Rainshadow Road (Friday Harbor #2)(8)

“Sam Nolan. I live at False Bay.” He paused as an ominous peal of thunder rent the sky. “Let’s get moving.”

“Your people skills could use some work,” Lucy said. But she offered no objection as he accompanied her along the rough terrain.

“Keep up, Renfield,” Sam said to the bulldog, who followed with apoplectic snorts and wheezes.

“Do you live on the island full-time?” Lucy asked.

“Yes. Born and raised here. You?”

“I’ve been here a couple of years.” Darkly she added, “But I may be moving soon.”

“Changing jobs?”

“No.” Although Lucy was usually circumspect about her private life, some reckless impulse caused her to add, “My boyfriend just broke up with me.”

Sam gave her a quick sideways glance. “Today?”

“About an hour ago.”

“Sure it’s over? Maybe it was just an argument.”

“I’m sure,” Lucy said. “He’s been cheating on me.”

“Then good riddance.”

“You’re not going to defend him?” Lucy asked cynically.

“Why would I defend a guy like that?”

“Because he’s a man, and apparently men can’t help cheating. It’s the way you’re built. A biological imperative.”

“Like hell it is. A man doesn’t cheat. If you want to go after someone else, you break up first. No exceptions.” They continued along the path. Heavy raindrops tapped the ground with increasing profusion. “Almost there,” Sam said. “Is your hand still bleeding?”

Cautiously Lucy released the pressure she had been applying with her fingers, and glanced at the oozing cut. “It’s slowed.”

“If it doesn’t stop soon, you may need a stitch or two.” That caused her to stumble, and he reached for her elbow to steady her. Seeing that she had blanched, he asked, “You’ve never had stitches?”

“No, and I’d rather not start now. I have trypanophobia.”

“What’s that? Fear of needles?”

“Uh-huh. You think that’s silly, don’t you?”

He shook his head, a faint smile touching his lips. “I have a worse phobia.”

“What is it?”

“It’s strictly need-to-know.”

“Spiders?” she guessed. “Fear of heights? Fear of clowns?”

His smile widened to a brief, dazzling flash. “Not even close.”

They reached the turnout, and his hand dropped from her elbow. He went to the battered blue pickup, opened the door, and began to rummage inside. The bulldog lumbered to the side of the truck and sat, watching the proceedings through a mass of folds and furrows on his face.

Lucy waited nearby, watching Sam discreetly. His body was strong and lean beneath the worn bleached cotton of his T-shirt, jeans hanging slightly loose from his hips. There was a particular look about men from this region, a kind of bone-deep toughness. The Pacific Northwest had been populated by explorers, pioneers, and soldiers who had never known when a supply ship was coming. They had survived on what they could get from the ocean and mountains. Only a particular amalgam of hardness and humor could enable a man to survive starvation, cold, disease, enemy attacks, and periods of near-fatal boredom. You could still see it in their descendants, men who lived by nature’s rules first and society’s rules second.

“You have to tell me,” Lucy said. “You can’t just say you have a worse phobia than mine and then leave me hanging.”

He pulled out a white plastic kit with a red cross on it. Taking an antiseptic wipe from the kit, he used his teeth to tear the packet open. “Give me your hand,” he said. She hesitated before complying. The gentle grip of his hand was electrifying, eliciting a sharp awareness of the heat and strength of the male body so close to hers. Lucy’s breath caught as she stared into those intense blue eyes. Some men just had it, that something extra that could knock you flat if you let it.

“This is going to sting,” he said as he began to clean the cut with gentle strokes.

The breath hissed between her teeth as the antiseptic burned.

Lucy waited quietly, wondering why a stranger would go to this amount of trouble for her. As his head bent over her hand, she stared at the thick locks of his hair, a shade of brown so rich and dark that it appeared almost black.

“You’re not in bad shape, considering,” she heard him murmur.

“Are you talking about my hand or my breakup?”

“Breakup. Most women would be crying right now.”

“I’m still in shock. The next stage is crying and sending angry text messages to everyone I know. After that is the stage when I’ll want to rehash the relationship until all my friends start avoiding me.” Lucy knew she was chattering, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “In the final stage, I’ll get a short haircut that doesn’t flatter me, and buy a lot of expensive shoes I’ll never wear.”

“It’s a lot simpler for guys,” Sam said. “We just drink a lot of beer, go a few days without shaving, and buy an appliance.”

“You mean … like a toaster?”

“No, something that makes noise. Like a leaf-blower or chain saw. It’s very healing.”