Worth the Trouble(22)

He didn’t resent his situation, but sometimes he wished for the freedom to pursue his own dreams—personal and professional. To finally quit working construction and set up a custom furniture design shop, get married, have kids. Maybe one day he’d even return to this island to vacation with a family of his own.

For now, he’d content himself with his sisters and his young nephew.

Having finished his breakfast, Hank reluctantly stood to leave. On his way back to his room, he bumped into Jackson and Cat, who were waiting in the lobby for their taxi to the harbor.

Cat appeared fully recovered from her momentary lapse of self-confidence. A pleasant buzz surged through Hank, irking him. How could he be hot for her even when she pissed him off?

“Hey, buddy.” Jackson shoved his phone in his back pocket. “Meet me at the Caine’s house tomorrow at seven, okay?”

Hank tore his eyes from Cat’s outrageously short skirt—as if anyone needed further inducement to appreciate her incredible legs. “Seven o’clock. Got it.” He noticed three designer suitcases at Cat’s feet. A lot of luggage for a two-night trip. He covered his mouth, stifling a smart-ass remark.

She scowled.

“You never know what mood you’ll be in, or if the weather will change.” Cat squared her shoulders while crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Was she so defensive with all men, or did she reserve this behavior solely for him?

“You don’t owe me any explanation,” he replied casually, taunting her with a lazy smile.

“Come on, Cat. Cab’s here.” Jackson waved good-bye to Hank, pulling his luggage behind him on his way out the door. Cat hefted her small bag up over her shoulder, looking like she might topple over on those heels as she bent over to deal with the other bags.

“Need a hand?” Hank watched Cat hesitate. He’d never met a woman so determined to refuse help.

She looked surprised. “Sure, that would be nice.”

Hank hoisted the largest piece of luggage up off the floor. “What’s in here? Anvils?”

“There’s a reason for the wheels, Hank.” She lifted the retractable handle of her carry-on-size bag and headed toward the door, casting a seductive glance over her shoulder. “Guess you’ll have to ‘figure it out.’” After hurling his earlier words back in his face, she then strutted outside.

He followed her, trying but failing to keep from gawking at the hypnotic sway of her hips. She was a witch—a sexy, dangerous witch. And apparently some twisted part of him relished being the victim of her particular black magic.




Four hours later, Hank pulled his beat-up Ford F-250 pickup into the driveway of the small Dutch colonial home he shared with his mother and youngest sister, Jenny, in Norwalk, Connecticut. He sat in the driver’s seat, stealing an extra minute of peace before going inside to deal with whatever the latest problems were. The car door squeaked open just as Jenny blew through the back door of their house and ran over to his pickup.

“You’re finally home.” She looped her golden hair through a ponytail band, still looking like a kid even though she’d recently turned twenty. Their eleven-year age difference sometimes made him feel ancient. “I’m exhausted, but I still need to study for an exam.”

Hank regarded her pursuit of an accounting degree with a mix of pride and envy. Thanks to his sacrifices, all of his sisters would earn degrees. The other three had already graduated and were now employed as a nurse, a teacher, and an office manager, respectively.

Raising four sisters taught him that he’d be a good father. Caring for an infant had to be easier than managing four teenage girls. A baby wouldn’t hog the bathroom or yell at him because some other man did this or that. And hopefully he’d have a few sons so the women in his life wouldn’t perpetually outnumber him.

“May I please have the keys so I can go to the library?” Jenny asked.

“Hold on, where’s Meghan?” He slammed the back door of his truck closed after retrieving his luggage. Throwing his free arm around Jenny’s shoulders, he kissed the top of her head. “I thought she was staying with you this weekend to help take care of Mom?”

Jenny walked with him back inside the house, where her backpack sat packed and ready by the door.

“Meg bolted around eleven. I fed Mom lunch and got her settled into bed.” Jenny grimaced. “She seemed agitated while you were away, but she never asked for you by name or anything.”

His mother had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s seven years ago, at the age of fifty-two. Now in the late stages of the disease, communication had become a real struggle when she felt like talking—which wasn’t often these days.