Her Rugged Rancher (24 page)

“Photography, huh? Can I see some of your pictures?”

She hesitated. She always felt so vulnerable, showing her work to a new person. And with him, for whatever reason, the nerves were multiplied.

“Please? You show me yours, I'll show you mine.”

If that was a pickup line, it was awful. “Show me what?”

“My sculptures. Well, photos of them. I might have some on my phone of the most recent one, or you can just look it up online.”

“Excuse me?” Sculpture. Her stomach dropped. Oh no. He couldn't be. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and started frantically typing. At the top of the search results was Noah James, metal sculpture artist. She clicked on the link and there he was, in a photo taken at the grand opening of the Caruso Hotel in Las Vegas. Behind him was the sculpture the hotel had commissioned for the lobby, an abstract swirl of metal twining at least ten feet high.

She held the phone out and showed him the photo. “You made that? Jillian told me you were a welder!”

“I did make that, and I am a welder.”

She shook her head in frustration. “No, you're not. I mean, I'm sure welding is involved, but you're one of the most famous metal artists in the country.” Hadn't a celebrity magazine included him as one of its sexiest men alive last year? She remembered only because he'd been the only artist in a list of politicians, actors, and pop stars. But he'd had a beard then; no wonder she hadn't recognized him right away. That, and well, famous people didn't tend to show up in small towns like Paradise. She looked down at the screen again, trying to understand how the man sitting across from her could be the man in the article. “This says your last sculpture sold for almost a quarter of a million dollars! I thought you welded rebar for building foundations or something. Why didn't you tell me?” She tossed the phone down, and covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God, I made out with Noah James.
The
Noah James.” Holy crap. Girls like her did not go around kissing famous millionaires. So much for him being a stray in need of a helping hand.

He reached over to pry her hands away. “I didn't tell you because it didn't matter. I'm still the same pathetic guy you found on the steps yesterday.”

She rolled her eyes. “You might be the same guy, but from where I sit your bank account just got a lot bigger. For crying out loud, I fed you food from a roadside stand.” She paused, considering. “Although, I will say, I feel better now about making you pay for dinner.”

* * *

He hoped his financial status wasn't going to change things for her. He was happier here, eating donuts from a sack than he'd ever been at fancy galas or exhibitions. A few high-dollar sales hadn't changed who he was or what he wanted. And right now, he wanted to see her photos. He'd bet money she was better than she thought she was. Her house and garden reflected an innate understanding of color and light. Even her mismatched furniture showed an artistic flair. “So, are you going to show me some of your work, or not?”

She looked at him. “After finding out you're a famous artist? No way. My ego isn't ready for that kind of scrutiny, not this early in the morning.”

Eager as he was, pressing her would probably do more harm than good. “Fine, then let's get started with whatever's first on the tour. What are we doing today? Swimming, Jet Skiing, sightseeing?”

She shook her head. “Nope, today we're fishing.”

“You mean, with worms and stuff?” He hadn't been fishing in years, and had never really enjoyed it. Sitting on the edge of some muddy pond doing nothing for hours on end didn't sound like much fun. Of course, he'd never had her for company before.

“No worms. You'll have fun, guaranteed, or your money back.”

“Easy to say when I'm not paying you anything anyway.”

She winked. “Exactly. And if we want to actually catch anything, we need to hurry. Once it really heats up, the fish stop biting.” She stood and gathered their breakfast remains. “Baby, come on. Time to go.”

The big dog stood and shook himself, then loped over, panting and wagging his tail.

“He's going with us?”

“Oh yeah, he loves to fish. He goes nuts when he sees the poles. We can't leave him behind.”

Of course not. That would be crazy. After all, who wouldn't want to spend their vacation fishing with a moose-sized three-legged dog? He eyeballed him again. “Does he even fit in the car?”

“Sure he does, but the longer we stand here talking about it, the less time we have to actually fish.”

That had kind of been the point. But he'd asked her to give him the real island experience and if that meant fishing, well, then, he'd fish. Fishing with her would be better than doing pretty much anything without her. “By all means, let's go then.”

She stacked the dishes in the sink, then came back out and locked the door. A small detached garage was beside the house, and she ducked into it, telling him to wait. A minute later she was back with two fishing poles, a long leash, a bulky camera bag and what must be a tackle box. Setting the box down, she snapped the leash on Baby and handed it to him. “You take him, I'll carry our gear.”

He recognized the challenge in her suggestion, and took the leash. It wasn't like he was afraid of dogs. He'd just never met one that looked like it could eat him whole and still have room for dessert. Following Mollie around to the front of the house, he kept a tight hold on the leash and a close eye on the dog.

He had to admit, it was pretty impressive how well the dog managed on three legs. Unlike most people, he didn't seem to care that he wasn't quite perfect. He just was happy to be alive. When Noah stopped in the driveway beside Mollie's little hatchback, Baby moved closer, bumping Noah's hip with his massive head. Getting the hint, Noah gave the dog a cautious scratch and was rewarded with a tail wag forceful enough to knock over a small child.

Mollie secured the poles to a roof rack, and then took the leash and loaded the dog into the cargo area. Noah watched with fascination as Baby wedged himself into a comfortable position, then proceeded to shut his eyes as if the whole process had exhausted him. By the time Noah was buckled into the passenger seat, there were loud snores coming from the backseat.

Mollie started the car. “I still can't believe you're a famous artist.”

“And I can't believe you're still thinking about that. I'm just me, and this is like any other fishing trip, okay? Just you, me and Baby. Which, by the way, is a ridiculous name for a hundred-pound dog.”

“He's almost two hundred pounds, actually.” She grinned. “I thought the name might help him seem less intimidating.”

“It didn't work.”

“Hey, I saw you petting him. Admit it, you like him.”

“Fine, yes, I like him. What concerns me is how he feels about me.”

She laughed. “I see your point. But you don't have to worry, you're pretty easy to like.”

* * *

The drive to the marina was quiet, other than Baby's snoring. Inside her head, though, chaos reigned. Was she crazy to be spending more time with Noah? Safety wasn't her concern; between Baby and her years of martial arts training, she wasn't worried about him trying anything. But how could she keep things fun and casual when every minute around him had her liking him more? And not in a platonic, let's-be-friends way. Not even close. But even if she was willing to break her no-dating rule, in a few days he'd be headed back to his real life, and she wasn't interested in being someone's vacation fling. Not to mention he was on the rebound. No matter how she looked at it, anything other than friendship would just be asking to get hurt.

He broke the silence first. “Do you go fishing a lot?”

“Not as much as I'd like. Between work and school, it's hard to find the time. But I try to go out at least every few weeks, usually with my dad.” Which reminded her—she really ought to make an effort to go see him and her mom while she was off this week. She made a mental note to call them as she turned into the parking lot of the marina. Boats of all sizes and shapes dotted the water, from beat-up fishing vessels to sleek yachts. There were quite a few houseboats, too, some that were bigger than her own home.

“What are those garage-like buildings?” Noah pointed to a row of open fronted warehouses where boats were stacked four high in individual slots.

“Those are dry racks. People pay to have their boats stored there to protect them from the elements. The marina uses a big forklift to move them in and out.”

“Valet service for your boat?”

She smiled. “I've never heard it put quite that way, but yeah, basically.” Getting out of the car, she checked that she had everything and let Baby out of the back. “Let's head up to the marina store. I want to get some bottled water and we're going to need bait.”

“So what's the deal? Are we renting a boat here?”

“Nope, my Dad has one stored here. Well, I guess it's the family boat, but he and I are the only ones that take it out. My sister is a workaholic and doesn't make it down here much. And Mom likes to tag along, but she won't take it out by herself.”

With Noah carrying the gear this time, she walked with Baby, waving at a few of the people down on the docks. They passed the restrooms and a covered picnic area, and then the pool.

Noah turned to take it all in. “I always thought a marina was like a parking lot for boats, but it almost seems like a campground or something.”

“Well, it's kind of both. Most people just store their boats here, but some live off them. For them, this is a neighborhood of sorts. And even the day trippers sometimes like to get a drink or something to eat at the restaurant.”

“I wonder what that's like, living on a boat.”

“I've thought about trying it, but haven't had the guts or the money to actually do it.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe someday, though.”

They reached the small bait-and-tackle store along the waterfront, and she reminded Baby to behave.

“You can bring the dog inside?”

“Everyone here knows Baby. They'd give me hell if I didn't bring him in.” Once inside, she walked past the rows of shiny lures and the displays of custom-made rods to the coolers in the back. “You grab us some water and ice. I'll get the bait.” She picked out a package of frozen shrimp and some squid. Usually she went with live bait, but given Noah's lackluster reaction to the idea of a fishing trip, the frozen stuff might be a better way to ease him into the experience.

Taking everything up to the register, she paid while Baby was fawned over by Frank, the owner. “How's my favorite pup?”

“She's doing great, thanks. How are you and Marie?”

“Oh, we're good.” His smile crinkled the lines on his face. “The grandkids were down last week and about wore us out.”

“And I'm sure you can't wait for them to come back again.” The elderly couple doted on their grandchildren, and the feeling was mutual. The kids were often underfoot around the marina, enjoying the fresh air whenever they had a school break.

“You got that right.” He tipped his head toward Noah, who was inspecting some handmade boat models. “Who's the fella?”

“Oh, he's one of Jillian and Nic's guests, someone Nic knows from work. I'm just showing him around a bit.” In a small town like Paradise, it was better to stop any rumors before they started.

“Mmm-hmm. Well, you just make sure he treats you right. You never know with those tourist types. At least you've got Baby here to keep an eye on things.”

She had no doubt the loyal dog would defend her from an attack, but what she really needed was protection from herself and the growing attraction she felt every time Noah was around. She wasn't about to explain that to Frank, though, so she just nodded and headed for the door.

“Hey, don't forget me,” Noah called, putting down the replica sailboat he'd wandered over to.

Forget him? She hadn't stopped thinking about him since she saw him on the steps of the Sandpiper. No, the only thing she was in danger of forgetting was her common sense.

* * *

Noah followed Mollie out of the dimness of the bait shop, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun. Taking one of the plastic bags from her, he matched her pace down one of the long docks extending over the blue-green water. “Which boat is yours?”

She pointed to a midsize vessel about halfway down, a picture of an orange and the words
Main Squeeze
emblazoned on the hull.

“Cute name.”

She rolled her eyes. “That was Dad's attempt to suck up to my mom. He was trying to get her to like the boat more.”

“Did it work?”

“Nope. I mean, I'm sure she appreciated the gesture, but she'd rather stay on dry land and fuss with her plants. The garden is her happy place.”

“And the water is yours?”

“One of them. I'm not real picky. Anywhere outside works for me.”

“And anywhere you can snap off some good shots?” He nodded to the camera bag she'd pulled from the car, now hanging from her shoulder.

A quick smile of acknowledgment was replaced with a grimace as she stepped onto the deck, absorbing the movement of the sea like a seasoned sailor. “Someone must have left some bait on board.” Her nose crinkled, her freckles bunching up as she made room for him to join her. “Sorry, I'll rinse out the bait wells if you'll keep an eye on Baby.”

At the sound of his name, the dog stood up from where he'd been sprawled on the warm wood planks of the dock, leaping across the gap between the dock and boat with much more grace than Noah expected from the oversize amputee. “Show-off.”

Switching the bags to his left hand, he braced his right on the post beside him and swung down, a bit more clumsily than the dog but without falling on his butt, thankfully. Being out of his element was one thing; making a fool of himself was another.