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She didn't wait for him to answer. Instead she went back to pounding nails and for the most part ignoring him. What is her deal, Jake wondered as he began working. It was obvious that she didn't think much of him. It wasn't a situation he ran into very often. Most people liked him, only occasionally did he come in contact with a wise ass who resented him for who he was -- or at least who they thought he was. Thanks to the Sherbrooke name and the media, most of the country thought they knew him. The media liked to portray him as a carefree playboy who never thought of anyone but himself. He let everyone believe it didn't bother him, even his family. But he resented it.
Forget about it. Everyone's under a lot of stress. That's all it is. With thoughts of Captain O'Brien pushed from his mind, he focused on pounding nails into plywood. He'd done the exact same thing on numerous occasions since starting the Falmouth Foundation, though the media always failed to include that bit in their stories about him. In fact, the media almost never mentioned the foundation when they did a piece on him. And when they did, it was as a side note. That didn’t surprise him; the American public preferred to hear about which actress he'd taken to the new movie premier or which model he'd taken to dinner.
Jake pounded the last nail into the wood with more force than necessary at the thought of the media vultures that seemed to shadow his every move. “All done with this one,” he said turning to look at the woman next to him. “Anymore?”
Captain O'Brien put the final nail in the board covering her window then turned to face him before her eyes looked over at the plywood he'd hung. As he watched she ran her gaze over his work and Jake guessed that she expected it to fall at any minute.
“No. All set here. Thanks for the help.”
“Where to next?” He saw no reason to stop working now.
For a minute she stood eyeing him, her lips pressed tightly together. “I need to get back to treating injuries but you can take your pick. The Larsons across the street need help or you can check down the street.”
Jake looked across the street to where a man wielding a chainsaw worked by himself. It looked like as good a place as any to help. “Across the street it is.”
He felt the doctor's eyes on his back as he crossed the front lawn to the edge of the street, but he ignored it. Too much work remained for him to worry about one person's opinion of him.
As Jake approached, a burly man with a long light-brown beard that reminded Jake of a younger version of Santa, killed the engine on his chainsaw.
“Need some help over here?” Jake stopped in front of the dismembered tree trunk.
The other man's eyes narrowed for a moment as he studied Jake and he knew the second the younger version of Santa recognized him. The man's eyes grew wide and his eyebrows shot up.
“Aren't you the President's son?”
“Please call me Jake.” Jake extended his free hand. “I'm here with the Falmouth Foundation. What can I help with?”
“Phil Larson,” the other man said accepting Jake's hand. “I could use some help covering up this glass slider. Damn tree went right through. If I don't get it covered today my wife won't sleep in the house.”
“Let’s get to it then.”
Chapter 2
Charlie took the last bite of the strawberry cereal bar she'd snagged from the pantry and hightailed it out of the kitchen before her mom could rope her into helping cook dinner. The bed and breakfast had no paying guests so her mom and brother had opened its doors to anyone who needed a place to stay. Although they still didn’t have electricity back they did have a generator, which meant hot meals and running water.
While she was proud that her family made such a gesture, she had no plans of helping in her mom's well-ordered kitchen. Cooking wasn't one of her skills. If a meal required much more than putting it on a tray in the oven, she was lost. Her mom knew this, so if she did ask for help, Charlie would find herself either washing and chopping vegetables or taking care of the dirty pots and pans. On a normal day she wouldn't mind helping her mom a little in the kitchen, but not today. Every muscle in her body ached and she suspected she could fall asleep standing up. It'd been a long day doing everything from treating injuries to boarding up broken windows. All she wanted to do right now was lay down because she knew tomorrow she'd be doing it all again.
Focused more on what tomorrow might bring, Charlie wasn't paying attention as she rounded the corner into the foyer and ran smack dab into a solid wall of muscle. Large male hands instantly gripped her shoulders to steady her, and the scent of pricey cologne mixed with sweat tickled her nose.
“Sorry about that.” Charlie's face burned as she took a step back. Now that she was no longer on top of the solid wall of muscle she'd almost run over, she found herself standing in front of none other than Prince Charming himself, Jake Sherbrooke. Despite what she thought of him and others like him, she had to admit he'd done his fair share of physical labor today, much to her surprise.
“If you're here about a room, we're all filled right now,” Charlie said unable to ignore the heat spreading through her body. Even with a sweat-stained face and the large scratch he'd gotten at some point during the day, he still caused her heart rate to accelerate.
Although she didn't think highly of billionaires who'd done nothing to earn their money but be born to the right parents, she couldn't deny that he was devastatingly handsome. No wonder supermodels and actresses dated the guy. He looked even better in person than he did in photos.
Jake released her shoulders and took a step back. “My assistant called earlier and reserved a room for me.” His tone remained even and his words were spoken without any hint of an accent.
Did he practice speaking like that? She'd met people from all over the country and everyone regardless of where they came from had some type of accent, but not him. If she didn't know he'd grown up in New England she'd never be able to guess where he'd spent his childhood from his voice alone.
“Mr. Sherbrooke your room is all set,” Maureen O'Brien said joining them, her flowered apron still tied around her waist. “We have you in the Hawthorne room. I'll show you up.”
Charlie remained silent as her mom and Jake Sherbrooke headed up the stairs. The Hawthorne room had been her bedroom before her mom started taking in boarders to help pay the bills. She'd been twelve when her father walked out and for a full year her mom struggled to keep them afloat. Then a friend suggested Maureen take in some college students from Salem State who didn't have a place on campus. Her mom had continued to do that until a few years ago when she and Sean turned the old Victorian into a bed and breakfast.
Using all the determination she had, Charlie dragged her body up the two flights of stairs to the attic. When the house had originally been built the bedrooms in the attic had been for servants, but since her father left she called the smallest one her bedroom.
The room looked the same as it had the day she left for college. Her mom never changed anything. Dark blue curtains still framed the one window and a light blue bedspread covered the bed. No one used the room. Her mom insisted that it be kept ready for Charlie's visits even though they were few and far between.
Stripping off her dirty clothes, she stepped into the shower in the tiny bathroom that separated her bedroom from what had been her brother's room. For a moment she stood under the stream of lukewarm water. The water in that particular bathroom never got hot but, with only a generator to power everything in the house, it was colder than usual. Despite the temperature the water felt wonderful as it cascaded over her tired body, and she took her time washing away the dirt and sweat.
