Not that she’d ever doubted his skills. He knew wood like she knew paint.
He’d built the Morton’s boat a few summers before and a library for Sandra Telford. She hadn’t stopped boasting about it, although she’d whispered that she’d hidden the silver while he was working.
That comment had annoyed Nancy. To the best of her knowledge there had been just the one incident, many years before, where Scott had taken a boat that hadn’t belonged to him. The boat had been returned without a scrape or a scratch, but the police had been involved.
Everyone made mistakes, didn’t they? She’d made major mistakes.
She’d snapped at Sandra and received a curious glance in return.
If Sandra remembered that and happened to notice Scott’s pickup parked outside, she’d probably put two and two together and make six.
Funny to think she and Sandra had once been close. They’d sat side by side in school and told each other everything, two people who had naively thought they were confiding in each other but in truth had nothing of importance to share. Then Sandra had married Bill and Nancy had married Tom and they’d drifted apart.
“I’m only mentioning it now because things have happened that will mean it won’t stay a secret for much longer. I’ve never thanked you properly for what you did—” She broke off. “Or for not talking. You could have made things very awkward for me.”
He reached up to the window and his shirt pulled tight over the muscles of his arms and shoulders. “Why would I have done that?”
“Because that’s what most people would have done. One person tells another, then it trickles through the community and before you know it, the trickle is a stream and the stream flows faster until it bursts its banks. Privacy on an island this size isn’t easy.” Although it was possible, if you worked at it. “That’s probably the reason you choose to live on the water and not on land.”
He didn’t comment on that, but she saw a gleam in his eyes that could have been humor.
In all the weeks he’d been working on the house, she’d never once found his presence intrusive. She didn’t know exactly when he was going to turn up, but she never complained when he did. And it wasn’t only because the work he was doing needed doing so badly, it was because she liked having him around. It made her feel less alone, which made no sense at all because she was an intelligent woman and perfectly aware that she’d never been more alone in her life.
Perhaps she felt comfortable with Scott because he already knew everything there was to know about her, all the parts she’d successfully hidden from everyone else. He knew her failures and her weaknesses. Having nothing left to hide was surprisingly liberating.
She stared at the room they’d been working on. “There are so many imperfections in the walls of this place.”
“Not every imperfection needs fixing.” He wiped his palm on the faded fabric of his jeans. “Sometimes you have to accept the flaw and live with it.”
Were they still talking about the house?
One of the reasons she’d employed him was because he understood the difference between restoration and renovation. He respected the unique details of the original building.
“It’s old, but it has good bones. Like me.” She made the joke, and then felt awkward.
“If you’re worried about the walls, you could paint something to hang there.”
Her heart bumped hard. “I haven’t painted since that night.” Something else she hadn’t told her daughters. Occasionally she spattered paint on her fingers so that Jenna didn’t ask questions. The truth was she hadn’t been to her studio in five years. The drive that had powered her whole life, her existence, was gone. And she missed it. She missed its healing powers, its ability to transport her to a different place. Painting had been a sanctuary, and now her life felt bare and cold.
She turned back to him. “I’ve often wondered why you helped me that night.” She knew she’d never forget it. Not a single, hideous moment. It had been a night of surprises, all of them bad.
He wiped his hands on the cloth he kept tucked into his jeans. “I sailed a boat. I didn’t save the world.”
He’d saved her world.
“You sailed a boat in a hurricane. There was no one else in the air or on the water.”
“If I hadn’t done it, you would have found someone else to take you.”
She knew she wouldn’t.
She’d been desperate.
Scott Rhodes had been her last resort and despite his casual, dismissive treatment of the subject, she suspected he knew that.
“Why did you do it?” It was something she’d asked herself repeatedly, mostly when she was trying to distract herself from everything that had happened. She thought about the mountainous seas and the terrifying howl of the wind. At the time it had seemed as if nature had been reflecting her mood. “Why did you risk your life for me that night?”
“You paid me.”