No Judgments: A Novel (Little Bridge Island Book 1)

Risks of electrocution, drowning, and other physical threats can accompany hurricanes.

As soon as I’d finally managed to scoop my hair from my eyes, I saw something I’d become sure I’d never see again: Drew Hartwell’s handsome, unshaven face smiling down at me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked—not accusingly, but curiously, as if I were a bird that had tumbled down from the sky and landed at his feet.

“I . . . I . . .”

I don’t know what came over me.

Maybe it was how good he looked, dressed as always in a half-buttoned linen shirt, blown open by the strong ocean breeze, and a pair of cargo shorts, slung obscenely low on his slim hips.

Maybe it was my certainty that I was going to find him dead, and he was so very much alive.

Maybe it was that smile . . . that smile that revealed all his white, even teeth, and caused my heart to somersault inside my chest.

Whatever the reason, instead of replying, I found myself flinging my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his, and kissing him full on the mouth.

“Whoa,” he said in surprise, his lips moving against mine. “What—”

But it seemed to be a pleasant surprise, since his hands went quickly to my waist, then tugged me closer, crushing my breasts against his hard bare chest. I could feel the metal rivets of the fly of his shorts against my belly, since my T-shirt had hiked up.

Then his lips stopped moving to form words, but instead started moving to kiss me back. He tasted pleasantly of mint toothpaste, but when his tongue joined his lips in their gentle exploration, I tasted something else more flavor forward, and realized it was coffee.

Who knows how long we would have stood there kissing like that, with my arms around his neck and his around my waist, and a hot white heat rising from deep inside me, if something cold and wet hadn’t pressed up against my thigh. I pulled away with a gasp.

“Goddammit, Bob,” Drew snarled down at the large black Labrador retriever that was panting up at me, his pink tongue lolling. “Leave her alone.”

The dog wagged his black fringed tail happily, looking entirely unapologetic. Behind him was another, smaller dog, a scruffy terrier mix also wagging its tail and smiling up at me. A third dog, some sort of beagle mix, stood behind Drew, while a fourth came trotting around the corner of the wraparound deck, one black ear tipped forward alertly, while the other drooped in a manner I found oddly familiar . . .

“Socks?” I could hardly believe what I was seeing. The bedraggled border collie mix had been transformed. His once dingy black-and-gray coat gleamed a lustrous black and white. He trotted with confidence with every step, his tail wagging joyously as he bounded over to greet me, and while one of his ears still drooped, the one that always perked up alertly seemed more alert than ever.

“It’s Bob now,” Drew said, leaning down to give the dog an affectionate scratch beneath the droopy ear. “Remember? I told you I changed it. New life, new name.”

I pointed at the black Lab, who had jealously inserted his head beneath Drew’s hand, eager for his own caresses. “But you called that one Bob.”

Drew automatically transferred his hand to the Lab’s head. “He’s Bob, too. They’re all named Bob.”

I had begun scratching the head of the beagle mix, who’d placed its paws on my thigh, looking up at me with those big brown liquid eyes all beagles have.

“You can’t name all your dogs Bob,” I said, with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes, I can.” He looked perfectly serious. “And you never answered my question. What are you doing here?”

I stared at him like he was crazy. “I came to make sure you’re okay. Do you even know what’s going on out there? The bridge to the mainland is washed out and no one can get on or off the island. Your aunt and uncle are worried sick about you.”

There was a knowing glint in his electric blue eyes. “Really? My aunt and uncle were the only ones worried about me?”

I pretended not to understand what he meant, tugging my backpack away from the scruffy terrier mix, who was taking a pointed interest in it, most likely due to the egg, ham, and cheese sandwich inside. “Well, your niece, too.”

“Ah,” he said. “You rode all the way out here because my family is worried about me? It has nothing to do with your personal feelings toward me? Which I have to say you’re making pretty obvious by all these kisses you keep laying on me.”

I could feel myself blushing, but fortunately, it was windy enough that I knew my cheeks were hidden by my hair, which was blowing around all over the place.

“I . . . I . . . was just relieved that I wasn’t going to have to go back to your aunt’s house and tell her that you’re dead. That kiss, that . . . that’s just the way we greet people in New York when we’re relieved they haven’t been killed in a natural disaster.”

“Oh, I see.” He was grinning from ear to ear, looking so self-satisfied I began to wonder myself why I’d bothered to go to all the trouble of finding him. I’d forgotten how annoying he could be. “I should have stayed in New York longer, since I think I missed some of the more interesting local traditions there.”

Hoping to change the subject, I opened my backpack and extracted the sandwich Mrs. Hartwell had made for him, still warm in its wrapping. “Here, this is from your aunt Lucy.”

He peeled back the foil, sniffed, then nodded appreciatively. “God bless that woman. I think this calls for a beer. You want one?”

“No, I do not want a beer. Are you insane? It isn’t even noon.”

“There’s a tradition Little Bridge natives follow after natural disasters. It’s called ‘It’s never too early for beer.’ I think you’ll grow to like it as much as I like your native traditions.”

He didn’t wait for my reply. He turned and walked into the house, the dogs trotting excitedly behind him, obviously accustomed to getting a treat (or a dropped piece of sandwich) when he headed toward the kitchen.

I had no choice but to follow. Well, I could have made the long journey back down the stairs and across the beach to my scooter, but I was curious to see what the inside of the great Drew Hartwell’s famous beach house looked like.

And now that he’d mentioned it, a beer did sound kind of good.

I wasn’t disappointed by the interior of his home. It was like him, uncluttered and expansive. Because of the sliding glass doors, almost everywhere you looked you saw either the bright blue of the sky or the deeper, grayish-blue of the sea. Almost all of the sliding doors had been flung open to allow the ocean breeze to flow in.

I understood now why he didn’t have air-conditioning. He didn’t need it. If Leighanne had left because of the lack of AC, she’d been a fool.

The walls were all as white inside as they were outside. The floor plan was open concept, one main large room that was a kitchen, living, and dining room combined, with a hallway leading off to what I assumed was the master. He owned very little furniture, only a leather sectional and a large wood-and-glass dining table that I was guessing he’d made himself. It wasn’t much of a guess, since the tools he’d used to make it were scattered all over the table itself and even the darkly stained wooden floor, against which the dogs’ claws went skittering as they ran to be close by when he opened the huge stainless steel refrigerator for the beers.

And when he said, “Bob, sit,” all four of the dogs sat obediently, even Socks, watching him as he opened two bottles of Corona.

“Wait,” I said. “They’re all really named Bob?”

“Dogs are pack animals,” he said with a shrug as he handed me my beer. “They don’t need individual names. They do everything as a group anyway. I’m their alpha. They do what I tell them.”

I took a swig from the bottle. It had managed to stay pretty cold, despite the lack of power to the fridge.

“Well,” I said. “I think that’s terrible. Everyone, even animals, needs their own individual name.”

“Socks seem okay to you?”

I looked at the border collie and had to admit he appeared brighter eyed and happier than I’d ever seen him, and not only because Drew was tossing him a dog treat from a jar he kept on the black granite counter by the fridge.

“Well, yes. But—”

“Then who cares? Let’s talk some more about that kiss. What other traditions do New Yorkers—”

“Let’s talk about what happened here last night.”

“Oh, yeah.” He winced at the memory as he was biting into the sandwich his aunt had prepared for him. “That. Well, as you probably recall, after I dropped off your scooter at the house, I drove back here.”

“Yes . . .”

“And that’s when the weather started getting a little dicey. Do you want a bite of this?” He held the sandwich toward me.

I shook my head. “It’s all yours. Where’s your truck?”

“I didn’t want it to get flooded out in the storm surge, so I parked it over by the high school, then hoofed it back here to be with the dogs.”

This was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard . . . aside from naming all your dogs Bob.

“Did it not occur to you to take the dogs with you and stay at the high school? It’s a storm shelter.”

He shook his head. “Couldn’t do that. The high school’s a shelter of last resort for people who really need it.”

“Yes. And?”

“So I didn’t really need it. The dogs and I would have been taking away valuable space and resources from those in need.”

I nearly lost it. Standing in the middle of his bright, airy home, the sun and sea shining all around me, I flung both arms above my head and cried, “Drew, did you hear me when I told you what’s going on around here? The bridge to the mainland is washed out. Half your neighbors’ houses are gone! Someone’s refrigerator is in the middle of your street! Along with a boat!”

He chewed calmly on his sandwich then said, after swallowing, “Yeah, but my house is fine.”

“But you didn’t know it was going to be!”

“Yeah, I did. I built it. And look at it. It did great.”

The problem was, I couldn’t deny it. It had done great. Except for the sand and seaweed flung up against it, which could be hosed off, it hadn’t received a single scratch.

I couldn’t let him win the argument, however. My assignment had been to bring him back to his aunt.

“Well, you can’t possibly be planning on staying here,” I said. “You don’t even have power.”

“What do I need power for?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Cooking food for human sustenance?”

He crooked a darkly tanned index finger at me. “Come hither, little girl.”

Trying not to show how sexy I found the gesture—or how disappointed I felt when it turned out he was only leading me through the nearest open sliding glass doors, and not toward his bedroom—not that I’d have let anything happen if he had been leading me to his bedroom . . . probably—I followed him.

“Here.” He pointed his beer bottle toward a massive outdoor grill, on which was sitting an enamelware percolator. “Satisfied that my daily needs are being met without electrical power?”

I stepped closer to the grill and saw that there was also a frying pan sitting on it, on which I glimpsed the remains of egg whites.

“You already had eggs this morning?” I asked in disbelief. “And yet you ate your aunt’s breakfast sandwich, too?”

“Hey,” he said, patting his flat belly. “Don’t you know calories don’t count when you’re going through hurricane recovery?”

I set down my beer and turned away from the grill—and him—in disgust. “Well, I guess you and the Bobs are doing just fine out here. Since you don’t need my help after all, I should probably go.”

“Whoa.” He lunged for my arm, grasping it above my elbow just as I was about to head back to the steps. “I didn’t say that. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got Internet or TV. And the Bobs are fun, but they aren’t great conversationalists. I could use some company.”

“Too bad you didn’t put in a generator when you were building this place,” I said, prying his fingers off, one by one.

“Oh, I did. I built a nice tall concrete pad for it and everything, to keep it out of the surge. It just hasn’t been connected yet.”

“Well, don’t worry. I know a guy with the power company. I’m sure he’ll have the electricity back on for you soon, and you can return to playing video games or whatever it is you like to do out here by yourself.”

He looked as wounded as if I’d said he liked to sit around and watch porn. “Video games? Did you even look around in there? I do not even own— And who do you know who works at the power company? I thought you only just moved here.”

“Three months ago, as I’ve told you repeatedly.” I liked that he seemed a little jealous. “And I know Sean Petrovich.”

“Sean?” His brow furrowed. “Sean Petrovich? If you think he’s coming to anyone’s rescue on his big white power truck, you’re going to be sadly disappointed. I ran into Sean last night on the street while I was heading over to the high school and he and his girlfriend—ha, bet you didn’t know he had one of those, did you?—were heading out of town like bats out of hell. I’ve never seen anybody so scared—”

“Wait.” I held up a hand to stop the flow of his words. “Sean Petrovich, the nephew of my landlady, Lydia Petrovich?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” He must have recognized something more than mere curiosity in my face, since he asked, “Why?”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’ve known him since we were both kids. Played on the same ball team as Nevaeh’s dad in high school, but he wasn’t anywhere near as good. Only one who didn’t know he was never going to go pro was him.”

I felt a cold chill growing over me, despite the warmth of the wind blowing in from the sea.

“I asked him where the hell he thought he was going,” Drew went on, “since the people who work for the power company get paid double overtime to stay here through the storm to help the town get back online after, and he said screw that, no amount of money was worth dying for, and that he and his girl were headed for Tampa. Which I doubt they even made it to, because that storm was already hitting here when they—”

“But that’s terrible!”

He frowned, misunderstanding me. “Well, I mean, they might have made it. Probably, if the guy had any sense, he pulled over into a hotel when the winds got really bad—”

“No, not about that.” I couldn’t believe it. “Sean was supposed to be taking care of my landlady’s son’s guinea pigs. Did he have them with him?”

Drew stared at me. “Did he have what with him?”

“The guinea pigs. Was there a guinea pig cage in the car with him?”

He shook his head. “How would I know? It was pouring rain at the time. I didn’t exactly stick my face in his window and take an inventory of everything he had in the car. But Sean drives a Camaro. I don’t think there’d be room for anything in that car except for him and his girlfriend. Well, and Sean’s pit bull, Pookie, who could barely fit in the—”

The chill I’d been feeling turned into outright dread.

“Damn it.” I turned and headed for the stairs, and this time, I moved so fast, there was no way Drew could catch me. “Sorry, but I have to go.”