by CF Frizzell
“Oh, hell no,” he went on. “I got a pretty good deal going with them right now, big money for just a few hours every once in a while.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, confident and cocky. “I’m telling you, folks come over, they set up shop, and they’ll pay anything to keep their little pipe dreams afloat. Y’know what I’m sayin’?”
“I guess, sometimes.” Maggie had hired him, but Ellis hated seeing her fit his scenario.
“You guess? Shit, Ellis. You know damn well what losing a business feels like. It’s probably why you’re always pinchin’ those pennies. You know ‘desperate’ better than anybody.” Ellis opened a can of sealant and began coating her project. If only the brushing would drown him out. The man never knew when to shut up. “I’m telling you, dealing with that newbie is paying off hook, line, and sinker, you could say.” He laughed at his words.
“That so?”
“The Tuck’r Inn.” He held up a meaty hand and signaled money by rubbing his fingertips with his thumb. “Tuck’r right here, baby. Four runs already and the woman doesn’t have a clue. And she’s about due to come calling again. By October, I’ll be ready to book that Vegas vacation I’ve wanted for so long. Pretty sweet, huh?”
Ellis concentrated on the toxicity of the sealant, the coverage of each brush stroke, and tried not to explode. “You really are taking her for a ride.”
Tug laughed roundly. “A ride. That’s a good one.” He tossed a hand at her. “But, eh, y’know everything’s a write-off in that business, anyway. Lots of ways to pinch pennies, right?” Finally, he stopped staring at her work and stepped away. “Okay. Time to go. See you ’round.”
“See you.” She watched him saunter down the dock and almost hurled her brush at him. “Such a dick.”
She couldn’t finish the sealant job fast enough. She needed to walk. It was either that or head out to sea. Her mind, her stomach, her sex pulsed with thoughts of Maggie, and she needed space to function clearly. Jesus, Tug. You’re a total ass. At least her first cruise didn’t go into your Vegas fund.
The fact that Maggie had succumbed to Tug’s price gouging four times did, indeed, attest to her desperation. It made Ellis question Tuck’r Inn’s financial stability and how much of a battle Maggie currently fought behind her sunny disposition and her easy, infectious laugh. Maggie agonizing over a crushed dream was painful to picture—even if it did involve the Captain Pratt House. But Tuck’r wasn’t just a business. It also was Maggie’s home, and defeat could cost her both at once. At least I had the Rose.
Her supplies stowed away, and showered and dressed presentably, Ellis strolled along the waterfront and, as usual, took in far more than what the tourists captured with their cell phone cameras. She saw more than what serious photographers shot, beyond what visionary painters stroked onto canvas near the docks. Somehow, thinking about Maggie, interacting with her, had become special unto itself, and thoughts of the Captain Jacob Pratt House had faded into minor status. She’d once thought that impossible, that she deserved the added shame should she ever relegate the loss of home and legacy to an afterthought.
However, Maggie had changed things. She’d given the Pratt House a new name, true, but more importantly, she’d restored its vigor and honored its character. She’d lent her irrepressible energy to make it happen, and Ellis knew just from her brief tour of Tuck’r that the energy inside was palpable. Through Tuck’r, the Pratt House would never be anyone’s afterthought, as long as Maggie was at the helm.
Ellis pushed open the door to Dell’s and shivered in the air-conditioning as she headed for a stool at the bar. A hearty sandwich and a beer would serve her well into the evening, and maybe she’d take the Rose out for a spin. You’ve got me feeling pretty lighthearted, Maggie Jordan. Are you busy tonight?
Across the room, Maggie put down her drink and touched Rachel’s hand. “Hey.”
Rachel followed Maggie’s line of vision. “Whoa. No way. That’s her?” She turned back and winked. “I have seen her on the ferry. Very nice, big sister. Go. What are you waiting for?”
“One of the first times we spoke was right here, back in the spring. We didn’t even know each other’s names then.”
“Can’t say that anymore.”
Maggie took a large swallow of her drink and knew she was in trouble. Intense arousal less than twelve hours old had her shifting in her chair. “God. She rocks a tight T-shirt, doesn’t she?”
“Jesus, Maggie. I’m straight, not blind. Now, get over there.”
“I’d like her to join us. Do you mind? She’s kind of the quiet, reserved type, though. Such an intrepid spirit, and I think being at sea is to blame. I can feel that with her.”
“That’s what you feel?”
“Cut that out. I’d like you to meet her.” Maggie pushed back in her chair. “I want to introduce her to you. Would you like to meet her?”
Rachel giggled. “You’re a babbling ditz. You have sex with a handsome dyke all night on a boat and you ask if I want to meet her? Too much.”
Maggie lowered her voice to a hush. “We did not have sex all night. Just…all morning.” She grinned and set off for the bar.
Walking up behind Ellis, Maggie struggled to keep tactile memories at bay. Just the look of Ellis’s shoulders, her arms, her hand on her glass, churned rousing sensations in her depths. She placed her fingers on the back of Ellis’s neck, stroked the dark hair at her collar.
“Hi.”
Ellis turned on her stool. “Maggie!” She shot to her feet and took Maggie’s hand, her pleasure drawing Maggie closer. “It’s so good to see you.” She surveyed Maggie from head to toe, shook her head, and sent her a sly look. “Jesus, you’re a wicked temptation.”
Maggie had just regretted throwing on a halter top and cutoffs to go out with Rachel, but Ellis’s unabashed appreciation changed all that in an instant. The examination intensified a hunger for contact that she found hard to resist. Earlier today, they’d resisted nothing and gloried in every second. She squeezed Ellis’s hand and grew a little weak when Ellis entwined their fingers. Your fingers are magical, you know.
“And you clean up so well, Captain Chilton.”
Still holding hands, Ellis rested on her stool. “I was just thinking about you, trying to decide when would be good to call—and not come off like some…”
Maggie stepped between her legs and combed her fingers through Ellis’s hair. “Never worry about that. Please call anytime.” Ellis reached to her face and Maggie’s eyes closed at the tenderness in the strong hand on her jaw. She yielded without reservation when Ellis drew her in and kissed her.
The bustle of the bar, patrons nearby, even Rachel, who she knew watched from afar, vanished as she dissolved into Ellis’s kiss. A full-body rush urged her to lean in, lose herself in Ellis’s mouth, and if Ellis hadn’t inched back, she would have.
Warm, hushed words feathered against her lips. “Maggie. I melt when we do this.” She pressed a light kiss to Maggie’s lips, and lingered not long enough before withdrawing.
“Your kisses make me crazy,” Maggie whispered. “You…God, not here.” The light in Ellis’s eyes offered something Maggie didn’t dare consider at the moment. Rational thought was abandoning her fast. “I’m here with my sister,” she managed, and found herself tracing Ellis’s jawline with a fingertip. “Say you’ll join us.”
Ellis thought she’d probably follow Maggie anywhere at that moment. She left cash on the bar and let Maggie lead her across the room. The bright-eyed younger woman at the table set down her drink as they arrived and extended a hand.
“Hi, Ellis. I’m Rachel, the cute one.”
“Hello, Rachel.” Ellis shook her hand and took a seat next to Maggie. “I hope I’m not interrupting sister talk.”
“We’re just killing time before I catch the next boat.”
Ellis checked her watch. “Just a half hour? I’m sorry you’re leaving so soon.”
“Oh, please. She’
s been here for days,” Maggie said and rolled her eyes.
“You’re going to miss me, you know. I even left you the recipe for Grandma’s scones so your guests can have something good.”
“You had no trouble devouring everything I made. Such a troublemaker.”
Ellis enjoyed the jibing between them and saw the resemblance in more than just their rich auburn hair and athletic figures. Their lively, affectionate spirit created the same relaxed comfort she derived from Maggie’s company.
“Ellis, have her make you cinnamon scones. They’re to die for. I dug out the recipe this morning, and she wasn’t through the door a second before she was swooning over them.”
Maggie shook her head. “No telling tales, Rachel.”
“Oh, wait,” Rachel said and put a finger to her temple. “Come to think of it…Maybe it wasn’t the scones that had her swooning when she got in.” Ellis grinned. Maggie sat back and growled, but Rachel continued, undaunted. “Yeah, I guess coming home at seven in the morning after—”
“Will you shut up?” Maggie turned to Ellis. “How soon will the Eagle get here?”
Ellis shook her head and caught Rachel’s eye. “I happen to know that your sister is a terrific cook.” She looked directly at Maggie. “I’d eat your scones any day.”
Rachel hooted.
Maggie playfully slapped Ellis’s arm. “Do not encourage her.”
Rachel shrugged. “Encourage what? I have to charge up on all this fun, take it home with me to spark up my humdrum life. The ferry rides,” she winked at Ellis over the rim of her glass, “they’re my wilderness adventures, and visits to Nantucket energize my creative juices. It’s all good.”
“Somehow, I doubt your life is boring.”
“Hey, I sculpt in the nude for a reason.”
Now Ellis laughed. “Isn’t that a little dangerous?”
“Don’t believe a word,” Maggie said. “Rachel is an accomplished sculptress. She lives in Hyannis and her work is currently showing at galleries in Provincetown and Rockport. In fact, she’s been invited back to P-town next summer.”
Rachel waved away the praise, and Ellis liked her even more because of it. Much like her sister’s, Rachel’s direct manner was refreshing.
“How is it, working on the ferry? Have you done it long?”
“Ten years or so. Our crews are great, and there’s really never a dull moment with the passengers. Nantucket Sound is a busy place for traffic and weather and keeps us on our toes.”
“Do you meet famous people? Hey, I bet storms are scary. How about emergencies out on the ocean?”
“Yes, to all of that. But the best times are glassy waters on warm, sunny days, especially around Nantucket. When you can feel it all soothing your soul, you know you’re in a good place.”
Rachel seemed to consider that and grinned at Maggie. “I always knew real sailors were romantics.”
Maggie threaded her fingers through Ellis’s on the table. “This one is.”
Maggie’s eyes wandered over her profile, absorbing, touching. Ellis could feel their heat. Or maybe I’m blushing. She faced Maggie silently for an extra second, admired the delicate features, the naked honesty she had seen in last night’s dim light. I want you right now. She squeezed Maggie’s hand and Maggie squeezed back.
Ellis inhaled a steadying breath. “Let me buy us one more round. We have time.”
She caught the quick, telling look between the sisters and wondered if she passed muster. Unquestionably, Maggie’s opinion of her mattered more. After last night, there was no doubt of their physical compatibility, the pleasure each could provide, but here in the light of day, this had all the makings of “serious,” and Ellis knew she’d have to face it head-on.
Maggie made her open up, think about heretofore risky things, like home, her life, her heart. Already, Ellis cared whether Maggie smiled, fulfilled her dream, and kept her dog happy. No question, something in the universe has shifted. She feared the quick decision, had learned the merits of thorough consideration the hard way. It pays to put in the time. Her father never would have imagined she’d apply his lesson to romance. Yes, time will tell. Something told her she couldn’t afford to fail. Not again.
Chapter Twenty-one
Maggie flung Retta’s Frisbee back toward the house. Twenty minutes of this in the afternoon sun had brightened Retta’s day, but not hers.
She could still see the number forty-eight burned into her mind from her bookings calendar and wished she had a mental screensaver to erase it. Or a magic wand to turn it into ninety-eight or eighty-eight. Sixty-eight, for that matter. And she hated losing a three-room booking referred to her from a satisfied guest. I’m sorry, but Tuck’r no longer offers that sightseeing package.
Retta dropped the disc at Maggie’s feet and backed up, ready.
“Do you know your tongue’s almost on the ground? Come on. We need water. Well, you do. I could use something stronger.”
This emotional roller coaster is going to kill me. Finishing the weekend with a dinner date and then extracurricular activities on the Rose had been heavenly. God knows—and she had called that name several times—Ellis had been heavenly. But the first few days of the week had been a chore, lightened only by a few fog-impaired, scratchy minutes on the phone with Ellis yesterday. And today was the worst yet, losing that pricey referral. No matter how many hoops she offered to jump through, having no “Tuck’r Inn cruise package” had been a deal breaker.
The “newbie blues,” she thought, weary of the ups and downs. If Cavanaugh Resorts wants no part of them, then what? She dreaded starting the peddling process all over again. Hooking Cavanaugh’s interest in Tuck’r had taken five months and travel and materials money she no longer had. She considered seeking Ellis’s opinion, laying all her cards on the table, and then cringed at the thought. They certainly had a good thing going, summer fling or whatever this was, and she didn’t want to spoil it, not now that lone wolf Ellis Chilton had opened her big, soft heart. But was it too late to appear anything but some conniving opportunist who “doesn’t have a clue and just fumbles around”? One of them who hits and runs—in her house, no less?
She looked past the red geraniums in the window boxes to the second floor and the new shutters, the attic and the re-pointed chimney, whose bricks had been purposefully selected. So much work, so much invested.
“Who wouldn’t want a gorgeous place like this?” she asked as Retta drank from her bowl in the shade. “We’ve put everything into it.” They walked out to the front yard, among the flowering shrubs. “Tuck’r really is pretty, isn’t it, sweetie?” She patted Retta’s head. “Thank you for not digging everything up.”
Retta dashed back for her Frisbee, and Maggie bent to smell the roses at the corner of the porch.
You know there’s still one alternative. The idea of keeping Tuck’r for herself had taken root in the back of her mind a month ago, but she hadn’t had the nerve to banish or nurture it. The former could cost her dearly; staying the course with this flip project could mean crippling financial loss and starting anew with something simpler. The latter would mean the end of her career, and she’d struggled for years to be where she was now. Which is…where? She knew a life-changing event loomed. She just hoped she had the strength to handle it.
“Hey, Maggie.” Laura held the screen door open and waved her inside.
Something had the common room alive with light chatter, and Maggie thought it a little odd that guests lingered inside on such a gorgeous afternoon. She stepped in, and the friendly activity, the homey atmosphere enveloped her. It should feel this way all the time.
Four guests stood in a semicircle, talking to someone near her office door. Several others sat with tourist brochures in hand, trading suggestions from one sitting area to another. Maggie sent Laura a curious look, but Laura simply nodded toward the office. When the semicircle opened, Maggie spotted what—who—had captured their attention, and her jaw dropped.
Ellis hung
up the tintype of Captain Pratt by the doorway.
You’re here. Here. And on a weekday?
Retta bounded across the room and Ellis crouched to receive her.
Maggie closed in on them. “Captain Ellis Chilton. Well, I’ll be.”
A young boy dropped to his knees to pat Retta. “Hi, Ms. Jordan. Me and Dad are going to the museum today. Captain Ellis’s family has stuff there.”
“Is that right?” She raised an eyebrow at Ellis. Not so haunting now, is it?
“Yeah,” he answered. “Look at this.” He yanked a battered Nantucket Whaling Museum brochure from his shorts pocket and pointed at the photos of artifacts.
“The museum is a blast, Jeremy,” Maggie said. “They have tons of cool stuff. Too bad we can’t take some home, huh?”
“I know.” He turned to Ellis. “You had some right here, though.”
Ellis grinned. “Yes, right here. When I was your age, I used to take things off the walls to play with—and got yelled at every time. They were antiques. Some were older than my grandfather, so they went to the museum for everyone to see and learn how life used to be in the old days.”
Jeremy pivoted slowly to check out the common room’s heavily beamed structure and its many decorations, the reprints of historic paintings, replicas of Nantucket’s lightship baskets. At last, he turned back to the tintype. “That’s real, right?”
“It is,” Maggie said and sent Ellis a dubious look. “I suppose it should be in the museum, too.”
Jeremy looked concerned. “Yeah, ’cause people who don’t stay here won’t see him.”
“Good point,” Maggie said. “I’ll give it some thought, but I’d really hate to part with the picture. After all, this was Captain Pratt’s home.” She looked at Ellis. “And he should always have a place here.”
“That’s hard to choose, I guess.” Jeremy stuffed the brochure back into his pocket and patted Retta’s head again. “Bye, Retta. See you after supper. We’re going to the museum now.” He backed away, looking up at Ellis, wide-eyed and a bit enchanted. “Thanks, Captain Ellis.” He grinned and saluted before running off.