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What was he doing calling on her mother? And if Sylvia had seen him half an hour ago then that meant Jenna must have missed him by minutes.
Scott Rhodes?
She remembered the summer she’d first seen him. He’d been stripped to the waist and across the powerful bulk of his shoulders she’d seen the unmistakable mark of a tattoo. That tattoo had fascinated her. Her mother wouldn’t even allow her to have her ears pierced.
Scott didn’t seem to care what other people thought and that, to Jenna, had been the coolest thing of all.
She was aware that she cared far too much. She was a people pleaser, but in a small island community that ran on goodwill, she didn’t know how to be any other way.
Scott Rhodes, on the other hand, answered to no one but himself and she envied that. Even looking at him made her feel as if she was doing something she shouldn’t, as if by stepping into his space you made a statement about yourself and who you were. Danger by association. She expected to feel her mother’s hand close over her shoulder any moment.
Not that she’d been that interested. She was in love with Greg. Greg, who she knew so well he almost seemed like an extension of her. Greg, who smiled almost all the time.
Scott Rhodes rarely smiled. It was as if he and life were on opposing sides.
She’d been studying his muscles and deeply tanned chest with rapt attention when he glanced up and caught her looking. There was no smile, no wink, no suggestive gaze. Nothing. His face was inscrutable.
Scott worked at the boatyard and did the occasional carpentry job for people. He slept on his boat, anchored offshore, as if ready to sail away at a moment’s notice.
Why would Scott Rhodes be visiting her mother?
Hi, Mom, I hear you had the devil on your doorstep...
Aware that Sylvia was waiting for a response, Jenna shrugged. “My mother knows everyone. And she still plays a role in the yachting community. Scott knows boats.”
Sylvia nodded. “That’s probably it.” It was obvious that she didn’t think that was the reason at all, and neither did Jenna.
It nagged at her as she drove the short distance home, enjoying the last of the weak daylight.
The cottage she shared with Greg between Chilmark and the fishing village of Menemsha had a view of the sea from the upstairs windows and a little garden that frothed with blooms in the summer months.
It was, in her opinion, the perfect place to raise a family.
Of course, she didn’t have a family to raise.
Maybe they ought to get a dog.
She pushed that thought aside, along with all the questions she had about Scott Rhodes, and parked her car.
In the summer this part of the island teemed with tourists, but in the winter months you were more likely to see eiders congregating near the jetties, riding the current and sheltering behind fishing boats. The sky was cold and threatening and the wind managed to find any gaps in clothing.
She loved the place whatever the season, whether she was wrapped up in layers in the winter, or eating a warm lobster roll on the beach in the summer watching the sun go down.
Today there was no sun.
Jenna fumbled her way into the house, grateful for the warmth.
She lit the wood-burning stove in the living room, unpacked the shopping and made a casserole. Beef was Greg’s favorite, but she’d read somewhere that red meat reduced fertility, so she used chicken.
While the casserole simmered in the oven, she chopped vegetables.
Then she tidied the cottage, took a shower and changed into a wool dress she’d bought to wear at Christmas two years before. It had looked good on her then. Now, it clung in places it wasn’t supposed to cling. She picked up one of the magazines she’d bought and stared gloomily at the slim, toned blonde dressed in leggings and a crop top.
“You are so airbrushed.” She flung the magazi
ne to one side and picked up the other one.
This one recommended a diet of raw food interspersed with long periods of fasting.
