’s probably fun, creative work, but it’s got to be a hassle sometimes, pleasing your clients.”
“What do you know? Somebody got the downside of my business in two seconds flat. Contrary clients. You’re a perceptive man.” She grinned. Now she was