Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Maggie Toussaint
Rough Waters
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
A word about the author...
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
This was getting more and more confusing. She started toward the door and her kids. “These flowers are for you, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“Rock.”
“Rock what?”
“My friends call me Rock.”
Friends? She’d just met this guy. She gestured to the open door. “I have to go. My kids are outside.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to hold you up.”
“No problem. We’re good.”
He followed her to the door. “The flowers are beautiful. You appear to have a talent for this business.”
Jeanie paused in the doorway and once more waved to Nathaniel in the van. He waved back, phone in hand, relief etched on his face.
“Thank you. Where are you from?” she asked distractedly, just to be polite.
“North Carolina, the Tar Heel State. Born and raised there.”
A man from North Carolina, who received flowers from a stranger in Alaska?
“Mossy Bog is exactly what I need right now,” he offered conversationally.
A distant warble caught her attention. Uh-oh. Sirens made her daughter cry. She flashed him a quick, professional smile, and edged onto the front porch.
“Glad to hear it. Gotta go.” The approaching siren couldn’t be ignored. A deep well of dread opened up in the pit of Jeannie’s stomach as the sound grew louder. Moments later, flashing blue lights strobed her van.
Jeanie came to a dead stop halfway down the front walk as she realized what was going on.
“Oh, no.”
Praise for Maggie Toussaint
Winner of
National Readers’ Choice Award
in Romantic Suspense
and
an EPIC eBooks Award Winner
for Romantic Suspense
Rough Waters
by
Maggie Toussaint
A Mossy Bog Book
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Rough Waters
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Maggie Toussaint
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2014
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-429-9
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-430-5
A Mossy Bog Book
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the nautical people in my life: my father and my sister Ginny.
Chapter 1
Jeanie Munro shifted the van into park and eyed Lytham House with mixed feelings. A shroud of Spanish moss curtained the rusty wrought iron fence, underscoring the neglected air of the old Victorian landmark. Built for a wayfaring sea captain and owned by leading families for generations, the prestigious home was now rented to a stranger.
No sign of activity in the yard or house. Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow moved. She peered around the town square to see if someone might be watching. Two churches and four houses bordered the square but not a single person came into view.
Stress.
Had to be. Nothing else explained her edginess this week. Unless it was all the cop shows she watched on late night TV. This was Mossy Bog, not New York or Los Angeles. Despite her best friends’ recent big city troubles in Mossy Bog, that kind of stuff never happened to her. She took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand.
Flower delivery.
“Mom?” Nathaniel’s voice warbled from the back seat. “You’re going in there?”
The fear in her four-year-old’s voice ate at her. A few days ago, she’d put the baby in the stroller and Nathaniel on his training wheels bike and taken them for a walk. They’d enjoyed the balmy outing until they reached Lytham House.
She reached back to pat his arm. “You’re safe in the locked van, and I won’t be but a minute delivering the flowers. You and Sable can keep each other company.”
“What if the dogs eat you up?” he asked.
Jeanie plastered on her “I’m brave” smile. “They won’t. If they were loose in the yard, they’d be barking at us. That’s their job, To let their owner know someone is here.”
“But they bark so loud. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
Sable, who had been watching her older brother with her usual wide-eyed admiration, began to cry as his face scrunched up. Jeanie reached over to Sable’s car seat to soothe her and then gave Nathaniel’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll be fine. It’s a bright sunny day, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I wanna hold the phone.”
Besides learning his address and phone number, Nathaniel knew how to dial 911. He had a knack for anything with buttons, like the remote and her phone. Such a little man already.
She handed her son her no-frills phone. “This isn’t a toy. You can’t call 911 unless something bad happens.”
He clutched the phone in both hands. “I’ll be careful.”
“I know you will, big guy. I appreciate you watching out for me.”
She ruffled his hair before she got out of the van. With the arrangement wedged against her hip, Jeanie opened the gate, latched it behind her, and strode toward the h
ouse. She knocked crisply on the weathered door, then supported the arrangement in both hands.
No response from inside.
She knocked again. “Anybody home? Mr. Mackenzie, I have a delivery for you.”
The door creaked open, slowly clearing the threshold. Jeanie stared straight ahead, her professional smile glued in place.
After a second, she adjusted her gaze from the arm sling in her line of vision to the buff guy holding the brass doorknob. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Pink scar on left cheek. Killer smile.
She thrust the flowers forward, ignoring the twin German shepherds flanking the man. “I’m Jeanie from The Muddy Rose. Welcome to Mossy Bog. These flowers are for you, Mr. Mackenzie.”
He frowned. “Flowers?”
Jeanie radiated professional sunshine. “Yep. They’re for you.ˮ
He stepped back from the door. “Would you set them on the dining room table for me, please?”
She hesitated a moment, taking in the dogs, then revisited his sling. “Oh. Okay. I don’t normally do that, but I’m always glad to help a customer in need.”
After casting a reassuring smile over her shoulder at her son, she scooted inside, all but ignoring the faded glory of the Oriental rugs and Miss Veronica’s impeccable period furniture. How could the bank rent Lytham House furnished? And to just anyone? These lovely pieces belonged in a museum. “I’ve always loved this table. You’ve got the prettiest place in town.”
“Old places like this have character. Roxie Harding over at Marshview Realty assured me this was the deal of the century.”
His two German shepherds flanked his side, tongues lolling. They didn’t look nearly so angry when they weren’t tearing around the yard at top speed barking their heads off.
“I’m sure she did. What brings you to the area?”
“I like being on the water.”
To look at his deeply tanned face, one might think he had the patented, laidback posture of a fisherman. But the sharp eyes following her every motion were a contradiction. Throw in the arm sling and pink scar on his cheek, and it seemed this guy lived on the edge. Soon as she left here, she’d pump her cop friend for information on James Mackenzie. Not to be nosy or anything. To be prepared. He could be a serial killer for all she knew.
“Who are they from?” he asked.
“Your sender wished to remain anonymous,” Jeanie said. “But there’s a card.”
He moved past her with a smooth and unexpected predatory grace for a man who had implied he couldn’t handle her delivery by himself and plucked the card from the flower arrangement.
“Enjoy your day?” He sent her an arch look. “Is this a joke?”
“No joke. I received the order through a wire service. The sender paid cash.”
“Where did the order originate?”
“Alaska.”
“I don’t know anyone in Alaska who would send me flowers.”
This was getting more and more confusing. She started toward the door and her kids. “These flowers are for you, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“Rock.”
“Rock what?”
“My friends call me Rock.”
Friends? She’d just met this guy. She gestured to the open door. “I have to go. My kids are outside.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to hold you up.”
“No problem. We’re good.”
He followed her to the door. “The flowers are beautiful. You appear to have a talent for this business.”
Jeanie paused in the doorway and once more waved to Nathaniel in the van. He waved back, phone in hand, relief etched on his face.
“Thank you. Where are you from?” she asked distractedly, just to be polite.
“North Carolina, the Tar Heel State. Born and raised there.”
A man from North Carolina, who received flowers from a stranger in Alaska?
“Mossy Bog is exactly what I need right now,” he offered conversationally.
A distant warble caught her attention. Uh-oh. Sirens made her daughter cry. She flashed him a quick, professional smile, and edged onto the front porch.
“Glad to hear it. Gotta go.” The approaching siren couldn’t be ignored. A deep well of dread opened up in the pit of Jeannie’s stomach as the sound grew louder. Moments later, flashing blue lights strobed her van.
Jeanie came to a dead stop halfway down the front walk as she realized what was going on.
“Oh, no.”
Chapter 2
Rock watched from the porch as Jeanie Munro’s face flamed to match the spikes of her hot pink hair. Ever since he’d opened his door to her, he’d worked hard to contain his questions. The florist had been on his radar screen as soon as he’d hit town, and he’d finally succeeded in meeting her.
“I’m sorry!” she called out as she hurried toward the van.
The sirens were so loud he had trouble thinking clearly. The dogs whined uneasily. “Nein,” Rock said to them, catching their eyes and letting them know with a hand gesture it was okay.
He studied the retreating florist again. A bit wiry, a bit scrappy, a bit determined to succeed, and a whole lot embarrassed. He signaled the dogs to stay and followed the woman down the front steps.
The sirens ceased, and his ears rang for a few moments. He glanced over at the officer emerging from a patrol car. His weapon was holstered, which eased Rock’s mind about the threat level.
“What’s going on?” Rock asked, drifting down into the yard.
“It’s my son,” the ruffled florist gushed as she opened the gate. “He’s showing off his phone skills. I said I would only be a minute. This is terrible.”
She looked absolutely stricken. Between the wail of the siren moments ago and the crying little girl in the delivery van, Rock could barely string two thoughts together. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so. He’s terrified of your dogs.”
“I can introduce him to the dogs and help him with his fear, if you like.”
A uniformed police officer approached them, serious eyes boring right into Rock. The city cop looked younger than Rock had ever felt. A parade of cars not so casually circled the town square in front of Lytham House. The townsfolk were taking notice.
“Everything all right here?” the officer asked. His name badge said Calucci.
“I’m sorry, Josh,” Jeanie said with a wry smile. “This is all a big misunderstanding. Nathaniel must have panicked.”
The cop smiled back, irritating Rock. He’d wanted more time with the florist. A public records search had proved she’d divorced Avery Munro a year ago. In the week Rock’d been in Mossy Bog, there’d been no sign of Munro.
Not a trace of the man who’d nearly killed him.
“He said you were trapped in the house,” the cop stated matter of factly. “That big snarling dogs were gobbling you up.”
Jeanie splayed her open palm on the window glass, and the little boy inside the van placed his palm against the inside. “Oh, dear. Too many fairy tales at bedtime. I’m sorry this happened. I will speak to Nathaniel about what constitutes an actual emergency.”
The cop grinned. “Dispatch said it was a kid calling in. Even though I figured it was a false alarm, I still had to treat it as a real emergency, Jeanie.”
Rock guessed her to be about five years younger than his thirty-five. She looked great for a mom of two. Good figure. Nice smile. It was the smile that worried him the most. Looked like Calucci was already falling for it.
“The kids didn’t come to the door with me because they’re afraid of Mr. Mackenzie’s dogs,” Jeanie said.
“We’re all friends here,” Rock said. “Jeanie and her kids are safe.”
For the moment, at least.
If she was collaborating with her ex-husband, all bets were off.
The cop took in Rock’s arm sling and scarred face. “How are you, Mr. Mackenzie?”
Rock stood taller, aware that cars had all but stopped in the square, their occupants peering at
the events unfolding as if they were high drama. An elderly neighbor across the square watched from his front porch, arms folded across his chest. “Fine.”
“Good. I still need to make sure there’s no trouble here.” Calucci nodded to the pair of German shepherds sitting inside Rock’s yard. “These the vicious dogs?”
“Those are my dogs. As you can see, they’re very obedient.”
“They weren’t well-behaved Sunday afternoon,” Jeanie countered. “We walked by on the sidewalk, and they ran up and down the fence line barking at us. Nathaniel’s had bad dreams about man-eating dogs ever since.”
Sunday afternoon. He’d gone to Savannah to stock up on ammo and to pick up a new fishing rig. Unsure of how long he’d be gone, he’d left the dogs in the yard.
“I’m sorry to have caused a problem. It won’t happen again.”
The cop puffed up. “We can’t have dogs scaring little kids.”
Especially not here in Mayberry. “My dogs wanted to play. You have my word this won’t happen again.”
“Call them,” Calucci said.
Rock patted his thigh, and both dogs padded forward to flank his flip-flops as he stood beside the delivery van. “Meet Castor and Pollox.”
“You named a dog Pollox?” Jeanie asked.
One minute her eyes seemed green, the next gold, the next brown. How’d she do that? “I didn’t name either dog. They’re retired police dogs from the Outer Banks.”
Calucci petted both animals. Rock relaxed when both Castor and Pollox sniffed the cop’s hand in greeting and acted like the well-behaved dogs they were.
“They seem friendly, and you’re fine,” Calucci said to Jeanie. “My work here is done. Tell Nathaniel he needs a new hobby. Calling 911 is serious business.”
Chapter 3
The tightness in Jeanie’s heart eased when Josh Calucci drove off in his city police cruiser and what seemed like half the cars in Mossy Bog moved on, too. She turned back to her latest delivery, to find he’d placed the dogs behind the gate. “I apologize for the trouble, Mr. Mackenzie. That wasn’t very neighborly of us.”
“Not a problem.” Mackenzie stood outside his gate and waved at her van. “Would you join me, Nathaniel? I’d like you to meet my dogs.”
Nathaniel’s face paled. Jeanie gentled her voice. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but the dogs seem very nice.”