Saving Joe

What if when he was passing, she started to talk?

Even worse, what if like earlier, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to listen?

Ditching the idea of taking a stroll, he went to the small galley kitchen to scrounge up a meal.

Did he have a taste for something simple? Soup? Or was he craving a more substantial meal? Jarred spaghetti? Canned ham?

What was she having? Those scrambled eggs of hers?

French toast swimming in warm, buttery syrup?

The last time he’d eaten French toast he’d been on vacation in Maui with Willow and her parents. Willow had been six months pregnant, and her belly had been a constant source of fascination. He’d loved rubbing it, kissing it, feeding it and the growing girl tucked safely inside.

Needing to shut out the acute pain that usually followed particularly pleasant memories, Joe yanked open the nearest cabinet door.

In a messy parade along the shelves were canned, boxed and dry goods. Soups, chili, pork and beans, macaroni and cheese, pasta in a couple of shapes and sizes.

Finally figuring he was making too big a deal out of what should have been nothing more than a routine chore, he reached for a can of chicken noodle soup and a roll of stale crackers.

After eating his fill, Joe reflexively set the bowl on the floor for Bud to finish, only the dog wasn’t there.

Was he still with their supposed protector?

Anger flashed through him. Of all the places Joe had run, this island was the one where he felt most safe. He didn’t need or want her here.

He slipped on the hiking boots he kept by the door, and marched outside. A sliver of yellow moon peeked through a break in the fog. The rain had stopped and the wind had lessened, yet the damp air somehow felt wetter in his lungs than it had before.

Folding his arms across his chest, Joe gazed out at the restless sea, refusing to even glance in the tent’s direction.

He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Bud! Come here, boy!”

About twenty yards into the dark, Bud barked, then scurried into the woods, hot on the trail of some small rodent. Ordinarily, Joe gave him the run of the island, but nothing about this night was ordinary and he didn’t like the idea of his dog wandering off. He wanted Bud close, safe.

Just in case.

Of what? He didn’t know. Just in case. For now, that was reason enough.

“Yo, Bud!” Joe’s cry fell flat against the fog. “Bud! Come on, boy, get back here!”

The dog barked, but judging from the sound, he’d traveled a good distance in the short time between calls.

“Damn dog,” Joe mumbled, stepping off the porch, and—

Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!

He winced, brought his hands to his ears, blocking the electronic racket.

The annoyance was turned off, only to be followed by the even more grating sound of a tent zipper opening, then a sleepy, “Hmm…looks like I caught something.” Gillian grinned at him.

Joe groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding. You put a perimeter alarm around my cabin?”

She shrugged, ran her fingers through sleep-tousled hair. She’d changed from her jeans, navy T-shirt and jacket into an all black number hugging her curves like porn star long johns. Swallowing hard, Joe looked away.

The woman was a damn nuisance.

“Was there anything in particular you needed?” she asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

“My dog. Seen him?”

“Up to about an hour ago, he was sleeping next to me. I heard rustling outside the tent, got up to check it out, then the next thing I knew, Bud took off, bouncing like a bunny through the weeds.”

During the last part of her explanation, she’d done a little hop that—no. No, the below the belt movement hadn’t happened. Even if it had, he could ignore it. He’d been on his own for years.

He was a man.

She was a woman.

It wasn’t attraction, but an animalistic urge. An urge he’d damn well fight, out of respect for Willow and Meggie.

Damn this woman and his dog.

If this marshal hadn’t shown up—Joe still childishly refused to even think her name—if the dog hadn’t run off, his mind could have been mercifully blank after having spent the day pressing himself to the edge of his physical endurance.

As it was, after feeling trapped in the cabin all afternoon, he felt edgy, restless, like he’d be up all night searching for sleep that would never come.

Bud barked again.

Though the fog made distance hard to judge, Joe knew the mutt was on one hell of a romp. Probably he’d reached the far side of the bluff and still hadn’t caught whatever he was chasing.

Turning back to the yellow light spilling from the cabin, Joe washed his face with his hands and sighed.

What the hell. One of them might as well get what their heart desired. For Bud, the object of his desire was a rabbit or mouse. For Joe, it was a second chance.

One he knew would never come.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Just dandy.”

“Wanna hang out? Talk about it?”

“By it, I’m assuming you mean my wife and kid?”

“Look, Joe,” she said, “I’m not the enemy, I’m your friend. I’m here to help.”

“You wanna help?” he said, hating the low menace to his voice, but finding himself incapable of changing it.

She eagerly nodded.