The Dangerous Protector

by Janet Chapman

  “I’ve been working out at an Augusta gym every evening for the last two weeks,” Willow reminded him. “And paddling is like riding a bike. I’m going to reclaim my title tomorrow.”

  “Not without a fight,” Jane said, sauntering over with Jason’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.

  “What is it with you guys?” Willow asked with a laugh, lifting a brow at Kee and Duncan and Jason, then nodding toward Luke across the room, who also had his arm draped around Molly. “Can’t you stand up without a woman to lean on?”

  “Ya’re not holding us up, counselor,” Duncan responded with a chuckle. “We’re holding ya down, so ya can’t wander off and get into trouble.”

  Willow snorted. “Like we’re the problem,” she said, rolling her eyes. She peeled Duncan off her and shooed him away, then shooed the other men after him. “Go away. We ladies are having a chat. Go save Ahab from Margaret. She’s flirting with him again.”

  Duncan groaned, his gaze darting to the table, where he saw Margaret sitting beside Ahab and sliding another bowl of strawberries in front of him. Nick was now sitting on her lap, popping one of the plump strawberries in his mouth and wiping his sticky hand on Margaret’s shirtsleeve. The duchess didn’t seem to notice. In fact, she didn’t seem to notice much of anything other than Ahab.

  “Will you tell me what she sees in that old goat?” Duncan muttered, looking back to glare at Willow. “This is your fault. She told me you asked her to stay until after the Fourth.” He lowered his brows. “She won’t tell me why, though. What are ya two concocting?”

  Willow gave him an innocent smile. “Why, nothing, Dunky. I just wanted to get acquainted with your mom, that’s all.”

  He obviously didn’t believe her, but he obviously felt it more important to pull his mother away from Ahab than to argue. Duncan, Kee, and Jason, forming a wall of masculine support, rushed to Ahab’s rescue.

  Rachel covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. “And Duncan always thought his mother was a stuffed shirt. She’s certainly been proving him wrong these last two weeks.”

  “He couldn’t even stay in Augusta two nights with me,” Willow said with a sigh. “Because he had to get back here and babysit his sister and mother, he told me, before they both ran off and got married.”

  “What about Ben Zane?” Willow asked Rachel. “How come he’s still here, and how come he’s not courting Molly?”

  Rachel smiled and shook her head. “Luke, that devious devil, convinced Ben that he was too young to be thinking about settling down with a wife. He told Ben that Matt and Peter were looking for a new partner in their salvage business, and that a bright young man like him should be out seeing the world and going on adventures.”

  “And Ben actually bought that line?”

  Rachel nodded. “Not only did he buy it, he’s been waiting around to meet Matt and Peter. Apparently, coming here was the first time he’d ever traveled outside his hometown. And now he’s decided there’s a lot more to life than dipping sheep and getting kicked in the shins by cattle.”

  “What about his ranch?” Willow asked.

  “He talked with his brother, James, back in New Zealand, and apparently James is already married and has two kids, and is more than happy to take over Ben’s share of the ranch. James told Ben to go for it.”

  Willow looked out the kitchen window at Ben Zane, seeing him deep into conversation with Matt and Peter. The young man’s face was shining with excitement. “Good,” Willow said with a nod. “I think it’s a great idea.”

  “That’s not the only news,” Rachel said, drawing Willow’s attention again. “Luke is moving to Scotland. He and Molly are going to manage the Rosach Distillery.”

  “But what about Camden?”

  “Camden’s going to open a new distillery here in Maine. It seems Duncan and Camden have been talking about it for the last six months. There’s a problem with the spring that supplies the water to the distillery over in Scotland. It’s drying up. Camden thinks there’s only enough water left to produce a smaller, more specialized line of Scotch.”

  “But it won’t be ‘Scotch’ if it’s distilled here,” Willow pointed out.

  Rachel shrugged. “I’m just telling you what Kee told me that Duncan told him. I guess it will be whiskey, spelled with an e, and that Camden will try to market it as ‘brewed in the tradition of Scotch whisky,’ but with the distinctive flavor of Maine peat. We do have plenty of peat bogs here,” Rachel pointed out. “And pristine water. And the farmers up north can grow barley if Camden sets up contracts with them. And Kee said Duncan told him this is the perfect climate. Maine has all the ingredients for a master distillery, and Camden has the old family recipe that he wants to try adapting. He’s tying up loose ends in Scotland, and is due to come here this fall and look for some land to buy.”

  “Wow!” was all Willow could say.

  “Ah, I have some news,” Jane said softly, her cheeks tinging pink when both Rachel and Willow looked over at her expectantly. “Jason got a job at the University of Maine,” she told them. “He’s going to be working in the computer labs.”

  “Jason in a desk job?” Willow asked in disbelief.

  “He’s going to be in charge of field research computers,” Jane said. “He’ll be going to research sites and making sure the programs work for the type of data that needs to be input.”

  “You mean, like when a marine biologist has to collect data in the field, or, should I say, in the ocean?” Willow asked, raising one brow.

  Jane’s cheeks darkened even more. “Our labs requested the computer department to supply us with a data input specialist several months ago, long before I ever met Jason. He’ll also be going to archaeological digs and forestry management sites.”

  Willow held up her hands in supplication. “Hey, I wasn’t implying anything.” She gave Jane a brilliant smile, darted a quick look around, and then hauled both Jane and Rachel into the living room and up the stairs to her old bedroom. “Now, about my little plan for when we attend tomorrow’s celebration in the town square,” she said, closing the door behind them. “Are we all on the same page?”

  Jane nodded, though she looked uncertain.

  Rachel also nodded, but she looked utterly worried. “This could backfire on you, Willy,” Rachel whispered. “You could actually start a town riot.”

  “Or be publicly stoned with rotten fruit,” Jane interjected.

  “Or,” Willow said, throwing her arms out and flopping back on her bed, smiling up at the ceiling. “I just might get elected mayor of Puffin Harbor.”

  Both Rachel and Jane broke into peals of laughter at that unlikely prophecy.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Willow did not reclaim her Crane Island Kayak Race title, but she did have a respectable sixth-place showing in a field of seven. The number seven guy, though, had been seventy-three years old, and Willow had been beat by three women in their fifties and a fourteen-year-old boy. Jane did indeed claim first place, but then, she’d been white-water kayaking all spring, and had the muscles to prove it.

  Willow just knew she was going to pay for today’s herculean effort for at least the next week. Every muscle in her body ached, but it was nothing compared to what she knew she’d feel tomorrow morning when she tried to get out of bed.

  She was sleeping in her old room at Rachel and Kee’s house, because Duncan just couldn’t bring himself to let her sleep with him—not with his mother still in residence. Willow had told him they were going to have to practice doing it quietly some more, but she admired his respect for his mother’s sensibilities.

  Molly, however, didn’t seem as concerned, and was spending her nights at Luke Skywalker’s not-so-lovely house, which showed that Lady Molly Ross was adaptable. Either that or love really was blind.

  Just about everyone from Puffin Harbor was gathered in the town square for the evening festivities, spending their time waiting for the fireworks to start by consuming plenty of lobster rolls, french fries, and co
tton candy. There was a band playing on the flatbed of a tractor-trailer truck set up at one end of the park, and game booths set up at the other end, including a dunking tank with Deputy Sheriff Larry Jenkins as the latest victim.

  Mikaela had come in a respectable third in the peewee race, just beating out Jane’s niece by inches. Now the seven-year-old was walking with Margaret through the crowd, proud as all get-out, still wearing her red ribbon around her neck and eating a cone of cotton candy that was bigger than her head. Margaret was pushing Nick in his stroller, and Nick had a bowl of french fries in his lap, dropping more of the fries on the ground than he was getting in his mouth. Mickey was following closely, apparently ready to clean up any and all food spills. Willow was just now realizing that Mickey and Nick were a perfect match for each other.

  Kee and Rachel and Duncan and Willow were strolling through the crowd while discussing this afternoon’s lobster boat races. The Corncobb Lady had placed first in show and first in the five-mile race. Gramps was going around claiming they’d won because he’d been standing right beside Ray, telling the young pup how to outmaneuver the other boats.

  The music stopped and Frank Porter stepped up to the mike on the flatbed, calling for everyone’s attention. “Gather ’round, folks,” he said into the microphone, wincing when it squealed back at him. “The fireworks are set to start in ten minutes, but first we have someone who wants to make an announcement. Willow?” he said, pointing the mike at her.

  Willow took a deep breath, smiled at an obviously confused Duncan, and stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t go away. I think you’ll want to hear this,” she said, turning and rushing through the crowd.

  She ran up the stairs made from stacked crates, took the microphone from Frank, and leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Then she turned to the crowd of people looking up at her, smiled, and took another deep breath.

  “First, I’d like for all of us to give a big round of applause for Frank Porter, Ray Cobb, and Cecil Fox. Because of them, our local lobster industry is safe and some very bad people are facing many, many years in jail. These three brave men are the true definition of heroes,” she finished, tucking the mike under her arm and clapping as she faced Frank, who was blushing redder than a cooked lobster.

  Ray was pushed forward in the crowd, and he made sure he was dragging Gramps along with him. The townspeople went nuts for a good five minutes, clapping and whistling and shouting cheers of appreciation. Frank finally couldn’t handle it anymore, and went running down the stairs to hide behind his wife. Gramps and Ray also disappeared into the crowd until the clapping finally died down and all eyes turned back to Willow.

  “Okay. That was my first item of business. My second item is to let you all hear it directly from me rather than from the gossip mill that I’m moving back to Puffin Harbor in September and opening up a private law practice here in town.”

  “What about your AG job?” someone in the crowd shouted. “We thought you wanted to run for governor in a few years.”

  “Well, I thought I did, too,” Willow admitted. “But I’ve decided I’d rather help people individually. And maybe I’ll try running for mayor of Puffin Harbor instead.” She shot them a brilliant smile. “I promise, if you elect me mayor, that I will once and for all get to the bottom of whoever is replacing people’s mailboxes. It’s a federal crime to mess with someone’s mailbox, and they should be brought to justice. And that puffin statue,” she said, pointing at the eight-foot colorful puffin standing in the middle of the park. “That is blatant disregard for town property. And so, as your mayor, I would promise to solve the mystery of the ‘Mailbox Santa Claus.’ ”

  A murmur rose through the crowd, and it didn’t at all sound friendly. “We don’t want to know who’s doing it,” someone shouted. “I ain’t got a new mailbox yet. If you catch them, then it stops. We like the ‘Mailbox Santa Claus.’ ”

  The murmur rose in volume as well as in agreement.

  “He struck again last night,” someone else hollered. “Heard Duncan Ross got himself a new mailbox that looks like a castle.”

  “Why a castle?” someone else asked just as loudly, all eyes turning to Duncan.

  “ ’Cause he’s a Scot,” another voice answered. “They got lots of castles over there.”

  “We don’t care if it is a federal crime. We won’t vote for a mayor who’s going to get the ‘Mailbox Santa Claus’ arrested,” someone deep in the crowd hollered.

  “Okay. Okay,” Willow said into the mike, nodding behind her smile. “Then as your mayor I’ll start a fund-raiser instead, to get a granite base made for Puffy. If you all like him so much, how come you haven’t gotten him a real base?”

  “Because we don’t want to offend the Santa Claus,” someone else hollered. “We like Puffy just the way he is. Someone gold-leafed his name in the wood base, though. Didn’t you notice?”

  Willow nodded again. “Okay. We can keep the base. Then how about we get a granite monument for our fishermen?”

  “That sounds better,” someone said. Everyone nodded.

  “Okay. Now I have something else I want to take up with you good folks,” Willow said into the mike. “It’s about this betting pool that’s been going on around here.”

  The crowd went utterly silent.

  Willow rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know about it. And you should all be ashamed of yourselves. Betting pools are illegal.”

  Someone snorted. “Heard you placed your own bet, missy.”

  Willow grinned sheepishly. “Okay, I did,” she admitted. “But only because I was hoping to teach you all a lesson.” She had to signal them to be quiet and listen, though it took her a good two minutes to get them to stop laughing.

  “Listen up. The pool is now officially closed. As of—”

  “You can’t do that! It ain’t been decided who won!” another voice shouted from the back of the crowd.

  Willow held up her hand. “I am about to announce who won,” she told them, not even bothering to speak into the mike but yelling instead. “And those of you who bet on the wrong person had better not be sore losers,” she continued to shout. “Someone always has to lose when you gamble.”

  “Well, who won!” Cecil Fox shouted. “A good chunk of my retirement fund is at stake here.”

  “What!” Willow yelped, gaping at him. “Cecil, are you crazy?”

  He suddenly smiled up at her. “Crazy like a fox, girlie. Come on, spit it out. Are you going to marry the guy or not?”

  Willow felt her face flush with heat as she sought out Duncan in the crowd. She held the mike back up to her mouth and spoke quietly.

  “I’ve been told that to have a wedding, someone’s got to propose,” she said softly. She took a deep breath and held out her hand beseechingly. “So, Duncan Ross, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  There was utter and total silence for a full minute, as everyone turned to look at Duncan, their collective breaths held in their chests and their purse strings held in his answer.

  It was the longest minute of Willow’s life.

  “Aye,” came Duncan’s softly spoken but definitely heard reply. “I’ll marry ya, counselor.”

  There were several more heartbeats of silence, then as one the crowd roared into boisterous cheer. People actually started jumping in place and hugging each other, and several began urging Duncan toward the flatbed, slapping his back and wishing him congratulations. He took the crate stairs two at a time, swept Willow into his arms, and kissed her—quite passionately—right there in front of God, the townspeople, and his mother.

  The crowd went wild, catcalling and whistling and egging him on, clapping so loud it sounded like thunder.

  Willow suddenly broke away, turned to the crowd, and held up the mike. “Hey! Wait a minute!” she shouted, wincing when the mike screeched back. She held it a bit farther away. “How come you’re all cheering?” she asked, glaring at them. “Most of you lost your money.”

 
They stopped clapping, went silent, and just stared up at her. A few of their faces got red. Some of them scuffed their feet and looked everywhere but at her.

  Willow gasped, the sound carrying through the mike and getting amplified by the speakers. “Did any of you bet on me!” she asked in a growl. She thumped her chest. “I’m your town daughter, and you bet against me?”

  “But us winning means you win, too, Willy,” someone she didn’t recognize said. “You get Duncan.”

  “We’ll still vote for you if you run for mayor,” someone else piped up. “You can’t be mad just because we all know a sure thing when we see it.”

  “Yeah,” someone else said. “And we seen two people who ought to be together. We knew it was just a matter of time before you realized that.”

  Someone else snickered. “Only them fools over to Trunk Harbor bet on you. It’s their money we’re taking.”

  Willow was struck speechless. There wasn’t one loser in the crowd. Not one person in Puffin Harbor had placed their money on her. She didn’t know whether that was an insult or a sign that they truly cared for her.

  Duncan slowly pulled the mike out of her limp hand, let it slide to the floor, and took her back into his arms. He shot the crowd a purely masculine, tigerlike grin, and then leaned down and covered her mouth in a kiss that set the crowd roaring again, this time to the backdrop of fireworks going off over the Puffin Harbor breakwater.

  Plan Leap of Faith was certainly concluding with a bang, Willow decided. And with the approval of some very happy, newly wealthy townspeople.