by Hope Ramsay
Jackie looked up at her, the picture of childhood innocence. “But he did.”
“I’m going to kill that man,” Ashley muttered.
“But there weren’t any treasure maps,” Jackie continued.
“What treasure?” Ashley asked, sinking down into the chair next to the Rev. Breakfast was just about over, so Judy could manage in the kitchen without her for a minute.
“Reverend St. Pierre told us the letters would have a map or something. But we didn’t find a map. Topher said there might be clues if we read them all.”
“A map?” She looked toward Micah.
He shrugged. “Family legend.”
“Family legend?” Her voice cracked.
He nodded as he spooned an inordinate amount of brown sugar into his oatmeal. “Yes. In my family, folks always said that the Howlands didn’t want anyone reading those letters because of the treasure.”
“You’re out of your mind.” Ashley turned toward her son. “And you are not reading any more of those letters.”
“But, Mom.”
“Just because Rose Howland told her father that she felt close to the captain here doesn’t mean she was having conversations with his ghost. It’s just a grown-up expression. His ship went down out in the inlet during the hurricane and his body was never found. So of course she’d feel closer to him here.”
“But, Mom…” Jackie drew the name out into a whine.
She stood up. “I mean it. Find another topic for your project because you’re not doing yours on Rose Howland’s letters.”
* * *
Topher jolted awake to the sound of someone banging on the front door. He pushed up in bed, groping for his cell phone.
It was just shy of seven forty-five in the morning. Damn. He sat there blinking, last night’s troubling conversation with Caleb spooling through his mind.
“Dammit, Topher. I know you’re in there.” A shadow crossed the bedroom window as Ashley’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. Man, she sounded pissed off.
He could pretty much guess why.
He rolled out of bed, his bad leg twinging the moment he put weight on it. He usually spent a good five minutes every morning stretching the useless thing before standing up. But he didn’t think the woman out on the porch could wait that long.
He limped to the door, opened it, and came face-to-face with one pissed-off mother. “What on earth were you thinking, telling Jackie those letters confirmed the existence of a ghost?”
He squinted in the bright morning sunshine, suddenly weary of being wrongly accused of heinous behavior. Was this how Jessica felt?
He pushed the thought away and met Ashley’s stare. “Because the ghost is real?” he said, without a great deal of conviction. But it was kind of fun yanking Ashley’s chain.
“Oh my…I can’t believe it. You’ve been encouraging him?”
“Uh, well…”
She pointed a finger at his naked chest. She was so angry she hadn’t noticed his bed head or the fact that he was standing there in his boxers and nothing else. She was like a wild-eyed mama lion.
And he loved her for that. Because for once she wasn’t trying to baby him or pity him. She’d gone back to bullying him, which she’d done quite effectively when he was little.
He listened to her rant and realized it didn’t have much to do with him. It was mostly about Jackie’s therapy and Adam’s death. Angry tears streamed down her cheeks as she poured out her sorrow and anxiety in a giant wave.
He wanted to give her a hug, but he had a feeling she might run away screaming. So he decided to push her a little more.
“Why are you so dead set against believing there might be a ghost?” He shifted his weight off his bad leg and leaned into the doorframe.
“Because there isn’t one. And encouraging Jackie to believe in a ghost isn’t healthy for him. He’s just doing this to get attention. Not unlike—” She bit off the words.
“Not unlike what?” he asked.
She stood there staring at him. “You.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. When you were little. That summer I came to visit and you spent most of your time up in the tree telling everyone you had conversations with the pirate.”
A shadow memory shifted through his mind. He remembered climbing the tree. He remembered pretending to be a pirate up there in the crow’s nest. He remembered conversations.
“Okay. Point taken,” he said on a long breath, ready to give up until he had another thought. “But how do you know that ghosts don’t exist?”
“Because…they don’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. And don’t tell me you saw a ghost. I know damn well that you made it all up when you were little. You were just a lonely kid.”
She had that right. He also didn’t remember ever seeing the ghost of Cap’n Bill. But he hated the idea of letting go of the possibility. “Do I have to see a ghost in order to believe they exist?”
“Of course.”
“Why? I mean, you believe in God. I know because you go to church every Sunday. Have you ever seen Him?”
“Of course not. It’s a matter of faith,” she said.
“My point exactly.”
“You’re crazy, you know that? You’re just teasing me. Dishing it out in some weird payback for my vile behavior when I was a bratty little girl.”
He refrained from pointing out that she still had her bratty moments. That would not have gone over well. So as usual he said nothing at all.
She put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Just stop encouraging Jackie, okay?”
A contrary part of him wanted to push her buttons further, asking her whether he could still encourage him to throw the football or climb the tree. But he didn’t. He just nodded.
And then he closed the door gently, even though he wanted to slam the damn thing right in her face.
* * *
Saturday morning dawned cool and clear with a steady sea breeze likely to make the sailors in town happy and the merchants on Harbor Drive, including Kerri Eaton, ecstatic.
Half the customers strolling into Daffy Down Dilly during the day wanted one of Kerri’s marked-down sundresses, and the other half were looking for unique Christmas gifts. Her customers were predominantly the wives and daughters of the sailors who’d come for the big regatta.
These people had serious bucks, which explained why the Saturday of the festival weekend was one of Kerri’s best-grossing days of the year. It also afforded her an opportunity to move leftover summer merchandise out the door so she could start fresh next spring.
But it was a long-ass day. And by four thirty, when the afternoon crowd finally began to diminish, her feet were beyond tired. Good thing Katia Rivers, the teen who sometimes helped on busy days, would be back from her early dinner soon, and Dottie Peyton, who’d worked at the store on and off for years, was coming in at 5:00 p.m. to give Kerri a break.
During the festival, Kerri usually kept Daffy Down Dilly open until 10:00 p.m., because the restaurants along Harbor Drive would be chockablock with hungry sailors, who would want to go shopping before and after dinner.
She was sitting on a stool behind the counter, waiting for her part-time help, when the St. Pierre construction truck pulled into the parking slot that had just been vacated.
Colton emerged, wearing his maroon golf shirt, the late-afternoon sun burnishing his skin a golden bronze. Kerri’s middle hitched, and a wave of yearning seized her. Followed in short order by teeth-gnashing irritation at her own self.
He stood there on the sidewalk, his gaze rising to the windows above the boutique. Jess was up there, working her tail off for the second weekend in a row. Topher Martin must be a nightmare of a client because he’d apparently rejected her first plan and now wanted a second one. Jess had stopped in to borrow some sweetener packets earlier in the day and had grumbled about the short time frame her client had given her. Evidently, Topher wanted to sail off to
Lookout Island for a second time on Monday, and Jess needed to have a plan to show him.
Jess had looked exhausted, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well. Kerri hoped the sleeplessness was caused by her difficult client and not her decision to give Colton his walking papers.
Because one look at Colton hesitating out there on the sidewalk was enough to underscore the fact that he was having second thoughts about walking away.
No matter what Jess might say, the coast was not clear. Suddenly more than Kerri’s feet hurt. Heartache was a bitch. And like the day follows night, she could count on it rising up and grabbing her in the chest if she let her libido run away with her emotions.
She looked away from the window to focus on a customer who had selected the very last daffodil dress, a size sixteen. Hooray, she was officially cleared out of her summer merchandise.
She was ringing up the sale when the bells on the front door chimed. Another customer. It was looking like a red-letter day for the cash register.
She completed the credit card sale, wrapped the dress in tissue, and tucked it into one of her beautiful shopping bags printed with bright-yellow daffodils.
When the customer turned to leave, Colton’s deep baritone jolted Kerri. “Hey,” he said.
She looked up to find him standing amid her girlie merchandise with hands shoved into his pockets. “I guess you’re really busy tonight, huh?” he asked like Captain Obvious.
Lust pooled in Kerri’s middle. “Kind of. I’m—” She bit off her words. What the hell was she doing? She’d just been lusting after this man and indulging in self-pity because he liked her tenant more than he liked her. But he hadn’t gone upstairs, had he?
He’d come in to talk to her. But did he want her? Or was he trying to make the woman upstairs jealous?
She didn’t know. But she didn’t actually care. Life was short, and a person had to grab happiness when it walked through the door.
“I’ve got help coming in a bit,” she said. “Did you have something in mind?”
A full-frontal grin opened on his face, and his moss-colored eyes ignited as if someone had put a match to his fuse. “Good,” he said in that incredible voice, “because Jude gave me a couple of free tickets for tonight’s sunset cruise on the schooner Synchronicity.”
“The sunset cruise?” she asked, her mouth going dry. The sunset cruise was a favorite for lovers and newlyweds. At least one couple every week got engaged during those cruises. In fact, Colton’s younger brother, Synchronicity’s owner, had taken to advertising his yacht as the perfect place to pop the question.
Damn.
She would have been happy to go back to his place for late-night Netflix. But he’d just upped the ante. And her stupid heart was totally down with the program.
“I’d love to go,” she said, making a snap decision for once in her life. Katia and Dottie could manage.
Colton’s grin widened. “That’s great, because to grab some dinner and make the sailing, we have to leave now.”
“Now?”
He checked his watch. “The boat sails at six.”
“Just let me call my helpers. They both have keys to the shop.”
Kerri ran to the back room, made her phone calls, checked her lipstick in the bathroom mirror, and emerged three minutes later. She posted a note on the front door that said, “back in five minutes,” and then boldly took Colton’s arm.
And oh boy, the feel of his warm skin and ropy muscles under her palm was enough to set off fireworks hours earlier than expected.
Chapter Fourteen
Monday dawned cooler, with a brisk wind that whipped Jessica’s hair as she walked down the long pier to where Bachelor’s Delight was moored.
She’d logged a bunch of hours this weekend working on Topher’s house. This trip to the island would solidify a lot of things, but she wasn’t entirely sure that sailing out there was a good idea.
For one thing, the bay was choppy this morning, so she’d worn her foul-weather gear. It wasn’t going to be the same sunny pleasure cruise it had been the last time.
And for another, she still hadn’t forgotten the way Topher had touched her on Thursday night. She wanted him to touch her again, but she didn’t want to admit that to anyone, least of all him.
As she walked down the pier, it was fair to say that just the prospect of seeing him again had raised a tempest inside her.
The moment she saw him standing at the bow of his yacht making adjustments to the jib that unwanted awareness almost blew her over. He’d ditched the Hawaiian shirt and the holey jeans in favor of tactical sailing pants and a tight-fitting sailing shirt. His red, white, and blue Helly Hansen foul-weather jacket made him look like a member of the America’s Cup team.
He looked up, the wind whipping his much-shorter hair. “Ah, I see you dressed for a sail,” he said, his mouth tipping up in a smile that hit her like a gale-force wind.
“It’s a little breezy for cruising,” she said, stating the obvious.
He made a final adjustment to the jib halyard and swung around one of the shrouds, making his way aft. “The last time we sailed out to the island, I got the impression you were disappointed that I used the engine. So I thought we’d use wind power today.” He glanced up, studying the top of the mast, where a small vane marked the direction of the breeze. “We should make pretty good time.”
Her heart rate kicked up. It had been years since she’d sailed with PopPop. “I’m a little rusty when it comes to trimming sails.”
He chuckled, his eye catching the blue September sky and reflecting it back at her. “Bachelor’s Delight is fitted out with all the latest technology. It’s big, but it’s also designed for single-handed sailing.”
“Oh.”
“But if you’d please untie the mooring lines…” He gave her an utterly adorable look. The very fact that he could manage an angelic look out of a devilish face was disturbing. And he’d asked nicely this time.
She found herself smiling at him as a giddy weightless feeling overtook her. She handed him her big tote bag and hastened to do his bidding.
He didn’t unfurl the main sail until they were well into the channel. But once the sail billowed out, Bachelor’s Delight proved it was perfectly capable of riding through the chop. This boat wasn’t at all like her grandfather’s J-22. It was easily twice the size and had a big keel that kept it steady.
Topher also knew how to put the yacht through its paces. The wind was out of the southeast, so the ride to the island was all upwind. That meant he had to make many tacks to get there, and every time the boat turned on its zigzag course, the deck would shift, and Jessica would usually have to move from the leeward to the windward side of the boat.
She wasn’t a master sailor, but she’d done enough sailing with PopPop to realize that Topher knew how to read the wind. Someone less skilled would have taken much longer to make the transit from harbor to island. When the lighthouse finally came into view off the port gunwales, she asked, “Why didn’t you sail in the regatta?”
“I didn’t have a crew. And for a race, I would have needed a navigator and someone to help handle the spinnaker.”
“I’m sure you could have found someone down at the yacht club.”
He didn’t respond to her comment. Instead he shouted, “Ready to come about.”
“Ready,” she answered. The boat turned, the mainsail boom swinging from port to starboard, while the deck shifted under her. She once again moved from the leeward to the windward side of the boat.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said.
“The truth is, I didn’t participate because I would have had to register back in July. And I didn’t have a sailboat then.”
“What?” Her squeaky voice conveyed her surprise.
He gave her a wry grin. “I bought Bachelor’s Delight right before I decided to return to Magnolia Harbor, about six weeks ago.”
“Really?” Her cheeks grew hot even in the chilly breeze.
/> “It used to belong to one of my business partners,” Topher said, his gaze alight with humor. “I had originally planned to live on it while I built the new house. But it’s kind of small, and the walk from the slip to the convenience store was long. So I accepted Ashley’s offer to rent Rose Cottage for the foreseeable future.”
“So the boat’s decor is…” Jessica let her voice trail off.
This time he laughed out loud. “No. I didn’t choose all that black leather or the red velvet in the captain’s cabin.”
“Oh no.” She buried her hands in her face. “I thought—”
“Yes, I know what you thought. I saw your first set of drawings.”
* * *
Was it the wind or a blush that turned her cheeks red? Maybe a little of both. He got no satisfaction from her discomfort. If she’d misunderstood, it had been his fault.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I realized what had happened the moment I saw your first set of drawings. I didn’t blame you for the mistake.”
Her cheeks got a little redder, and he had a moment of hope. Was it possible for her to forgive him?
Not for starting a rumor. He hadn’t done that. But he was guilty of not thinking about the consequences of repeating all that talk. And he certainly bore some responsibility for not stopping the ugly locker room conversations of guys like Caleb Tate. He hadn’t shown any leadership, and he’d been the captain of the team.
“I’m sorry. I jumped to a conclusion, didn’t I?” she said. “And it’s kind of unforgivable, given my history.”
“No. It’s easily forgiven.”
Something softened in her gaze, and he wondered if she would ever reciprocate the forgiveness. He wanted it more than he’d wanted anything in a long time.
Dammit. What would it feel like to have her in his life? Not just as his architect, but as…
He wouldn’t let himself finish the thought. A damaged man couldn’t afford that kind of thinking.
He broke eye contact and concentrated on sailing. When he’d executed the last tack, putting Lookout Island directly on his lay line, he glanced back at her and asked a safe question. “Tell me about the house you’ve been working on.”