Butterfly Cove

She couldn’t lie to herself. She still felt the same sensual pull for Rafe. Time had not changed that chemistry. Several times that evening, when they had been talking, Olivia had the sense that Rafe was trying hard to sort out his own memories.

She let her mind drift on, comforted by the murmur of the rain and the sound of the breakers beyond the point.

Olivia told herself that she and Rafe might as well be strangers, but her body did not believe her.

* * *

THE SOUND OF hammering woke her early the next morning. She sat up abruptly and winced in pain from her shoulder.

Slow down, she reminded herself. Displaced joint and torn ligaments, remember?

She blinked as the noise outside grew louder. With small movements she stood up and moved to the window.

A lean body in a black T-shirt and worn jeans perched at the end of a ladder, hammering a shutter in place right outside her window.

Olivia couldn’t look away as the taut muscles at his shoulders rippled. Sweet heaven, he had always had an amazing body. Now it was harder and stronger than ever.

Olivia watched Rafe work, every movement slow and controlled. His palm smoothed the new shutter and eased the wood into place. His broad hands were powerful and confident. Suddenly heat swirled in hidden, warm places that Olivia had almost forgotten.

She forced her eyes away. There was nothing going on between them. Nothing was going to take place between them. She wouldn’t make another mistake in her life.

No matter how tempting it might be.

As if aware of her thoughts, Rafe turned around on the ladder. His cheeks were red from exercise and the cold wind, and Olivia thought he looked younger and less distant than he had the night before.

When he went back to work, she found herself watching him again. Every one of his movements was smooth and methodical, as if he had done this kind of repair before. She had always wondered what he had done after leaving Summer Island. Town gossip had it that he had gone straight into the Marines, but now Olivia wasn’t so sure.

She ran a hand through her hair and winced. Even that small movement sent pain radiating through her shoulder.

There was a knock at her door. Paws raced along the corridor. “Duffy, stay. Are you up, Livie?”

“Sure. Come on in.”

The door opened, and Jilly’s big white dog bounded straight toward Olivia. She put up a hand, afraid he would knock her over, but Jilly’s loud order made the Samoyed freeze in his tracks.

“Duffy, sit.”

Amazingly, the command worked. Clearly, Jilly and Walker had been doing intensive work with obedience training.

Another furry body appeared at the door. Walker’s trained service dog, Winslow, trotted across the room and sat down next to Duffy. Winslow was controlled and well behaved, while Duffy shivered with energy, eager to get up.

The interaction seemed good for both of them. Duffy was learning control, while Winslow got a high-octane friend for long runs on the beach.

Olivia reached down and rubbed Winslow’s ears carefully, then gave the same treatment to Duffy. She was finally starting to feel comfortable around the dogs. “Is your shoulder better?” Jilly looked anxious. “The doctor at the emergency care center said that I should call if the pain got worse. You’re not to lift anything for two weeks. They’ll reassess you after that.”

Two weeks.

Olivia was going to become a lunatic if she didn’t find something to keep herself occupied.

“I’m fine.” Olivia forced her eyes away from the window as Rafe continued to work on the shutter.

“He’s good with a hammer, isn’t he?” Jilly glanced out the window. “He volunteered to fix that banging shutter. No way was I saying no.” Jilly blew out a breath. “So where were we?”

“With me being bored to death for two weeks while my shoulder heals,” Olivia said dryly.

“Why don’t you take your camera and shoot some photographs of the Harbor House. I know you’ve been wanting to make an architectural record of the site, and Rafe was right. Your photographs are amazing, Livie. I think we should blow them up and frame them for the café. They would make a wonderful portrait of the house.”

Olivia couldn’t seem to process the idea. Photography was a fun hobby that she picked up when she had a spare moment, but she’d never taken lessons or worked with any professional.

“Why? I’m not trained.”

“So what? You’re good. And if your shots are bad, you can just erase them. That is the beauty of a digital camera. At least it will keep you busy.”

“My camera is at home. I may not be able to find it.”

Jilly gave a guilty laugh. “Walker and I went over this morning. I grabbed some clean clothes for you, the book on your nightstand and your camera bag from the closet. I almost got your knitting bag, but I figured that would be cruel and unusual punishment, seeing as how knitting is off-limits for at least another week.”

“How can I go without knitting?”

“Stay busy. Use your small digital camera. It’s so light you won’t have any problems.” Jilly continued in a rush, “The nurse at the emergency care center is a knitter. She knew exactly how you feel, but she warned me that it would be a bad mistake. Knitting uses small movements, but it involves your whole upper body. Why risk a setback?”

Olivia sighed. “You’re right. Fine, I’ll try some photos. But I make no promises.”

Olivia listened to the sound of Rafe working at the window next door. “Maybe I’ll go sit on the porch.”

“Perfect. I’ll bring you out a cup of tea and some chocolate scones. Maybe Rafe will be done with the window by then,” Jilly murmured.

* * *

WHEN OLIVIA OPENED her case, the camera battery was charged. She was methodical that way. She put things away clean and ready to use.

The little camera felt good in her hands, and if she was careful the movements caused no pain. Still sitting, she took a dozen surreptitious shots of Rafe as he moved up and down the ladder. Then she forced her attention down to the beach, where the storm surge had deposited chunks of driftwood and dead crabs and fallen seabirds.

Her camera wasn’t high-tech. It fit nicely in the palm of her hand, without big lenses, and it was easy to hold.

The German lenses were very good and Olivia captured the cove in sun and in shadow, with seabirds hovering at the end of the pier and a group of seals riding the surf out beyond the harbor. She liked to work like this, sliding into the zone, unaware of anything around her, becoming an extension of the lens. When she recorded the messy, chaotic, beautiful flow of life around her, Olivia felt safe. She wasn’t sure why, but probably it came from the way she had grown up, working hard but never feeling her father loved or even cared much about her. But behind her camera, Olivia was alive. She defined her world and forced it into clarity. At her drafting table, making complex architectural designs, she felt the same way.

Rafe had moved to the far side of the house now, his hammering muted. According to Jilly, they had lost several shutters and a dozen or so roof tiles in the storm. Given the damage farther up the coast, this was nothing. They had been very lucky.

Olivia felt a pang at her shoulder, but she ignored it. Caro would be over in an hour and Olivia was going to help her organize the new knitting patterns in big binders so all the designs were easy to find and beautifully displayed.

Olivia had taken pictures of some beautiful sweaters while she was in Italy. She wondered how they would look blown up and framed. Or maybe even as sketches for the yarn shop walls.

Then she discarded the idea.

She had no training or special skills, after all. Probably the photos would turn out to be ugly.

“Finish your tea and stop frowning.” Jilly stood at the door to the porch, hands on her hips, frowning. “I hate it when you get that look on your face, wistful and worried. You always looked that way after your father yelled at you for doing something wrong. Except you never did anything wrong. He was just blowing off for no reason.” Jilly caught back a breath and shook her head. They had had this argument before. It never solved or changed anything. Jilly hadn’t liked Olivia’s father.