Page 41 of Marrying the Nanny

The wind had picked up, breaking apart the clouds that spat a handful of stinging drops on them. Emma tugged her zipper a little higher under her chin and flipped her hood up, but didn’t seem any more threatened by the spring bluster than he was.

“Mind if we take the long way past the store? I said I’d bring back beer. I would have brought the truck if I’d realized how much we’d be carrying.”

“It’s fine.” She veered from the steep climb up the hillock where the faint path that Glenda and Sophie’s mother had worn into the grass years ago was still visible.

Art’s house was an original homestead on the island. Art had been the head marine mechanic here before Wilf purchased the resort and had worked into his seventies, not retiring until after Sophie and her mother had both left.

The way Reid heard it, things had gone downhill for a few years as different mechanics rotated through. Raven’s Cove was a tough place to live, being so isolated. No one stuck, but Sophie had come to visit four years ago, when she was leaving Biyen’s father. Wilf had convinced her to stay.

It was undisguised nepotism, but she brought more than her trade. Under Art, she had learned how to run the shop on a shoestring. She knew the difference between making do and doing it right and, most importantly, how to transact business amid countless personal relationships.

Reid’s only concern with her presence at the marina was whether she and Logan could work together without shedding blood.

Her beef with his brother could be addressed later, though. Right now, he had to make sure Emma was willing to keep working for them.

“Did your paycheck go in okay? There were hiccups with the bank. I have to call tomorrow and I want to know how many people are affected.”

“I haven’t looked, but I’ll login on my laptop when I’m back at the house.”

“Thanks.”

Their footsteps crunched on the graveled road that went up and over a dip in the hillock. His father had claimed the best real estate on the island, but it was windy as hell. Art’s place was tucked into the lee of the hill on a south-facing slope. Judging from what Reid had just seen, Art still maintained half an acre of vegetable garden, one that included the raspberry patch they had raided as kids.

Ah, the innocence of childhood, when the worst thing that could happen was getting caught with raspberry juice on one’s lips.

“About what Logan said…”

Her footsteps might have stomped a little louder and faster. “Yes?”

Oh, that was a snippy, displeased tone. He had enjoyed their friendly conversations the last two days. How friendly did he want things to be between them, though?

“It wasn’t meant as a reflection on you. I know what this place is like. People get bored and have sex. I’m not saying you would, but it happens. We’re living in each other’s pockets and you’re our employee. I had to spell that out to them.”

“Sure. Fine.”

The village appeared below them with its all-too-familiar buildings, the only big change being the new lodge tucked into the trees. Aside from a coat of paint, the businesses hadn’t changed. There was the laundromat with shower facilities for boaters and a gift shop that carried a few clothing items and camping supplies. The general store doubled as liquor store and post office. The resort offices were on this side of the marina building, above the hardware store, and from his desk, Reid had a clear view to the wharf and the breakwater beyond. On the far side of the marina building was the area referred to as both the shipyard and the boneyard, depending whether a boat was there for repair or salvage.

Emma clomped across the front of the “mall,” still silent.

“Think of it as a company policy,” Reid said, certain she was angry, but not wanting to leap to the reason why. “If it was written into the orientation manual, would you be upset?”

She didn’t say anything.

He held the door for her as they entered the general store. Inside, he bought a twenty-four pack of Canadian. Logan preferred the watery American stuff. Trystan was more of a craft brew guy. Canadian was Reid’s brand and since he was buying…

“You like white or red?” he asked, glancing at the wine selection.

“I’m not allowed to drink beer?”

“I assumed—Sure. Help yourself anytime.” He grabbed a bottle of white and red anyway. “In case Sophie comes over.” He tucked the wine in with the bowls of food and balanced the box across the two-four of beer.

“I can take something.”

“The day I can’t carry a salad and a case of beer is the day I sign up for assisted living.”

No chuckle, not that it had been his best work.

He waited until they had hiked past where a small crew was earning overtime finishing the siding on the Ocean View. They were at the bottom of the driveway to the house when he spoke again.

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