The bride screamed. It was a shrill, piercing sound filled with shock and horror.

The wedding guests swiveled in their seats to stare at the bride, who’d been about to start her ceremonial walk to the flower-covered alter. The singer, a young Fijian woman who was standing near the celebrant, had been about to launch into a song. Now she was frozen, her mouth hanging open.

Underneath the arch, where he’d been waiting for his bride, the groom was frozen too. He didn’t run to see what was wrong with the woman, and with that kind of attitude Dalton gave their marriage a year at best.

Rosa gasped and smacked his arm. “Quick. Handkerchief.”

He frowned at her. “What?”

She thrust her hand into his pocket, and he jerked back in his seat. What the—? But before he could react, she’d tugged his handkerchief out. Then she leaped from her seat to race to the bride. It was the fastest Dalton had ever seen anyone move over sand in high heels.

Dalton glanced at his sister, who was sitting on his other side, but she was too busy craning her neck toward whatever drama was playing out to pay him any attention.

Rosa and the bride spoke quickly, then the bride crouched, her ridiculous white gown billowing over the sand, and Rosa used Dalton’s handkerchief to wipe something white off the woman’s neck and the exposed top of one of her breasts.

“That was bad luck,” said Tiny in her slow speech.

A seagull cawed, and Dalton finally realized what must have happened. “Actually, having a bird poop on you is supposed to be good luck,” he said. “Probably doubly so on your wedding day. We should add it to the schedule for every wedding we do.”

Tiny elbowed him, her lips pressed together, obviously holding in a laugh. They were sitting behind all the guests, at the back of the ceremony, but with everyone turned around, that meant they were in full view.

Rosa finished wiping guano off the bride, and presumably gave her a few comforting words, because she managed a smile.

The singer started her song, which turned out to be ‘Hallelujah’, and the bride made it to the aisle without any more splatter-bombs falling. Hallelujah, indeed. All the guests stood, and Dalton helped Tiny to her feet. Rosa moved to stand beside him and offered his handkerchief back.

“You keep it,” he murmured.

“You don’t want me to put it back where I found it?”

When he glanced at her, surprised, she was staring at the bride as though the ceremony commanded her whole attention. But one dimple had appeared in her cheek and her eyes were sparkling.

He shook his head, smiling to himself. Last night, he’d been so disappointed when he’d realized she didn’t agree with him, he’d let her go. What the hell had he been thinking? Since seeing her in the trees this morning, all he could think about was kissing her again. Especially when she looked so damn beautiful in a short, green dress that brought out the color of her eyes.

He spent the next little while imagining what she might be wearing under that dress, and thankfully the rest of the wedding ceremony didn’t involve any more piercing screams. Afterwards, the guests moved to the cocktail bar and tables Rosa had set up further down the beach, on the sand. Rosa bustled away and Tiny insisted on staying where she was to watch the sun set over the water, so Dalton got up to stretch his legs.

“I’ll be back soon,” he told Tiny.

“Go,” his sister said. “I’m fine.”

Dalton tried to skirt the wedding party, but was stopped by one of the guests who asked to borrow the yacht. While he talked to the man, he watched Rosa from the corner of his eye.

Her dress was short enough to show off the long, sculptured muscles of her calves and thighs. She’d slipped off her high heels and was carrying them as she talked earnestly to the waiter she’d hired from the mainland, pointing out where she wanted something placed on a table. Her unruly hair was slicked back, with just a few strands brushed forward to frame her face. Her expression was animated as she gestured. Watching her made him smile. The slightness of her frame gave no hint of the fire inside her.

When he’d agreed to the guest’s request, and the man had gone back to join the party, Dalton walked a little further along the beach to pick up the piece of driftwood he’d spotted. Usually he carved sandalwood, but some pieces of wood had a personality to them, and this one was nicely rounded, very fat on one end and tapering down to a soft point at the other. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the flaws and knots in the wood. Its rawness made it beautiful, and he almost put it back on the sand. But if he carved carefully, he wouldn’t ruin the beauty of the wood.

Now he had his prize, it was time to get back to Tiny. Walking back past the wedding party, he saw Rosa on her own, probably catching her breath for a moment before moving onto the next task. He angled toward her, and she smiled as he approached.

“Cleaning up the beach?” she asked, nodding at the driftwood in his hand.

“I haven’t carved a piece of driftwood in years. And this is a nice piece, don’t you think?”

“It’s beautiful.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something about how beautiful she was. Instead, he said, “You did a good job with the wedding. Well done.”

She looked pleased. “Tiny enjoyed it? She’s okay?”

“Watching the sunset. I’m about to take her back to the house.”

“Need help?”

Tiny was particularly unsteady over sand, but taking it slow had got her safely to the wedding. “You’re busy,” he said. “We’ll be fine. And by the way, I’ve lent the yacht to one of our guests tomorrow. He only wants to take it out for the day, so we can go sailing together on Monday.” It would be good timing for a morning on the water. It would leave him time to take Crusoe to the shelter on Tuesday, before Smythe arrived on Wednesday.

Rosa’s brow creased. “What?”

“Monday’s your day off, and you said you wanted to go sailing.”

“Oh. Yes. That’s right.”

So, they were still on. Good. He’d thought last night’s argument might have changed her mind.

“Would you organize some sandwiches for the guest to take out on the boat with him tomorrow?” Dalton looked around for Nate, and spotted him in front of the blackboard that held the seating plan for the dinner. He was talking to a woman with long red hair. “That’s him over there.” Dalton pointed. “His name’s Nate.”

The woman turned so Dalton could see her face. She and Nate were clearly arguing. The woman’s eyes flashed and she gestured angrily.

“The woman he’s talking to is Suzie, the bride’s sister.” Rosa shot him an amused sideways glance. “Those two make a cute couple, don’t they? They didn’t arrive together, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they leave together.”

“What?” He frowned at the pair. “Are you seeing the same thing I am? She looks like she wants to punch him.”

“Check the body language. See the way he’s leaning his head toward her. And that hip she’s pushing out? Their sexual attraction couldn’t be more obvious.”

He snorted. “I don’t see it.”

“Just because they don’t agree with each other, doesn’t mean they aren’t attracted to each other.” Rosa’s gaze was on him now, not the couple under discussion. “Maybe he’s wrong about something really important, and refuses to see it.”

“Or she could be the one who’s wrong.” He matched her gaze. “She could be refusing to accept something that needs to happen.”

“Or perhaps he should accept that he can’t control people and stop making everyone do what he wants.”

He shook his head, drawn into the argument in spite of himself. “I’m not trying to control Tiny, I’m trying to save her. There’s a big difference.”

Rosa put her fisted hands on her hips. “I thought we were talking about Nate and Suzie?”

“We are,” he said, playing along. “And it’s obvious that Suzie’s putting her health at risk by refusing to listen to reason.”

She let out a reluctant-sounding laugh. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when it’s something this important.” But he softened the harshness of his words with a quirk of his lips. Last night’s argument had spun out of control. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her again.

“Well,” she said, shaking her head. “Let’s hope Nate and Suzie manage to agree on something.”

“Rosa…” He hesitated, wanting to tell her that it didn’t matter if they didn’t agree about Tiny. He wanted her so badly, it was starting to override everything, including common sense. The smart thing would be to keep his distance. Tiny’s recovery was more than enough for him to deal with. But he was sick of being smart. He wanted to fist his hand in her hair and pull her against him. To feel her body pressed against his.

“Yes?” she said, glancing back to the wedding party. “I’d better get back. It’s almost time for the speeches.”

He nodded, fighting for control. After a moment, he said the other thing he’d been thinking about. “I’m going to make sure you can stay here, after I sell the place. If you want to.”

“What?”

“I’ll make it a condition of the sale that the new owner keeps you on, at least for the first few months. Then it’ll be up to you to make yourself indispensable.”

Her green eyes were wide. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you can’t go back to Sydney. Not if it’s dangerous, if that stalker you were telling me about is there waiting for you.”

Her chin lifted. “Thank you. That’s nice of you. But I can look after myself and I don’t like taking charity.”

He gave a rueful smile. “I should have known you’d see it that way. But Rosa, if you won’t accept that I need to keep Tiny safe, at least let me do this one thing for you. It’ll make me feel better about leaving you here.”

She glanced at the wedding party again. “They’re getting ready for the speeches now, so I really have to go. Let’s talk about this later, okay?”

He watched her hips sway as she left, her stride confident and assured. Every movement she made had a conviction to it, a sense of purpose he couldn’t help but admire. She checked the food, directed the waiters, made sure the guest’s glasses were being kept full, and all of it she did with a smile. Even when the guests were all seated and the speeches had started, she moved unobtrusively around the edges of the gathering, looking for problems, and anticipating the next thing that might be needed. At least he didn’t have to worry about whether Smythe would want to keep her on. Once he saw her in action, he’d be a fool not to.

When the sun had finally disappeared, Dalton took Tiny home, and made sure she had everything she wanted. Then he took the piece of driftwood to his office. When he slipped inside, he saw Crusoe had ignored the bed of blankets Dalton had left in the corner for him, and was hiding under the couch, watching him warily. All the food had been eaten, so Crusoe had obviously been as hungry as he’d looked.

“Good boy,” murmured Dalton, squatting down. “Come on, boy. You want a pat? I’ll get you some more food soon, but you should come and get your ears scratched. You’ll like it once you try it.”

Crusoe stared at him unconvinced, ignoring Dalton’s outstretched hand.

“Stubborn, aren’t you, boy?” said Dalton after a while. “That’s okay. I happen to know a couple of others who won’t listen to reason. We should rename this place Ornery Island. We’re all fixed in our way of thinking here.”

He pulled his chisels out of his desk drawer and moved to sit on his couch, choosing the other end from where Crusoe was hiding so he didn’t freak the cat out. Then he studied the driftwood he’d picked up. In some ways, carving in such soft wood could be tricky. It was easy to cut too deep, or carve too much away. The design would have to be something that suited the wild nature of the wood. It wouldn’t be smooth and perfect, like his sandalwood carvings were. But he could already see the shape the wood wanted to be, and if he could pull it off, his carving would perfectly suit the wildness of the material.

He’d been working on the wood long enough that his hands were stiff, when he felt a warm, furry body brush against one leg. He glanced down and smiled. “Hey, boy. I was wondering if you’d come out and see what I was doing. That’s a good sign.” He kept carving, resisting the urge to bend down and stroke Crusoe. That would only spook him. Besides, the shape of his carving was starting to emerge from the wood. The softness of the driftwood meant he was able to shape it much faster than normal, and the carving was becoming as beautiful as he’d hoped.

By the time he’d finished, Crusoe had jumped up onto the back of the couch and was watching him intently. The cat was just close enough for Dalton to reach out slowly and scratch behind his ears.

“You’re a good boy,” Dalton said softly. “I knew you’d see sense. Now all I need is for Tiny and Rosa to do the same. Smythe arrives in four days, and I need Rosa to help show him around and convince him to buy this place, and Tiny to sign the contract. You think I can do it?” Crusoe let out a soft purr and Dalton blinked, surprised. Then he grinned, rubbing the cat’s neck to see if he could get him to creep a little closer. “So do I,” he murmured.