California Dreamin' Collection

by Heather B. Moore, Kaylee Baldwin, Annette Lyon, Jennifer Moore, Shannon Guymon, Sarah M. Eden

  “There’s a lot of down time.”

  “And there’s egg in your beard,” she said, folding her arms.

  He ran his napkin around his mouth, and it came away dirty. One of the downsides to the beard. And it itched like crazy in the heat. “He loves you.”

  “I know that,” she said, but it came out defensive.

  He folded the napkin and set it on his plate. “So what brings you out here this week?”

  She paused, then leaned forward. “Maybe you can help me, actually. I’m trying to convince Dad to sell Double B’s Deep Sea and move back home.”

  Ice rushed through Miguel’s veins. No.

  Four years ago, Brig and the Double B saved his life, in more ways than one, and Miguel would be forever indebted to him. If Miguel thought that leaving all of this would make Brig happy, he’d help sell off this boat piece by piece. But this was Brig’s dream. For as long as they could keep afloat, anyway.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because it’s ridiculous!” Her voice rose, along with her tiny self. She stood there, her hands flying on either side of her as she spoke. “He’s a grown man, living on a boat.”

  Miguel raised his brows. “So am I.”

  A choked sound came from the back of her throat. “Well. True. But he could get hurt! He already has.”

  “That didn’t even happen on an excursion,” Miguel said, standing now. “He was nicked by a car while riding his bike into town. Something you would know if you ever came to see him.”

  “Why does it always have to be me? Planes fly both ways.”

  “Running this business is a twenty-four hour job.”

  “Exactly! He’s too old to work that hard.”

  “You make it sound like he’s a decrepit old man. He’s only in his fifties!” He paused and took a moment to try to cool down. The last thing he needed was to have Brig come back and catch him yelling at his beloved baby daughter. “This used to be your dream too.”

  Her mouth tightened. “You know nothing about me or my dreams.”

  Which was untrue, of course, thanks to Brig. They were both quiet for a moment, catching their breath. Miguel realized that while they fought, he’d moved closer to her, and now they stood nearly toe to toe. When he stepped back, she blinked, her eyes wary again.

  “Look, your dad has given me everything I have, and I would never help anyone take away something he has worked so hard for. Not even you.”

  Her breathing became harsh again, her eyes wild with whatever she was holding back. He didn’t question why he wanted her to scream out whatever she was thinking, or how exhilarating fighting with her was.

  “He’s my dad,” she said. “He belongs in Colorado, working as an engineer. Not here.”

  “If you really believe that, you don’t know your father at all.” He grabbed the plates from the table and headed for the galley. He paused. “I told Brig I’d take you around to a few places this morning. If you want to come and maybe see what he loves about this life so much, meet me out here in ten minutes.” He could feel her glare staring holes in his bare back until he was out of sight.

  Chapter Three

  Thinks he knows my own father better than I do?

  Claire tossed her shoes into the corner of her tiny room. She grabbed some flip flops and exchanged her nice skirt and blouse for a pair of shorts and a tank top, feeling free right away.

  He doesn’t even know how to use a razor. At least he showers, though.

  When he’d bent close to grab the plates after their argument, she couldn’t help but inhale the masculine scent of his soap. She shook her head. So what if he was clean? He still looked like a mangy dog, ready to attack.

  She stepped onto the deck, pausing to watch Miguel check some ropes. “Ready?” she called.

  He glanced up, but paused. “Wow.”

  Her heart kicked into overdrive. “Let’s go,” she said brusquely, trying to cover the unexpected effect he’d had on her.

  “Legs look good on you, Corporate.” He sauntered over, his gaze taking her in.

  She rolled her eyes. “And you still have food in your beard.”

  “It’s all a part of my charm.” He’d thrown a shirt on, covering most of his tattoos, and had a pair of leather flip-flops on. “The ladies love it. Kisses for now, snack for later.”

  Claire grimaced, glad to be back on comfortable footing with him. “That’s disgusting.”

  He grinned and stepped from the boat onto the dock. “Will you let me help you this time, or are you still afraid to touch me?”

  “I wasn’t afraid to touch you,” she said, though part of her was lying. “You had fish guts all over you.”

  “I’m fish-gut free.” He held his hands up and twisted them back and forth as proof. Before she could even hold out a hand to grab his, he’d jumped back onto the boat, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her up to the dock. She let out a tiny squeal, which made him laugh, and then he popped up beside her. “I can’t believe you did that!”

  “I didn’t want to have to jump in after you.”

  “You could have dropped me.”

  He looked at her, insulted. “I’ve caught fish heavier than you.”

  Well. She followed him over the dock and to the beach, where they walked for about fifteen minutes. She kept her distance, giving herself time to formulate a next step in her ill-thought out plan. The warm sand slid around in her flip-flops until she bent over to slip them off and hook them in her fingers like Miguel was doing.

  They arrived at a pier, where it seemed as though a whole different world teemed with life. Massive ships with nets and people were pulled up alongside jutting docks. Men and women called out to one another in languages Claire had never heard before. They walked through the noise and masses of people until they came to an open-air shop with what looked like a warehouse in back and a long counter in front. Fish flew over the workers’ heads from one person to another. The pungent scent nearly overwhelmed her.

  “Welcome to the fish market,” Miguel said over the crowd’s noise.

  “Do you sell the fish you catch here?”

  “No, everyone on our tours keeps the fish they catch, and Brig and I release anything we won’t eat.”

  “Then why are we—”

  “Miguel!” A large, dark man covered in fish bits wrapped Miguel in a hug. “Who is your lady friend?”

  “Brig’s daughter. Claire.”

  Before she could stop him, the man pulled her into a firm hug, too. Slimy fish guts rubbed against her neck and arms, and she attempted to politely wiggle out of his grasp.

  “Any relation of Brig’s is a friend of mine!” he boomed. She wished he’d change his policy on friendship. “You here for the Steakhouse order?”

  “Yep.”

  The man shook his head as he handed over a couple of bulging plastic sacks. “Does this really help you?”

  “Doesn’t hurt.” Miguel saluted the man, the sacks now hanging from his hand, and they left the crowded fish market.

  Claire wanted to ask what was in the sacks, but didn’t want to appear too curious about his business. They walked several blocks before showing up at a nice restaurant. Claire followed Miguel around back, where he knocked on a large metal door.

  An older Hispanic woman opened the door a crack, but when she saw Miguel, pulled it wider. She grabbed him by his hairy face and kissed him on each cheek. “You’re an angel, Miguel.”

  He snorted. “Hardly.” He set the sacks on the ground by her feet and pulled some fliers out of his back pocket. “Still handing these out to your customers?”

  “You question me, Niño?”

  “Never.” Miguel crossed his fingers over his heart. “Otis has one more fish delivery for you today. I’ll bring it by in about an hour.”

  “No. I am not so old I can’t get my own fish.”

  “I’m getting your order, Nana.” His stance was unyielding.

  She threw up her hands and glared, but C
laire could see the twinkle in her eye. “He won’t ever listen to me,” she said to Claire. “Who are you?”

  “Claire Bryson. Brig’s daughter.”

  “Hmm.” Her hands snapped out, and with a surprisingly strong grip for such a tiny woman, she yanked Claire toward Miguel. “You two will make pretty ninos. I know these things.”

  “What?” Claire blinked, glad she didn’t have anything to choke on.

  “Nana has dementia,” Miguel said out of the side of his mouth.

  Nana smacked him upside the head, and he reached up to rub where she’d hit. “My mind is as clear as yours. Get out of here, loco hijo. I’ve got some fachendoso customers out front. Nothing’s good enough for some people.”

  The door shut in their faces, and they both stood there for a moment.

  “So, that was your grandma?”

  “No.”

  She glanced at him. “You called her nana.”

  “Everyone calls her nana,” he said, as if it made sense. “This is the best restaurant in the area, mostly because of her cooking.” He glanced down at his phone and began walking away from the building. “We’ve got to finish up. Our overnighters will be checking in soon.”

  “What’s fachendoso mean?”

  “How should I know?” He turned an accusing stare on her.

  “I guess I assumed… I mean, because you’re Hispanic…” Right, Claire, because everyone who looks Hispanic speaks Spanish. Her face was on fire.

  A half-smile tilted the side of his beard up. “It means conceited.”

  Claire barely resisted hitting him upside the head like Nana. Instead, she went for his arm. “I felt like such a jerk back there!”

  “What is wrong with you women today?” Miguel rubbed his arm with a wounded scowl, but there was no way she could have hurt him.

  “I don’t think we women are the problem.”

  He laughed, and they spent the next hour doing the same sort of thing. They’d pick up fish from the marketplace then take it to a local restaurant in exchange for handing out fliers. Poorly made fliers. No way did they drum up enough sustainable business.

  When they dropped the last fish order off at Nana’s, she looked even ornerier than before.

  “The fachendosos are still here. Those kind never tip,” she said, her expression dark.

  They left, and Claire had to jog to keep up with Miguel, but her legs stalled beneath her when she heard a familiar voice coming from the outdoor eating area in the front of Nana’s restaurant. Two familiar people sat there, heads lowered together over a laptop and a million papers.

  She paused before dashing behind a rusty delivery truck parked beside the restaurant.

  “Claire, we’ve—”

  “Shhhh,” she said, waving him over. He walked slowly, as if approaching a crazy person. She pointed at the couple at the table. “That’s my mom,” she whispered.

  “Did you know she was here?”

  “No. She must have followed me.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  Claire hesitated before pointing to the man. Even at the beach, he wore a dark, pinstriped suit with a red silk tie. His hair was brushed away from his face, not a strand out of place. Objectively, she knew he was handsome, but he was also in her mom’s pocket, one of the most unattractive places anyone could be.

  “See that guy?”

  “The one who belongs in a hair gel commercial?”

  “That’s Everett Pickford.”

  “That’s an unfortunate name.”

  “He tried to propose to me yesterday.”

  “Tried? That seems like the kind of thing you either do or you don’t do,” he said loudly, taking Everett in.

  She shushed him. “He knelt and pulled out the ring, but before he could say anything, I pretended to be sick and ran to my sister’s house. I booked the first available flight to San Diego.”

  She still lived with her mom, so going home had not been an option. With Claire in panic mode, Jade had convinced her that she needed to get away. And of course, Everett ran straight to Mom when things didn’t go according to plan. Jade must have sold her out. Not that Claire could blame her. Mom’s skills for extracting information rivaled those of trained military personnel.

  “And now he’s here,” Miguel said slowly. “With your mom.” He seemed to be trying to piece it all together.

  Mom laughed, bringing home the fact she was really here, not twenty feet away.

  “They’re both over-committed to the idea of me and Everett being in a relationship, okay? We have to get out of here. They can’t see me.” She looked up at Miguel, realizing he was only a breath away. If she bent forward a centimeter, his beard would brush her cheek. The thought propelled her backward.

  Miguel smirked, like her reaction to his closeness amused him. “You’re going to have to face them sometime.”

  “I’m not ready. Not like this.” She motioned to the shorts and tank top she’d borrowed from Jade. Mom would be appalled if she could see her now.

  “Fine.” He let out a sigh, like helping her annoyed him to no end. “Follow me.”

  He took her hand and went back around the restaurant, the way they had come. As soon as they were out of sight, she dropped his hand.

  “So I guess this means you don’t want to become Claire Pickford any time soon.”

  “Ha. No. I never even wanted to date him, but Mom kept making us sit beside each other at work dinners and putting us on the same projects, and she had some strategically placed mistletoe at Christmas, and before I realized what had happened, he was down on one knee yesterday.” She shuddered.

  Only her mother could successfully ambush someone with a proposal. Mom believed Everett to be perfect for Claire— and perfect for the future of Integrated Design. And with the same tenacity that made her company successful, she’d convinced Everett of those things as well.

  “If someone doesn’t save me from them, I will walk into work one day and find myself in the middle of my own surprise wedding.”

  Miguel coughed, but it sounded like he was covering a laugh. “Can’t you tell them to back off?”

  Claire grabbed his arm— his very large arm— and shook it. “Have you met my mother? She’s like a hurricane. She will come in and have her way with your life, no matter how much you protest, and leave wreckage in her wake. Hasn’t Dad told you horror stories about her?”

  To her surprise, Miguel shook his head. “He doesn’t talk about her much, other than to say how worried he is about you working with her.”

  Claire folded her arms and kicked at the gravel beneath her feet. “I like what I do at Integrated Design. I’m good at it. And working with Mom, I get the opportunity to do what I love.”

  “Which is what, exactly?”

  “Building websites, mostly. I help with logo design sometimes, but Mom sends the websites my way because I’m the best.”

  He gave her an appreciative nod. “Really. Maybe you should look at ours sometime. We don’t get much traffic there.”

  “Where do you get most of your business from?”

  “Mostly from local hotels and restaurants handing out our fliers.”

  “But if you had a great website, your reach could go so much farther.”

  He shrugged. “We get enough, usually.”

  “Yeah, enough that you both have to work seven days a week to stay afloat.”

  His jaw clenched, and she wondered if she’d accidentally hit on a sensitive topic. “We like what we do,” he said. Then he flashed her a smile. “And we’re the best, too.”

  Claire nodded, not surprised. “Once a Bryson puts their mind to something, they succeed. Which means I will get Dad to come home with me.”

  “That’s interesting, because I’m determined to make sure your dad stays, and I never lose.”

  His shoulder bumped against Claire’s, and her stomach did a tiny twirl of anticipation at his challenge. How long had it been since someone challenged her instead of trying to ru
n her life? She held out her hand, and Miguel took it in a firm handshake.

  “May the best person win,” she said to close the deal.

  He winked. “My thoughts exactly.”

  Chapter Four

  Miguel checked in a large family for their overnight fishing trip while Claire sat in the deck chair with her laptop, her packed bag beside her. The tour had fourteen people in total, including a three-year-old. Miguel hesitated allowing anyone at such a young age, but turning the family away meant losing everyone. They couldn’t afford to lose this many customers at a time, not with Brig’s creditors breathing down their necks.

  “This website is crap!” Claire muttered for the hundredth time in fifteen minutes. “What is this, a blog template? Miguel, who set this up?”

  He felt her waiting, but he was in the middle of running a credit card on their old, touchy machine. The slightest bump, and he’d have to start over. “A little busy here,” he called, then forced a smile at the guy standing in front of him.

  “My wife sent in all the paperwork for Grandpa last week. Did you get it?” the man asked, his voice gruff. He wore a bright-orange Hawaiian shirt over a pair of blue plaid shorts. Sunglasses hung against his chest by a strap.

  “Sure did,” Miguel replied. “Everything is set for tonight.” The machine connected to the internet, and the card finally went through.

  “You can get an app on your phone for that,” Claire said from right beside him, her arm touching his. “You have to buy an attachment that hooks to the top of it. They’re pretty cool. Sends an e-receipt to your customer, saving paper waste, too.”

  “Don’t you have a plane to catch?” Miguel counted the heads of everyone on the ship. Everyone was there except Brig. To stay on schedule, they needed to leave in fifteen minutes. Brig had never missed an excursion.

  “I’m just trying to help, though I shouldn’t because I want this business to fail. So please, keep using outdated equipment that makes you look cheap, and keep your unprofessional website. All the better for me.”

  “What would really help me right now is if you could go through the bin of life vests and find a child-size one for him.” He nodded to the kid running around the deck as if he’d had nothing but sugar for breakfast.