Jill Elizabeth - Shake Down

“I can’t assure you of that, but it was my own fault for not watching my step going down into the basement.” For now, Janice would count that version true, unless examination of the broken step told a different story.

The woman clucked. “I was on my way to work this morning and just had to see if I’d heard right. Then I saw your lights were on for real, so I thought I’d stop and introduce myself. Esther Mae Furbish here. Essie Mae to my friends, and that’s everyone!” She burbled a laugh that drew a genuine smile from Janice.

“I’m Janice Swenson, the Realtor handling renovation and sale of the property.”

“Sale, you say? Place like this’ll bring a pretty nickel with all those off-islanders hungry for vacation homes.” Essie Mae’s lips pursed as though she’d sucked something sour, but then she broke into her infectious grin. “Guess I should be grateful for the summer swarms. Without the tourist trade my job would be in jeopardy. My little place is next one up the road from here, Chilmark-way. You couldn’t buy it off me for love or money. To hang on to it, I wait tables at the Beach Shanty in Menemsha. You stop on in someday soon for the best chowder on the island. If I’m not there, tell ’em Essie Mae sent you, and you’ll get a 10 percent discount.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the offer.” A stiff breeze whooshed across the porch, ruffling the fringe on Essie Mae’s shawl and lapping at Janice with a chilly tongue. She shivered.

“Here I am keeping you standing in the doorway with my jawing.” Essie Mae hugged her shawl close, displaying glittery blue nail polish and an eclectic array of rings on every finger, including the thumb.

“Would you like to come in?” Janice stood back.

Maybe she could share her bagel or even toast another one, but she’d be challenged to know where to seat a guest with only a folding camp chair available. Apparently she needed to remedy the furniture situation sooner rather than later if curious neighbors were going to be stopping by.

“Another time, lambkin. Like I said, I’m due at work.” Essie Mae checked her watch and let out a little squeak. “Better scoot. Here you are.” She extended the brown paper bag. “Mulberry preserves. Made ’em myself.”

“Thank you.” Janice took the bag. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You already said it, lambkin. Thank you is more than enough.” She waggled be-ringed fingers, turned and took a step away from the door. “Whoops!” Her arms flapped as she regained her balance. “Soft spot in the floorboards, dear,” she said over her shoulder. “Good luck to you. The place needs a lot of TLC.”

“So sorry about that,” Janice called as Essie Mae hustled off the porch, holding her towering hairdo in place against the wind.

Janice’s pulse fluttered in her throat. She’d forgotten about the treacherous footing until it was too late to warn her guest. Unless she wanted to be liable for someone’s broken leg, she’d better address the porch boards first thing.

She returned to the kitchen, shaking her head. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she pulled the jar of preserves from the bag. Her mouth watered. What a thoughtful woman. And entertaining, too! If circumstances were different, Janice might enjoy a stay on the island.

At least now she had something yummier than margarine to spread on her bagel. A few more seconds in the toaster would warm it again. She pressed the toaster lever down as the creaky porch announced another visitor or maybe the return of the same.

With a groan, Janice headed for the door. A knock sounded, punctuated by a loud crack and a canine yelp. Atlas! She broke into a run.

* * *

At the sound of splintering wood and a high-pitched yip, Shane whirled from the door and dropped his gaze to find Atlas struggling to free his right hind leg that was buried in a hole in the floorboards. Scolding himself for allowing the dog to frisk around the rickety porch while he knocked, Shane knelt and placed his hand on the whimpering animal’s head.

“Steady there, boy.” The gentle words and touch must have ministered some comfort because Atlas stopped trying to tug his leg from between the boards and subsided, panting, onto the porch.

“Oh, no!” Janice knelt by his side.

“Pet him and calm him while I work his leg out,” Shane said.

She immediately complied, cooing to the animal and stroking his head. Atlas’s eyes rolled up in doggy bliss and he relaxed further.

“Perfect.” Shane gave Janice a grateful look.

Faint shadows under her eyes betrayed a fitful night’s sleep, but other than that he’d rarely seen a more attractive female completely devoid of makeup. The crisp temperature nipped color into her cheeks and her emerald gaze glowed in the sun’s early rays.

Jerking his attention from her riveting face, Shane worked his hands down between Atlas’s haunch and the boards. A few slivers pricked the skin of his hands and the backs of his wrists, but he paid no attention as he worked the dog’s furry leg upward in gentle pulls.

At last the animal sprang free and jumped up, knocking Janice over. She let out a soft squawk as she landed on her back. Atlas took her position as an invitation to bathe her face with his tongue. Laughter vied with spluttering as she received the dog’s adoration.

Shane grabbed Atlas’s collar with a stern command to sit. The dog obeyed, but gazed up at him with innocent surprise written on his whiskery face. Shane suppressed a smile. He couldn’t have his pet bowling people over and nearly drowning them in slobber, particularly someone who was already injured.

He knelt beside Janice, who was struggling one-handed into a sitting position. “Are you all right?”

“Just fine.” She wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Guess I’ve had my bath this morning, though. How’s Atlas?”

“He’s good. I think his fur cushioned him from scrapes or slivers, which is more than I can say for myself.” He grimaced at bits of wood sticking from his skin and small amounts of blood welling from a few raw scrapes.

“Come inside,” Janice said. “There’s a first-aid kit among all that stuff you unloaded for me yesterday.”

Letting out tiny groans, she began to rise. Shane reached out to help her, but she batted him away with a chuckle.

“I may be bruised and battered, but I’ll manage to stand on my own two feet, thank you. But now you’ve got war wounds, and we haven’t even begun to fight the restoration battle.”

She led the way to the door and shoved it open. Smoke billowed out, along with the unmistakable reek of burned bread.

“My bagel!” she cried.

Shane burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself. Her expression was so comical, as if her greatest treasure had been ruined. She shot him a scowl and then her lips broke apart in a grin.

She shook her head. “Are you as good a fireman as you are a paramedic? We need to open some windows and clear the smoke out of here. Then I’ll play EMT on those scrapes and slivers.”

“After that we go buy lumber to fix that break on the porch.”

“Great minds,” she quipped, eyes twinkling.

Shane’s pulse did a funky little jig and he quickly turned away and got busy prying windows open. A few minutes later he sat in the folding camp chair, while Janice knelt beside him picking slivers out of his skin with tweezers. A scent of smoke lingered in the air and Atlas went about sniffing every corner, nook and cranny. Shane fisted the hand she wasn’t working on. What got into him that he barely restrained the impulse to reach out and touch the wealth of shimmering chestnut hair that masked her face?

This tender, compassionate woman was no Moran. She probably hadn’t a clue what sort of crime family her employer came from...or what danger the jerk had sent her into. If Shane thought it would keep this innocent Realtor safe, he’d be tempted to go away. Right now, the best thing Janice had going for her as long as she refused to leave the island was his watchful presence.