LILY’S LIFE LESSON #3
Karma can be a real motherducker.
Lily pedaled the giant tricycle faster in what she hoped was the direction of the Remington Resort just as the first big drops of rain pelted her face.
So what if no one had shown up at the ferry terminal to pick her up. The cross-country move was her way of taking control of her life. Lily Barns could find her own way. She would make her own destiny.
The rain fell harder, and she looked up at the growling thunderclouds.
She may have overcommitted.
Thunder crashed through the blackening sky so loud it shook the ground. She jumped and jerked the handlebars to one side. Her luggage tumbled off the back. The bungee cord Ms. McGill had loaned Lily at the ferry crossing was threaded through the suitcase handles and secured to the basket between the back wheels, so it dragged the bags along behind her.
Thump, thump, thump.
She kept pedaling but glanced over her shoulder at the suitcases. One problem solved. They wouldn’t look like expensive designer luggage by the time she got to the Remington.
The road curved around a pond, a row of cedars separating the flinty water from the pavement. She thanked the Baby Jesus when a fork appeared up ahead.
Lily doubled down and pedaled harder.
Just as the sky opened up completely and dumped on her.
And not one vehicle had come along since she’d left the ferry crossing. Where was she?
The cold rain soaked through to her skin. She shivered and squinted against the heavy water shed. The purplish hue of dusk was settling over the landscape, so she set her sights on that fork and pedaled like her life depended on it. In a way, it did. The Remington shouldn’t be much farther, and that’s where her new life waited. She was almost home free.
Cheep.
Lily’s brows pulled together, and she tried to listen above her chattering teeth and thumping luggage.
Cheep, cheep, cheep.
When she glanced over her shoulder to see where the noise came from, she slammed the pedals in reverse. The trike slid sideways, tilted, and sent Lily tumbling ass over elbow into the soggy ditch.
Cheep.
Lily sat up, pushed her sopping hair out of her face, and stared at the brood of baby ducklings that followed her. Small, brown, and fuzzy, they couldn’t have been more than a few days old.
Cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep!
They scurried closer, and Lily counted them. Ten little motherless ducklings.
Cheep, cheep. They waddled to her, trying to snuggle into her leg for warmth.
“Get in line. I’m cold and alone too.” She wrapped shivering arms around herself and took stock of her situation. Maybe New Orleans wasn’t so bad after all. A new hair color to go with her new name—maybe a little plastic surgery to change her looks so the press and her father’s enemies wouldn’t recognize her—and she’d be golden.
The weather certainly wasn’t any worse on the Gulf Coast. Just hotter. And she’d swear the mosquitos in Louisiana had teeth.
Lily mustered her courage as the rain kept falling. No, she was staying right there in Angel Fire Falls. This was the only job she’d ever landed on her own. The great job offer she’d gotten in the French Quarter was because of her father’s connections. So she’d worked long hours and holidays with no complaint to be worthy of the position. With a father who’d siphoned off millions from FEMA and from investors who’d trusted him to rebuild the Gulf Coast after the last hurricane, she’d likely never get another job anywhere in that region. Stealing people’s money and their dreams tended to make them see you as an employment risk, and Lily was guilty by association. So she wasn’t giving up on the job at the Remington until she gave it her best shot.
Plus, it was the only prospect that hadn’t required a thorough background check that would’ve revealed her true identity. Not to mention her father’s transgressions.
More thunder growled, and the rain showed no sign of letting up.
Neither did the ducklings.
Cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep.
“All right, all right.” Lily shook her head. “So demanding.” She gently moved the ducklings aside and stood. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” She pointed to the trike. “I’m going to keep riding that thing to the resort, and you’re going to go back to the pond where you belong. Hopefully, your mom’s okay, and she’ll be back soon. Maybe she’s getting a pedi or getting her feathers done.”
Lily snorted. Because hell, it was either laugh or cry.
She was soaking wet and riding a giant tricycle, for God’s sake. That was going to make a spectacular first impression on her new boss. She wasn’t sure how long her probationary period would last, but she couldn’t very well show up with a brood of baby ducks in tow on top of everything else. Lily straightened the big trike and swung a leg over. They’d just have to fend for themselves.
She pushed off and pedaled toward the fork, her luggage scraping along the road.
Cheep, cheep . . . cheep, cheep.
Lily’s feet stopped pedaling, and her eyes slid shut.
Leaving those fuzzy little innocent things behind didn’t seem right. It made her feel . . . well . . . like a big fat motherducker.
She drew in a breath that said I surrender and got off the trike. The ducklings all but stampeded her, gathering at her feet. Hands on her hips, she stared down at the chirping birds as the rain bit into her skin.
“Here’s the deal”—Lily wagged a finger at the ducklings—“I’ll take you with me, but you have to stay out of trouble once we get there.” She stepped around the ducks and stooped over her luggage. The tiny birds followed her. “Lucky for you, I volunteered for a wildlife rescue after the last oil spill, so I know a thing or two about taking care of your kind.” Which was how she knew ducklings bonded with the first living thing they saw after hatching, and she must be it.
She huffed as she unzipped her luggage and grabbed an armful of clothing to make a nest, most of which was lingerie.
Where was Mabel McGill’s giant nest of hair when Lily needed it?
She layered the basket with a wool sweater, then fluffed the soft undergarments into a cozy home for her new wards.
Narrowing her eyes at the ducks, she said, “Happy now? My unmentionables are soaked.”
At least her sexy, silky lingerie would finally be put to good use, since it had been wasted on Andrew.
Cheep, cheep.
“Okay, hop in.” She lifted each one of them into the basket with no idea how she was going to explain this to her new boss.
Maybe she could find a place to stash the ducklings and the trike before she reported for work. Her own cottage on the resort grounds was part of the agreement, so she could move them in with her later that evening after her employer gave her a key.
If she was still employed by then.
No one had bothered to pick her up, and now she was showing up unannounced. On a tricycle, in the middle of a storm, carting a flock of birds.
Karma. Karma was catching up with her for lying to her mother. Lying about her name. Lying on her résumé. Her pants would probably detonate into a mushroom cloud if she weren’t in the middle of a storm with raindrops the size of saucers and no shelter in sight.
If she did still have a job at the Remington Resort, her first priority would be to develop a method of communicating with new arrivals. If the management forgot their guests the way they’d forgotten Lily, no wonder the place was growing stagnant—as Mr. Remington had put it.
A bolt of lightning cracked open the dark sky, and Lily jumped.
She would not give up. She wouldn’t.
Because of her father and her ex, she’d weathered worse than a thunderstorm. Been stalked by worse than a few harmless ducks. Had to explain worse to her employer than soaking wet clothes and her three-wheeled means of transportation. There was nothing left in her past to return to. Her only option was to keep pedaling forward. Take her chances with the Remington and see what happened.
And didn’t that just suck like a motherducker?
Trace’s Jeep splashed down the narrow road as he sped toward the ferry crossing, hoping to find . . .
Hell, he didn’t know what he was hoping to find.
Other than a woman on a tricycle.
He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t mentioned the trike to his family. Maybe it was because he was thrown by Ms. McGill’s appealing description of the new employee. Maybe it was because the Remingtons were at fault for leaving her stranded. Either way, a sense of protectiveness welled up in him once he found out she’d had the backbone to brave the storm on a trike instead of calling for help.
That was either mettle or madness, and for some reason, Trace wanted to see which before sharing details with his family.
The rain came down harder, so he flipped the wiper switch to high. The blades squeaked back and forth across the windshield as he rounded a densely wooded curve.
The image of a woman pedaling a huge trike like she was a NASCAR driver came into view, the blue-and-yellow flag on the back flapping wildly in the wind. Definitely not something he saw every day. It would’ve been funny except for the look of sheer hell-bent determination on her face.
She waved both hands in the air as though she was afraid he wouldn’t stop.
He slowed the Jeep and pulled to the shoulder of the road opposite her. He slid from the truck and jogged across the asphalt.
She fanned long slender fingers over her chest. “You’re the first vehicle to pass me on the road,” she said through chattering teeth. “I was beginning to think the island was deserted.”
Mabel McGill had described Ms. Barns as young, pretty, and spunky.
She was three for three.
“People stay holed up at home during a storm like this.” He pulled off his jacket and handed it to her. “Put this on. I’m Trace Remington.”
Something in her big brown eyes flashed. “You’re my new boss?”
He could swear her teeth stopped chattering and started clenching.
He wasn’t sure how to answer her question. Technically, his father was her boss, but Dad had insisted on signing over part ownership when Trace returned to the island for good. So a shrug was Trace’s noncommittal way of responding without really giving Lily a straight answer. The parenting books called it deflecting. “My dad, Lawrence, hired you. Ms. McGill called from the ferry terminal. I figured you could use some help.”
Ms. Barns gave him a blank stare, as though he must have the IQ of a rock. “Um, no.” She waved a hand over two raggedy suitcases that were bungeed to the back of the trike. “I’ve totally got this.”
Trace rubbed his aching throat and glanced over the luggage, which had a designer label but was in Goodwill condition. “Clearly.”
She didn’t break eye contact with him as she got off the trike and stood to face him.
Trace couldn’t help it. He let his gaze slide over her because he was still stoked from Sexy Airport Girl’s sensual moan. His stare traveled back up and snagged on Ms. Barns’s dark-brown hair. There seemed to be a surplus of hot brunettes in his path today.
At most, Ms. Barns was a buck ten soaking wet. And oh yeah, she was definitely soaking wet. Strands of dark hair clung to her face and neck. Her muddy jeans and saturated shirt did some clinging too, and Trace swallowed hard because a) her shirt was white, and b) the spring storm had caused the temperature to drop lower than normal.
She either wasn’t wearing a bra or wasn’t wearing a very good bra, because her full breasts greeted him with much more enthusiasm than her expression, which had turned dark as the sky. She eyed him like she didn’t trust him any more than she trusted the weather. He held the jacket out and returned her leveled stare until she slowly reached for it.
“Tell you what,” Trace said. “Why don’t you let me help . . . even though you obviously don’t need it.” He took a few strides toward her bags. “And I’ll owe you one for humoring me.” He stepped around to the back of the trike.
Trace’s lips parted as he stared down at the fuzzy ducks. He couldn’t make this stuff up if he tried. “You brought your own ducks. How efficient,” he smarted off. Because every hospitality manager should come equipped with her own set of ducks. Who knew when a good duck or two might come in handy?
“I found them . . . or they found me.” She wiped the rain from her creamy cheeks. “They must’ve lost their mother.”
Trace scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw.
“I’d like to bring them with us.” She nibbled her bottom lip like she was nervous. “Just until I find someone to take care of them.”
Trace unhooked the bungee cord and picked up the other suitcase. The last thing he needed was cute animals at the resort. Ben might get attached, but now wasn’t the time to discuss the problems that would cause. Not with raindrops the size of golf balls pelting them. “Put ’em in the back seat. I’ll get the rest.” He loaded the bulging bag into the rear of the Jeep, while she transferred the ducklings to the floorboard behind the passenger seat. The trike wouldn’t fit. He’d have to pick it up later when the weather cleared. He scooped up the clothes from the basket and turned to get in the truck.
“What are you doing?” She was in his path and glared at the wad of clothes in his hands.
“Getting your things.” His stare followed hers to the fistful of panties in one of his hands to the purple lacy bra in the other.
Holy shit.
And one of the panties was a black thong.
Kill him now because not even the cold rain could cool the slow burn seeping to his core. His brothers might be right. If Trace was getting turned on by a few handfuls of wet lingerie, it had probably been way too long since he’d been naked with a woman.
His eye twitched. Now that he’d put the words wet and lingerie together in the same sentence, it was doing nothing to help the ache going on south of the border.
The sharp glint in her deep chocolaty eyes said she was irritated. The hard line of her perfectly shaped mouth said she was used to difficult situations. Only the sexy pink blush on her cheeks gave away the hint of vulnerability lurking beneath the surface.
She grabbed the lingerie from him, fumbled with it, and dropped the thong and the bra. A soft curse slipped through her ample lips, and the color on her cheeks deepened.
He stooped to pick it up, let the lacy purple number dangle from a finger, and gave her an innocent look. “I can put this in your suitcase if you’d like.”
She snatched it away. “I can manage on my own, thanks.”
He held out the thong. “I have no doubt you can.” The corners of Trace’s mouth hurt from suppressing a grin. “But thanks for letting me help anyway.”
With no trust whatsoever in her eyes, she gave him a pasty smile. And Trace couldn’t help but think how much her itty-bitty undies didn’t match the size of her determination.