Brodie’s bid amount on the ship had just doubled. He would have to include the cost of getting his property out of tax hock as part of the deal. It was his only chance at retaining control. Collectively, it was no small amount. Tacking that number on to the actual cost to build the schooner would normally have put him well out of the running, but Winstock had tipped his hand, making it clear Brodie’s bid was the only one he was truly considering.
Brodie had no other choice but to play hardball. Otherwise, he might as well sign the deeds over to the man right then and there.
The yacht club didn’t surprise him, either. It made perfect sense that Winstock wanted to trade on his standing in the Pelican Bay region to leverage his hometown into something rivaling the money towns that dotted the mid-coast region from Boothbay to Bar Harbor. He didn’t want to drive an hour and a half to get to his yacht club. He wanted one right there in the Cove.
Yeah, right in the middle of Monaghan’s old shipyard and Blue’s commercial fishing business. Brodie didn’t see it. Blueberry Cove was fiercely proud of its fishing and shipbuilding industry, of its workingman roots. Upgrading one building into some kind of fancy private club didn’t alter the fact that it would be surrounded by working-class folks going about their daily blue-collar business. Blueberry Cove had never courted the tourist trade beyond what came naturally from being a coastal, harbor-based town, and had never identified itself as such. Did Brooks Winstock really think he could change all that?
Did Brodie want to be any part of Winstock getting even a toehold on a prime piece of harbor property? That would be only the beginning of his plans. No way was he not going to go after the rest of Monaghan’s and Blue’s until he had the high-dollar harbor resort he wanted.
“I know your son-in-law is town council leader, but I’m not certain the town wants to attract that kind of clientele—”
“The town will see the dramatic increases in revenues we can obtain by courting that demographic, and it will raise property values as well as strengthen our economic base.”
“Raise folks’ taxes, too, and not just the ones with businesses of the sort that would benefit from increased foot traffic.”
Winstock waved his objection off. “It’s all quid pro quo, with significant emphasis on pro. I doubt anyone will quibble.”
And I don’t doubt you’d find a way to silence any naysayers.
Brodie was realizing just exactly how deep in with the devil he’d have to go, and even though building the tall ship would fulfill his personal dreams and get him out of the precarious financial position he was in, he wasn’t selling his soul for it. It was bad enough that he’d pissed off the man’s daughter. Schooner or no schooner, doing the same to the father would be unwise in the extreme. If it already wasn’t too late for that.
Brodie took a stab at treading carefully. “I appreciate that you have good intentions for the town.”
Winstock surprised him by laughing. “Now, young man, this is hardly the time to start kissing my ass. Blunt got you this far. Let’s stick with that, shall we? Providing your plans live up to your hype, do we have an agreement?” The man looked supremely smug, as if it was a done deal and he was merely waiting for Brodie to catch up with the program.
Brodie realized that was, for all intents and purposes, exactly where he stood. Either he agreed to Winstock’s plans in order to secure the contract and buy back his property, or he nixed the deal . . . and Winstock bought up his property and got someone else to build the schooner. True, the old man would lose the direct Monaghan tie-in, but Brodie knew better than to think that gave him any significant negotiating room.
Still, he had to at least try. “I have my own plans for the boathouse and shipyard property. However, my docks could accommodate the schooner and I think a charter business would blend in quite well here. Beyond that, my family’s business and the fishing companies that occupy most of the harbor’s property are all generations old and attached to their way of life in more than a simply economic way.”
Winstock’s expression hardened slightly. Clearly, despite his request for blunt talk, he hadn’t expected Brodie to do anything but lie down and roll over. “Your family abandoned its business interests here when it became clear that times had changed to the point that there was no business to be had. It’s admirable, indeed, for you to try to resurrect Monaghan’s, and I have nothing but respect for the effort. You can be quite proud that your family managed to keep such a stronghold in the Cove for as long as they did. But surely you have already come to realize that there isn’t a demand for a business the size and scope of the previous one.”
“I do. My vision is different in that—”
“In that it won’t do for you or the town, what I can do—what we could do, together,” Winstock said, growing impatient. “I want to keep the Monaghan name on this property, but that’s not central to my needs.”
And there is the other shoe dropping.
“We’ll have the schooner charters and an inn designed by one of our country’s premier architects, not to mention my family name on the club. The Winstocks might not have been a founding family, but we were damn close. I can make a go of it with that. However, I would like to anchor the improvements in the history of Blueberry Cove. I’d think you would be proud to see your ancestry being honored. My plans will provide you a future to continue the Monaghans’ proud traditions in this new enterprise. Nothing you can do would come close to securing you the future I’m offering you.”
“So, you’re saying you want to lease the docks and main boathouse from me?” Brodie wanted him to lay it out straight.
“We can talk particulars later. You’ll still have the boathouse between the club and the inn being built on the end, as well as the shipyard beyond it. Some of that would have to be co-opted as the parking lot for the club, of course, but then you’ll have to do that in part for the inn, anyway. More than enough room for you to build your boats. The type of clientele I’ll be bringing in is the exact type of customer base that would likely be looking for your particular services. A more symbiotic arrangement I couldn’t imagine.” He smiled, quite delighted with himself.
Brodie could have pointed out that building a four-masted schooner wasn’t exactly going to be a tranquil proposition for potential yacht owners thinking about tying up at Monaghan’s docks. It would be noisy, chaotic, and impossible to ignore. In and of itself, he could see it being a tourist draw; watching a tall ship being built would be fascinating to folks. If there would be a way to allow viewing without interrupting the work flow or putting anyone in danger, he’d be willing to discuss that. But even after the schooner was built and his own personal enterprise was launched, it was nonetheless a loud, messy trade . . . even with the work being done indoors. A working shipyard, even if the end product was high-quality, hand-built sailboats and yachts, was hardly the setting for a bluenose yacht club.
Rather than go there, he went for the even more obvious mismatch. “And Blue’s?”
“What about Blue’s?”
“How will your fancy clientele feel about sharing their harbor space with a commercial fishing operation and a bunch of lobster fishermen? They leave early and aren’t the most genteel lot when they come back in with their catch.”
Winstock waved a hand. “Local color. The real Maine coast. A hundred ways to spin that. I’m not concerned.” His gaze sharpened again. “I’m not trying to trick you out of your property or pull a fast one. I want you on board with this vision. It’s the best of both worlds.”
“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not entirely trusting regarding ulterior motives.” Brodie had nothing left to lose by angering the man. Winstock had him over a barrel, and he knew it.
“Now, I understand that the way Cami handled the sale of your boathouse to Ms. Maddox has, perhaps, created a sense of distrust, but I’m coming straight at you, being up front, all my cards on the table. That’s how I conduct business. Always have, always will.”
&nbs
p; And if I believe that, I’m sure you’ve got some swampland to sell me, too. “I appreciate that, but I was raised in a family full of shrewd businessmen and women, and I’d be less than the Monaghan they raised me to be if I weren’t at least a wee bit skeptical. In our experience, things that look too good to be true are usually exactly that.”
Winstock chuckled. “Smart family. Not surprising given their long tenure here.”
“And a much longer one in my homeland,” Brodie reminded him. “Before I agree to anything, with even so much as a handshake, I’ll want to know all the details.” He’d have to make the boat deal and dock lease separate from any of Winstock’s bigger plans. That would give him time to make Winstock understand that the yacht club enterprise wasn’t going to work, thereby leaving his property intact. Perhaps he could convince Winstock to locate the club in a different part of the harbor. The bigger yachts could anchor out anyway, and their owners would come in on skiffs. A different location would provide a more tranquil, peaceful environment to such a well-heeled clientele.
“Well now, I appreciate your directness and would hope we can always be this open and honest.” Winstock perched on the arm of Brodie’s couch, all folksy and let’s be buddies. “So, let me be completely forthcoming. There is another small part to this dealing that needs to be discussed. Perhaps it will give you peace of mind where my daughter is concerned.”
Bloody hell. Brodie had hoped with all the rest of the posturing and grand planning that the heavily hinted at sordid little addendum to their agreement was no longer part of the deal. Isn’t it enough you want to co-opt my heritage? You want a piece of me to go with it?
“Mr. Winstock—Brooks,” he amended when the man gave him what was probably meant to be an avuncular look, which made Brodie’s stomach turn over. “I’m not sure what Cami might have said to you regarding any . . . dealings we’ve had, but—”
“First, let me be clear about one thing. You mentioned Ted’s situation earlier, regarding his feelings about his treatment by Alex MacFarland. Cami has also mentioned to me that the two of you have had some conversations of a rather . . . personal nature since your arrival here.” Winstock lifted a hand to stall whatever Brodie might have said. It was a wasted gesture, as Brodie had not the first clue what an appropriate response to that comment would have sounded like. “While I’m sure the partnership between my daughter and her husband might be seen by some as . . .”
Unsavory? Morally bankrupt?
“Outside the norm,” Winstock continued, seeming to be choosing his words carefully, “it seems to work for them.” He paused, then lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug, apparently assuming the hard part was over now that he’d put that out there. “Given my own dismal failure on the marital front, I’m hardly one to preach about how things should be in order to achieve long-term relationship success. It’s a small town, so you’ve probably heard the story, but Camille’s mother walked away from us when my daughter was hardly out of diapers. Felt tied down, she said. She needed more. What more I couldn’t imagine, as she had everything a woman could ever want. Off she went, however, and never looked back.”
Winstock waved a dismissive hand, as if it were water so far under the bridge that it no longer mattered. “Now, Camille is a dedicated, dutiful, wonderful daughter. A man couldn’t ask for more, and I couldn’t be prouder of her.” His face creased then in what Brodie supposed was meant to be a self-deprecating smile, but simply looked awkward. “My daughter is also headstrong, just like her mother, and somewhat restless by nature. Rather than destroy the harmony of her marriage by running off in search of God knows what, she and Ted have come to an . . . agreement.
“I don’t pretend to be happy with or even approving of this arrangement, but it does seem to work for them. Over time, I’ve come to realize that perhaps if I’d been as open-minded, my own marriage might have survived my wife’s restless nature.” He took a stab at looking sheepish, which didn’t sit right on his smooth, aquiline features any more than the self-deprecating look had earlier. Clearly, the man didn’t have even a passing acquaintance with either emotion. “Don’t go telling my daughter I said so, now, or I’ll disavow any knowledge of this conversation.”
Oh, not to worry there, Brodie thought, trying to maintain a blank expression through it all. He tried to imagine a man—any man—suggesting such an arrangement to any of the women in his family. The bloke would be lucky to walk upright ever again. He’d certainly never be siring any children.
“This is an awkward conversation for any father to have, so hopefully sharing a bit of insight into our past history brings some understanding to the situation. I’m sure you felt duty bound to turn down my daughter’s . . . overtures, and I respect that. You were only doing what you thought was right.”
So that’s how it’s going to spin? Brodie didn’t know if he wanted to puke or punch the man in the face.
“Now that you see it’s all aboveboard and out in the open, at least between her and Ted—you’re a respectable man, so naturally you’ll be discreet in regards to the rest of the community—the two of you can pursue your . . . private interests. You won’t have to worry about interference from Ted or from me. In fact, to be honest, I’d be a lot more comfortable knowing she was in your care than someone else’s.”
Because you have my ass and the rest of my family heritage in a sling, Brodie thought in disgust. Knowing there was no chance in hell his real emotions weren’t plastered all over his face, he turned and whistled for Whomper, who dutifully trotted over with the remnants of his bone still clenched in his teeth.
Brodie leaned down and rubbed the dog’s head, buying some much-needed time to pull himself together and find the right words to tell this disgusting excuse for a man and worse excuse for a father exactly what he could do with his suggestion.
“When did you get the pup?” Winstock asked, all jovial now that the nasty business of pimping out his daughter had been dealt with.
“He’s not mine,” Brodie said. “I’m dog sitting for Grace.”
Just like that, tension snapped back into the air. “Ah. Cozy arrangement. I didn’t realize you’d come to any kind of . . . personal détente.”
Brodie lifted his gaze from dog to man, wondering just what the hell the man meant by that and what he thought he knew about any dealings Brodie did or didn’t have with Grace. “She bought the property fairly, and I’m going to have to come to terms with her operating a business a stone’s throw from mine, so it seemed best to work things out. She’s smart, good head for business. It could be worse.”
Winstock smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which were shrewdly assessing Brodie at the moment. “Yes, indeed. Good to see you have a strong sense of doing what is best for the big picture,” he said pointedly. “It will stand you in good stead in our little endeavor.”
There was nothing little about it, Brodie wanted to shout. To Winstock it was simply something to play at, like a new toy, or a new hobby. To Brodie it was his entire livelihood, his entire life, dangling on a very precarious string of whimsy.
“Good. I’d like to think I can stay focused on what’s important.” He decided he wasn’t going to address the Cami issue one way or the other. Let Winstock believe he’d achieved his goal in securing Brodie for his business needs and his daughter’s more prurient ones. They’d sign a contract, Brodie would secure his property to keep it out of either Winstock’s possession, then Cami could go whining to Daddy all she wanted when she didn’t get her prize stud to go along with her father’s latest business deal.
Brodie would have to hope that Winstock wouldn’t screw over their deal, that he’d want his new enterprise to happen more than he’d want to shut up his spoiled brat of a daughter. She could find another play toy. Winstock needed Half Moon Harbor and Brodie’s spot on it to make his new deal happen. Once those deeds were in Brodie’s hand, he would breathe a lot easier. Cami would cease to be an issue for him.
Winstock held Brodie’s gaze
directly for another long beat, and Brodie let him. Finally feeling there was a chance he could get out with his pride and integrity intact, he shot the older gentleman a purposely broad smile that likely didn’t reach his eyes, either. He pointed to his drafting table. “Take a look at the plans?”
Chapter 17
Grace’s heart was in her throat, tears threatening the corners of her eyes, and she didn’t think she could say another word, or even take another breath, until her brother reacted to her arrival. Do something. Say something.
Ford lifted his gaze from Grace to Robie, who merely lifted a shoulder as if to say I just deliver ’em. Don’t look at me.
When the moment spun out, the captain finally shoved a lobster trap over to the side of the boat so it lined up beneath the ladder up to the dock. “Come on,” he said to her, careful not to look at Ford again. “Just step up and grab the ladder.”
Grace finally tore her gaze from her brother long enough to look at the captain, then to where he was motioning. She pushed the strap of her bag up higher on her shoulder and walked to the side of the boat feeling almost as if she was having a whole new kind of out-of-body experience. Had she really done it? Her brother was right there. Mere feet away.
She had a moment of pure, unadulterated panic. What on earth could she possibly say to him that would change anything? He was a complete and total stranger and clearly not happy to see her. Dear God, what have I done? What the hell was I thinking?
The captain saw something of her rising hysteria and took her elbow in a firm grip in the guise of helping her up on the trap toward the ladder. “Listen, missy,” he said in a gruff mutter, “you want to go back to the mainland, just say the word and we’ll turn around. Otherwise, I’m not back out here until tomorrow.”
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