by Mia Ross
“Oh, that’s just Reggie sayin’ hello to you,” Mavis told her. “He loves it when folks come by. Honestly,” she added with a soft cackle, “he likes people better’n I do.”
“Where on earth did you get a pig?” Bree asked, eyeing him cautiously.
“When my Henry died, God rest him.” Closing her eyes, Mavis held a hand over her heart and looked down. After a respectful moment she lifted her head and continued. “I wasn’t real fond of living by myself. Pastor Allen thought I’d do better if I had some company, so I went to the shelter over in Oakbridge, figuring to get a dog or a cat.” Crouching down, she scratched Reggie behind his ears while he grunted in appreciation. “This little guy waddled over and sat down in front of me, and I knew he was the critter for me. He’s housebroken and smart as a whip.”
Clearly the skeptical journalist wasn’t convinced. “Really?”
Mavis gave her a you’ll-see grin. “Reggie?” The little porker rose to all fours, wagging his tail eagerly. “Snack time.”
Delight flashed in his black eyes, and he trotted over to a set of open bookshelves. Grasping a plastic container in his teeth, he dragged it out but left it untouched, looking to Mavis for directions. She held up two fingers. “You can have two.”
Grumbling his approval, he reached in with his snout and removed one piece of jerky, letting it fall on the floor before going after another. When he had them, he placed the container neatly back on its shelf and swooped up his reward before retreating into the parlor.
“Wow,” Bree said, shaking her head. “That’s really something.”
Mavis’s craggy face wrinkled into a proud smile. “That little guy’s smarter’n most people I know. He’s not much to look at, but then neither am I, and he don’t seem to mind. You two go sit down. I’ll put the teakettle on and slice up some gingerbread.”
As she passed by him, Cooper stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Giving her the glasses he’d found dangling from a hook on the coat stand, he said, “You might want these.”
“No, but I’ll take them all the same.” Slipping them on, she looked him over from head to toe with a critical expression. “You need a woman, Cooper Landry. Eating too much of his own cooking makes a man skinny.”
“You sound like Mom, right before she stuffs me full of pot roast.”
“That’s just plain nonsense,” Mavis scoffed. “We’re not a thing alike, and you know it.”
He did, but no visit to the lighthouse was complete without a little good-natured sparring. Nose in the air, Mavis strolled through to the kitchen, and Bree glanced over at him, amusement sparkling in her eyes. She didn’t say anything, but it didn’t take much to figure out what was going through that quick mind of hers.
“I know she’s a little eccentric,” he murmured as they walked into the sitting room, “but she’s harmless, I promise.”
Stretched out on the flagstone hearth, Reggie had obviously inhaled his first treat and was enthusiastically attacking the other.
Bree settled on the edge of an antique chair that had seen better days. She lifted one curious brow, the way she had when David Birdsall had pedaled down Main Street in his costume. “I have one question.”
“Shoot.”
“Is the whole town like this?”
“Well,” Cooper stalled, searching for a way to skirt around the truth without lying. It was a survival skill he’d perfected during his courtroom career. But these days it just wasn’t for him, so he shrugged. “I guess so.”
Laughing, she added a note to her tablet. “Amazing.”
Cooper wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, or if the comment was intended to be an insult or a compliment.
Maybe bringing in a stranger to write about Holiday Harbor wasn’t such a good idea after all.
* * *
Bree was about as far from a tea and cookies kind of person as you could get, but Mavis’s snack was a whole lot tastier than the dry half sandwich she’d choked down at the airport earlier. While they munched and chatted, she made a mental picture of her surroundings, from the rugged landscape framed in the bay window to the parlor itself.
Everything from the oval carpet to the carved mahogany furniture was faded and worn. Even the curtains flapping alongside each of the four windows had a tired look to them, as if they could hardly stand up to one more ocean breeze.
Having lived all her life in the bustle of modern cities, Bree preferred glass and steel skyscrapers to raggedy old buildings in the middle of nowhere. Still she had to admit this one held a unique appeal. Maybe it was the setting, perched on the spit of land that made up one edge of the harbor. Maybe it was the well-salted local legends Mavis had been relaying for the past hour. Then again, Bree thought as she stifled a yawn, she was so tired from her early flight and long bus ride that anything that wasn’t moving looked good to her right now.
Tomorrow morning she’d come to her senses and see this place for what it actually was: a decrepit old tower with a spinning light on top.
At a rare lull in the conversation, Cooper stood. “I hate to do this, ladies, but I’d better get going. I’ve got a real estate closing at three, and I need to go over my notes.”
From her chair upholstered in threadbare needlepoint, Mavis pointed up at him. “You tell your mother I’m still expecting her for bridge on Saturday. I’m not pairing up with any amateur against the Marlowes. They cheat if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Turning to Bree, he added, “Your stuff’s still in my car. I’ll bring it in for you.”
Despite her insistence on doing things for herself, this chivalry thing was starting to grow on her, and she was just tired enough to take him up on his offer. Then her brain kicked into gear, reminding her that depending on others to help you gave them a chance to let you down.
Determined not to make that disastrous mistake again, she forced herself to her feet. “I can get it.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“It is for me.” For Mavis’s benefit, Bree used a sugary voice. But to be sure he didn’t misunderstand, she gave him the very stern look she trained on anyone with the gall to make her life difficult. Which was most people, she realized suddenly. That probably explained why she’d perfected that look.
Pushing the uncomfortable revelation aside, she followed him through the kitchen and down the stone steps.
“Something wrong?” he asked as he handed her bags out to her.
“No. Why?”
Turning, he leaned back against the fender and crossed his arms. “That was about the biggest sigh I’ve ever heard. Look, I know this place isn’t what you’re used to, but under the circumstances, it’s the best I could do.”
“Oh, it’s not that.” A curious dragonfly chose that moment to hover in front of her. Shooing it away, she decided to come clean with the man who’d been so nice to her. “I’ve got some things to sort out, I guess, and that makes me pensive.”
“Professional things or personal things?”
It was absolutely none of his business, and she almost told him so. But his somber expression made it clear he wasn’t being nosy, but was actually concerned about her. A complete stranger who’d barreled into town and hijacked his day. It was hard to believe, but here, on the edge of nowhere, she’d come across a truly nice guy. It had been so long since the last one, she’d almost forgotten what they were like.
Shrugging, she admitted, “A little of both.”
“And that makes you sigh.” When she nodded, he said, “A word of advice?”
“Sure.”
After he swung into the driver’s seat, he continued, “If you want folks around here to open up to you, don’t use words like ‘pensive.’ It makes you sound like a poet.”
Nick had told her pretty much the same thing while critiq
uing her portfolio, and she couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Meantime, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. I can tell you how the lighthouse got its name.”
Bree was fairly certain she’d have that tidbit after another round of tea and gingerbread with Mavis, and she almost said as much. But something made her stop.
It had been a long time since someone had been as kind to her as Cooper had. He was sweet and easy on the eyes, and she wouldn’t mind spending the evening with him. She could get some vivid details for her story while enjoying the evening with a handsome man. Where was the harm in that? “That would be great. But I have to warn you, I didn’t bring my cocktail dress and high heels.”
“That’s good, ’cause I was thinking we’d meet the boats at the dock to pick our lobsters, then walk up to The Crow’s Nest for dinner.”
She’d spent plenty of time in harbor cities all along the East Coast, and she’d eaten tons of fresh seafood. Never had she chosen her own meal, and she doubted any of her dates had even considered asking her to. Apparently Cooper took her slow response for hesitation.
“Unless you’d rather not,” he added quickly. “We can order at the restaurant instead.”
“Actually I’d like to see the wharf up close. Would the crews mind if I take pictures?”
“Mind?” Laughing, he started the engine. “They’ll be falling all over themselves to see who can impress you the most.”
When she heard herself laugh, it almost surprised her. With her life crashing down around her ears, she hadn’t done much of that recently, and it felt good. “That sounds like fun.”
“How about if I pick you up just before five? They’ll all be coming in around then, and you can meet them. You’ll find enough characters down there for a whole string of articles.”
“That sounds great. I’ll see you then.”
As he drove away, she watched him with honest appreciation. That he’d devised another way to help with her work touched her in a totally unexpected way. Despite what he knew about her sketchy judgment, Cooper was treating her like a pro. Her confidence was still in tatters, but the respect he was showing her made her think she just might be able to turn the page and start a new chapter in her career.
She certainly hoped so. Because all through college and the past few years, she’d put every ounce of talent and energy she had into her journalism.
Since first learning to write, she’d loved nothing more than spinning stories. As she got older, she discovered she had a knack for describing things she saw and heard, and that people seemed to like talking to her. A well-placed question or two usually got them started, and all she had to do was listen. That, her father informed her, was a valuable skill, and he’d mentored her with great enthusiasm for her growing ability. As she’d progressed from local papers to national coverage of truly important issues, his pride in her had increased. He’d taken her recent fall from grace almost as hard as she had.
For his sake—and her own—she was determined to wrestle her career back on to its upward track. Without it, she was nothing.
Pessimism had gotten to be a nasty habit with her, and she consciously pushed the defeatist thought aside. She’d promised to call her mother when she got settled, so she pulled out her cell phone to check the signal. It wasn’t great, but good enough for a quick call, so she thumbed the speed dial for the number.
When her mother answered, Bree put on a smile she hoped would reach through the connection. “Hey there. I’m set at the hotel, so this is me calling you like I promised.”
“Thank you, sweetie. I know it’s silly, but I appreciate you calling.”
“No problem.” Bree craned her neck for a look at the mirrored light rotating overhead. “You should see this place, Mom. It’s an old lighthouse a stone’s throw from the water. Very Wuthering Heights.”
“It sounds wonderful.” An art teacher at a small college in Connecticut, her very creative mother admired anything with character. “Send me some pictures if you have time.”
“Hang on.” Strolling a few yards away, Bree snapped a photo with her phone and texted it over. It took longer than usual, but it managed to get through. “How’s that for service?”
“Oh, it’s beautiful! Think of how many ships have sailed past it on their way into the harbor. All the sailors and crewmen, just imagine the stories they could tell.”
“I’ll be finding out later on.” Bree shared her plans for interviewing the fishermen. “It should be good background for the article.”
“You like it there, don’t you? I can hear it in your voice.”
“It’s fine.” The mayor was especially fine, but she wasn’t going there. Mom would get all kinds of romantic notions from that, and Bree didn’t need the aggravation of having to fend them off. Completely focused on resurrecting her career, she had no time for distractions, however attractive they might be.
“I have to be honest,” she continued, “I didn’t think much of the town ’til I saw the lighthouse. You’d love Mavis Freeman. She’s been running things since her husband died three years ago, but they still call her the keeper’s widow. The house is full of antiques, including her, and I’m convinced she’s memorized the history of every ship that ever went by.”
“You’ve got a love of the sea running through your blood. I’m not sure you remember, but one of my ancestors was a sea captain. Seamus O’Connell was his name.”
“I researched him. He was a pirate, and when the British finally caught him, they hanged him.”
“That may be true, but he still loved the sea. I’m sure that’s where you get it from.”
Thankfully, a beep alerted Bree that she had another call. When she checked the ID, her heart tripped over itself with the alarming combination of excitement and dread that had become all too familiar lately. “My editor’s trying to reach me, Mom. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“I’ll be here!”
Bree said goodbye and switched over to the other call. “Hello, Nick. What can I do for you?”
“Just making sure you got up there in one piece.”
Her intuition was sizzling, which meant there was more to this call than a simple check-in. Not long ago she’d have confronted him directly, but these days she was playing things a little closer to the vest. If she’d done that before, she’d still be working at her dream job in Boston.
She wasn’t thrilled about being flung so far down the ladder, and hopefully being more reserved would keep her from tumbling out of the business altogether. “My connecting flight was delayed, and the bus took a while, but I got here around noon.”
“Good. How’s everyone treating you?”
“Very well, thanks.” While she could tell he was fishing, she had no idea what he was angling for. “Is there anything in particular you want me to include in my article?”
“Lots of local color, anything unique that catches your eye. You’re not from there, so you should be able to pick up on things that’ll appeal to visitors. I want you to paint a great picture of Holiday Harbor so our readers can’t wait to book a ticket up there.”
After getting a few more similarly vague instructions, it dawned on Bree that her questions were too subtle. Despite her vow to be more reserved, she broke down and went the direct route. “What am I really doing here? I mean, it’s quaint and charming and all, but ‘sleepy little town’ is an understatement. The best article in the world won’t change that, and I can’t see why you’d pay me to come all this way to write about this place.”
“Cooper didn’t tell you?”
“Only that you grew up here.”
Nick chuckled. “Yes, I graduated a couple years after Cooper. He tutored me for a while, and without him I never would’ve gotten accepted at New York University. Anyway, when he asked me if Kaleidscope
could do the town a favor, I was happy to help. We do have a national audience these days, you know.”
Nick had a reputation for being tightfisted, and she’d picked up on something totally unlike him. “So they’re not paying you to promote Holiday Harbor?”
“Nope.”
Nick had hired her to do a story that wouldn’t financially benefit his business? To her, that was a foreign concept. “That’s generous of you.”
“Hey, we do what we can, y’know?”
Actually, she didn’t know. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met someone she honestly admired, but it seemed her prospective new boss fell into that category. She heard a smothering sound, then Nick’s voice came back full volume. “There’s a problem with tomorrow’s layout, so I have to run. Do a stellar job on this, Bree. There’s a lot of good people counting on you.”
The line went dead, and Bree shut her own phone off. Tapping it against her chin, she gazed out at the water, lulled by the rhythm of the waves crashing on the rocks. The sun played over the spray, forming minirainbows here and there in the mist. With the weathered lighthouse as a backdrop, it was a remarkable sight.
In spite of her earlier skepticism, Bree reflected on the possibility that her mother could be right. Maybe the old pirate’s love of the ocean was getting to her after all.
Chapter Three
On his way back out to the lighthouse later that afternoon, Cooper congratulated himself on a successful residential closing. Granddad had always handled those, so Cooper hadn’t done one in a while. Fortunately the two real estate agents knew their stuff, and all he’d had to do was dot the i’s and cross the t’s for his client. Before long another young family would be calling Holiday Harbor home. It was a great way to end what had become an interesting day.
Bree Farrell fascinated him. At a young age he’d learned to read people, mostly by shutting up and listening to them talk. During long days on the water Granddad had taught him to watch the fish closely, reading their movements to predict where they were headed. You could do the same with people, he’d explained, interpreting their body language as well as their words to get a clear picture of how they actually felt. That skill came in handy when their behavior contradicted what they were saying.