Summer on Lovers' Island (Jewell Cove 3)

Josh tapped the wheel with his fingers, along with the beat to the song on the radio.

They turned off the main road, heading up a hill that was not part of the route home. “Hey,” she said, suddenly feeling awkward and a bit uncomfortable. “Where are we going?”

If he was going to attempt to take her parking, this was going to be really, really humiliating. Off to her left she saw a stately house, complete with white pillars that stood out in the moonlight, giving it a grand yet ghostly air. “What’s that place?”

“That’s Tom and Abby’s. Her great-aunt left it to her and Tom renovated it. You should see it inside.” But he drove past the lane, farther up the hill, until they encountered a gate. Josh put the truck in park, got out, and opene

d the gate, then hopped back in and kept going.

“Uh, Josh, I’m not sure if I gave you the wrong impression or what, but … I think I’d rather just go straight home.”

He laughed. “Lizzie, we’re adults. If I wanted to proposition you, don’t you think I’d just offer a ‘my place or yours’?”

She hoped her hot cheeks weren’t noticeable in the darkness of the truck cab.

He crested the last steep curve of the hill, turned to the right, and then backed up so that the back end of the truck was facing the view below. “Come on,” he urged, opening his door. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Reluctant but undeniably curious, Lizzie got out of the truck and went around to the back, where Josh was letting down the tailgate. Without offering, he simply put his hands on her waist and boosted her up while her lips dropped open in surprise. She couldn’t deny it was a little exciting.

Josh hopped up beside her and let out a long, satisfied breath. “Welcome to Blackberry Hill,” he said softly. “You can see Tom and Abby’s house from here, see?” He pointed down the hill, where the shape of the house was visible, surrounded by the darker, well-defined perimeter of their lawns and gardens, illuminated by moonlight. “And beyond that is the cove. The town is that way”—he pointed a bit to the left—“and your cottage is over that way, just past Fiddler’s Beach.” He pointed a little to the right this time. “And straight out, you see that dark lump way out in the water?”

“Is it an island?” she asked, intrigued despite herself.

“Yes. You can see it from up here, but not from the harbor. The natives call it ‘Aquteg,’ meaning ‘hidden.’ Which is pretty fitting considering rumor has it that during the Civil War a privateer buried treasure on that island. A privateer with the last name of Arseneault.”

“As in Tom’s family?”

He nodded. “The very same. Arseneault was good friends with two other names you might recognize. Jedediah Foster and Edward Jewell.”

Lizzie crossed her legs and rested her elbows on her knees. “Okay, is this just some nautical fairy tale that you guys tell all the newcomers to add mystery to your town?” She laughed lightly, though the story had caught her interest more than she cared to admit.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “Arseneault was a Southern privateer who fell in love with a local woman—an abolitionist. The story goes that he buried some sort of treasure out there before reforming his wicked ways and joining her as part of the Underground Railroad.” He grinned. “Which is why the locals now call it ‘Lovers’ Island.’”

“That is a romantic story,” she admitted, staring out at the faraway lump of rock in the middle of the shifting sea. Stupid thing was, she could see it all in her head. The risk of sailing on the seas in wartime, the sails billowing in the wind, women waiting on the shore in dresses with enormous skirts, a rake tamed by an honest woman—

Damn. It was like something out of one of those historical romance novels that she devoured, a secret little pleasure that felt indulgent and frivolous. She just bet everyone expected that she read dry medical journals in her spare time. Pirates and damsels and treasure? That was right up her alley, though she doubted Josh knew it.

“There must be some truth to the tale,” he continued. “A few jewels have shown up over the years. Abby’s engagement ring is an Arseneault family heirloom. And Rick ended up with a necklace that was traced back to Jed Foster.” He paused, looked over at her, and grinned. “A bunch of us used to go out there and search for buried chests and the like.”

“Did you ever find anything?”

“We thought we did.” He laughed, a soft, alluring sound in the dark. “We made up all kinds of things that we imagined were clues and trails. Mostly, though, we packed peanut butter sandwiches and cookies and explored.”

“Sounds like a fun childhood,” she remarked, trying to picture him as a boy.

“It was. Once we rigged up some sort of metal detector and headed out for the day and put a hole in Tom’s dad’s dory and sank it. He was not happy about that at all. I don’t know what bothered us most, the way he yelled at us or losing that metal detector.”

She smiled, picturing it. “I never had any brothers or sisters, so I never got up to stuff like that. The way you tell it, I kind of wish I had, though.”

“I guess what I’m saying is Jewell Cove isn’t a bad place to be. Especially when you’re trying to sort yourself out.”

She’d been super relaxed up to that point, but his slight insinuation raised her guard. “And you think I have something to sort out?”

“Don’t you?” he asked. The evening was so quiet that the only thing they could hear up here at the top of the hill was the breeze in the leaves of the trees. “I was kind of waiting for you to bring it up. I know about what happened in Springfield, Lizzie. It’s on record. I didn’t just take Charlie’s word for it about you, you know. I did my due diligence. This is my medical practice.”

She wasn’t sure if she was angry, embarrassed, or hurt at the reminder of why she’d been asked to take a leave of absence.

“I screwed up. But I’m not supposed to say that to the lawyers.”