“Do you come to the island during the rest of the year?” she asked as he fired up the cart.
“Yeah,” he replied as he looked over his shoulder, backing out of the space. “I’ve been doing work for the homeowners here for more than five years. I come back and forth a lot, but every once in a while I get a bigger project that keeps me on the island for a couple of weeks, like the tree house.” He swung around, his eyes gleaming. “I can’t wait to show it to you.”
“It’s done?”
“Yep. I’m pretty proud of it.” His eyes sparkled before he put on his sunglasses.
As they pulled away from the parking area, Heather looked at all the carts. “Now I know why you’re so familiar with golf carts,” she teased as she put her own sunglasses on.
Bo acted as Heather’s guide to Dewees, pointing out the nature center and post office as they drove away from the dock. They bumped along crushed-shell roads under the lofty shade of trees. Heather was enchanted by the wild green landscape. Everywhere she looked there was something else to see. On one side of the road creeks meandered through lush cordgrass where egrets and a great blue heron were wading. Beyond was a glimmering lagoon where a large alligator sat sunning on a floating dock. Butterflies fluttered in the shrubs and songbirds darted from tree to tree. She felt she was in some sort of sanctuary. A safe haven not only for the wildlife, but for humans, too. Dewees made Isle of Palms look about as coastal as Charlotte.
Then, in a moment of clarity, she realized what was so different. Why she immediately felt so comfortable and at ease on Dewees—she didn’t see any other people.
“Bo, where is everyone?”
“They’re here. Somewhere. There aren’t many people on Dewees. It’s a private island, and the people who come here like seclusion. That’s why you don’t see houses from the road. They’re all set far back in the trees. You’re meant to feel like you’re alone. And the community is committed to the environment. You saw that there are no stores or restaurants of any kind.”
“Yes. But isn’t that difficult? To get food, or go out to dinner or a movie?”
“It’s a different way of life. People here know how to make it work. It takes a bit of planning. And there’s the ferry—it goes back and forth on the hour. But for folks who live here, it’s worth the effort. Dewees has its own pump and treated drinking water system and a state-of-the-art waste facility. Best of all, more than ninety percent of the island will remain wild.”
Heather looked around at the great expanse of water, trees, and sky and felt at home. “I didn’t know such a place existed.”
Bo took her on a loop around the island, continuing to point out sights as they drove, then turned into a driveway half hidden from the road by a thicket of trees. A tall, dark wood house loomed, large but discreetly nestled in the trees.
“This is where I’m staying,” he told her. He drove the cart up the wooden ramp to park under the raised house.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said, stepping out.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He grabbed the suitcase from the back of the cart and stretched out his hand. “Come on.”
The inside of the house, like the outside, was decorated in a cool palette of browns and grays. The furniture was wooden, modern, and sparse. There were a few paintings, modern as well, and very good. Clearly the owner wanted to create the sense of camping in the woods. She could see Bo living in such a place. It was a lot like him—spare, simple, hidden depths. They moved quickly through the house. It seemed Bo had his own agenda he was eager to get to. He led her to the screened porch. “This is it,” he said excitedly, opening the screen door.
Heather gasped. Connected to the main house by a walkway was a small, tidy turret hidden in the trees. It was both fanciful and solid. Something out of a storybook she’d read as a child. This incredible creation, she knew, revealed the heart and soul of Bo Stanton. Art, form, imagination—it had it all. She could picture him sitting on this porch for hours, staring at the trees, studying the depths and shadows, waiting to see the shape of the house emerge in his imagination.
“Oh, Bo,” she said with a soft sigh. “It’s like a dream I once had come true.”
He slipped his arm over her shoulders and looked at the house with pride. “I had a lot of help,” he replied with typical modesty, kissing Heather softly on the tip of her nose. “Let me give you the tour.”
They traversed the walkway together, and Heather was relieved to find it as sturdy and strong as any deck. Once inside the octagonal walls of the tree house she felt like a hobbit. An intricately carved desk stood in the middle surrounded by bookshelves and windows. A single rope light hung from the wall over the desk. It was the fantasy room of one’s own.
“I’d put a bed in here,” Bo said.
“No,” Heather said on a breath. “I’d paint in here.”
After the tour they returned to the main house and made their way to the master bedroom, planning to change into their swimwear. It was another magnificent room. The tall windows had wooden shades, all lowered to steep the room in tea-colored light. The ceiling was dramatically pitched over a large teak bed intricately carved in a design that resembled monkeys. Crisp white linens dressed the bed, which was topped with lots of large white pillows. It was a room meant for relaxation—sleep, talk, reading, making love.
Heather finished removing her bra and, looking up, saw Bo standing across from her. He was naked, and it was clear that he wanted her. Looking into his eyes, she slid her panties down her legs and kicked them aside. It was just the two of them. The room was shaded and cool. Their bodies were warm. She felt she was in some dream world, deep in the jungle. Without speaking Bo reached out, beckoning her. Without hesitation, she stepped into his arms.
SO MUCH FOR PLANS, Bo thought ruefully. Neither of them wanted to leave the comfort of each other’s arms and the great teak bed. He cradled Heather’s head on his shoulder and traced his fingers along her silky hair.
Their passion spent, Heather’s mood had clearly shifted. Her smile disappeared, replaced by an expression of sadness. She curled up beside him, her fingers holding tight. Bo pulled her into the crook of his arm and held her close.
“Baby, what’s the matter?” he asked.
In a broken voice, she told him about her stepmother’s visit. She left nothing out. Bo felt his anger rising, and fisted his hands when he heard Natalie’s insults. But what disturbed him the most—actually hurt his heart—was hearing the defeat in Heather’s voice.
“I couldn’t stand up to her,” she told him. “I wanted to, but I was afraid. All my words got stuck in my throat. I couldn’t push them out.”
Bo brought his finger to her lips. “It’s all right. She broadsided you. You didn’t see it coming.”
“I didn’t!” she cried with heat.