Love On Anchor Island: An Anchor Island Novel

look?”
The man was wearing a sweater vest. And loafers.
A muscle in his perfectly defined jaw twitched. That was another strike against him. Guys this pretty were almost always assholes.
“I’m dressed like an adult. You should try it sometime.”
What a douche. “Do you always pick fights with total strangers, or am I just a lucky girl today?”
“You’re the one who insulted my island.”
She was going to insult a lot more than that if he kept this up. “I mumbled that comment to myself, not to you. How did you even hear me, anyway? Were you watching me?”
Green eyes widened before he schooled his features. “I wasn’t watching you.”
Bullshit. “So you just happened to hear me muttering over the roar of the wind? What kind of a creep are you? Do you case this ferry for desperate women, and then offer to ‘show them around’?”
“Do you always deflect like this when you’re caught being rude?”
“I’m being rude?” Fists balled at her sides, Roxie stepped forward despite having to tilt her head back farther in order to maintain eye contact. “Listen here, Jack. I was sitting on my car minding my own business when you got your preppy little panties in a twist. Guess what? Not everyone has to like your dinky island. And you don’t get to be a dick about it. So back off.”
Roxie waited for the snappy comeback, but instead, full lips curved in a sexy grin. She hadn’t been prepared for that. Either the wind grew louder, or warning bells were going off in her ears.
When darkening green eyes dropped to her lips, the screaming stopped. This wasn’t good. How could she possibly want this stuffed shirt to kiss her? There must have been something in the air. Did a ferry give off fumes?
“Are you always this feisty?” he asked, his voice an octave deeper than before. He hadn’t moved a muscle, yet Roxie felt surrounded by him.
Grasping the last threads of her sanity, she said, “I’m not feisty. I’m pissed. You should recognize the difference.”
She didn’t sound pissed, damn it. She sounded flirty and breathless, as if he’d kissed her already. The wind shifted, blowing dark curls across her face, blocking her view.
Before she could clear her vision, he brushed the hair aside, then reached both hands behind her head to hold the unruly locks in place. Hovering inches above her, he said, “I stand corrected.”
Roxie didn’t speak. Or breathe. Or dare to move. She simply waited, depressingly aware of the invitation in her eyes but unable to look away. The moment he bent his head toward hers, a loud horn bellowed out of nowhere, jerking her back to her senses.
Her hands shot out and hit a chest that felt like a cement wall. The stranger’s hands fell away, sending her hair into her face as Roxie’s bottom landed against her car door. Scrambling, she regained her balance and shoved the curls behind her ears.
“What the hell was that?” she yelled, cringing when the horn sounded again.
Strong hands turned her toward the horizon. They were less than twenty yards from what she assumed was Anchor Island.
“Are we here?” Roxie asked.
“We are.” As if he’d also come to his senses, the stranger added, “Just in time.”
Feeling oddly hurt by his words, she shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and charged around the front of her car. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Without another word, they climbed into their respective vehicles and started the engines. Not that she could hear his, of course. Good Lord, she’d almost kissed a guy with a Prius.
Roxie pressed the gas pedal, letting the power beneath her foot soothe her damaged pride. She was first in line and drove off the ferry as soon as the signal came. Mr. Prius had to wait, which put a more comfortable distance between them.
The GPS said to continue straight ahead, as if she had any other choice. One good storm surge and this narrow strip of land would be under water. Trees lay bent and mangled along the roadside, leaving her to wonder what the tiny village must look like. Minutes later she got her answer. Not good. And this was almost three months into recovery?
Whether her mother had had a hand in this or not, Beth’s cry for help had been very real. Following a new order from the GPS, Roxie went right at a fork in the road. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she didn’t see the Prius.
Good, she thought. With any luck, he lived as far away from Beth as possible. Then she remembered as far as possible meant one mile. So be it. If a mile was all she could get, Roxie would take it.
The scent of wildflowers lingered in Alex Fielding’s senses as he watched car after car go by. Finally, he took his turn and pulled off the ferry, questioning his own sanity. What he’d said about knowing that woman’s type had been true. Snobby. Judgmental. High-maintenance.
He’d nearly married that woman once, and though Camille wouldn’t be caught dead in a leather jacket and Doc Martens, the attitude was the same. Especially when it came to his adopted home. Alex’s decision to embark on a quiet life as an island doctor had been enough to send his former fiancée in search of another doctor to marry.
One who didn’t expect her to be Mrs. Dr. Nobody.
Alex checked the time on the dash screen. His rounds at The Outer Banks Hospital were supposed to take two hours and instead took three. Though there was a facility on Anchor, Edwards Medical Center reflected the size of the island, which meant it was small and offered mostly emergency services.
Procedures ranging from gall bladder removal to hip replacements were treated at the full-service hospital on Hatteras Island, and regardless of whether Alex performed the procedure or not, he made a point to check in with all of his patients.
As he rolled into the village, he noticed Howard’s Cafe was open for business. Like many establishments on