Forever Mine (Hazel Island Book 1) Read online

  Forever Mine

  Hazel Island Book 1

  Iris Morland

  Blue Violet Press LLC

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Also by Iris Morland

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Forever Mine

  Copyright © 2021 by Iris Morland

  Published by Blue Violet Press LLC

  Seattle, Washington

  Cover design by Romance Cover Designs

  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, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter One

  Jack Benson considered his options: get up and leave without a word or suffer through the indignity currently being hoisted upon him.

  "Come on, smile!" said Gigi, the woman he'd been seeing off and on for three months. "Why can't you ever smile for a picture, at least?"

  Jack forced himself to smile. Apparently, that wasn't good enough for Gigi, because when she looked through the photos, she made annoyed noises at every single one.

  Jack was a fisherman, for Christ's sake. He didn't give a shit about social media, and he sure as hell didn't give a shit about taking selfies, either.

  Gigi, her mouth in a pretty pout, wrinkled her nose at him. "I can't post any of these. My friends don't believe that I even have a boyfriend."

  Jack, lounging in his bed, sat up at that pronouncement. "Whoever said anything about 'boyfriend'?" he rumbled.

  Gigi fluttered her eyelashes. "It's been four months."

  As if time were the sole marker of a relationship. Jack had to restrain a snort. Gigi wasn't a bad sort. She was the type of woman he'd always preferred: pretty but easily bored. Because once these women got bored, they left. And that was how Jack liked things.

  Jack wished he had a bottle of whiskey on his bedside table. Instead, he went to his tiny kitchen, made them both two mugs of coffee, and handed one to Gigi.

  "Look." He cleared his throat. "I'm not a boyfriend kind of guy."

  Gigi laughed. "Every guy says that."

  "I'm not every guy."

  She pouted again, not even touching the coffee he'd given her. "Do you have nothing else to say?"

  "What do you want me to say?" Now he was just confused.

  Gigi quickly bounced from his bed and slipped on her clothes, shooting him daggers as she did so.

  "You know what I think?" she said tightly.

  He didn't think it wise to reply to that question, either.

  "I think you don't know what you want. Any guy would love to be with me, so it's not me. It's you. You're just messed up." Gigi grabbed her purse and, after she checked her hair in her compact, gave him the finger before flouncing out to her car.

  Jack winced when he heard her tires peeling out. He just hoped she hadn't run over his freshly planted sod.

  Pulling out a bottle of whiskey he stashed under his mattress, he poured some into his coffee. Then he did the same thing with Gigi's leftover mug.

  Jack had worked as a fisherman on Hazel Island, a small island in Puget Sound, for over a decade. On his boat, the Perseverance, he was at home. He didn't have to deal with people demanding things from him that he didn't have. It was just him, the sea, and the stink of freshly caught fish.

  Not that fresh fish should literally stink. He'd learned that quickly when he'd started. He'd been amazed to find that fish straight from the water smelled and tasted of the ocean itself. He never sold fish that actually stunk–only a hack who didn't care about his catch or his customers would do that.

  Jack pulled in a net filled with salmon, the fish wiggling and flopping about in one last attempt at freedom. But the net was lighter than usual, and when he looked it over, he realized he hadn't caught nearly as many as he'd expected.

  And the salmon—they were strangely small, not at all like he'd been used to catching over the years.

  Jack used to catch crabs primarily. Within the last year, though, he'd begun fishing for salmon as his main source of income. Crab fishing in particular had started to dry up due to overfishing.

  Although the waters around Hazel Island were vast, they only had a few different species of fish available for commercial fishing. When Jack had moved to the island, he hadn’t realized that there were better fishing grounds elsewhere in the Sound. At that point, though, he’d already felt at home on Hazel Island and hadn’t wanted to leave.

  Jack grunted. There were ups and downs with this business: bad weather, bad catches. Some years, he struggled to keep up with all the fish he'd catch. Other years, it was like the entire ocean was devoid of life. Feast or famine–that was the life of a fisherman.

  But it was always temporary. This, however... Jack had a sinking feeling in his gut that this was a bad omen. He’d naively assumed the overfishing wouldn't be an issue like it had with crabbing.

  Based on this catch, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to be so lucky a second round.

  By the time he returned to shore and began packing the salmon for sale with the help of a few guys he hired seasonally, he was in a dark mood. If the other guys noticed how pathetic this catch was, they didn't mention it.

  Hazel Island was a sleepy town with no more than a thousand residents. The population swelled with tourists in the summer, but now that it was fall, the island activity had slowed down.

  Jack made his usual stops at the various grocery stores and restaurants that bought salmon directly from him. His last stop was the Hazel Island bed and breakfast.

  Gwen Parker, the owner, stepped outside the moment he turned off the engine of his truck. "Oh good, there you are! You're late," she teased.

  Gwen had moved to Hazel Island five years ago to open her bed and breakfast. With her red hair, freckles, and wide smile, she'd quickly become a favorite in the community. She was always friendly, always willing to lend a hand or an ear. Her business had taken off and had yet to slow down. She'd somehow managed to draw in tourists for the rainy winter months when no one else on the island had done so.

  Gwen Parker was a marvel that Jack did not understand one bit.

  He looked at his watch. "I'm not late," he replied.

  "You're usually here by eleven. It's eleven-thirty."

  He looked around when he entered the kitchen of the bed and breakfast. Based on the quiet emanating from the dining room, they weren't busy.

  "Sorry," he said gruffly. "I'll put these in the fridge."

  He carried in Gwen's usual order, setting them in the same spot, something he'd done for five years.

  When he returned outside, Gwen was standing by his truck, her head cocked to the side.

  The sun had begun to shine through the clouds, and it made the strands
of gold in Gwen's hair stand out. Jack had always wondered how many colors her hair held.

  He'd wondered it, but he'd never, ever, attempted to see it for himself.

  "You might be interested to hear Gigi came by this morning for some breakfast," said Gwen, her tone casual. "She seemed very put out. She asked for hash browns, which she never does."

  Jack gritted his teeth. "So?"

  "Aren't you two seeing each other?"

  "No." He paused. "Not anymore."

  "Ah. Well, she told Darla all about it, apparently. She was spitting mad. Said men were absolute beasts and she hoped a certain fisherman fell off his boat and drowned." Gwen's lips quirked. "I think you made her mad. I've never seen Gigi say anything mean about anyone. I think she's even nice to mosquitoes."

  Jack let out a reluctant laugh. "I probably screwed that up," he admitted. He peered more closely at Gwen. "Since when do you care?"

  Gwen seemed taken aback. "We're friends, aren't we? And I thought, you know, I could give you some advice—"

  Jack groaned.

  "From a fellow woman. That's all. I'm just saying, you might need to be more upfront with women in the future. If they think you want a relationship but you don't—"

  He held up a hand. "Gigi knew the rules. She thought she could change them. Nothing more to it than that."

  "Oh." Gwen looked embarrassed. "Sorry."

  "Nothing to be sorry for. We had our fun, it's over." He jangled his keys, hoping Gwen would take the hint.

  "Are you going to be single for the rest of your life? Sounds pretty lonely to me," said Gwen.

  What had he done to deserve this? First, Gigi throwing a fit. Next, Gwen prying into his personal life. He and Gwen might be friends, but they weren't friends of that sort.

  Jack Benson didn't have any friends he talked with about those things. That was what women did: talk, talk, talk. Talking about their feelings until you wanted to get on the nearest boat and sail until you hit the edge of the world.

  "Are you offering to fix that problem?" he drawled. "Because it sounds to me like you're interested."

  Gwen blushed. Being a redhead, she blushed easily and often. It was one of the things Jack found charming about her.

  "I am not offering to fix anything. I'm just wondering." She spread her hands. "I just want people to be happy."

  "Then how about you stick to making your customers happy. I'm doing just fine on my own."

  "Sounds like someone doth protest too much."

  Jack shot her an annoyed look before he took off.

  The day Jack had met Gwen Parker, she'd been covered in paint splatters, her hair a mess. She and her older brother, Elliot, had been working on the bed and breakfast all summer long. When Jack had heard that someone had bought the old, boarded-up house on Main Street, he'd assumed the new owner would simply bulldoze it.

  Jack knew everyone on Hazel Island, even if he didn't make a point to be friends with them. When he stopped by the house-in-progress, he had to sidestep a hole in the porch. When the boards under his feet squeaked ominously, he prayed he didn't fall through to his doom.

  Gwen had opened the door with a flourish. She'd smiled at him, and that smile had been like a punch to the gut. Jack was hardly a guy who used fancy words, but the word radiant had been the first thing that had popped into his head.

  Gwen was radiant: from her bright hair, to her smile, to the way she moved, like some mystical spirit. She did everything with energy.

  He introduced himself, and she shook his hand, her grip surprisingly strong despite her size.

  "I'm in desperate need of fresh salmon. I've heard you're the guy for the job," she said brightly.

  "Yeah, that's me."

  "I honestly don't know anything about what makes any fish good or not. I've eaten my fair share of sushi, but if you handed me a tuna, I couldn't tell you if it was a good one or not."

  Jack listened as this woman he'd never met chattered on. She didn't come up for air. He wondered if there was something wrong with her.

  Or maybe, just maybe, she just liked to talk to people. He shuddered internally at the thought.

  "If you're worried that I'd screw you over," he said, "you don't have to be. Ask anyone on the island. They can vouch for me."

  Her eyes widened. "Oh! Of course not. I didn't mean to imply that. I'm sure you're very honorable. The most honorable fisherman there is."

  He eyed her. Was she messing with him? But based on her expression, she seemed entirely sincere.

  He couldn't help but notice that she wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Her brother was helping her renovate the place, so she must not have a boyfriend or fiancé. That surprised him. Gwen didn't seem like the type of woman who would do well on her own. She needed to talk too much.

  She'd hate how Jack lived: in a tiny house, isolated from humanity, no computer or internet. He had a radio and not much else for entertainment.

  "Are you from Hazel Island? A lot of people seem to have been born and raised here. It's not like Seattle. Everybody is a transplant there, it seems like," said Gwen.

  "I've been here for a while," was all Jack said in reply.

  Gwen glanced at her phone. "Oh, crap, I need to meet my brother. I lost track of time. It was nice to meet you. If you're ever free, please stop by when we're open for a bite to eat."

  Jack just nodded. He had no intention of coming to this little hole in the wall that would probably go bankrupt within a year. Not that Gwen Parker seemed out of her depth. It was just the nature of this island that small businesses either sank or swim given the fluctuation of the local economy. If you didn't know how to save during the months of good business, you wouldn't have enough to sustain you through the leaner months.

  Gwen's phone rang right before Jack left. He watched as her face turned pale. The phone kept ringing, Gwen staring at the screen, like she couldn't decide if she wanted to answer it.

  That was his cue to leave. But the sudden vulnerability of her expression compared to how she'd been just minutes earlier pierced something inside him.

  Finally, her phone stopped ringing. When she looked up, she started, as if she'd forgotten about Jack's presence.

  "Spam call," she said, clearly lying, considering she wouldn't meet his eyes. "They're the worst, right?"

  "I wouldn't know. I don't have a cell phone."

  Gwen gaped at him. "Seriously? How do you call people?"

  "I have a landline."

  "Well, you're maybe the last person on earth that does. Even my dad has a cell phone, and he barely knows how to print something."

  Gwen's phone started ringing again. This time, she turned it off and shoved it into her pocket.

  "Somebody bothering you?" said Jack. Why do you care? he asked himself.

  "Oh, just my husband." She grimaced. "I mean, my ex-husband. We're separated."

  Ex-husband. So she'd been married–was still married, technically. Jack didn't know why that angered him. Was it because she was still legally bound to another man?

  Or because she was free to date other people?

  "He keeps wanting to talk. I don't know what there is to talk about. I already served him the papers. Now suddenly he's got cold feet." Gwen made a face. "I'm sorry. TMI. You don't care, I'm sure."

  Jack saw the way her shoulders hunched. He noticed the circles under her eyes, and how she kept touching her back pocket where she'd put her phone, like a weird talisman. He had the sudden urge to keep her safe.

  "Don't apologize." His voice was gruff. "You don't have anything to be sorry about."

  She looked a little stunned at that pronouncement.

  As Jack drove to his next stop, he kept seeing her face in his mind's eye.

  As the weeks, the months, the years passed, he and Gwen fell into a routine: he'd come by every Tuesday and Thursday with a fresh catch. He never told her that he under-charged her, especially when she first opened the bed and breakfast.

  She'd make sure to have a fresh cup of co
ffee–sugar, no cream–ready to hand to him. Sometimes she'd ply him with a donut or pastry, although she soon discovered he preferred savory things. So she started making him breakfast burritos, telling him he was her guinea pig for new items on their menu.

  Jack heard through the grapevine about Gwen's divorce being finalized. When he saw her the following morning, he could tell she'd been crying. He made sure to charge her less than half for her salmon without her knowing about it.

  When he heard she was dating someone, he didn't accept the coffee or breakfast items, telling her he'd already eaten. It felt odd, accepting her gifts when she should be giving them to the man she was dating.

  As the years passed, they formed a friendship, something Jack had never had with another woman. He watched as Gwen gained confidence in running her business. He watched as she dated one man, then another, the relationships never lasting long. He watched as she became a pillar of the community, even though Hazel Island was a difficult place to be accepted if you hadn't been born there.

  He watched Gwen because if he could do nothing else, he'd look out for her as long as he was able.

  Chapter Two

  Gwen Parker knew the answer before the bank loan officer opened his mouth.

  "Unfortunately, Mrs. Parker..."

  "Ms.," she corrected automatically. "Parker is my maiden name."

  The loan officer shuffled the papers in front of him. "Pardon me. Ms. Parker. Yes, unfortunately, we are not able to extend a loan to you at this time."

  Gwen felt heat creep into her cheeks. "May I ask why?"