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inside.
    September was when the rainy season usually began in Nantucket, often lasting for weeks, with occasionally severe storms. Because this had been the pattern for decades, most of the homes were built to be sturdy enough to withstand almost any weather. However, if she planned to linger past the tourist season, she’d best return to her Boston town house and pack up some of her things to have shipped over by ferry.
    Briana was aware that she had a strong nesting instinct. After all the moving around, the many places she’d lived, she needed her own things around her to feel at home. She had no plans to sell the town house and call Nantucket her permanent home, not yet at least. Bereavement advisors always said that it was usually a mistake to make large changes in lifestyle for at least the first year after a death in the family.
    Fortunately, money wasn’t a worry. She had a good income from a trust fund left by her maternal grandparents, the principal left untouched. And now she had Robert’s generous insurance payoff, since he hadn’t bothered to change beneficiaries after the divorce. That unexpected inheritance she hadn’t wanted to touch, merely depositing the check in the bank and putting off deciding what to do with it. She couldn’t help feeling she didn’t deserve Robert’s money since she was no longer his wife and hadn’t been for three years.
    When she’d scraped as far as she could reach, Briana climbed down and studied the decorative shutter on the window next to the ladder. It was attached with several screws that had been painted over. After wrestling with the porch shutters, she wasn’t anxious to attack this one, but it had to be done. Taking another swallow of water, she stood contemplating the shutter, wondering how best to go about the chore.
    “I can help you with that,” said a deep voice behind her.
    Briana turned and looked up at her neighbor. He was wearing dark sunglasses and baggy, fire-engine red shorts, his bare feet planted in the soft grass. A good head taller than she, his chest was broad, muscular, and covered with dark hair. In one hand, he held a glass filled with orange liquid and ice cubes. Was the man ever without a drink in his hand?
    “Thanks, but I think I can manage.”
    Slade took a sip of the glass he’d recently refilled, enormously glad that his headache was gone. He glanced at the shutter, then back at her. “That’s bigger than the ones on the porch, heavier, too.” He reached up and scraped a thumbnail over the painted screw. “Whoever painted this last didn’t do a very good job.”
    Briana had to agree. “My grandfather fell and broke his hip a while back and didn’t climb ladders after his surgery. I don’t know who he hired.”
    “Not a professional.” Slade set his glass on the ground and took hold of the shutter, tugging at it, testing the tightness. “This baby’s really up there.”
    Briana sighed. She’d hoped she could do the job herself, not having to rely on others. “My friend on the corner knows a handyman. I’ll get his number.” She bent to pick up her scraper and went to work.
    “Like I said, I can help.”
    Stopping, Briana turned to him, wondering why he was offering his services, wishing he’d remove his sunglasses so she could see his eyes.
    She wasn’t a poker player, he’d wager. Her face gave away her curiosity. Frankly, Slade wasn’t certain himself why he’d come out to lend a hand after watching her from the porch. Maybe it was as simple as needing something to do. His whole life, he’d never been one to sit around. He was going stir-crazy inside his father’s perfect house.
    Slade inclined his head toward the brick house next door. “Not much needs doing over there. Place is like some ad in
House Beautiful.
I’m used to working with my hands, used to hard work and long hours.”
    Deliberately, Briana glanced at his glass, then back to his eyes, letting the look reveal her doubts about his drinking