Trusting His Promise (Love on Sanctuary Shores #5)

Chapter 24

Distant stars still reflected off the water as Jo scanned the pier from the deck of the Reel Blessed , her breath steaming the early morning air.

Next to her slip, yet another motor rumbled to life, echoing across the still lake, and Jo forced herself to lift a hand and wave to Randy and Terri, the husband-and-wife team who had won the tournament the last three years in a row.

She checked her watch again. Beckett was only ten minutes late. And ten minutes wasn’t likely to win or lose the tournament.

Still, she couldn’t suppress the twitch of fear in her gut as she pulled out the rods and fitted them with tackle. Maybe this had all been a trick. Maybe Beckett hadn’t ever planned to help with the fishing tournament. Maybe he had set her up, the same way he had for the winter formal all those years ago.

She pushed the thought aside. He wouldn’t do that. Not after the way he’d carried Sam home so tenderly the other night. Not after the way he’d held Jo’s hand and said he’d be here. Not after the way he’d moved closer, looking at her as if he were about to—

No. Jo stopped the thought in its tracks, the same way she had a million times over the past few days. Beckett had not been about to kiss her. And she had not wanted him to. And she still did not want him to—now or ever.

A loon’s cry pierced the darkness, the lonely sound stabbing straight through Jo’s heart. But she wasn’t lonely, she reminded herself. She had Sam. And Dad. Her friends.

Everyone she needed.

Just because she believed Beckett had really changed didn’t mean she wanted a relationship with him.

She ticked off the reasons in her head: For one thing, she didn’t want a relationship with anyone . For another, Beckett was only going to be on the island for a few more weeks. For a third, it wasn’t only herself she had to think about. If Sam got attached to Beckett and then he left—Jo was pretty sure she would never be able to forgive that .

And for the final—and maybe strongest—reason, if she were to have a relationship with Beckett, she would have to tell him the truth about Sam’s dad. And then he wouldn’t want to be with her anymore anyway.

Satisfied in her reasons—and done readying the rods—Jo pulled out her phone. She’d give Beckett two more minutes and then—

Footsteps pounded a rapid beat on the pier, and Jo lifted her head to find a shadow racing toward her.

“Jo,” Beckett’s unmistakable voice called, and in spite of herself—in spite of all the reasons she had just so methodically gone through—Jo’s heart gave a joyful little lurch.

But she made sure to put on a stern face and voice before she spoke. “Where have you been? The first boats left the harbor half an hour ago.” That might have been an exaggeration, but it was close enough to the truth.

“I’m sorry.” Beckett jumped onto the boat, setting it rocking on the waves. “My alarm didn’t go off. I don’t even know what woke me up.” He slid a backpack off his back and onto the floor. “I guess it must have been a sense that there was somewhere important I needed to be.”

“Mmm.” Jo wasn’t willing to press further in that direction. “Can you untie us? We need to get out on the water.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Beckett moved deftly to the cleats while Jo started the engine. As soon as he had untied the stern and the bow, Beckett gave the boat a gentle shove away from the pier, and Jo navigated out of their berth and into the channel.

Beckett took the seat next to hers, and she passed him a steaming mug.

“For me?” He sounded surprised, and for some reason that pleased Jo.

She shrugged. “Unless you want to give it to the fish.”

Beckett chuckled and took a sip. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

The sun reached over the horizon with the first ray of light at the same moment Beckett smiled at her—but Jo convinced herself that it was the sunrise that had left her suddenly breathless. She focused much harder than necessary on steering the boat through the no-wake zone close to the harbor.

A bead of unexpected perspiration rolled down Jo’s back, making her shiver.

“Cold?” Beckett asked.

“A little.” Jo seized onto the excuse. “Take the wheel a moment.”

She sped down to the lower deck, moving to the small closet where she kept extra clothes in case she got wet or cold. She stood there, staring at the closet door for a moment.

Pull yourself together , she ordered silently. He’s here to fish. You’re here to fish. That’s all there is to it.

Nodding to herself, she opened the closet. But the Sanctuary Island sweatshirt that she always kept there was missing. She groaned, remembering that a client had spilled a container of worms on it the other day. She’d taken it home to wash—and completely forgotten to bring it back.

She sighed, allowing herself a few more minutes of unconflicted peace before she climbed back to the main deck.

“I thought you were getting a sweatshirt.” Beckett steered the boat easily.

She shrugged. “I forgot to bring it. I’ll be fine.”

Beckett slid over to his seat, and she took the wheel again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flailing his arms.

She turned toward him and realized he was taking off his own sweatshirt.

“Here.” He pressed the soft fabric to her arm.

She pushed it back toward him. “I’m not going to take your sweatshirt.”

“Of course you are. I have an extra.” He pointed to his pack.

“Prove it.”

He reached for the pack. “Wow. Someone has trust issues.” But then he turned to her. “I imagine that’s kind of my fault.”

She shrugged. Sure, he was part of it. But she couldn’t discount Jay’s role—not that she was about to share that with him.

Beckett opened his pack and pulled out another shirt, this one looking much thinner than the one he held out to her.

“That’s not a sweatshirt,” she retorted. “It’s too thin.”

“It is a sweatshirt,” Beckett argued.

“Then give me that one,” Jo challenged.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not a sweatshirt,” Beckett conceded with a laugh. “But I was too hot in my sweatshirt anyway. So you’ll be doing me a favor if you take it.”

Jo eyed him.

He draped the sweatshirt over her arm and quickly pulled on the long-sleeved non-sweatshirt. “There. I’m cozy. Your turn.”

Jo considered prolonging the argument. But they’d just exited the no-wake zone, and they didn’t have time to stand here fighting over a shirt. A gust of wind whipped against her skin, making the decision for her.

“Fine.” She grudgingly pulled the sweatshirt over her head. Instantly, she noticed three things about it: it was soft, it was warm, and it smelled like Beckett.

She wasn’t willing to say which of those three she liked best.

“All right,” she called, easing the throttle forward. “Here we go!”