Where Your Heart Is (Lilac Bay Book 1)

  Where Your Heart Is

  Rachel Schurig

  Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Also by Rachel Schurig

  Copyright 2016 Rachel Schurig

  Ebook Edition

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  To find out more about her books, visit Rachel at rachelschurig.com

  Join the mailing list for updates and exclusive content!

  Visit her author page on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/RachelSchurigAuthor)

  Follow her on Twitter (https://twitter.com/rems330)

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Shelley Holloway for all of your help, advice, and guidance.

  HollowayHouse.me

  Cover Design by Damonza.

  Huge thanks to Madeline Freeman for fantastic formatting and even better friendship.

  Chapter 1

  Of course it would have to be raining.

  I stared out at the grey waves crashing into the pier and clenched my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to absorb every bit of warmth from the car’s interior before I had to step out into that. From my spot in the parking lot, the waves looked massive. It couldn’t possibly be safe to take a boat out in that, could it? Through the steady drizzle of rain the ferry came into view out in the bay, waves and spray pounding its hull. I shuddered.

  There was a knock on my window that made me jump. I looked out into the grey mess and saw a man peering in at me, large smile on his face—a smile that promptly disappeared when I let out an ear-piercing shriek.

  Okay, so maybe screaming was a little over dramatic. But where I came from, strange men—particularly ones dressed in mud-splattered overalls and a dark rain slicker, complete with fisherman’s cap—didn’t typically approach my car window. The man held up his hands, face creased in concern, as I placed a hand over my thudding heart and tried to get control of myself. When it appeared obvious my scream wasn’t going to send him scurrying away, I hit the button to roll down my window the tiniest of cracks. “Can I help you?”

  “Iris Holder?”

  Great. Scary fisherman guy knew my name. There were horror movies that started this way, weren’t there?

  “Yes?” I squeaked, wondering if I could manage to reach for my purse—and the reassuring can of pepper spray that it held—without attracting attention.

  But the worry faded from the man’s face, replaced with the same cheery smile it held before I had screamed bloody murder. “I’m Jerry Brooks,” he said, raising a hand in greeting. Then he just stood there, smiling, like the name Jerry Brooks was supposed to mean something to me.

  “Umm…” I finally said when it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate. Real articulate of me.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly. “Your grandmother sent me to help you get over to the island. I figured she would have told you.” He held out his hand before realizing that the window was still mostly rolled up. His gaze flickered from hand to glass, as if stymied by the impassable barrier and unsure how to proceed. Finally, he stuck the tips of his fingers through the minuscule crack in the glass. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Gingerly, I grasped his fingers, shaking them. I felt like an idiot—but there was no way I was rolling that window down until I knew for sure this guy was legit. Instead, I released his fingers and reached for my purse. What was my grandmother doing sending a stranger to get me? My cousin Posey was supposed to be on that ferry out there right this minute, coming across the bay so I wouldn’t have to make the last leg of my trip alone.

  A quick look at my phone had me groaning. The no service symbol appeared in the upper corner. If Posey had tried to reach me about a change in plans, I wouldn’t know it. I didn’t even want to think what the next weeks of my life would be like if the cellular signal on the island was equally poor.

  “So,” Jerry said, bending a little to look into the car, “can I help you with your bag or something?”

  I squinted up at him. On closer inspection, I supposed he didn’t really look like a serial killer, scary outfit non-withstanding. His face was lined, either by age or constant exposure to the wind and spray of the bay, but his blue eyes were bright and friendly—though I detected a growing sense of concern the longer I gaped at him. He probably thinks you’re a nut job, Iris, I realized. I wasn’t in Chicago anymore. People up here weren’t automatically suspicious of strangers.

  “My grandma really sent you?” I asked. “Did she say why Posey couldn’t make it?”

  “Something about the café,” he said, shrugging. “Sorry, love, I didn’t have much time to ask for details. I was already heading to the mainland to pick up my own girl, see, so I was on a pretty tight schedule.”

  I felt slightly mollified. If Jerry was accompanying another girl—a granddaughter of his own, I imagined—then there couldn’t be any harm in going with him. I looked out at the bay where the ferry had almost reached the dock now, and my mollification turned quickly back to fear. I wasn’t anywhere near sure that there was no harm in boarding that thing, and my terror had nothing to do with my grandmother’s friend.

  Jerry’s voice broke through my internal fretting. “Little nervous about the weather?” I tore my eyes away from the bay to look up at him. There was understanding in his face, and I got the feeling that he somehow knew I was nervous about much more than the rain.

  “A little,” I admitted.

  He smiled, nodding. “Well then, it’s a good thing I came for you, Miss Iris. I’ve made this crossing just about every day of my life—and as you can see, that’s been no short amount of time.” He winked and I couldn’t help but smile back, deciding right then that I liked this guy, after all. “I know that bay like the back of my hand. And I can tell you there’s no better captain to get us across safely than my friend Pete out there.” He leaned in a little closer, eyes sparkling. “Besides, I just so happen to have a thermos of nice hot coffee over with my things. And I may have added a healthy amount of whiskey.” His grin melted into an expression of mock-seriousness. “Just don’t tell your grandmother. I don’t think she’d like me corrupting her long lost granddaughter.”

  I pushed away the little eruption of annoyance-laced guilt that his description of me as “long lost” had brought to the surface and grabbed my purse, feeling freshly determined. The only way to the island was on that boat, terrifying or not. And Kenneth Holder’s daughter didn’t cower in parked cars, no matter how much her stomach was writhing with nerves.

  “Excellent,” Jerry said as I rolled up my window and pulled the keys from the ignition. “If we hurry, we won’t have to be out in that rain for more than a few seconds.” It occurred to me that he had been standing in the rain while I waffled, and I felt bad. He re
ally did seem like a nice guy. I unbuckled my seat belt and braced myself for the sting of rain before throwing open the door.

  Damn, it was cold. Freezing, really. In May, for God’s sake. Wasn’t summer supposed to be just around the corner? The island clearly played by a different set of rules.

  “Bag in the trunk?” Jerry asked.

  I nodded, hitting the button on the key fob as I led him to the back of my Audi. Jerry let out a little whistle, and for a wild moment, I thought he was complimenting my still-new set of Louis Vuitton luggage—a great-job-on-the-new-deal gift from my father in happier times. I was pretty proud of those bags, even if the soft leather was a reminder of what I had left behind in Chicago. But a quick look at his expression told me that Jerry had no inkling of how special my luggage was. He was staring at the bags with wide eyes. “Um,” he finally said, sounding incredulous. “All of these?”

  I looked down at the trunk, confused. I had only brought two suitcases, which was totally not a lot. I mean, there was my duffle, as well, and a make-up case, but I was going to be here for weeks. I needed those things. And then there was the little leather trunk nestled below the bags, but it was so beautiful. And I’d never had the chance to use it on a trip before.

  “Well, yeah,” I said, heaving one of the suitcases out with a little grunt. It was heavy as hell—what had I put in there? Shoes, probably.

  Though clearly perplexed by the quantity of bags I had brought, Jerry didn’t say another word. He merely tossed the duffle strap over his shoulder, grabbed the handle of the other rolling suitcase, and somehow managed to heft the trunk with his free hand. “Can you manage the little case, too, love?” he asked, out of breath. And we hadn’t even walked to the dock yet.

  “Sorry,” I told him, grabbing the case and shutting the trunk. “Here, let me—”

  “Nonsense,” he said. “Let’s just get your nice things out of the rain.”

  I gulped as a fat drop hit the leather of my trunk. Jerry led the way across the lot toward the dock, and I followed, my head bent against the rain, wondering why in the hell I hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella. At least I had decided against the really high heels that morning. The Jimmy Choos on my feet were only three inches.

  We finally reached the boarding pavilion on the dock, and I breathed a sigh of relief as Jerry pulled my bags under the overhang. “Thanks,” I told him, using the corner of my jacket to wipe the rain from the leather. I stole one glance over my shoulder at my car, and sighed. My poor car. Even the fog and drizzle of rain couldn’t fully dull the sparkle of the cobalt finish. I loved that car.

  So why the hell was I leaving it in this long-term lot in northern Michigan to go and live on an island that didn’t allow motor vehicles? Really—what was I thinking? Okay, so things had gotten messy at home. I needed time to regroup, figure out my next step. But Lilac Bay? Was that really the best I could come up with?

  The dock suddenly came to life, busy workers running to and fro, shouting orders and tossing ropes around. The ferry was here.

  The urge to run was nearly overwhelming. How was I going to survive weeks on end without my car? Without decent shopping, fine dining, any of the culture I had been spoiled with in Chicago? And, worst of all, the water stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see, the only escape being this rumbling, rusting, clearly not at all safe ferry—

  “Are you okay?” Jerry asked, interrupting the panic spiral that was warming up in my brain. “You look pretty pale.”

  “I…I…” I wanted to tell him that I couldn’t do this, that it had all been a mistake and I was going back to Chicago right now. Who cared if I had no job to return to or if my ex had claimed the condo, leaving me homeless as well as severely lacking in the paycheck department. I could figure something out. But then my phone buzzed in my purse. I fumbled for it, praying it would contain some kind of solution. Maybe a message from my dad, letting me know he had miraculously come home early and had managed to solve all of my problems in the space of an afternoon—

  It wasn’t my dad. It was the text from Posey. Apparently, service was slightly better over here by the water than it had been in the lot.

  Got held up, it read. Emergency at the café. So sorry! Didn’t want you to have to wait in the rain, so Grandma is sending Jerry Brooks. He’s nice. Ignore the fisherman cap—promise he’s not a serial killer.

  Before I could respond, there was another buzz and a new message appeared on the screen.

  I’m so excited to see you, Iris. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this. We’ll have so much fun! I PROMISE. Stop worrying, okay?

  I took a deep breath, slipping the phone back into my purse, as something resembling calm settled into my chest. That was the reason I had come all this way. Because when life went to shit, there was really only one person that I could imagine running to. And that person was my cousin Posey.

  “You ready?” Jerry asked. “Looks like they’re about tied up here.”

  I nodded, straightening my shoulders. I could do this. I could climb onto that ferry and make my way to the island without panicking about the immeasurable gallons of dark, murky water below us. I could.

  My resolve faltered slightly at the base of the gangway. The metal was slick from the rain, and it was impossible to banish the image of slipping and falling into the waves crashing between the hull and the dock. Jerry greeted one of the uniformed workers on the ferry, but I could barely hear them over the roar in my ears. It wasn’t until he pried the handle of my suitcase from my hands that I realized he was passing off all of my luggage before we boarded.

  “They’ll take good care of it, dear,” he assured me, misinterpreting the panic on my face for fear over my things. “They keep that gate locked good and tight. You can go ahead and board,” he told me, turning to a stack of crates I hadn’t noticed before. I froze, staring at the gangway. There was no way I was climbing up there on my own.

  I was still hovering at the edge of the ramp when he turned back with the crates in his arms. They were covered in some kind of burlap sheet so I couldn’t see what was inside. In all honesty, I was far too preoccupied with the thought of crossing that ramp to care very much about what Jerry had come to the mainland for.

  He handed the crates off to a man on the ferry and turned to me. “I thought you would want to get out of the rain,” he said, smiling. I tried to smile back, but I was sure it looked more like a grimace.

  “Let me give you a hand,” he said, gripping me tightly above the elbow. My knees locked, and I wondered if I might be physically incapable of walking across the narrow bit of water lurking below. But then Jerry was hauling me up the ramp, so quickly I barely had time to notice what was happening. When I looked down, my feet were firmly planted on the slightly soggy carpet of the ferry’s lower level. “Sorry,” he said. “Those heels looked a little unsafe in this weather. Figured it was easier to give you a boost.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, feeling slightly faint. Well. I was on the ferry now. No going back.

  “Shall we sit up top?” Jerry asked brightly, gesturing at the metal stairs to my right. I gaped at him, aghast. Was he insane? The top level was uncovered, totally exposed to the rain and wind and—he was grinning. “Little joke, dear. Here, these seats right in the middle are close to the heater.”

  I could have hugged him. From the bench in the very middle of the ferry, I couldn’t even see the waves crashing outside. He gave me a knowing smile, and I got the feeling that Jerry knew exactly why I had been so hesitant to board.

  “There now,” he said, once we were settled on the bench. “Nice and comfy, eh?”

  I wouldn’t really call anything about the ferry comfy. It was a metal monstrosity, the lower level lined with unpadded benches and wide windows for those who wanted a view of the bay as they crossed. The walls had once been a bright white but had long since faded to grey under a coating of grime. It basically looked exactly the way it had the last time I made this cr
ossing, years and years ago. It would seem the main vessel offering access to the island didn’t rate high enough on the priority list to get regular renovations.

  But the heater did pump out a nice and steady wave of warmth. And I was grateful not to have to see the water.

  My gratitude lasted long enough for the ferry to pull away from the dock. Only a dozen or so other passengers had joined us, most of them crowding around the windows to watch the mainland grow smaller. There was a great shudder as we started to move, and I winced, clutching the edge of my bench seat with white knuckles.

  “How long does this usually take?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

  “Only twenty minutes,” he said. “Nice and quick.”

  Twenty minutes was quick? Maybe my first assessment of him had been correct. Maybe he was crazy.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” I mumbled as the ferry made its way out into the bay. I wondered how on earth the other passengers were sitting so calmly in their seats. Couldn’t they feel how much we were rocking and rolling on the waves?

  “Best put your head between your legs,” he advised calmly. “Only cure for seasickness until we reach land.”

  I wasn’t seasick. Sea-terrified, maybe.

  There was another beep of my phone, and I grabbed it in desperation. My phone! How had I forgotten that I had a fully functional mini computer right there in my purse? That would provide some distraction for the horrible journey at the very least.

  The beep had been a notification of a new email. I hit the mail icon and gulped as my eyes fell on my father’s name, a new kind of nervousness slowly trickling through me. Despite my earlier fantasy that he might unexpectedly come home to fix everything, I wasn’t entirely sure I was actually ready for his return.

  I scanned the email quickly and breathed out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know.