Free Beach Blanket Santa (Holiday Brides Series) by Ginny Baird Page A

overtaken the ocean’s roar.
    Sarah sat up under the covers, thinking she’d heard the
screen door creak open. But how could that be? She studied the clock on the
nightstand. It was nearly four a.m. She slid into her slippers, determined to
check, and hoping that Matt had heard it too. Even if it had just been the wind
knocking the screen door ajar, she’d feel much safer checking it with big,
strapping Matt around. Spying her cell on the dresser, she got an idea. She’d
call Matt and ask if he’d heard something too. No, that was silly. She couldn’t
possibly wake him for an unlikely reason. For all intents and purposes, they
were marooned on this island together. Who knew how close their nearest
neighbor was? She’d initially assumed the house next door was occupied, but as
it turned out, that high-end hybrid SUV that had been parked in the drive
belonged to Matt. It probably was just the wind, Sarah told herself, trying to settle back down. She sat on the
bed, but a split second later heard the same noise again. She sprang to her
feet, grabbing the nearest weapon she could find, her bright red umbrella. With
a shaky hand, she opened the door to the living area, hoping to goodness this
was all in her mind. Surely she’d check the house and find everything clear.
Otherwise, she aimed to beeline it into Matt’s room just as quickly as she
could, propriety be damned.
    The second she stepped over the threshold, a bright beam of
light pierced her vision.
    “Sarah!” Matt called from the doorway, steadying his
flashlight in her direction.
    “Matt!” she cried, equally in shock. “What are you doing?”
He wore a damp rain slicker and appeared to be carting some sort of box
indoors.
    He set down the box and lowered the beam of his flashlight.
When he spoke again, he sounded slightly out of breath. “Fishing.”
    “Fishing?”
    “Yeah, I…” He smiled tightly. “Though you’d appreciate a
nice Christmas dinner. Catch of the Day?” he said with a shrug.
    Sarah thought something smelled fishy, all right. Since when
did people catch fish at four a.m.? And who in their right mind would pack them
in cardboard?
    He stared at the umbrella angled high in her hand. “Where
were you going with that ?”
    “To beat the living daylights out of whoever was breaking in
here.”
    “What if it had been Santa? Since when have you taken to
clubbing geriatric citizens?”
    Sarah lowered the umbrella and narrowed her gaze. “Hmm,
yes,” she said, growing suspicious. “What’s in the box?”
    Matt scratched his head, his eyes darting toward the door,
then back toward hers again. “Can’t say.”
    “Can’t or won’t?”
    “Can’t/won’t. There’s a slash in there.”
    “Matt…” she began. “I’m sure you weren’t fishing.”
    “Got me there,” he said brightly. “Doesn’t mean I’m not
about to!”
    “You mean you’re going down on the beach now?”
    “Down on the beach. Into the waves. Knee-deep if I have to.
Yup.”
    “Then what?”
    “Then, I’m headed straight back up here and hitting the hay.
Precisely as you ought to.” He went about his work as he spoke, hoisting the
mysterious box and sliding it into his bedroom, then reemerging with a tackle
box and his fishing pole and its holder. My, he was acting strange. Odder than
she’d ever seen him.
    “Are you sure you should be fishing at this hour?”
    “Sarah, I’m a man of the wild. Nature and I? We’re like
this.” He set down his gear to lace his hands together in a tug. “Why don’t you
go back to bed? I’ll be back before long and will see you in the morning.”
    “All right. If you’re sure?”
    “Megapositive,” he said, picking up his gear and flashing
her a grin.

 
    Matt left his gear under the house, then headed for the
beach, the beam of his flashlight leading. Whew! That had been close. He wasn’t
sure whether Sarah had believed his fishing story, but one way or another, he
was confident things would come out fine.