Annie started to point out that she had no intention of dropping lobster traps anywhere, but Barbara wasn’t done. “That kind of trouble spills over onto the land. I love most everybody here, but we do have our share of drunks and undesirables. Like Jaycie’s husband. Because Ned Grayson was good-looking and his family went back three generations, he decided he could do whatever he wanted.”
Just like Theo, Annie thought.
Barbara patted her arm. “All I’m saying is, you’re cut off out there. You’ve got no phone, and you’re too far away from town to get help fast. Keep your guard up, and don’t let yourself get complacent.”
No worries about that.
Annie left the house with a serious case of the scaredy-cats. She checked the backseat of her car twice before she got behind the wheel and kept one eye on the rearview mirror as she drove home. Other than a few minor skids and nearly losing her front end in a pothole, she made it back without incident. That gave her the confidence to make a return trip to town three days later to borrow some books.
When Annie entered the tiny library, Lisa McKinley was manning the desk while one of her red-haired daughters raced around the room. Lisa greeted Annie, then gestured toward a list mounted in a Plexiglas frame propped on the corner of the desk. “These are my recommendations for February.”
Annie scanned the titles. They reminded her of the heavy, depressing books Mariah had forced her to read. “I like books that are a little more entertaining,” she said.
Lisa’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. “Jaycie’s the same way. When Cynthia was here, we organized book recommendations for every month of the year, but hardly anybody pays attention.”
“I guess people have different tastes.”
Just then Lisa’s daughter knocked over a stack of children’s books and Lisa hurried off to clean up the mess.
Annie left town with a stack of paperbacks and Lisa’s disapproval. She was halfway to the cottage when a crater of a pothole loomed in front of her. “Shit.” She barely tapped the brakes, but the Kia began to slide, and she was off the road again.
She tried to rock her way free and was no more successful this time than she’d been the last time. She got out to look. She wasn’t dug in as deeply as before, but she was deep enough that she needed help. And did she have a way of getting help? Did she have an emergency kit packed away or a couple of bags of sand stashed in the trunk like any sensible islander? Not her. She was completely ill-equipped to live in a place that depended on self-sufficiency.
Loser, Leo whispered.
Peter, her hero, stayed silent.
She gazed down the road. The wind that never seemed to stop blowing lashed her. “I hate this place!” she yelled, which only made her cough.
She started to walk. The day was overcast as usual. Did the sun ever shine on this godforsaken island? She shoved her gloved hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders, trying not to think about her warm, red knit cap lying on her bed at the cottage. Theo was probably staring at it right now through his telescope.
Her head shot up as she heard branches snap followed by the pounding that could only come from the hooves of a very large animal. It was a sound that didn’t belong on an island with nothing larger than a cat or dog. And a midnight-black horse.
Chapter Six
HORSE AND RIDER EMERGED FROM a patch of old-growth spruce. Theo reined in as he saw her. She tasted cold metal in the back of her throat. She was alone on a lawless island at the end of a deserted road with a man who had once tried to kill her.
And just might have it on his mind again.
Eeek! Eeek! Crumpet’s silent shrieks matched the rhythm of Annie’s heartbeat.
Don’t you dare wimp out, Scamp ordered as Theo came toward her.
Annie wasn’t generally afraid of horses, but this one was huge, and she thought she detected a crazy look in his eyes. She felt as if she were revisiting an old nightmare, and despite Scamp’s orders, she took a few steps back.
Wimp, Scamp taunted.
“Going someplace special?” He wasn’t dressed as he should be for such cold weather. Only a black suede jacket and gloves. No hat. No warm muffler wrapped around his neck. But at least everything was comfortably twenty-first century. She still didn’t understand what she’d seen that first night.
Marie’s words at the Bunco game came back. “All I’m saying is that Regan Harp was as good a sailor as her brother. And I’m not the only one who thinks it’s strange that she took that boat out with a squall blowing in.”
She beat back her trepidation by channeling her favorite puppet. “I’m heading for a soiree with my many island friends. And if I don’t show up, they’ll come looking for me.”