wrapped in a centerfold threatening his peace of mind.
“Careful, you might woo me with your romantic words.” She grinned his way, the vulnerable look gone. “Did someone really pay you to take her to the prom?”
He cringed. “You caught that, huh?”
“I’m quick like that.”
Crystal had suffered enough for one night. “Let’s hold that story for another day.”
“Fine. Keep your secrets.” Sid grew quiet again, which made Lucas nervous.
Quiet meant she could be plotting something diabolical. “You okay over there?”
“Just thinking.” Before he could toss off a witty retort to that she said, “No cracks, preppy. I was thinking since you were a good sport tonight, I should cut you a break and not bother you anymore.”
Not what he expected. And surprisingly not what he wanted. “So you’re forfeiting the challenge?”
She turned to face him while leaning back against the door. “What challenge? We didn’t make a bet tonight.”
“Yes, we did. You said you could show me a good time on this island.” He might live to regret his next statement, but in spite of his better judgment, Lucas wanted to spend more time with her. “You’ve got five weeks to do it.”
Narrowed eyes pinned him in place. He said the one thing he knew would push her to agree. “Unless you want to give up now. I wouldn’t blame you.”
“You’re going down, Dempsey. I hope you’re up to the challenge.”
Such a predictable woman. “Bring it on, Navarro. Bring. It. On.”
Still floating on the high of her date, Sid took a full minute to wake up enough the next morning to register the deluge of water pounding against her cottage. A brush of heavy rain from a far-off-the-coast hurricane was typical for Anchor, but the amount of standing water in her backyard was not. Maybe Ingrid was getting closer than they’d expected.
Sid switched on the radio in her bathroom, which was always tuned to WANK radio, the voice of Anchor Island. The call letters were unfortunate, but fitting.
“It’s not looking good, folks. All tourists should leave the island today. Ingrid is expected to be a cat two when she slides by less than seventy-five miles off shore.” Hermie Dash, an Anchor native and avid storm watcher, sounded almost gleeful as he reported the update. “The brunt should be here around three a.m. tomorrow morning if she holds the current course.”
“Hundred mile per hour winds,” she said aloud. “Shit.”
Sid checked the landline and got a dial tone. At least they hadn’t lost service yet. A quick punch of two buttons and the tone turned to a ring.
“Did you hear?” Beth asked, forgoing the typical greeting.
“Just now. Is Joe getting the boat up?”
“Left fifteen minutes ago. I’m lining up help to board up the art store, and the volunteer fire squad should be working on Tom and Patty’s house before noon. They’ll need a hand up at the restaurant.”
The last thing Tom needed on his second day home was a damn hurricane. He needed no stress, not a bitch of a storm threatening his home and business. “Mr. D’s not going, is he?”
“He’s trying, but Patty will duct tape him to the floor before she’ll let that happen.”
“I’ll help her,” Sid said. “Lucas headed in then?”
“I think so.” The line went quiet and Sid feared Beth knew about her non-date turned pseudo-date with Lucas. “Sid, I’m scared. I’ve never been through a hurricane before.”
Remembering her first experience the year after moving to the island, Sid understood Beth’s fear. But she’d dealt with Mother Nature often enough since then to know they were in no severe danger from a category two storm.
“No worries, Curly. These things are a nonevent around here.” Not exactly true, but Beth didn’t need the truth in that moment. “I’ll pack up my tools and be at the restaurant in thirty minutes.”
“But what about your place? You’re right on the water. Won’t that be worse?”
Her pier faced more danger than her house, but Sid knew how to prepare. “We’ve got more than twelve hours. Plenty of time to board up the place once Dempsey’s is secure.”
Forty minutes later, Sid pulled up before the restaurant and hauled her drill and tool belt out with her. The extra ten minutes had been spent debating what to wear so as not to look too butch in front of Lucas. While checking her ass in the mirror, realization dawned. She was not one of
The scene on the porch was chaos. Boards were being brought from the back storage room, but no one seemed to know where to put them. Lucas was nowhere to be found.
“What are you guys doing, trying to recreate some Stooges skit?” Four men froze in place, staring wide eyed in her direction. How the hell men ever managed to rule the world, Sid did not know. “Put the boards down where you are.”
Two large sheets of plywood hit the decking with no hesitation. “Vinnie and Chip,” she barked, “put your board against the railing here.” Sid pointed to her right and the men followed the order. “Now you two,” she said to Mitch and Lot. “Slide yours in place in front of it.”
As soon as the boards were stacked, Lucas came around the corner with his head down and a plastic container in his hands. “I can’t believe these things are still in the same box.” Looking up, he spotted Sid standing on the top step.
Her heart did some crazy flutter thing so she worked harder to school her features.
“What are you doing here?”
“I work here.” If he made a crack about men and tools and women and kitchens, she’d deck him. Date or no date.
His eyes dropped to the drill in her hand. “Good. You have tools.” He handed her the box. “See if you’ve got a bit that will work for these.” The flutter turned into a full-on somersault. Turning to the silent crew, he said, “There are six more sheets of plywood inside. We’ll bring them all out and stack them, then start putting them up.”
It took the guys five minutes to carry out the rest of the boards. During that time Sid found two bits that would work on the two-inch screws. Passing one off to Lucas, she asked, “You know how to use a drill?”
Lucas pursed his lips. “How would you feel if I asked you that question?”
Point taken. “Sorry,” she mumbled. Sid didn’t apologize often so the word didn’t come naturally. “I suggest we work in teams.” Glancing toward the guys dropping the last sheet on the stack, she said, “I’ll take Vinnie and Chip. You can have Mitch and Lot.”
“Why do I get Mitch and Lot?”
“Because if I take Lot, we’re going to be a man down after I drill a two-inch screw through his forehead.”
“Good point.” Lucas nodded. Turning to the crew, he said, “Mitch and Lot, you’re with me. We’ll start at the left down here. Vinnie and Chip, you go with Sid around to the other end. We’ll meet in the middle and have this done in no time.”
The words were clearly an order, but delivered in a way that sounded more like a suggestion. Interesting technique. None of the men questioned the plan, each following their respective leader. Sid hadn’t expected resistance, except maybe from Lucas. But he’d treated her as an equal.
There went that fluttery thing again.
Thanks to the wind, the job took a good thirty minutes. Every time they lifted a board off the floor, it threatened to blow out of their grip. Vinnie bitched about his delicate hands getting blisters, as only one side of the plywood was treated, but Chip kept his mouth shut and picked up the slack.
Once all was secure, the guys headed out to help other friends and board up their own homes. Sid turned to Lucas. “We might as well head over to your place. Beth said the fire crew was going to do your parents’ house, but we can get a head start on the bottom and let them use the ladders to do the second floor.”
“Works for me.” He picked up the drill and tool belt from where he’d dropped them by the steps. The combination of khakis, polo shirt, and a tool belt hit harder than expected.
