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How much money would Amos McLeod pay her for teaching his son to read? Could she even accomplish such a feat before returning to Venezuela? Amos wasn’t looking for a tutor who was going to split on him. But if she didn’t tell him when exactly she was leaving, he would probably hire her.
Grace slipped off her stool and went to retrieve his address, which she’d pinned to her fridge with a magnet. A dark figure standing just inside her open pantry loomed in her peripheral vision. Gasping, she spun toward it, seeing nothing but a sack of onions, baking supplies, and a cereal box.
I’m losing it.With a tremor in her fingers, she plucked the note from her refrigerator and inspected it more closely. Amos had left only his address, no phone number. Had he done that on purpose, to keep her from texting him instead of driving out to see him? Of course, he had. What a jackass.
She glanced at her watch. It was just after seven in the evening, but still light outside, given the summer solstice. Chances were good he was home right then. She could plug his address into Google Maps and find him easily enough. With a wary glance at her pantry, she went into her half-bath to check on her reflection.
The woman looking back at her was wan, thin, and wore no makeup.
She took the time to conceal the circles under her eyes, lengthen her lashes, and add a touch of color to her lips and cheeks because she didn’t want to scare the kid.
A short while later, Grace found herself cruising through an established neighborhood about ten minutes from her condo. Unlike newer subdivisions in Virginia Beach in which all the trees were leveled before the houses were built, his neighborhood touted immense pines and deciduous trees that kept the lawns of the large brick homes cool in the summer.
Google Maps had her turning down a road lined with blooming crepe myrtles. Behind the houses on her right, she glimpsed a body of water. Jeez, if Amos could afford waterfront, why not hire a full-time nanny to care for his kid?
She came to a two-story, brick home on a cul-de-sac, and her app announced that she’d arrived at her destination. Turning down the long driveway, Grace gasped at the view. A wide inlet held the golden luster of the setting sun.
She recognized Amos’s truck tucked inside a carport by the two-car garage. Parking behind it, she glanced back at his note. Under his address, he had written,Follow path to the backyard.
Confused by the instructions, she approached the home’s back door and mounted a broad deck, where a wall of windows overlooked the view. She knocked briskly on the back door, inexplicably nervous.
A teenage boy answered with a quizzical look on his face.
More confused than ever, Grace said, “Hi. Sorry, I’m looking for Amos McLeod.”
“Oh.” The boy’s confusion cleared. “He lives down at the dock.”
The dock. She followed his pointing finger toward a long pier.
“Yeah, in the houseboat.”
The houseboat. “Thanks.” Amos McLeodwouldlive on water.
Grace retraced her steps, found the path to which Amos had been referring, and followed it down the sloping yard to the pier that conveyed her over marsh grass. With the pier about fifty yards long, she could hear little crabs scrabbling in the mud below her. Farther out, a fish jumped, leaving ripples on the inlet’s coppery surface.
She focused on the big houseboat to keep her fear of water from rising in her. All shiny white fiberglass and gleaming wood trim, she could tell it belonged to an earlier era, yet it was impeccably maintained, with lights shining warmly in the various-shaped windows. The name of the boat,Camelot, jumped out at her.
She drew to a stop at the gangplank.
“You found me.”
A rich male voice snatched her attention to a deck above the first level, where Amos rose from a chair. He’d no doubt been watching her all this time. Annoyed with him, she was tempted to turn around and leave, but he was heading down a run of steps to the main deck to greet her. A second later, he stood on the other side of the gangplank.
“Come on over.”
“I’m afraid I can’t. I came this far to tell you that I don’t do boats.” She grimaced her apology and started to turn away.
In the next instant, he was on the dock next to her, curling a warm hand around her wrist. “This is a houseboat. It’s not going to sink.”
She stared at him, all too aware of his hand shackling her to him. “I get seasick.”
He had to gall to laugh. “Yet you crossed the Orinoco River without getting sick.”
“I didn’t have a choice, then. I do now.”
Without releasing her, he gestured at the water behind them. “Do you see any waves?”
She yanked her wrist from his grasp. “Where is Simon?” He was the reason she was here, not this man.
