Love On Anchor Island: An Anchor Island Novel

headache hit around two when she’d gotten up for a bathroom visit. By three, the pounding was strong enough to bring on tears. Sam called Alex and had his wife in the ER by four, delayed by having to wait for someone to come stay with Connor.
Alex met them there. Contrary to what he’d said at dinner, he didn’t need a full exam to know that Callie would be off her feet for the remainder of the pregnancy. Though the exam results confirmed his suspicions. She’d shown signs of gestational high blood pressure at twenty weeks, but medication had kept it under control. That was no longer the case. Between the swelling, the headache, and a sudden bout of nausea, bed rest was unavoidable. The fetal monitor showed the babies faring much better than their mother, but that could change at any time.
As with most multiple births, the odds were high that the babies would deliver early, but if they could stay where they were for five to six more weeks, the twins had a much higher chance of avoiding many of the complications that came with premature birth. Bringing them into the world as healthy as possible while protecting the mother was a job that Alex took seriously.
Once Callie was released with strict orders to limit all activities going forward and a regimen of new medications, Alex headed home. Exhausted, he planned to have Flora reschedule his morning appointments so he could get some sleep before taking on the afternoon. The fatigue was the only excuse he had for not noticing the black-clad jogger who had to leap out of the way to avoid being hit. Alex slammed on the brakes, threw the car into park, and dashed around the Prius to find Roxie Chandler on her bottom in the grass.
“Are you okay?” he asked, squatting beside her and checking for broken bones.
Roxie brushed his hands away. “I’m fine. No thanks to you. Is this how you get new patients? By running them over with that wussy car?”
“I didn’t see you,” Alex explained, ignoring the insult to his choice of vehicle. “I guess I’m more tired than I realized.”
“Tired?” she repeated. “It’s barely eight in the morning.”
Alex held out a hand to help her up. “I’ve been awake since three thirty with a patient.”
Roxie ignored his hand and got up on her own. After brushing off her yoga pants, she straightened her earmuffs, then stuffed her hands in the pockets of her fleece jacket. Looking him in the eye for the first time since he’d nearly run her over, she said, “You look like shit.”
Not the most tactful observation, but her brutal honesty made him smile. “I’m sure I do. I didn’t peg you for a jogger.”
“I didn’t peg you for vehicular homicide. I guess we’ve both been enlightened this morning.”
Conceding the point, Alex bowed. “Touché.” She rewarded him with a rare grin, which altered her face entirely. Her features softened, and a hint of vulnerability shone in her eyes. Unable to help himself, he whispered, “Wow.”
Her brows gathered. “What?”
“You looked different for a second there.”
“Different how?”
“Different good,” he said.
They continued to stare at one another in silence until Roxie took a step back. “I need to get back to my run.”
Alex stepped back as well. “I should be going, too. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“No worries,” she said. “I’d have probably done more damage to your car than it could do to me.”
Seizing the excuse to keep her there, he said, “That’s the second time you’ve insulted my car. What do you have against a Prius?”
Her heart-shaped face twisted in obvious disgust. “I mean. . . Look at it. It might as well be a toy.”
“It’s better for the environment than that monster you drive.”
“That monster is a 1972 Chevy Camaro Z28 with a Muncie M22 four-speed manual transmission. Do you understand how badass that is?”
She sounded like Sid Dempsey, the resident boat mechanic who knew all things engine-related. “Your badass car is killing the planet.”
“And that giant tugboat y’all use to get on and off this island isn’t?”
Another point to the pint-sized debater. “I like my car,” Alex replied lamely.
“I’m not surprised.” Tugging the zipper higher on her jacket, she added, “It suits you.”
Clearly not a compliment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Think about it,” she replied, breaking into a jog. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”
Ponytail swinging, she took off down the narrow lane without a backward glance. Alex turned to look at his car. What had she called it earlier? Wussy? His pride took a hit as the insult sank in. “You don’t know everything about me, Ms. Chandler,” he muttered as she made the turn out of sight. “I might surprise you yet.”

Chapter Four
Every muscle on Roxie’s body ached. In the last two weeks, she’d lifted, pushed, swept, painted, and hammered more than she’d ever thought humanly possible. On the plus side, she’d had a hand in bringing two businesses back to life. On the downside, she could no longer lift her arms over her head.
Which was why today she was on babysitting duty. Though the grown woman in the bed was proving more stubborn than Mary Ann on her worst day.
“Callie, I’m sorry, but vacuuming is not on the list.” The list being a very short collection of things that the pregnant woman was allowed to do. Roxie had already stopped her from cleaning the blinds, moving her bed to the opposite bedroom wall, and getting on her knees to scrub the bathtub. “You’re only supposed to walk to the kitchen or bathroom. That’s it.”
“But I’m losing my mind. I can’t spend one more minute in that freaking bed.” A foot stomp accompanied the declaration of rebellion, and Roxie wondered how she was going to win this particular battle.
The orders had been explicit and firm. No strenuous activity of any kind. And there really was a list, printed in large font and taped to the bedroom door, the bathroom mirror, and the