Scandalous Mistress. Leslie Kelly

She lifted a slender hand and pointed. “I’m laughing with sheer relief because I see land ahead!”

      “Hate to break it to you, but that’s Little Boar, not Wild Boar.”

      “Close enough. I’m getting off.”

      “The ferry doesn’t stop there—it’s uninhabited.”

      “I’ll take my chances with the little boars, just tell the captain to pull over.”

      “There’s nowhere to dock.”

      “So I’ll jump overboard and swim for it.”

      “Have you forgotten my new boots?”

      “You’d really leap in after me?”

      “It’s in my job description.”

      “Are you a lifeguard?”

      Lately he’d been a jack-of-all-trades—from cat-rescuer, to crossing guard, to 911 operator—as well as Chief of Police, his official title. And he didn’t imagine lifeguarding would be out of the question this summer when Wild Boar filled up with tourists anxious to test the sometimes rough waters of this very great lake.

      “Let’s just say I’m your self-appointed lifeguard right now. If you jump, I jump.”

      She took a few deep breaths, letting his words calm her, as he’d wanted them to. Finally, she nodded and began to straighten. The chop had died down, at least momentarily, and the planking seemed steadier beneath his feet. At least, it did as long as he didn’t think about how easily his arm encircled her slim waist and how her long legs felt when practically entwined with his. And if he dwelled on the way her curvy ass was brushing against his groin, he was a total goner. The dizziness would have nothing to do with the waves and everything to do with a hot rush of lust that threatened to drown him. As a matter of fact, the tide was lifting things up already.

      Mike immediately let her go and stepped away, willing himself back into she’s-a-stranger mode and out of the damn-she’s-hot one.

      “Do you think the water’s calming down now?” she asked, pushing her tangled hair away from her face with a shaking hand.

      “Seems like it.”

      “God, I hate being sick like that.”

      “Ditto.”

      She eyed him. “It’s not just the nausea, it’s the complete lack of control over it. I know when I step off this boat, it’ll go away—mostly. And it infuriates me that I can’t make it go away right now.”

      He grinned. “If you can come up with a method to think away nausea, you’ll be rich.”

      She nibbled her lip and looked down, crossing her arms and shivering lightly. Still not looking at him, she murmured, “Maybe we’ll have smooth sailing the rest of the way?”

      “Absolutely.”

      Nope. This was more like the eye of the hurricane. Experience told him they were merely enjoying a moment of respite before they hit the big swells that encircled Wild Boar. The island currents made travel in the winter and early spring—which was now—dangerous and nausea-inducing. But he didn’t tell her that.

      “I can’t believe we’re the only ones out here on deck. How could anybody not be seasick after that?”

      He gestured toward the car-park section of the ferry, empty but for a shiny yellow Prius, which he assumed was hers. Good luck finding a charging station on Wild Boar. He’d left his own SUV at the docks, as his errand to the mainland to deliver some paperwork to the nearest county sheriff’s station had been a quick one. It had been easier to just have one of the county guys pick him up and drop him back off than deal with the hassle of taking his vehicle with him.

      “We’re the only customers on board. The rest are crew and they’re used to it. This time of year I doubt they get more than one or two people a trip.”

      “What? I thought we were heading to the most happening island this side of Maui.”

      “Who told you that?” he asked with a grin. “Somebody who desperately needs you to take over their job for a while?”

      She lifted a brow, studying him, as if hearing the certainty in his voice. That could be because he was now certain of who this beautiful, red-haired stranger was, and why she was heading to a remote, sparsely-populated island on this wickedly unpleasant day. “Is Monday your first day at the school?”

      Her eyes popped; she appeared shocked he’d hit the nail on its proverbial head.

      “You are the new teacher, aren’t you?” he asked, even though he knew he was right. The island had been agog all week about some mainlander coming to teach the science classes at the island’s one and only school, which catered to all five-hundred or so students, from kindergarten through twelfth grade.

      “Sub,” she clarified. “I’m only substituting for the rest of the semester for my old friend who’s the regular teacher.”

      Right. He hadn’t met her yet, but of course he’d heard all about Mrs. Parker, the science teacher. The woman’s baby had been born ten weeks premature and was still in an ICU unit on the mainland. That’s why there’d been a sudden need for a substitute, and those weren’t easy to come by on Wild Boar. Especially not teachers qualified to teach every science class in the school, from first grade why-do-caterpillars-turn-into-butterflies clear through advanced chemistry. Why this one wasn’t already tied up in a classroom three-quarters of the way through the current school year, he couldn’t say, but he had to admit he was interested in learning more about her.

      “How did you know who I was?”

      “There’s been lots of concern for your friend and her new baby. Concern equals talk on Wild Boar.”

      “Callie’s baby is doing well,” the woman said with a gentle smile that softened her pale, pinched expression. “Little Will’s got a lot of growing to do, and his lungs aren’t fully developed, but the doctors think he’s out of the woods.”

      “I’m glad to hear it.”

      She nodded. “Me, too. He’s deeply loved and was very much wanted.” She glanced away. “Unlike a lot of children.”

      He noted the change of tone and wondered at it. But she didn’t give him a chance to wonder long.

      “Still, how did you know I was the new teacher?”

      “It’s pretty rare for newcomers to move out to the island, except for the summer tourist folks, and it’s too early for them. Plus, everybody’s talking about the cottage behind the old Wymer place being rented out for the next couple of months.”

      He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the cottage was ancient, rickety, drafty and probably full of spiders. Hopefully Mrs. Wymer had hired somebody to clean it up, since the fragile-looking elderly woman certainly couldn’t do it herself.

      The stranger’s pale face became a shade closer to chalky. “Good grief, is the whole island a gossip mill?”

      “Yeah, and that thing’s been grinding like crazy with all the new arrivals—that’d be you and me.”

      She glanced down, one of her slim hands fisting as she pressed it into her stomach, as if she felt nauseous. Well, he supposed that was understandable.

      “You’re a newcomer, too?” she finally asked, after she’d straightened her back and lifted her chin.

      “Yes, ma’am.” He extended a hand. “I’m Mike.”

      “Lindsey.” She took his hand and shook. Hers was a little clammy and very cold, since she’d been gripping the damp metal railing.

      He reached into the pockets of his bulky windbreaker and pulled out his utility gloves, shoving them toward her. “Here. Your fingers are icicles.”

      She