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  “Excuse me?”

  He should have kept his mouth shut. Keep it light, keep it simple. “When I started with my grandda, fifteen, twenty years ago, there must have been a hundred boats bringing their catch here. Now it’s mostly vacation boats and armchair fishermen.”

  He waited for her eyes to glaze over.

  She leaned forward, interested. Or giving a damn good impression, anyway. “Armchair fishermen?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. But since he’d already waded in, he might as well plow ahead. “They want to fish, but they really want to be comfortable. Flat screen TVs in the boat lounge, full-size showers. Boats like the old Sea Lady, running charters May through September, commercial fishing in the off-season, are going the way of the dinosaurs.”

  He felt like a dinosaur himself droning on about the old days.

  “A vanishing way of life,” she observed softly. “No wonder you want your son to follow in your footsteps.”

  Surprised, Matt met her gaze. “I don’t.”

  “But…Joshua said he was going to be a fishing boat captain.”

  Matt wasn’t sure what he’d expected from her, but her warm interest, her determination to understand, stirred him in ways he wasn’t ready to think about.

  “If that’s what he wants. I want him to go to college first. Let him get his feet wet in something besides bilge water.”

  She blinked. “Have you told him that?”

  “He knows.”

  They didn’t talk a lot. But Josh had to understand that much.

  Cynthie returned with their beers. Matt watched Allison take a small sip before setting her wet glass down precisely in the center of her napkin, every gesture smooth. Careful. The same way she picked her words, he reckoned.

  What was the matter with him, that her neat, controlled movements made him want to see her ruffled?

  She licked the foam from her upper lip. “Perhaps you should talk to him anyway.”

  So that’s what this was all about. Matt shook his head, amused by his own disappointment. Allison Carter wasn’t putting the moves on him. She was following up on his conversation with Josh.

  “I’ll do that,” he said.

  No point in explaining that his brother’s sudden appearance, kid in tow, had shoved every other topic off the table. Last night Matt had been too busy drumming the birds and the bees into Josh’s head to talk about his schoolwork.

  A cell phone rang in Allison’s bag. She ignored it. “Joshua told me he works at your parents’ inn. I think it’s wonderful that your family is so”—ring, ring before the call went to voice mail—“close. But it might help Joshua focus academically if he did something else after school.”

  “Like his homework,” Matt said dryly.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of an extracurricular activity. What are his interests?”

  “Girls. Food.” The boy was sixteen, at the mercy of his hormones and appetite. “Basketball. Fishing.”

  She smiled and arched her eyebrows. “That’s hardly enough to impress a college admissions committee.”

  Probably not. It sure as hell hadn’t impressed Joshua’s mother. Not in the long run.

  Water under the bridge, Matt reminded himself.

  Allison’s phone rang again.

  He glanced at her bag. “You need to get that?” he asked politely.

  “What? Oh, no. Just let me…There.” She reached into a side pocket; fumbled with the phone. “I didn’t mean to criticize. I’m trying to help.”

  “I appreciate that.” He did. She was a nice girl. Woman, he corrected himself. He hated to be the one to scrape the gloss off all that shiny new idealism. He took a swig of beer. “What I’m trying to say is you’re still new here. You can’t tackle everything in the first couple of weeks. You might want to take some time, get to know the situation, before you start making changes. Or judgments.”

  She lifted her chin. “I can’t understand the situation if no one will talk to me.”

  She didn’t give up. Hard not to admire that.

  “We’re on an island,” he said. “Everybody knows everybody’s business. Make it through the first winter, ride out the next hurricane, and you’ll hear more secrets than you’d ever want to know.”

  Her brow pleated in frustration. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Sit on my hands until winter is over and your son’s flunked out of school?”

  MATT FLETCHER LEANED back in his chair regarding her, an unreadable glint in his eyes. “You’re really set on this.”

  Her heart beat faster. Was he finally taking her seriously? “Yes.”

  “How long have you been a teacher?”

  Classic student diversionary tactic, answering a question with another question.

  Allison shook her head. “You don’t want to hear about me.”

  “I might.” He surveyed her over his beer glass. “My son’s in your class. It might be a good idea to get to know you before…”

  “You make any judgments?” she offered.

  His mouth quirked. “Something like that.”

  Her nerves sparked. She felt breathless. It had been a long time since she’d let herself respond to that look in a man’s eyes.

  Too long.

  Attraction thrummed between them, palpable, almost visible. She glanced at the tables around them. No one she recognized was looking their way, but she’d met so many people in the past month that names and faces were beginning to blur. As a teacher, she had to be careful.

  She cleared her throat. “I spent the past two years in the Mississippi Delta with Teach for America.”

  “That’s quite a commitment.”

  She flushed. “Yes, it was.”

  The biggest commitment of her life. Because if she’d failed, if she’d quit, she wouldn’t only be letting herself down, or her parents. She’d be letting down her kids.

  “I enjoyed it,” she said.

  “Why leave?”

  She was not getting into a discussion of the emotional boundaries, the physical distance, she was negotiating with her parents. She shrugged. “I guess I’m looking for something…”

  “More.”

  “Different. The Delta never felt truly like home to me.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s not easy for a community to trust outsiders.”

  Were they still talking about her years in the Delta?

  “Reagan used to say that the scariest words in the English language are ‘I’m from the government and I’m here to help.’” Her smile flickered. “But that’s why I went down there. I wanted—I want—to make a difference in people’s lives.”

  She winced. Great. Now she sounded like a Miss America wannabe. All she needed to ensure he never, ever took her seriously was to throw in a sash and a reference to world peace.

  She folded her napkin, determined to get this conversation back on track. “About Joshua…”

  “I’ll talk to him. I can’t promise better than that until I hear what he has to say.”

  “That’s fair.”

  He shrugged. “He’s sixteen. I can’t promise he’ll listen.”

  “But you’re willing to listen to him.” She leaned earnestly across the table. “He’s lucky. Not every child can count on his parents’ support.”

  “Sounds like you’re speaking from personal experience.”

  “Well, I…Of course as a teacher I see all kinds of…”

  “Or didn’t your parents ever get called to spring you from the principal’s office?”

  The image made her smile. She shook her head, more used to asking questions than answering them. “Oh, no. I was the good daughter,” she said, proud of her ability to speak lightly. “I was too busy throwing myself into activities to rebel. Cross-country, choir, tennis, student council…”

  “Let me guess. Oldest child?”

  “Now who’s speaking from experience?” she asked and was absurdly pleased when he laughed. “No, I have an older brother.” Whom sh
e never talked about. Her smile faded. “I learned from watching Miles that it was generally easier to meet my parents’ expectations than to rebel.”

  “That would depend on what they expected, wouldn’t it?”

  She looked at Matt with surprise and respect. “Yes, it would. It did. They despaired of me in college. I kept changing majors, trying new things, hoping to discover something I could be passionate about, something I was good at. And when I did, of course, it turned out to be something completely different from what my parents wanted for me.” She swallowed. “They still think teaching is something unpleasant I’ll get over eventually. Like the flu.”

  Matt started to say something. Tossed back his beer instead.

  “What?”

  He set down his empty glass. “You didn’t run off and join the circus. Or a cult. You didn’t get busted or pregnant. You’re a teacher, for God’s sake. Seems to me your parents should be proud of you.”

  She hadn’t expected him to take her side. Ridiculous that his sticking up for her choices—even after the fact—could make her flush with pleasure. “Well,” she said, trying to be fair. “They were very disappointed in my brother. I suppose they count on me to provide them with bragging rights.”

  “And grandchildren,” Matt said dryly.

  She laughed. “Those, too. They really always just wanted to see me excel.”

  “And what did you want?”

  “What every child wants, I suppose.”

  To be accepted. Loved.

  Matt nodded. “To get away.”

  Allison blinked. Not the answer she was expecting from him. More personal experience?

  “Is that what you wanted?” she asked.

  “Maybe. Once. But I always knew I’d be back.” He turned his head to look out over the water, beautiful in profile, his eyes the same deep blue as the sea. “I’m a Marine brat. We moved around a lot, living in military housing. Spent some time with my mom’s folks in Chicago while my dad was overseas. He’d bring us here on vacations sometimes to visit my grandfather. This island was the first place, the only place, that felt like home to me. Guess you could say it’s in my blood.”

  A wave of wistfulness hit her. She’d never felt that kind of connection anywhere with anyone. Maybe that’s what she’d come to Dare Island to find.

  A place to belong.

  And maybe the alcohol on an empty stomach was making her stupid.

  “How old were you when you moved here?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Almost Joshua’s age,” she observed.

  He smiled wryly. “A long time ago.”

  He was hardly ancient. Midthirties? Not that she was speculating about his age. Exactly.

  “You said I should get to know the island. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  He regarded her for a long moment, while her heart pounded and the Shirelles sang “Mama Said” over the speakers.

  Heat rose in her cheeks. The curse of the born blonde.

  Matt smiled slowly. “Why don’t I show you instead?”

  Before she could respond, their waitress reappeared. “Another beer?” she asked Matt.

  He looked at Allison.

  “Not for me,” she said.

  “Just the check, thanks, Cynthie.”

  “Sure. If you want anything, anything at all…” She scrawled on her pad and smiled. “You know where to find me.”

  “All set?” Matt asked.

  Allison collected her bag and her thoughts. “Yes. I’ve got that.” She reached for the bill.

  And saw that the waitress had written her phone number beside the total.

  “No.” He put his hand on the check.

  “You can have her number,” Allison said when she was sure the waitress had moved out of earshot. “But I invited you. I pay.”

  “Not when you’re with me.”

  “This isn’t a date. Dating rules don’t apply.”

  “Guy Rules,” Matt said. Standing, he anchored some bills under the saltshaker.

  “The guys I know go Dutch.”

  He met her gaze, that lazy smile in his eyes. “Maybe you know the wrong guys.”

  He looked so good, solid and strong in the sunlight, that her breath evaporated.

  Too much sun, she thought dizzily, and pushed back her chair.

  “Well.” She took a deep breath and stuck out her hand. “Thank you. I appreciate your time and the beer.”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “It’s not that far,” she said. “I can walk.”

  “Sure you can,” he said patiently. “But I brought you here. I’ll take you home.”

  She tilted her head. “Another Guy Rule?”

  “Yep.”

  The dog lurched from under the table. Matt stood back to let Allison go ahead. She threaded her way through the tables, aware of him warm and close behind her.

  “Matt!”

  A man—tall, with unruly dark hair and a killer smile—made his way toward them from the direction of the bar. “Cynthie told me you came in. Good to see you.”

  “Sam.” Matt’s voice warmed with pleasure. “Heard you were back.”

  The two men moved together into a one-armed, two-pat guy hug before stepping apart.

  “How’s your dad?” Matt asked.

  “Still making life hell for his nurses.”

  “His heart?”

  “Black as ever. But at least it’s beating.” The man stooped to scratch the dog behind its ears; straightened and aimed the smile at Allison. “Sam Grady.”

  “Allison Carter.” Politely, she offered her hand.

  He held it an instant too long, his grip smooth and strong. The part of her that had been raised to notice such things observed that his teeth were white, his watch a TAG Heuer, his black polo shirt from Brooks Brothers. Money there somewhere.

  “I haven’t seen you before,” he said.

  “She’s with me,” Matt said.

  Sam winked. “At least for now.”

  Were they serious? Should she be offended? Or flattered?

  She was a little of both, she decided, and cleared her throat. “I just moved here. At the beginning of the school year.”

  Sam snapped his fingers. “Carter. You’re the new school-teacher. On Pelican Way, right?”

  She was a little taken aback that he knew where she lived. But she had come to Dare Island to be friendly, she reminded herself. To be part of the community. Maybe she should feel encouraged that the parents were talking about her. “That’s right. Do you have a child at the school?”

  “Nope.” He flashed another smile. “I’m single and unattached.”

  “Then how did you know…”

  “I’m your landlord,” Sam said. “Grady Realty and Construction.”

  “Small world,” Matt said.

  Small town, Allison thought.

  “Then I should thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate the special discount.”

  Matt narrowed his eyes. “Special discount?”

  “For teachers,” she explained. “I was a little taken aback when I started looking for a place to live. I should have realized that the demand for vacation rentals would drive up rents on the island. But then the realty office told me there had been a mistake. They have a special rate for teachers.”

  “All teachers?” Matt drawled. “Or just the pretty ones?”

  “All of them,” Sam said. “But especially the pretty ones.”

  “First I’ve heard of it.”

  “New policy,” Sam said. “Local businesses have a responsibility to give back to the community.”

  “Your old man know about this?”

  “He will when he gets out of the hospital.”

  A long look passed between the two men.

  “I’d give something to hear that conversation,” Matt said.

  “Maybe I’ll tell you about it. If I’m still around afterward.” Another sharp smile. “Buy you a drink? On the house.”

&n
bsp; Allison’s gaze darted from Sam to Matt. There were undercurrents here she did not understand. Was he asking her? Or both of them?

  “Thanks, but we were just leaving,” Matt said.

  Sam nodded. “Another time, then. Anytime.”

  “Great to see you, Sam.”

  “Nice meeting you,” Allison said.

  Matt steered her toward the stairs, his hand warm at the small of her back. A tingle radiated up her spine.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Sam Grady standing at the rail of the deck, his dark hair ruffled by the ocean breeze, classic nose, square jaw, master of all he surveyed.

  She cleared her throat. “He seems friendly.”

  Not merely friendly. Single and unattached, he’d told her. Eligible, her mother would have said with that when-I-was-your-age-I-was-already-married-to-your-father gleam in her eye. No strings, no complications, no sixteen-year-old son in Allison’s class.

  Allison sighed. Too bad she didn’t feel any zings and tingles when she looked at him.

  “Sam’s a good guy,” Matt said.

  She waited for him to fill in details the way a woman would. When he didn’t, she prompted, “Have you known each other long?”

  Matt opened her door. “Since ninth grade. We used to raise hell together in high school.”

  The dog jumped into the back. She heard its nails on the truck bed and then Matt slid in beside her.

  She arched her eyebrows. “Used to?”

  In the close confines of the cab, she could smell the ocean on him, sweat and salt and man. His shoulder was hard and warm, capped with muscle. She wanted to turn her head and bite him like an apple.

  Allison jerked her gaze up, shocked at the direction of her own thoughts. He was watching her, that little quirk at the corner of his mouth, his eyes so blue…

  “He left the island eight years ago,” Matt said.

  They were talking about Sam, she reminded herself. His friend, Sam Grady.

  “I thought he owned the realty company.”

  Matt turned the key in the ignition. “His family does. His old man was always pushing Sam to come into the business. But they never saw eye to eye. When the old man turned the fish house into a restaurant, that was the last straw for Sam.”

  She forced herself to focus. “Why would Sam’s father do that?”