Come Morning Read Free Page A

thinking he’d be stiff as a board and really hungover this morning. That is, until she’d seen him come out onto the porch, pop the tab on a can of beer, and drink half down without stopping. A little hair of the dog that bit you, apparently. Some people never learn.
    Reaching up to unhook the fourth and last shutter, Briana wondered who the drinking fool making himself at home in Jeremy’s house was. He didn’t seem at all the sort of guest Jeremy would invite in. Actually, in all the years she’d been on Nantucket staying with her grandparents, she’d never once seen anyone visiting Jeremy. It wasn’t that the man was reclusive, for he had a lot of friends on the island. He’d often wandered over and sat alongside Gramp on this very porch, both of them smoking a pipe, conversation at a minimum, as was the habit with many New Englanders. She’d never heard Jeremy speak of family or even mainland friends, and found it difficult to connect the drunken stranger to the gentle man she knew.
    None of her business, Briana decided as she freed one hook. Steadying that side, she worked on the other hook, trying to dislodge it so the shutter would release. But the metal was slightly rusty and being stubborn. One-handed, she pushed and poked at it, growing ever more frustrated as she balanced the heavy shutter with her other hand.
    Annoyed, she gave the hook a mighty punch and it slipped free. But she lost her balance at the sudden shift of weight and the shutter slipped from her grasp. “Oh!” she yelled as she slammed onto the painted boards of the porch floor, quickly rolling sideways to keep from being hit by the unwieldy shutter as it fell.
    Seated once more on the open porch next door, nursing a small glass of Maalox, Slade couldn’t help hearing what sounded like a cry for help followed by a loud crash. He felt shaky and decidedly unneighborly; still, his training was too deeply ingrained to allow him to ignore the possibility of someone in distress. Sipping the chalky antacid, he slowly made his way over and entered the enclosed porch.
    The woman rubbing her hip looked more embarrassed than hurt, Slade thought as he set his glass on a corner table before picking up the fallen shutter and setting it out of the way. “You all right?” he asked, offering her a hand up.
    “I think so.” His hand was big, calloused, and strong, Briana noticed as he helped her up. She found herself looking into bloodshot gray eyes. “Thanks. I managed the first three, but this one got away from me.”
    Face-to-face with her, Slade did a double take. The resemblance was remarkable and quite startling. She was small and slender, but so were millions of women. But this one had the same honey-colored, shoulder-length hair and her face was oval-shaped, just like the one that haunted his dreams. Yet it was the eyes that bore the most resemblance. They were a rich brown, flecked with gold, filled with pain and brimming over with sadness. Intellectually, Slade knew he was looking at a stranger, yet he felt an emotional jolt nonetheless.
    Uncomfortable under his intense examination, Briana frowned. “Is something wrong?” She was infinitely more comfortable behind the camera studying people rather than as the subject being scrutinized.
    “You remind me of someone.” With no small effort, he turned aside. “These are too heavy for a woman as small as you.” He began stacking all four of the shutters near the door.
    “Yes, well, my grandfather always took them down in early spring and put them back up in late fall. I arrived yesterday and decided to air out the place. The house has been closed up since he moved to Boston.”
    Just what his pounding head needed, a chatterbox neighbor. “I’m sure he appreciates you taking care of his place.” He swung around, unable to resist studying her again. Of all the luck, flying three thousand miles and running into someone who’s the spitting image of the woman he couldn’t seem to