Bending The Rules: Stewart Island Book 10 Page 4

  Noah buzzed down the window and leaned an elbow on the sill. He established eye contact with George and dipped his chin. The boy stuck both flip-flop-covered feet on the ground and hauled on his cycle helmet, a steady wash of pink crawling up his neck. He gave a sheepish wave in the direction of the truck then pedaled with his friends across the road. Noah shut his window and pulled smoothly out of his street onto the main road.

  “That was some impressive policing,” Tilly said. “You didn’t even have to ticket him for not wearing his helmet.”

  “Nearest emergency room is a twenty-minute flight to Invercargill hospital on the mainland. Prevention’s better.”

  “Is that why you’re driving like my grandma? Preventing a three-car pileup in rush hour traffic?” She gestured out the passenger window at the deserted road and the scenic vista of Halfmoon Bay moving slowly past.

  “Maybe we should make a stop at the station.”

  “Those kids’ll be in high school by the time we get there,” she muttered. “How about we use the siren?”

  The sudden enthusiasm in her voice almost made him laugh out loud. Almost. “You want to draw attention to yourself while sitting in a cop car wearing only a towel?”

  And his fleece, which he’d have to launder all over again because he couldn’t wear it now that it’d smell like whatever stuff she’d used in the shower. Something citrusy and sweet, like ripe mandarins and vanilla filled the ute, strong enough to mask the remains of Peter Reynolds’s beer fumes. He sure as hell wasn’t complaining, but a man with less self-control might be tempted to test if she was as juicy sweet as she smelled.

  With his teeth.

  “Um, no. Point conceded to the po-po, then.” She folded her arms under her breasts and continued to stare out the windshield.

  Noah signaled again and turned off the main road, subtly increasing his apparent grandma-ish speed as he guided the vehicle up the side street. The sooner he got Matilda Montgomery sorted, the sooner he could…what? Go back to his empty house and stare at the four walls of his living room? Catch a game on the TV or fill in another Sudoku square?

  He’d managed to reach a silent count of four before she threw the next question at him.

  “So where are we going?”

  “Betsy Taylor’s.” He pulled over to the curb by Betsy’s house. Her living room curtains twitched. Not much got past Mrs. T in her street.

  “Isn’t she one of Aunt Mary’s friends?”

  “Yep.” He killed the engine and unclipped his seat belt. “She’s got a spare key.” He shot a glance over at her since she hadn’t moved. “You coming?”

  “I’m not dressed appropriately. I’ll wait in here.”

  Wait there. As if. “Have you met Betsy before?”

  “Once. My dad brought me across on the ferry for Aunt Mary’s sixtieth birthday. I remember a woman with lots of purple and a walking cane.” She frowned again. “I also have a disturbing image in my head of a great white shark.”

  He chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve definitely met Betsy. But trust me. If you don’t come in, you’ll only make it worse.”

  “You’re not making me feel any better.” Tilly unclipped the safety belt and cracked open the door.

  She trailed after Noah through the gate leading to the house, and the front door flew open before they even reached the deck. Betsy, in full regalia of the purpleness Tilly said she remembered, stood waiting for them.

  “Don’t dillydally, Noah. The poor girl will catch pneumonia. Come along.” She waved them forward with one of her two walking canes.

  As if there was nothing odd about Noah showing up with a towel-wearing female in tow. He smothered a grin. On Stewart Island stranger things had happened.

  “This is Matilda Montgomery,” he said. “She says she’s Mary Duncan’s niece.” He did believe her—something about her was inherently honest—but he couldn’t prevent himself from having a little dig at her expense. Just to watch her bristle.

  “It’s Tilly, actually. And I’m Mary’s great-niece.” She directed this comment at Betsy and not him. “I think I met you years ago at my aunt’s birthday party.”

  “You’re wearing a mite less than last time we met,” Betsy said. “And having a bit more luck with attracting the boys’ attention now you’ve gotten rid of the braces and added a few cup sizes to your frame.”

  Noah almost swallowed his tongue. In his peripheral vision, he spotted Tilly’s widening eyes. Really, nothing that came out of this old woman’s mouth should shock him anymore.

  “You’ll scare the girl to death before she catches pneumonia,” he said.

  Betsy flashed Tilly a sharp smile. “Nonsense. If she’s anything like her aunt she can give as good as she gets.”

  Tilly shoved the two long sleeves of his fleece up to her elbows, looking for all the world as if she were about to come out swinging. Her eyes sparkled and the corner of her mouth twitched up into a grin. “I don’t scare easy and, yes, growing into a D-cup certainly helped me gain a few dates, and some boys a black eye.”

  Betsy chuckled, thumping her cane on the floor and narrowly missing one of Noah’s black boots. “Well, come in out of the cold for a minute and tell me why you’re wandering around the streets of Oban in Officer Sexy-Britches’ clothing.”

  “Betsy, behave yourself.” He eased past her into her hallway, spotting the plastic orca key chain hanging on a wall hook. Get the keys, make a minute’s small talk to be polite, get Tilly back to her aunt’s house.

  “Pffft. You’re no fun when you’re in uniform.” Betsy pouted and used her cane to push the door shut after Tilly had slipped inside. “Are you any more fun when you’re out of it?”

  Noah was reaching for the orca key chain when she spoke so he couldn’t see Tilly’s reaction. He heard it, though: a surprised belly laugh.

  “Now I understand why you and my aunt were such good friends,” Tilly said once she’d finished laughing.

  “And why your mother was worried she’d be a bad influence on you,” Betsy said archly.

  Noah unhooked the key chain and shoved it in his pocket. He slanted the old woman a glance, noting that Betsy softened her comment with a touch on Tilly’s arm.

  “That’s not your fault, love. Mary was right proud of you, she was.”

  “Thank you.” Tilly patted Betsy’s hand, then gently squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

  “You’d only just lost your dad and Mary took that loss hard, too. Never mind, you’re here now.” Betsy’s mouth puckered briefly then smoothed. “Guess you’re staying at Southern Seas?”

  Noah’s gaze zipped between the two women, his brain spinning through this new information and sorting it into place. It was Tilly’s dad who’d died? Right. Mary sometimes made reference to remaining family off island, but he wasn’t privy to exact details. In his time working in Oban, he’d come to know smatterings of information about the four hundred or so full-time residents, but often it was information that assisted him doing his job.

  Like Peter Reynolds had a drinking problem he wouldn’t admit to and needed an eye kept on him so he wouldn’t try to drive drunk. Or have a quiet word with Shelley Maxwell about torching her husband’s favorite pair of jeans in their front yard. It wasn’t an arrestable offence but he’d sure as hell write her out a ticket for breaking the fire ban.

  “I am. For a little while.”

  Betsy’s eyes narrowed into wrinkled folds. “Mary left you the place, didn’t she? Least that’s what she told me last time we discussed one of us kicking the bucket.”

  Tilly nodded, but the same cute wrinkles appeared on her forehead. “Her will specified that I’m required to live in Southern Seas for one calendar month. Once that month has elapsed, I’m free to sell.”

  “And will you sell?” Noah found himself asking.

  Big hazel eyes blinked up at him and Tilly’s jaw went lax. She gave a brittle laugh. “Of course. I’m a city girl through and through.” S
he shot a guilt-filled glance at Betsy. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I know the B&B meant a lot to Aunt Mary, and I’ll make sure it goes to someone who’ll love it as much as she did.”

  Betsy sent him a shrewd glance before returning her gaze back to the younger woman. “Your aunt was once a city girl, too.” She didn’t seem at all upset at the prospect of her friend’s pride and joy being sold off by a family member who, as far as Noah knew, hadn’t spent all that much time with her elderly aunt.

  “She was? I didn’t realize.”

  “Oh yes,” Betsy continued. “Though her city-girl habits didn’t extend to wandering around Oban half naked.”

  Tilly laughed again, rolling her pretty hazel eyes so hard they nearly rolled out of her head. “In my defense, this city girl had never stepped out of a shower to encounter a kākā raiding party in her kitchen before. I locked myself out after I chased them off. Noah refused to pick the lock to help me back inside.”

  “What a spoilsport,” Betsy said. “Nothing wrong with a bit of B&E if there are extenuating circumstances.”

  “One day you’ll push me too far, Mrs. T,” he said amicably. “And I’ll be forced to give you more than a warning.”

  “Oooh, Officer Sexy-Britches, yes, please. Bring the fur-lined cuffs.”

  Tilly gave him an is she for real? look and Noah smothered another grin, digging a hand into his front pocket to jiggle the orca key chain. He hadn’t smiled—or nearly smiled—this much in a week. The brunette edging away from Mrs. T toward the front door was an entertaining, if fleeting, distraction. “I’ll drive you home. Let Betsy get on the phone and spread the news about your arrival through the Oban grapevine.”

  Betsy gave them both an unapologetic smirk. “Kākā, is that right, Tilly dear?”

  “Kākā,” Tilly firmly agreed and whipped the door open. “Feathered criminal masterminds. I’ll come back another day for a chat once I get settled in.”

  “You do that.”

  Noah could feel Mrs. T’s razor-sharp speculative stare follow them out the door and down the path. Damned if this entertaining and fleeting distraction hadn’t put a giant target on his back. One that Oban’s matchmaker from hell wouldn’t be able to resist.

  Chapter 4

  From Mary Duncan’s secret journal:

  The first time I laid eyes on him I thought he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. The first time he opened his mouth and spoke to me, I wanted to knock his arrogant, smirking block off.

  * * *

  The return trip to Aunt Mary’s was fifty shades of uncomfortable. Noah’s stoic silence bordered on dead man driving—and again, at the approximate speed that Tilly’s eighty-seven-year-old nana drove. Tilly, for once, couldn’t think of a conversational icebreaker to save her life. Mainly because her brain kept gnawing over Betsy Taylor’s words.

  If she’s anything like her aunt she can give as good as she gets.

  She white-knuckled the towel edge and stared out the windshield at Oban’s lights that were just coming on. Noah drove past the beautiful mural painted on the side of a concrete block building—Stewart Island Motors according to the sign. Was she anything like Mary? Because she really didn’t know her great-aunt, other than in that fuzzy sort of distant-relative way garnered from bits and pieces she’d heard over the years from her parents. Seeing in Betsy’s eyes just how much she’d loved Mary made guilt trickle icily through Tilly’s veins.

  Outsider. Interloper. She didn’t belong there.

  Her gaze skipped over the darkened grocery store and the pretty gift shop-gallery. She glanced in the side mirror at the lit-up windows of Due South and the people highlighted inside the pub, which overlooked Halfmoon Bay. A couple walking hand in hand along the foreshore stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the road. Maybe a romantic dinner for two? Perhaps the man had an engagement ring in the pocket of his leather jacket with a plan to ask the bar staff to slip it into a glass of bubbles for the woman of his dreams.

  And…her writer’s brain was off and running.

  She barely noticed when Noah puttered up the slight hill to the B&B, then performed a smooth three-point turn to park outside the darkened house. Tilly made the return trip from Tillytown, as her mum was fond of calling her daydreaming, with a start.

  “Oh,” she said. “We’re here.”

  Noah left the engine running and dug into the center console where he’d dropped the orca key chain. “I’ll wait and make sure you can get in okay.” He dangled the key chain, the green glow from the dashboard catching sparks off the single silver key. “Here.”

  She held out her hand and he let the key chain fall into her palm.

  “You might want to get an extra one cut tomorrow. Just in case.”

  “Thanks.” She closed her fingers over the keys and unclipped her seat belt. “And thanks for your help.”

  “All part of the job.”

  Her gaze flicked up to his profile as the seat belt whizzed back into place. Strong jaw, mouth firm but not entirely relaxed, with just a hint of a smile captured in the sensual curve of his lips. Obviously she’d been drinking the Tillytown Kool-Aid laced with rampant female hormones. There was nothing sensual and sexy about the way he continued to examine the dashboard, as if he’d already forgotten she was in his car.

  Pretty much naked under her towel and his fleece.

  Speaking of which. “Um, I’ll drop your sweatshirt off to you tomorrow, shall I?”

  “No rush,” he said. “Just leave it on the front porch if you walk by.”

  “Not worried someone will steal it?” She cracked open the door and slithered out. She turned back in time to catch a smile ghosting his lips—a real smile.

  “Nothing that exciting happens on Stewart Island,” he said. “Usually, anyway.” He nodded in dismissal. “Have a good night.”

  “You, too.” She slammed the door and hurried up to Southern Seas’ front entrance.

  Unlocking the door, she shoved it open, then lifted a hand in a cheery it’s all good wave before disappearing inside. Noah beeped the horn once and the vehicle rumbled away from the curb. She shut the front door and leaned against it, willing her racing pulse to return to normal. Once she was certain she could stand without her knees inexplicably shaking, she hurried down the hallway, switching on lights.

  First things first, put on some damn clothes. She rummaged through her suitcase and settled for jeans and a light woolen sweater. The temperature had dropped since she’d first stepped outside. Brushing her hair—which to her dismay now looked as if kākā had been building a nest in it—she wandered into the kitchen. Her dinner was still strewn over the floor, and thanks to being locked out, the window had remained open and the little buggers had come back to finish the job.

  Her stomach growled as she edged around the worst of the mess and picked up the remaining chunk of sourdough bread.

  “Five-second rule?” she muttered, then dropped it again. Ugh. Not a chance.

  She crossed to the open windows and hauled them shut. Tomorrow was soon enough to sort out the mess. Right then she needed some fuel, and she was willing to hand over the dress she’d paid a small fortune for and impulsively packed in her suitcase in exchange for Thai or Malaysian takeout delivered to her door.

  Somehow she didn’t think the odds were in her favor of Asian cuisine being sold on Stewart Island, let alone delivery. Which left gnawing on bird-pecked bread or walking down to Due South for dinner since she remembered the grocery store was closed.

  A night out on the town it was. When in Rome, and all that.

  She slipped on some boots, ones with the lowest heels she owned because she wasn’t clueless enough to wear stilettos in the wilds of the Deep South. Then, with a glance at Noah’s sweater, she picked it up. Might as well drop it off sooner rather than later, because she hadn’t decided whether or not she wanted to make a special trip there tomorrow.

  It would be an excuse to see him, though she didn’t know yet if she wanted to see him.
Okay, that was a lie. She did want to see him. Everything about the man poked her curiosity button. On a professional level only.

  Not.

  That much she could be honest with herself about.

  This time, she made sure she had the spare key in her pocket before she left Aunt Mary’s house. Windows fastened, back door locked, front door locked behind her. Old habits died hard.

  Even in the middle of nowhere you couldn’t take the city out of the city girl.

  Tilly strode down the garden path, checked herself once she reached the sidewalk, and slowed to an easy stroll—something she wasn’t used to. In Auckland she had one speed: running late for a meeting, get out of my way fast. Here, she should at least attempt to stop and smell the roses. Or, in this case, sniff the briny smell of the sea wafting up the hill toward her and the sound of nocturnal birds, whose names she had no idea of, making weird birdy sounds from the dense bush encroaching on her aunt’s property.

  Above the silhouetted trees, the stars were stark and uncompromising reminders that she was a long, long way away from the city lights. Give her a few days and she’d write poetry about how green and lush and unspoiled Stewart Island was. Actually, that was more up her dad’s alley. He wrote description so poignant people said only a hardened critic wouldn’t weep tears of sheer joy over his prose.

  She sucked in a deep breath of sea air, hoping it’d dislodge the hard, tearful lump pushing her heart into her throat. Her dad would’ve done the stars justice. Tilly, on the other hand, was more likely to write about an alien species falling out of that beautiful night sky and wreaking havoc on society.

  Speaking of aliens…

  She drew alongside Noah’s house and spotted his living room lights on. The man was alien to most males she came in contact with. It wasn’t that he was so obviously an introvert—she’d learned to spot them at parties, hiding in the corner of the room, checking their watches to see when they could leave without being rude—but that she couldn’t help think Noah wore a mask to hide his alienness from the world. And she was dying to discover what secrets hid behind that mask.