Tides of Hope: It's Never Too Late For Second Chances (A Nantucket Island Romance Book 1) Read online

  Tides of Hope

  A Nantucket Island Romance

  by Dawn Tomasko

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  About The Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Excerpt

  Dedication

  About The Author

  Tides of Hope, Copyright 2016 Dawn Tomasko

  Published by Dawn Tomasko

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at [email protected]. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For more information on the author and her works, please see www.dawntomasko.com

  About The Book

  Sara Shepard is determined to rebuild her life on Nantucket Island. Finding her true self and starting her dream business is just the beginning.

  What does a newly divorced woman with a college aged daughter have in common with a smoking hot ex-CEO turned carpenter? Not much...at least that what Sara keeps telling herself.

  Sara doesn't want to fall for the sexy carpenter hired to remodel her beach cottage, but he's hard to resist. Gabriel makes her laugh, undresses her with his eyes and stirs up feelings she thought long dead.

  Gabriel Donovan is instantly attracted to Sara, but it’s more than her beautiful face and curvy body that pulls him in. While he admires her fiercely guarded independence, it’s the spunky, funny, deeply sensual woman under it all that makes him want to tear down the walls around her heart.

  Once they give in to their explosive chemistry, a dangerous ex-husband, a dirty secret from Gabriel's past and a horrific accident threaten to destroy what Sara and Gabriel have found together.

  Thank you for buying or borrowing this book. I would love to hear from you! Please visit my website at www.dawntomasko.com, on Facebook and Twitter. If you like Tides of Hope, please leave a review on Amazon.com or Goodreads.com. It’s a terrific help for authors and much appreciated.

  Chapter One

  Naturally, when this type of news hit the digital media, you could expect a firestorm. When the CEO of an investment firm such as his family's, surrounded by money, cars, women, and prestige, twice on the cover of Forbes, walks away from it all for no apparent reason, one could expect some backlash. Who the hell does that? The fact that he didn't offer a word of explanation to anyone except to his family, assistant, and closest friend only added fuel to the fire. Speculation from those who ran in his social circle ran wild, and plenty more from others who didn't have a clue. The phones at Donovan Enterprises rang off the hook from young and seasoned professionals who would step all over each other to climb into his shoes.

  But they were already filled, by none other than his younger brother Michael. Nobody seemed to get it. Why, after a successful, skyrocketing career of nearly fifteen years, would Gabriel Donovan suddenly decide to leave it all behind?

  A family business, DE meant a great deal to his father and brother, and of course to Gabe himself. Growing up, he knew he would take the helm. He respected the hell out of his father's accomplishments and charitable works his mom did on behalf of the family and the company. Of that, he could be proud. Never had DE been only about making money.

  Through high school and college he never thought much about doing anything else, but after years in the game, it hit him one day. While he did the job well, it was far more function than passion. Seated behind a desk, phone glued to his ear, dealing with clients, the endless meetings, and social functions…all of it sped by in a meaningless blur. All of it fueled the family and the company, but Gabriel? Not so much. In simplest terms, it didn't fit.

  Nathaniel, his father, and brother Michael couldn't wrap their heads around his decision. Only his mother understood, and that worked for him. Upon learning of his impending departure, Gabe could see the gleam in his brother's eyes, and knew Michael relished this earlier-than-expected opportunity. No doubt he thought he'd be waiting for his shot until Gabe retired. But it came much earlier than anyone expected, including Gabe himself. Indeed, there were those who thought him bat-shit crazy.

  But he loved to work with his hands. To make, create, repair. As a kid, he'd sit for hours building birdhouses, go carts and forts. He fixed broken things around the house, delighting his mother with his skill and enthusiasm. In his youth, the thought of doing anything other than following in his father's footsteps wasn't an option. Now he'd made it a reality. To Gabriel, the grit, sweat, aching muscles and whine of power tools beat the hell out of Wall Street. Pumped him full of energy, enthusiasm, and hope.

  After he had swiped a hand down the front of his well-worn jeans, he blew out a hard breath to clear dust from the work area. Then he ran a clean rag over the smooth wood. A quick tug perched safety glasses up on his forehead so he could study the graceful curves of the newel post. His now-calloused fingers searched for imperfections as he ran them over the wood, warmed by the friction of sand paper. Perfect, or as near he'd get to it. Time to stain the wood. He'd been eager to take on the restoration of the staircase in this classic Nantucket home. Built in 1781 by a sea captain, the graceful lines of the staircase barely scratched the surface of the beautiful architecture of the house and its valuable contents. The owner, whose ancestors owned the house from the beginning, offered outstanding financial compensation, but true satisfaction came from the process and ability to make it happen.

  When he'd first scoped the job, beautiful chestnut lay hidden under layers of stain and varnish. The prospect of breaking it down to barest elements to expose its original beauty challenged him far better than investments and real estate speculation ever could. Even the dull ache in his lower back didn't faze him, as he'd spent years on his ass parked behind a desk in the City. Keeping his body fit and muscled no longer required hours at a gym several days a week, but from the stretch, pull and haul necessary to get the job done. Good, clean hard work, an honest living he relished. After a quick cleanup of supplies, he headed outside to see a pickup truck roll into the cobbled driveway behind his.

  "There's my favorite Carpenter,” Charlotte Silva beamed as she slid with grace from the vehicle and sauntered toward him.

  The corner of his mouth tugged up. He liked the short, shapely brunette with hazel eyes with early crow's feet. Along with her spunky personality, she owned a multitude of bracel
ets, which clanged whenever she moved. Which often happened because she used her hands when she talked. She and her husband Gary owned Silva Realty, a successful business inherited by Gary when his father passed away. Inheritance, in word, deed, tradition and property, he’d learned, meant a great deal here. When Gabriel spent the occasional evening at their home, they made him feel welcome and comfortable. Newly transplanted from the mainland, he appreciated their friendship along with solid job leads. The Silvas knew everyone. Such was life on a small island, as he’d begun to understand.

  Charlotte also loved bold color, evident in the vibrant orange blouse she wore with a knee-length black skirt. How she found a pair of sandals to match the top, he'd never know.

  "Hey, Charlotte, how's it going?” He dropped a quick peck on her cheek and turned to set his tools in the bed of his truck.

  "Good. I know you're busy, but I have a new project for you if you're interested,” she rocked back on her heels. The sparkle in her eyes made him break into a full grin. "There's a house I need to get ready for market. Can you fit in an extra job?"

  Once the word got around about the quality of his work, calls came in from all over the island. In the short time since he arrived, he juggled a growing number of projects and estimates. Gabe got to work with his hands, live on a beautiful island and meet amazing people. Island living couldn't be more different than city life, and everything in his new existence thus far came damn close to perfect.

  "Sure, I'll check it out. What's involved?"

  Excitement bounced in Charlotte's voice, and her eyes gleamed. Charlotte knew he'd say yes. "There's a beach cottage out at the end of Madaket Road. I don't know if you've been out there yet. It's on the west side of the island, breathtaking. Gary and I took a quick trip out to look the house over. We know the front porch needs a lot of work, and you would need to check on the roof, floors, foundation. There's some remodel required in the kitchen. Very dated. Painting and cosmetics throughout."

  He flipped off his sawdust covered baseball cap and shifted his boots. "Sounds more structural than restoration work."

  "Right,” her voice lilted, "but you do both. The house has been in the owner's family for years, and she decided to sell. None of the family is using the house anymore. Money is not an issue. Neither is time, so no pressure there."

  An easy grin spread over his face. This feeling of contentment since leaving Donovan Enterprises continued to take him by surprise. "Sure, I’ll be happy to take a look.” A slap of his cap on his jeans cleared off the worst of the wood dust.

  Charlotte's cell phone vibrated and she rifled through her shoulder bag to glance at it. "Hang on, that's Gary, I'll tell him I'm here. He probably wants to know what you said,” she laughed. After she had typed off a quick text, she went on.

  "So about the cottage, there'll be a tenant for at least six months. It shouldn't pose a problem. She's a dear friend of mine, coming in from the mainland. Sara will clean, paint and help with the house repairs, too."

  Gabriel hesitated, shoved a hand into his pocket. He liked working alone. Did he want to work side by side with a partner? From Charlotte's comment, if the house needed a lot of work they'd be there for a long time. So far, the jobs he'd done had been at homes whose owners were still off-island until summer, or they made themselves scarce when he showed up for the day. He liked it that way. This job would be up-close and personal, and longer term. Because he wouldn't turn down work, and the bulk of his leads initially came through Charlotte and Gary, he shoved his doubts aside. He owed it to them, and it made good business sense.

  "As long as she doesn't mind the noise and mess, I’m interested."

  Charlotte gave a dismissive wave. "She's no stranger to hard work and home improvement. I already talked to her about it, and she's ready to take on a project. Sara's a great girl, comes to the island every summer. You'll find her easygoing. When can you check it out?” she bounced a little, amusing him.

  At the fast tumble of words from her mouth and the jangle of bracelets, Gabe couldn't help but laugh. The woman could talk the head off a mug of beer. "Saturday or Sunday at the earliest, okay? By then I'll be done here."

  Charlotte popped up on her toes to press a kiss to his chin. "Thanks, Gabe. I'll let her know. Let's do dinner again soon."

  "You got it. Tell Gary I said hey.” He followed her back to her truck and waved when she drove off. Gary had his hands full with that one, but Gabe knew he loved every minute of it. Gary adored his wife, and she returned his affections wholeheartedly. He wouldn't mind that for himself one day. He wasn't getting any younger, but right now he needed to focus on his new career.

  Once again, he settled his dark blue cap on his head. A stiff breeze blew steadily, and the mild bite in the air made him pull on a denim shirt. The wind carried the scent of some unnamed early blooming flower along with the salty tang of the sea. Overhead, the sharp blue sky, clear of clouds, spread out uninterrupted by skyscrapers, billboards, or power lines. Plenty of clean air here. No sounds of traffic, car horns, fast walking feet or cell phones. What filled his ears now soothed the soul. Wind you could hear, the occasional SUV as it rolled past the house at under twenty miles an hour, the hum of bicycle tires and laughter as kids rode by, the call of seabirds. At night, the sky ran a dark, inky black, littered with stars in the absence of fog and clouds.

  The island, far from the mainland, lacked street lights, chain stores, strip malls, log jams of highway traffic. Native islanders preserved and fiercely protected the island to keep the historic village, and outlying raw, wild environment unspoiled. Very unlike New York City, Nantucket was a town that did sleep.

  Yeah, coming here had been the best decision of his life. As he headed back to his truck to get the stain for the staircase, he started to whistle.

  Chapter Two

  At the end of a long, rutted dirt lane, the cottage, GetAway, came into view. The tires rolled over the crushed shell driveway, and Sara brought her car slowly to a halt.

  "Finally.” After the three-and-a-half-hour drive from Connecticut and over two hours on the ferry, she gratefully crawled from the car and rubbed her lower back. A few stretches helped ease the kinks from her stiff muscles. In front of the open car door, she shielded her eyes to check out her new home for the next six months. A gust of wind hit the back of her head, tossed her hair wildly. Her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips. Her mouth curved up. Only a half hour since the boat docked and already the familiar taste of salt clung to her skin.

  The cottage siding consisted of traditional weathered gray shingles, some in need of replacement. Quirky turquoise trim paint peeled off in long strips, curled in at the edges. A wide covered porch spanned the front of the house. Moss molded itself to the edges of the roof and spilled green from the gutters. The elements left some of the decking warped. Overgrown pines almost obscured the view from the porch to the ocean.

  How long had the house gone untended? Looked like Mother Nature busily worked to reclaim what was hers. Suited her, after all, wasn't she here to stake her claim as well? They could coexist peaceably.

  She could envision the shrubbery cut back, the deck boards replaced, the roof scraped clean. Adirondack chairs on the porch angled to watch water and waves, the set and rise of the sun. Could it get any better? Mornings were her time. Quiet, peaceful, wide open for whatever the day might hold. Chronic insomnia ensured she'd see plenty of sunrises. The workings of her mind rarely let her sleep past three or four in the morning, even then not solidly. To catch up on her rest, or to put it more aptly, learn to relax, occupied a top spot on her to-do list.

  Hydrangeas clustered along the house, classic to the island though these were in dire need of pruning and feeding to bring out their rich color. On the beach side, twin sea-grass covered dunes flanked a sandy path that wound down to the sea. The roar and crash of waves reached her ears as they pummeled the shore. The views from the porch and upstairs windows would be spectacular. Goosebumps of pure pleasure ran along her arm
s and legs and a tiny spark ignited in the dark corners of her heart.

  A battered green mailbox perched on a weathered post by the path's entrance. The house stood alone at the end of the lane, a full quarter mile stretch to the next property. Exactly what she asked for. Charlotte made a perfect choice.

  Spirits buoyed, she strode toward the house, the knee high grass brushed against her jeans. On the porch, she stepped carefully to avoid nails coming through her thin sneakers. After a quick turn of the key in the lock, the door creaked open.

  She crinkled her nose. Empty for who knew how long, the house reeked, musty and damp. A staircase on the left led to the second floor. Ghost-gray sheets draped the furniture, and a rug lay rolled up along one wall. Hopefully, it would be in decent shape. Grime and salt coated the windows, the water views blurred by a dirty film. A rusty harpoon of dubious authenticity hung over a soot-scarred stone fireplace.

  "First thing to go.” Floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanked the fireplace. An avid reader, she ran her hand along the fancy trim and smiled.

  Dust-covered volumes lined the shelves with an eclectic assortment one would expect in a vacation home to cater to readers of all types. Romance, science fiction, mysteries, biographies, poetry and of course, books about Nantucket. Later she would go through the collection, pack up what she didn't want and put up her own books.

  Pushing back a yellowed sheer curtain ready to shred from dry rot, she unlocked the two side windows that flanked a larger one. Swollen with moisture, they didn't budge. Planting her feet, she wedged her palms under the sash and pushed up hard. After a hearty crack, the casement slid up to let fresh air swirl in.

  Hands on her hips, she moved through the space. The open floor plan made the quaint house appear larger. The kitchen appliances looked to be in decent condition. Older wood cabinets flanked the appliances. Chipped Formica countertops in seventies' orange made her cringe. Fresh paint would go a long way for the cabinets, but nothing would save those countertops. On the plus side, beautiful wide board floors seemed only to need a good scrubbing and oil rubbed in to bring back the shine.