Hidden Treasures

The light suddenly shifted from her face, trailing a path down her soggy frame and lingering a moment on the package of Oreos balanced on her knee.

“Bert,” he finally said.

Meghan wondered if all the men in the area had something against speaking in complete sentences. She plucked the headphones out of her ears—no wonder she hadn’t heard him sneak up on her—and pushed her fingers self-consciously through her tangled curls.

Way to make a first impression, Megs. Soaking wet and sound asleep. And probably smelling a bit more like Smith and Wesson than a person in polite company should smell.

Not that the present company seemed very polite…

She took a deep breath. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Meghan McBride.”

“You’re the…wedding planner?”

Meghan’s laugh rippled around the boathouse. He thought she was Bliss Markham? Caitlin would be on the floor when she heard that one.

“No. I’m the wedding photographer.”

Chapter Two

And Cade had assumed the day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Since breakfast, he’d had three phone calls from his aunt Judith, all reminding him about wedding details he’d rather forget. The owner of a local landscaping business had been next, telling him they were backing out of the agreement “for reasons they’d rather not discuss.” This meant Aunt Judith had been calling them with reminders, too. But they had the luxury of being able to simply walk away from her constant micromanaging. Unlike Cade, who was family. All he could do was exercise the self-control his father had spent years developing in him and attempt to bring some sanity into the nightmare everyone else insisted on referring to as a wedding.

In the afternoon he’d had a surreal twenty-minute conversation with a woman named Bliss Markham, whose voice fluctuated between a clipped British accent one minute and a Southern drawl the next.

And then he’d lost the dog.

And accidentally found the wedding photographer.

He hadn’t even known his sister had hired one. The last he’d heard, Parker had decided against a professional photographer and wanted disposable cameras available for the guests. Cade had a hunch Aunt Judith had had something to do with the latest reversal in plans.

His lips twisted. Aunt Judith had something to do with most of the changes made in the past few weeks. When she hadn’t been able to change Parker’s mind about her choice of a groom, she’d retaliated by attempting to take over everything else instead.

Not that Cade blamed her. It was a Halloway family trait they all shared to some degree.

A polite cough yanked his attention back to the moment. And to the woman sprawled in the wicker chair.

Staring down at Meghan McBride, Cade pushed aside the unwelcome thought that she looked like a pre-Raphaelite model come to life. Oval face. Wide-spaced, gray-green eyes. Damp copper curls spilling over her shoulders. The only thing that didn’t fit was the wide, engaging smile on her face.

Cade suddenly realized she’d extended her hand. Time to play nice. He reached out and closed his fingers around hers, but instead of immediately releasing his grip, he drew her to her feet.

It was getting late and he still had to find the dog.

Something hit the floor and Meghan McBride gave a startled yelp. Cade pointed the flashlight down and watched sandwich cookies roll away in every direction.

Meghan’s sigh echoed around the room. “Did you ever have one of those days?”

Cade turned toward the door, surprised by a sudden urge to smile. “Never.”

“Right.” The undercurrent of laughter in her voice sent Cade off balance. And he wasn’t sure he liked the feeling.

There’d been more than enough upheaval in his life over the past few weeks. The only reason he’d returned to the island was to tour the estate before meeting with the Realtor. He hadn’t voluntarily signed up for his sister’s unexpected waltz down memory lane, but when Parker had gotten wind of his plan to sell Blue Key Island, she’d insisted on getting married there.

At least one of them had fond memories of the place.

“I guess I must have dozed off for a few minutes.” Meghan McBride’s voice had the kind of lilting cadence that sounded as if she were reciting poetry. It should have been annoying. But it wasn’t. It was…soothing.

Cade circled the flashlight on the wall until he spotted the switch, hidden beneath a stained baseball cap on a hook just above it. He’d avoided the boathouse since his arrival, but suddenly a hat brought back a whole lot of memories he didn’t have the energy or desire to sort through at the moment. Maybe never.

He flipped the light on and turned his attention back to Meghan. Her lips moved as she silently counted the number of edible cookies left in the package.

“Care to explain why you’re in the boathouse?” And why I didn’t have a clue you were arriving today?

“It started to rain the minute we docked. This was closer than the house.”

“Who brought you over?” Cade took a quick inventory of Meghan’s belongings—a small suitcase, a duffel bag and a camera case—and wondered where she’d stowed the rest of her things.

“Mr. Thatcher,” she murmured distractedly.

“Verne Thatcher?”

The incredulous note in the caretaker’s voice made Meghan lose count. She glanced up at him and felt the same jolt of stunned surprise when she’d caught her first glimpse of the house.

The man scowling at her didn’t look like a caretaker. Or a Bert.

When Bliss had mentioned the estate’s caretaker, Meghan’s imagination had immediately conjured up a middle-aged, scruffy-looking hermit in practical coveralls who puttered around the lonely estate, making sure the pipes didn’t freeze in the winter.

So much for her imagination.

This caretaker wasn’t middle-aged…or scruffy-looking. Unless a person considered the faint shadow that outlined his angular jaw scruffy. And Meghan decided, charitably, not to. Hair as dark and sleek as an otter’s pelt lay flat against his head, a testimony to the fact she hadn’t been the only one caught in the downpour earlier.

The pristine-white polo shirt and tan cargo pants he wore looked more suitable for an afternoon of sailing than for physical labor, but it was Friday. Maybe he had the weekends off.

“You said Thatcher brought you over?”

Meghan had been so distracted by the man’s looks she’d forgotten he’d asked her a question. And then their eyes met and she found herself distracted all over again. Given his coloring, his eyes should have been chocolate-brown. Or hazel. Not a startling shade of dark blue that reminded her of a summer sky right after sunset.

He arched a brow and Meghan’s face heated. “We met Mr. Thatcher at the café in Willoughby,” she said quickly.

“We?”

“My dad and I.” Meghan watched the cobalt eyes narrow and guessed the reason. He probably thought his peaceful island had come under siege. “We didn’t know where to leave my car, so Dad dropped me off until after the wedding.”

“Is the wedding ever going to be over?” he muttered, plowing his fingers through his hair as he stalked toward the door. Meghan assumed it was a hypothetical question. “You can go up to the house until I figure out where to put you. There’s a fire in the library.”

“What are you going to do?”

He threw an impatient look over his shoulder. “I lost…something. And I have to find it before it gets any later.”