Manwhore Heir (The Heirs Book 2)

by Brandy Munroe

  Manwhore Heir

  A Small Town Romance

  Brandy Munroe

  I’ve never made a promise I couldn’t keep: Except, I’d foolishly broken a promise before I’d even made it.

  Richard

  She was my first crush, my first kiss, my first love. When I finally believe I had won her back, unspoken truth threaten to take away the only woman I had truly loved.

  Happily ever afters only come along once in a lifetime. I’d had mine and it was mercilessly taken away.

  Mackenzie

  Spending the night at Lighthouse Island on the anniversary of my husband's death was suppose to rid me of my demons. Having Richard Van de Graff shipwrecked on my Island was not in the plan. But Mother Nature had plans of her own.

  Richard broke my heart once, a long time ago. If I am not careful, I am going to let him do it again. This time, it would be my fault.

  I’m older, wiser, I know better. It would be too easy to pretend those years in between never happened.

  But they did.

  Copyright © 2018 by Brandy Munroe

  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.

  Created with Vellum

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Bastard Heir: Chapter 1

  Bastard Heir: Chapter 2

  Bastard Heir: Chapter 3

  Also by Brandy Munroe

  Chapter 1

  Richard

  I enjoyed my time on the ocean alone. I slept when I wished and with whom I wished. No pressures, no deadlines, no commitments.

  Not for the entire week.

  My one week a year when I was plain old Rick. The guy who lived in a sailboat.

  I wasn’t Richard Van de Graaf Jr, heir and Co-CEO to one of the largest shoe dynasties in the country.

  I would come and go into whatever port had an open pen, take anchor, head to the nearest tavern and enjoy what the town had to offer.

  Last night had been no exception. I kissed my passenger goodbye and promised I would look her up next time I was passing through. A line I had used numerous times that week.

  I had taken care of my personal needs and would return to work with focus. Few understood my need to release tension in this manner. Once I did, I was an unstoppable force in the boardroom. My directions were concise, bold and innovative.

  The ocean lay before me, my own watery playground. It was a route I could do in my sleep.

  My guest wanted to join me to assist with the riggings and sails. It was easier to handle the sailboat with a shipmate but I did not carry any complications from my trips with me on my return voyage.

  One last detour before I headed home. My sister lived on one of the islands in the inlet along the Long Island Sound. I would stop in, say hello and be on my way.

  I would have one more night to anchor before the responsibilities entrusted to me would weigh me down.

  One last night.

  The night should not have been falling at the rate of speed that had me wondering where the time had gone. I must have been enticed by the beauty of the ocean. I checked my watch.

  I had not lost track of time; it was still early afternoon. Why had the sky suddenly turned dark? This was not a good sign, not good at all.

  I pulled down the sails and tied them off. If my instincts were correct, I was in for one hell of a storm.

  The gales of October came early, wreaking havoc. The air became thick with briny mist, the deck awash with salty waves. Stormy clouds rolled in, blocking the last rays of light. Thunder crackled through the air, rain began to pour furiously, monstrous waves of contrasting shades slamming the boat.

  The waves grew so large that the vessel was dwarfed, riding up and down the mighty swelling ocean like a child's toy. Inside the ship there was no staying still unless anchored in place. In that state I would have prayed to Poseidon himself if I thought it would do any good.

  There was no mercy in that September wind, no grace in the waves, only wrath and tempest.

  Every sense was maxed out, every muscle already working beyond normal capacity and still there was no end in sight. Total darkness prevailed as the dismal clouds overcast the once bright sky. The wind arose, causing waves to tower over the helpless boat, dousing the deck.

  I was caught in a violent storm and was nearly tossed over the side. I did not know what part of the boat to grab on to. There was no time to think, only to act.

  Every action, every reaction was a life or death decision. Mistakes could not be undone, I could only forge ahead and continue to follow through.

  If I could put one more mile behind me, I could make my way to the inlet. I was sure there were sprinkles of islands, some deserted, some used during the summer tourist season.

  My instruments were wet and unreadable, the night sky was un-navigational. I was unable to get my bearings. I made my way to the helm, the radio.

  Mayday, Mayday, this is the Richard V, repeat Richard V, RV4874DG, RV4874DG.

  I gave the coordinates of my last known location, heading east to Long Island Sound. Taking on water. No passengers. Mayday, mayday, this is Richard V, repeat Richard V, RV4874DG, RV4874DG, taking on water.

  The clapping of the thunder and the cracks of the waves against the hull made it impossible to hear the response. I knew my message went through. I could hear mumbling then static.

  I had to stay positive and believe my message got through.

  With the sails out of commission I would have to rely on the boat's motor to try to push through the unforgiving current. The rudder was still in place and that greatly improved my odds.

  The lightning was a godsend, giving me much needed illumination to assist in the navigation. I was grateful I was able to repel the mast, disabling it as a lighting rod. That was one more distraction that could be detrimental to my already uncertain fate.

  They say your life flashes before your eyes in the face of death. Mine had not, giving me hope that it was not my time. I saw another flash of lightning. Different than the last, more fluent, more direct. It looked more like the beam of a lighthouse, but it was steady and straight, not bouncing in circles.

  Maybe it was my time after all and I was witnessing the light at the end of the tunnel. The long illuminating light leading me to my maker to account for my judgements in life.

  Like a siren beckoning sailors to the rocks, this light was beckoning me into the abyss.

  Follow the light, Richard, my hea
d was spinning, follow the light. I was so entirely focused on the light, I was not aware of the monstrous wave that overtook the boat, sending it flying through the air and splintering on the rocks.

  I hit the water with a force that almost caused unconsciousness. I was a strong swimmer; I could make it to shore if only the water had not been so cold on my already over-used muscles.

  I was afraid if I did not fight the current, I would float away, back into the ocean.

  The only thing keeping my head above water was the lifejacket.

  Did the beacon deploy upon impact?

  Would they find me or would I lie in the unforgiving ocean to die of hypothermia?

  I did not see my life flash before my eyes. What I saw was an angel in the beam of light. She was just beyond reach, just beyond my touch.

  Everything went dark.

  Chapter 2

  Mackenzie

  Stepping inside the lighthouse, I stared at the flight of iron stairs before me. The skeleton of the structure. They had stood the test of time; they didn’t rust or decay. They were as sturdy as the day they were installed.

  Holding onto the railing, I slid my hand along the slim narrow beam. I noted that the stairs could use a new coat of paint.

  Where does one get the distinct shade of army grey that adheres like a second skin?

  Reaching the top, I slowly exhaled the breath I had not realized I was holding. I took a deep soothing breath, hoping to get enough air into my lungs to mentally prepare for what lay ahead.

  It would be easy at first; check the radio, hit a few buttons, see what was working.

  It would be the long lonely time between late afternoon and evening that bothered me.

  The view was spectacular, the ocean’s blue hue with the shades of grey waves hitting the shore and pulling back. It was very hypnotic.

  Everything seemed to be in working order. I wondered if the manual pivoting system was still operational on the lights. They weighed a ton, but when I first started dating Michael and brought him here, he had said if we installed a torqued up spindle roller close to the axle, the lights could be moved manually.

  This allowed the light to reflect any one of the beams to a direct location. Physics was never my strong suit. I followed Michael’s handwritten instructions taped to the panel. I knew if I switched off the main breaker, I should be able to rotate the light to where I wanted.

  First I would check with the Coast Guard to make sure no vessels were in the area. It would not be pleasant to have someone crash ashore because I was messing with the lights.

  I turned the knobs on the short wave radio. All I heard was static. I attempted to communicate with no avail. I would leave well enough alone. The circular motion of the lights and the illumination of the stars would give me what I came for.

  While there was still plenty of daylight, I decided to check what remained of the furnishings left behind. I would check on my way back down, stopping on each of the four levels to take inventory.

  The two floors directly below the equipment were empty.

  The next was a small bedroom. The bookshelves my father had installed for the overflow of Michael's books was still sturdy. I took the time to sit on the bed and look through the last one he had left on the nightstand.

  The ground floor had a small wooden table with two chairs. Another one of my father’s handiwork. For a fisherman, he was quite the carpenter.

  I was not keeping track of how much time I had spent going over everything. I was shocked to see it was getting dark outside. I would have to hurry if I wished to get to the cabin and collect what I needed before nightfall. My intention was to spend the night in the lighthouse.

  I checked my watch. My heart raced, my palms began to sweat, I felt ill, faint. I ran to the top of the lighthouse.

  This time the view was not so spectacular, not so serene.

  Through the panoramic window, I watched the ocean. Lost was the rhythmic percussion of the waves on the sand. My eyes steady to the horizon, face aglow with the last orange rays before grey skies beckoned the rain.

  With the crash of thunder, I cowered under the shelving that housed the electronics. I hugged my flashlight to my breast.

  The thumping of my heart alerted me how great my fear had surfaced.

  I had to take hold of my senses. Panicking would do me no good. I needed to face this head on. I stood and faced the raging storm and stared it down. I listened as the waves crashed against the shore, hearing the thunder drown out the sound of my own thundering heart.

  Should I stay and endure the fear swirling through my body or head back to the warmth of the cabin with it’s glowing fire?

  The tethered rope would get me there safely. I might make it before the rain became too violent to enable me to leave. I held tight to my flashlight and took that first step down the stairs.

  The shortwave radio came to life; mayday, mayday this is the Richard V, repeat Richard V, RV4874DG, RV4874DG. I listened to the coordinates, heading for Long Island Sound, taking on water.

  I quickly grabbed the sailing maps from their protective plastic cylinder. I opened and check the gauges on the instrument panel. If I remembered anything my father taught me growing up as the daughter of a fisherman, please god, let it be now.

  Somewhere in my brain I still found the space to be cynical. Richard the fifth. He named his boat after a king, pompous ass. I heard the SOS repeated. I needed to act quickly. If my predictions were correct, he would be heading straight for me.

  Lightning crackled, causing me jump out of my skin. I could hear the panic in the voice at the other end of the SOS.

  Was this how Michael and my father had felt when they too were trying to find a light in the storm? I could not leave this man out there with no hope.

  Thank god the lighthouse was running on backup power it stored from the solar panels. Whoever this Richard the fifth was, he would have Michael to thank for that upgrade. That’s if he got out of this in one piece.

  I looked out onto the ocean. I was unable to get a clear picture. The circular motion of the light made it impossible for me to see any one spot for any length of time.

  The manual override. Could I pull it off? Was I strong enough?

  I had to try.

  I flipped the switch, grabbed the handles on the side of the lighting system and began to push the light so the beam bounced off the ocean in a steady stream.

  I slowly repeated the process, moving only a few inches at a time. After each movement I would take the binoculars and scan the water. I caught a glimpse of movement. I moved the light slightly to the left. I could see the boat. I could see him desperately trying to hold onto the helm. Desperately trying to make it to shore.

  Follow the light, King Richard, I mentally chanted. I know you can see it, follow the light. I was tracking his moves, hoping he would soon get his bearings and enter into the dock along the west side of the lighthouse.

  Neither of us could have predicted a monstrous wave overtaking the boat. It was going to crash, there was no avoiding it.

  I had no regards for my own safety. I grabbed the life preserver from the wall and took to the stairs two at a time. I wasn't exactly sure how I made it to the bottom so fast. I tied myself to the loose rope I had tethered to the lighthouse on my arrival.

  Congratulating myself for having the foresight to leave enough slack would come later. I ran to the dock. I was all too aware that I had to get there before the next wave would rush in and drag whoever was out there back to the ocean. If I was not quick enough, I risked being dragged in with him.

  I would cross that bridge when I got there. I used my flashlight but could not see any movement along the rocks. I heard the unmistakable sound of someone thrashing in the water. I ran towards the dock and saw the beacon. The kind that illuminates on a lifejacket when it hits the water.

  The captain, the man I saw on deck. It made sense from that location he would have been washed over by the massive wave that hit the boat.
On my way I saw the tiller on the shore. I stopped to take it with me; I was going to need the leverage it would provide.

  He was desperately trying to swim to shore but was out of reach. I hooked him with the tiller and began pulling him to me. I had but a few seconds to get him there.

  It was futile; he was not going to make it before the next onslaught of waves. I quickly tied myself to the dock and held onto him for dear life.

  The waves crashed above my head and tried to take me with them. I could feel the pull on the rope holding me into place. I remembered my knots and knew they would hold. The only question was, could I hold onto this unconscious man until the tide rolled away, hoping the undercurrent would leave us be?

  It only lasted a few seconds and took even less time for me to get my bearing. I dragged King Richard up the dock. It was time to take off the encumbering lifejacket that made his already unconscious body dead weight.

  I tied him to me and kept moving my end of the rope up the dock. If we got hit with another wave before I could get him to higher ground, he would have no chance in hell without that lifejacket. Again, I would congratulate myself later for the foresight to tie him to me.

  The next set of waves were as colossal and unforgiving as the last. At least we would not get pulled back down the beach. Each time the waves subsided and the current relieved, I was able to move further and further up the shoreline.