Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove)

by Donna Kauffman

  Alex had been standing in front of Barb’s desk talking with her, but looked up when the door opened. Her eyes widened. “Do you ever have your clothes on?”

  Behind her, Barb’s eyebrows climbed halfway up her forehead, followed by a far-too-gleeful smile.

  Logan stepped through the door. “Come in here.” He took her wrist in a gentle but firm hold and shuttled her directly into his office, closing the door behind her and snapping the already closed blinds shut again for good measure. “Is there a problem? With the house? Or . . . something?”

  He pulled on his clean uniform shirt and made quick work of the buttons. He started to automatically loosen his belt so he could unbutton his pants to tuck the long tail of the shirt in, but stopped. He wasn’t sure which was more awkward, that after a single roll in the hay he was already so comfortable with her that he didn’t think twice about unzipping his fly and half undressing? In his office, no less. In the police station, with the all-knowing, all-seeing Yoda Barb sitting watch? Or that he’d stopped and stood there with his shirt hanging out, like he was suddenly so uncomfortable around her he couldn’t tuck his own damn shirt in.

  It was moments like these that made him embrace his bachelorhood with renewed enthusiasm.

  “Please, don’t be modest on my account,” she said dryly.

  Feeling beyond ridiculous, he loosened his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers just enough to be accessible, then finished the job in record time. “Why are you here? Is everything okay?”

  “Nothing is wrong with the house and I’m . . . fine. I came in to get copies of the plans and work permits that have been filed at the county offices over the years, then grab a bite at Delia’s and do some research.” She lifted the old canvas duffel pack she had slung over her shoulder, indicating she had her laptop and whatever else her research required. “Delia has Wi-Fi.”

  “So do I.”

  “Yes, but I don’t have your access code, and I didn’t want to bother you after having just told you I wouldn’t be bothering you.”

  That was just it. She wasn’t bothering him at all . . . except just her talking was hot and bothering him. He took a seat behind his desk, thinking he’d revealed enough for one office visit.

  “Did you have problems getting the house plans from the county? They should all be public record, but I can call over there if that helps. I know some of the oldest records might not be there. There’s a whole file in the keeper’s cottage—”

  “You have things stored in there?” She seemed incredulous at the idea.

  Logan frowned. “It was the keeper’s cottage. They stored lots of things in there. It was their job.”

  “No, I mean that you still store things in there. Logan, when I said it wasn’t in good shape, I wasn’t kidding. I’m not so sure it’s even restorable, and I’m not talking just sagging roof and some structural issues, but—when was the last time anyone was in there? Does it have functioning electric? Has anyone looked at water damage, because that roof—”

  “Whoa, whoa. The answer is . . . I don’t know. Well, yes, it does have electric. The house, cottage, and tower all do. But I’m pretty sure it’s not turned on. As to the rest, I’m not sure.”

  She gaped at him. “How long have you been solely in charge of the place?”

  “Since my grandfather passed when I was twenty-seven. So, seven years. I told you, I haven’t been in either the tower or cottage since college.” He saw the flicker of apology cross her face. She knew why he hadn’t gone back in there.

  “But as to when the last time my grandfather was in there, I honestly couldn’t say. He was forever puttering with the house, the property. For the better part of the last twenty years of his life, it was his full-time job.”

  He could see her do the math, and figure that had been from about the time his parents had died, which was exactly right. But she didn’t ask. “So, it’s been at least seven years. Logan, we should really get in there.”

  “Okay.”

  That caught her by surprise. She’d apparently been ready to lay out her argument, but went silent for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Thank you,” she added sincerely. “You don’t have to do anything. I will give the exterior a thorough inspection first, determine how best to go in as safely as possible, and figure out what we need to do before we enter so it doesn’t collapse on our heads.”

  “Whatever you think is best.”

  That earned him a wry smile, and he found himself smiling as well.

  Alex raised her eyebrows. “Maybe I should have gone the Goldilocks route sooner.”

  He grinned at that. “I didn’t say that, and I hope you know what happens between us doesn’t impact the work you’re doing. Anything else I say right now will likely get me in trouble. It may have been a while since I was in a relationship, but with three sisters, I know a no-win setup when I hear it.”

  Her expression went from teasing to . . . well . . . to blank.

  “I did it anyway, apparently. What did I say?”

  She snapped out of it and pasted on a smile. “You have three sisters? Before you just said sisters, but I didn’t know how many.”

  He wanted to rewind and ask her what he’d said to bring that look to her face, but figured that was another one of those no-win situations, so let it go. “I do. All younger. Hannah is next, she’s two years younger, a lawyer, works in DC. Fiona is two years behind her, just started her own design firm in New York, and Kerry, the baby, is eighteen months after her and . . . well . . . I’m not sure where she is right now. That’s also on my list today.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  Some of his concern must have shown on his face. “She called earlier, had some exciting news, but I wasn’t here.”

  “Oh. Right.” Alex’s cheek’s became the most intriguing shade of pink. “Sorry. Well, not sorry, sorry, but sorry you missed her call.”

  He found himself smiling at that. She didn’t strike him as the blushing type. Far from it. “I’ll catch up with her later. It’s all fine. Kerry doesn’t just have nine lives. We’re pretty sure she’s immortal, so whatever it is, I’m sure she’s got it figured out. She always does.”

  It was Alex’s turn to grin. “Who are you trying to convince?” she asked, an echo of his question to her earlier that day.

  He sighed, letting out a half laugh. “Good question. I think she might be pregnant.”

  Why on earth had he gone and told her that? He barely talked family news with Barb, who was not exactly a surrogate mother by any stretch, but the one who knew the most intimate details about his family simply because she made it her business to know. His sisters knew she was his watchdog, and since he wasn’t always great at keeping up with them, they made it their business to keep in touch with Barb.

  “And . . . that’s not a good thing, I take it? You look a little . . . green.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what it is, to be honest.”

  “Do your other sisters have kids?”

  He shook his head. At her clearly amused smile, he said, “What?”

  “You’ve never been an uncle before. You’re nervous.”

  “Of course I’m nervous. But not about that. Hell, I hadn’t even thought about it that way.” Dear God. He might be an uncle. “It’s just—you’d have to know Kerry. Of the three of them, let’s just say, she wasn’t the one I thought would make me an uncle first. Actually, on second thought . . . hell. I don’t know. I guess at our age, it’s probably strange none of us have kids yet, but it just . . . hasn’t worked out that way. So far, anyhow. I kind of keep on forgetting we’re all getting older.”

  “How old are you? Oh, right. Thirty-four,” she answered herself. “If your grandfather passed seven years ago—I did the math.”

  “Yes. Kerry just turned twenty-eight.”

  “That’s not too young or so old. You or her. Not these days. A lot of women are getting careers going, that kind of thing, couples getting more establish
ed, settled, before starting a family. I think it’s smart.”

  “Because you know so many normal couples and normal career women?” He’d said it teasingly, and was relieved when she took it that way.

  “Point taken, but still, it sounds logical, right?” She studied him, then smiled again. “This has really gotten to you, hasn’t it?”

  You’re getting to me, he wanted to say.

  When she smiled spontaneously with that teasing lilt to her lips, it lit up her entire face. Her eyes actually sparkled.

  He found himself completely dazzled. It didn’t help that she’d changed out of her lumberjack look to jeans so old and soft they molded to her legs, brown leather lace-up boots, and a thick, cable-knit, dark blue sweater that made her eyes look impossibly bigger. It was all topped with a canvas coat that was open up the front. He could see how nicely that sweater accentuated curves he was on intimate terms with. Her hair was a jumble of waves and curls, which he’d like to think was a result of how they’d spent the morning. He had to dig his fingers against his thighs to keep from rounding the desk and sinking his hands in them all over again.

  “It’s my baby sister we’re talking about,” he said, struggling to stay on the conversational track. The rest of him had quite gleefully gone to another track entirely. “She might be twenty-eight chronological years old, but to me—”

  “She’s your baby sister.”

  “Exactly.”

  Alex laughed.

  “What’s so funny? I’m a caring older brother. Is that so hard to believe?”

  “More like a freaked-out older brother, but it’s equally endearing. You’ve been so tall, dark, and stoic since you first strolled up to my truck window.” She tilted her head. “It’s good to know you can get flustered. I was beginning to think you were Mr. Invincible.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Tall, dark, and stoic, huh?”

  “That’s what you took away from all that?” She laughed again, easily, guilelessly.

  Any part of him that hadn’t leaped completely to life, did so then. Even parts he didn’t know could do that.

  “It’s easier to focus on what you said than the part about Kerry.”

  “The part where you’re flustered, you mean?”

  He pushed his chair back and stood, then came around the desk. He eased a hip on the corner of his desk and reached out, took her hand, and tugged her closer. “You know what flusters me?”

  She let him tug her closer still. Teasing smile on her face, she simply shook her head.

  When she was between his knees, he put his hand on her hip, but kept the fingers of his other hand woven through hers. “You. This.”

  Her smile faded, and a hint of what he’d seen earlier crossed her face. Her cheeks turned the lightest shade of pink. She wanted to be all cosmopolitan about this whole thing, and she was probably a lot closer to pulling that off than he’d ever be. But the thing about Alex that grabbed him most was the many facets of her that were woven in with that confident devil-may-care, in-your-face swagger.

  They’d first met when she’d been, ostensibly, at her worst. Vulnerable, defenseless, grief-stricken. Since then, he’d seen her angry, passionate—both in and out of bed—teasing, playful, laughing . . . as well as confident and utterly confused. She was at a crossroads, trying to make sense of her life, and of who she’d become because of happenstances well beyond her control. He knew more about that than maybe even he’d been aware, so he got it. He got her. It was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure.

  He felt her fingers reflexively tighten in his. “I’m not sure I know what this is,” she said at length. “I thought we were just going to sort of . . . wing it.”

  “We are.”

  “You said relationship earlier. That it’s been a while since you were in one.”

  Ah. So that’s what had caused her sudden blank look. “That’s true.”

  Another thought crossed his mind, and he was surprised at the strength of the pinch he felt. And the jealousy. He wasn’t the jealous type, usually quite the opposite. Mr. Casual was a far better moniker, at least in regard to how he conducted his relationships, if you could call them that. Yet, right from the start, nothing about Alex MacFarland made him feel remotely casual. “You’re not involved with anyone. I mean, I assume since we—”

  “No, I’m not in any kind of relationship. I wouldn’t do that. I’d be offended that you even thought it, but we’re kind of going about this thing backwards and I know you don’t really know me or my character.”

  “I believed you when you said you weren’t the type who’d have . . . frolicked,” he said, liking that the word brought a smile to her lips again. “But you—some people are content with being more casual, and that’s really what I was asking. I guess.”

  Logan rubbed his thumb over her hip, wanting to tug her fully between his legs. “I’ll go first. I am casual. Usually. I don’t date women in Blueberry. I grew up with almost all of them, and it’s just . . . being in a high-profile job here, I prefer to keep my personal life separate—which means somewhere other than the Cove. Because of that, anything serious is . . . challenging.”

  “You said you didn’t want anything complicated. I understand. Neither do I.”

  “I’m honest and straightforward. I don’t lead anyone on.”

  “Consider me unled,” she said.

  He thought he heard relief in her voice—which kind of pissed him off—which, in turn, annoyed him. And upped his nerves, right along with it. It had been a long time since he’d been in a relationship. If it meant more bouts of confusing and conflicting emotions, he couldn’t rightly say why he thought it was a good idea to change that status.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m not—I’m usually pretty good at communicating. But I’m not making myself clear.”

  “So just say what you mean.”

  “Okay.” He pulled her closer then. “As long as we’re . . . winging it together . . . I won’t be having any casual, uncomplicated, straightforward, unled sex with anyone else. I don’t do that.”

  He could see her throat work as she swallowed. “Neither would I. Do I. I mean, I won’t. Either.”

  He couldn’t help it. He grinned. “Now who’s flustered?” Perversely, that calmed him immensely.

  “It’s been a while for me, too. Relationships, I mean. But this isn’t . . . I mean, it’s not really . . . that. Right? We’re just . . .”

  “Winging it,” they said together, then laughed.

  “I don’t know what it is or isn’t, and I don’t need to label anything. I just wanted to make sure you knew where I stood.”

  “So, we’re good then.”

  With one tug he pulled her fully up against him and slid his hand up and into those curls, cupping the back of her head, finally doing what he’d ached to do since he’d pulled her into his office. Hell, since walking away from her in his own bedroom. “Oh, I thought we were a lot better than good.”

  “Me, too,” she said against his lips.

  He’d meant to kiss her and let her go. He just wanted to taste her, even though his body wanted a whole lot more than a taste. But it turned out one kiss wasn’t enough, so he dipped in for another, then another still. And in some part of the back of his brain, he knew the very last thing he should be doing—even with blinds drawn—was to be essentially making out with . . . well . . . anyone . . . in his office.

  As police chief, he did his best to conduct himself in as professional and responsible a manner as possible. Because everyone knew him so well, it was the only way to establish the respect the job demanded. He was accessible, approachable, friendly, and wanted every and anyone to feel they could come to him if they had a problem that required his help. But there had to be a line between being the friendly police chief and being a buddy.

  Alex lifted her head and he liked—a lot—the way those dark blue eyes of hers got all stormy and darker when she was aroused. “I—uh, I should probably let you get back t
o work.” She swallowed again and he watched her throat work . . . and wanted to bite it. Then lick it. Then bite it again.

  Yeah. He’d better get his head back in work as well.

  “Don’t—ah.” Wow, his brain felt like scrambled eggs. “Don’t go into the cottage or the tower until I can go with you. Okay?”

  “Okay. Are you sure? Because you don’t have to.”

  “Certain. I don’t have a problem going in either. I just haven’t had any need to. Until now. Now I want to.”

  She held his gaze, and the depth of what moved between them was equal measures provocative and disconcerting.

  “Okay. Thank you.” She looked at him, and he thought she was going to ask him something, but she seemed to think better of it. She started to step back, but he stood and kept her in his arms.

  He kissed her again, then smiled against her lips. “Remind me to kiss you like that every time I need to ask you to give in on something.”

  She punched him lightly on the chest, making him laugh. “I might be stubborn, but I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t have gone in the cottage or the tower without some help.” She smiled at him. “I know. It’s shocking that I actually can be professional.”

  “Yes,” he said, then laughed at her affronted expression and dropped a hard fast kiss on her mouth to close it again. “And no. That’s what gets me. I never know what to expect.”

  “I thought that frustrated you.”

  “That, too.”

  She held his gaze, studied it, then him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Well, as long as we’re being cheerleaders for honesty . . . you seem to truly get me. That’s a little scary. Maybe a lot. But comforting, too. I didn’t expect that.”

  “Me, either.”

  That confession surprised her.

  Surprised him, too. Something about her made it easy—too easy—to say whatever popped into his mind. Probably because he knew she wouldn’t ask for explanations, but would simply accept what he said. She wouldn’t wheedle or make demands. Or assumptions. If she wanted to know something, she’d ask. Maybe she didn’t want to know anything. But he wanted her to. That was the scary thing for him. He did get her. Part of her anyway. It made him want to know more. For the first time, maybe ever, he wondered how he’d feel if she didn’t want the same from him.