“Much better, thanks to you.” He met her gaze. “I really am sorry about what I said earlier.”
She nodded gravely. “I appreciate the apology. But I must point out that you didn’t apologize for kissing me.”
“And I must point out that you kissed me back—quite passionately.”
She gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’m starting to regret it.”
“I’m not. I’ll never be sorry I kissed you. In fact, I look forward to replaying it in my mind for days to come.”
Her eyes widened.
He nodded for emphasis and then backed away to take in their surroundings. After their harrowing adventure, he wanted nothing more than to deliver Winnie to her hotel and carry onward to Aunt Jenny’s comfortable guest room.
He blinked, positive he was just disoriented from the steamer. He took a few steps down the boardwalk and peered down the dock in both directions. Finally, he turned back to the sound, where thePersephonewas rapidly disappearing into the distance.
“Um, sweetheart?”
“Yes?”
“This isn’t Oak Harbor.”
CHAPTER11
At first, Winnie didn’t grasp what Mack meant. He had just dazzled her by calling her sweetheart, and the soft, indulgent look on his face had her insides quivering. It was so different from his usual Bobcat, which he obviously used to get a rise out of her. She was imagining him repeating the endearment—this time in a husky voice full of need—when the words sank in.
“What do you mean?”
“This is not Oak Harbor. I’d venture we’re in Coupeville.”
She stumbled backwards from beneath the shop’s awning and scanned the name on the banner.Morton’s Goods, Coupeville, WA.
Her stomach sank. “You’ve got to bejoking.”
The bell above the shop door tinkled, and the old woman from the steamboat stepped out. Winnie’s gaze narrowed on her.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Ma’am!”
The old woman squinted at her suspiciously. “Yes?”
“I asked you what this stop was, and you said Oak Harbor. Why would you lie?”
“Bah. You asked me what thenextstop was, not this one. And I told you the truth of it. The next stop is Oak Harbor. This here is Coupeville.”
Useless indignation flooded Winnie, and she was tempted to throw her valise on the ground and stomp her feet. But she had only herself to blame. Her ill-timed preoccupation with the lightly snoring, long-limbed man curled at her side was no one’s fault but hers. If she hadn’t been so busy mulling over his confession—which had eerily echoed her own obsession with him—or how his reaction to her panic had been tohelprather thansilenceher, she would have heard the announcement. Instead, she had relied on a cantankerous, probably mostly deaf, woman.
When she had no rejoinder, the old woman muttered under her breath and pushed past them, her umbrella clipping Mack on the shin as she passed.
He danced out of the way, his eyebrows raised. “I’ve never met such a curmudgeon.”
It was difficult to meet Mack’s eyes, but she forced a smile to her lips. “Headed to her witch’s hut, no doubt.”
“Bobcat,” Mack began, but the gentleness in his voice sent her into a flurry of motion.
“I will fix this,” she promised.
“Let me take care of it. You were a great help to me back there, so let me use my contacts—”
“I insist I correct my mistake.” Her tone brooked no argument. “I will return shortly,” she said then hurried away.
