Double Take. Leslie Kelly

of the year up to ten-thousand in June, July and August, didn’t quite equal the Big Easy during Mardi Gras.

      A strong gust of wind blew down from the thunderous storm clouds blanketing the sky—clouds which hadn’t yet released a torrent of rain, but had done a fine job whipping the massive lake into a trembling ocean. The old ferry rocked and rolled like a theme-park ride, and his stomach rocked and rolled along with it.

      “Oh, God, why did I ever agree to move to a place you can only get to by ferry?” she groaned, leaning over the railing.

      She leaned a bit too far, gasping and heaving, and he had a sudden vision of her tipping head-first into the choppy green wake. He didn’t know her from Adam, but he sure wasn’t about to watch her take a nose-dive into the deep. So he stepped close behind her, shielding her body with his own and wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her steady, braced on the deck. He dropped a free hand onto one of hers and squeezed, hoping she got the message that he was just trying to help and wasn’t some pervert going for an easy grope.

      Not that the woman wasn’t eminently touchable.

      He could feel shudders wracking her tall, slim form, even through her heavy raincoat. But she made no effort to pull away, and instead gripped his hand.

      “We’re going to capsize,” she groaned.

      “No, we aren’t.”

      “Yes, we are. We’re going to flip over and sink.”

      “Well, at least then we won’t feel sick anymore.”

      She glanced at him over her shoulder, long strands of wind-blown red hair whipping across her face. “You, too?”

      “Why do you think I’m out here?”

      “I figured it was so you could rescue me.”

      “Yeah, let’s go with that,” he said as the ferry bounced again and he let out a small groan of his own.

      She laughed suddenly, a light, musical peal of merriment that was at odds with the wild, wind-whipped day. Her whole face lit up when she laughed, and he noted the sparkle in her eyes, which were a dazzling shade of emerald.

      “Are you laughing at me?” he asked, torn between indignation and relief that she no longer looked like she was about to jump overboard.

      “Nope.” 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