“Memories are long,” Jonah shot back. “And some grievances should never be forgotten.” His emphasis on the latter, and the disgust with which he’d spat it, implied he thought the gash that had separated the two branches of Blues ran much deeper than Calder apparently understood.
“What about forgiven?” Calder asked, figuring this might be his only shot at the man, so might as well go for broke. “What good does holding on to animosity do? That kind of hate only eats at the one who harbors it, while doing nothing to the one it’s aimed at. Seems like a waste to me. And a shame.”
“Thought you didn’t come here to discuss family business.”
Calder surprised himself—and, judging by Jonah’s momentary blank expression, the old man, too—by grinning. “Who said I was talking about family?”
“What the hell are you talking about then? Because if you’ve got something else to say, then get on with it. You may not have a clock to punch, but my days end early and start even earlier. I don’t have time to—”
“The folks of this town, the ones who work here, and have for their whole lives, just as their parents did before them, don’t strike me as the kind who are applauding someone like Brooks Winstock for building them a yacht club none of them will be able to join,” Calder interrupted.
He paused. He could see Jonah’s chin jutting as he moved his tobacco, and chewed on Calder’s words, though clearly he’d rather be doing pretty much anything else. Calder took full advantage of the moment. “When Winstock sent a bid request to my company, I knew it wasn’t because Blueberry Cove suddenly needed a contractor located close to two hours away. I knew something else had to be up, but I couldn’t figure out what. So, I overbid the project.”
That opened those steely eyes a fraction wider, but the curiosity was quickly snuffed by a look of disgust. “Greedy bastard, just like—”
“Careful now,” Calder warned quietly. Jonah might be able to snap him like a twig, but that didn’t allow the old man free rein to trample on Calder’s immediate or distant kin, and the sooner Jonah knew that, the better off they’d both be. “I don’t give a damn about the money. I overbid it because I suspected Winstock didn’t care how much I asked. He wanted me here for other reasons. If I was wrong, it was a job I didn’t want anyway, so no harm.”
There was a long beat, but Jonah finally said, “So, he took the bid. What does that prove? You’re still takin’ the man’s money, more than you’re due. Makes calling Winstock a schemer a bit of pot calling the kettle black.”
Actually, Calder hadn’t taken a dime yet. He was here to discuss the project and sign the contract, and, in fact, he fully expected Winstock to find some way around paying him his full asking price. But Jonah was so hell-bent on making him into some kind of bad guy, Calder didn’t bother setting him straight. “Like I said, it’s not about the job or the money.”
“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought. Why bid a’tall?”
Calder had to hide a grin. So the man did care, even if he wouldn’t admit it to Calder or himself. “Because I knew it had something to do with the fact that I was a Blue—it was the only connection, and a pretty damn direct one—and I wanted to know why. If my hunch was right, he was going to accept any bid I offered, just to get a St. Croix Blue to step foot in Blueberry Cove.”
“What business is it of yours what’s going on here or why? Can’t see where you sticking your nose in is going to mean anything good, no matter what. Should’ve just turned him down.”
“Winstock made it my business. He wanted someone from the wrong side of the family tree, at least as residents of the Cove consider us to be. Don’t you want to know why? Aren’t you the least bit concerned that he knocked down an iconic diner, owned by someone from a family that has been feeding the fine folks of this town for generations, without so much as batting an eye? You’re right next door.”
Jonah’s gaze went from wary and speculative to glass hard in a blink. “He’s got no claim to this property. And no price tag high enough to change that fact,” he said, clearly insulted.
“Seems to me he’s not much concerned about following proper channels, or he’d have thrown some money at the diner owner.” Calder noticed the way Jonah’s expression shuttered. “He didn’t even try, did he?” Calder had suspected as much from what Hannah had said, but he hadn’t been sure until that moment. No wonder she’d been so worked up about it. “I understand he tried some end run around the shipyard owner, too. So, he’s not even interested in giving his fellow townsfolk a leg up to get what he wants. He just wants you out of his way.”
“This has nothing to do with you and yours,” Jonah said tersely. “Done quite well without interfering in each other’s business now for well on a hundred years. I expect we can manage a few more without you riding to the rescue.” He all but spat the last words.
“With all due respect, it’s not up to you what I do or don’t do, or why I choose to do it. You don’t know me. Never met me. Nor I, you. I was raised to think about Jeremiah’s branch of the family much the same as I imagine you were raised to think about Jedediah’s. And you know, I thought it was a pile of horseshit then, and nothing I’ve heard or learned since has ever changed my mind. Holding the sins of the fathers against their offspring, who haven’t so much as laid eyes on each other in generations? What possible good does that do?”
“Stops them from doing any more harm to each other,” Jonah said, his eyes flat, his tone even flatter. “All that matters.”
“Seems to me it’s more a bunch of stubborn old men who’d rather sacrifice what this family could be—”
Jonah spat again, only this time it landed right at Calder’s feet, just a speck from his booted toe.
Nice aim.
“Head on back up the St. Croix,” Jonah said, his expression closed tight. He eyed Calder up and down. “Unlike the River Blues, we know how to stay and fight for what’s ours.”
“That’s just it,” Calder said, keeping his tone smooth though his own jaw was starting to ache a little from being clenched tight. “You’re not supposed to fight the ones who are already on your side. Blood is thicker than the water in this harbor, Jonah. At least that’s what I was raised to believe. I just choose to believe that means all of my family. Including you.”
“Don’t you understand? It’s the blood of this family that taints that harbor, boy. Some sins don’t simply go out with the tide. Now I’ve got nothing else to say to you. Do what you will in this town. Folks’ll stand up for themselves well enough. But steer yourself clear of this property.” With that, he turned and walked back down the docks toward the big boathouse at the end of the pier. He didn’t look back.
“That went well there, didn’t it then?” came a voice from behind Calder.
He turned to find a man about his own age, close to the same height, His thick, sun-bleached hair, tossed about in the harbor breeze, made him look like a surfer dude on the wrong stretch of coast. And judging by the Irish brogue, a really distant wrong coast. The guy had a broad grin on the kind of face that probably made women swoon. If not, the accent would surely do the trick.
“Indeed,” Calder finally said in response. “Making friends and influencing relatives everywhere I go.” He took a step forward and stuck out his hand. “Calder Blue. You must be Brodie Monaghan. I was on my way over to see if I could somehow piss you off next.”
Brodie chuckled and took Calder’s hand in one equally broad and improbably more calloused and gave it a firm, welcoming shake. “A Blue, are you now?” His gaze tracked the old man’s progress toward the big boathouse at the end of the pier. “I take it you must be from the other branch.” His grin widened. “Here I thought I had a hard time winning the folks of this fine town over. And they liked my forebears.”
“They’re that hard-assed then?”
“The hardest of arses, mate. Once you win them, though, you’ve got a crew who’ll rally a cry for you at the wave of a pot buoy flag, and stand beside you unt
il the last one has fallen.” His eyes crinkled more deeply at the corners. “So, there’s that.”
“Aye, indeed,” Calder said, chuckling. The Irishman could probably sell a swatter to a fly and make him happier for it. Calder nodded toward the shipyard. “You build that monstrosity?”
With the sun now dipping below the tree line, Brodie glanced at the shadowy hulk of the massive schooner. Honest pride and profound joy filled his handsome features so fully, Calder thought the man might burst with it. Like a kid who’d been told he could work in Santa’s workshop the rest of his days.
Passion like that earned Calder’s respect. Lucky was the man who never worked a day in his life because his profession was also his joy. Calder knew something about that, though not necessarily in the way his family approved.
“Always had a thing for building model boats,” Brodie said.
“I’d hate to see the glass jar you plan to stick that one in.”
“Oh, aye, but I do. I put a call into Stephen, you see. Asked if he could whip something up. Good with domed things, he is.”
“Stephen?”
“King. Him being a Mainer and all.”
Calder chuckled again, pleased to know there was at least one Cove resident who wasn’t going to immediately try to run him out of town. Or toss him in the harbor. Of course, while Monaghan was also something of an outsider himself, he had found a way in. Perhaps he’d be a valuable resource in more ways than one.
“What brings you to the Cove?” Brodie asked. “You drew the short straw and were elected to come down with the olive branch?” He tucked his hands in the front pockets of his close-to-worn-out work jeans, pulling the faded T-shirt tight across shoulders that Calder knew had earned their well-honed shape from hard, honest labor. “You might get farther with a six-pack and pouch of chew,” he added. “Better yet, a case of each.”
Calder grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He noticed the Irishman’s work shoes were of the boat shoe variety and, like the rest of his clothes, had seen better years. They also didn’t match, but given the gleaming beauty presently dominating the open shipyard field, Calder doubted Monaghan’s eye for detail was lax anywhere beyond his sartorial choices.
“Not the elected bearer of the olive branch,” Calder said at length. “It was my choice. Business.”
“What’s your work then?”
“Contractor.”
And . . . poof, out went the twinkling light from the green eyes now steadily assessing Calder with a shrewdness that would seem out of character for the charming rogue he presented himself to be. Yeah, Calder had known that sharp intellect had to be there under the layer of charm somewhere. A man didn’t learn to build something like that ship without some serious smarts.
“So . . . Winstock hired you,” Brodie said, his gaze assessing. “Interesting. Not a coincidence, then, you being a Blue.”
“I doubled my bid estimate and he didn’t even try to negotiate me down. So I sincerely doubt it was a coincidence.” It was a calculated risk, revealing that. Calder hadn’t had much time to read the Irishman, but he went with his gut. “Heard he made a grab at your property.”
“We worked around it,” he said by way of response, then nodded toward the tall ship. “I built that for him instead. Not much competition for my bid, either, as it happens. Though admittedly I didn’t have quite the stones you did. Double, ye say?”
Calder was still looking at the schooner. “Any man who can build that poses enough threat in any whose-is-bigger contest to earn my respect.”
Brodie barked out a laugh and the grin was firmly back in place. “Might have underestimated you, Black Sheep Blue.” He gestured to his shipyard. “Care to walk?”
“Can I see your toy boat?”
“Are ye askin’ me to show you mine, then? Because you should know, I’m not at all interested in seeing yours.”
Calder chuckled. “Not to worry. Besides,” he added as they ambled back down the harbor road toward the shipyard, “no point in shaming the locals straight off.”
Brodie shook his head, made a tsking sound. “So, that’s how it’s to be then, is it?”
“Begin as you mean to go on.”
“Good to know,” Brodie said, laughter still in his voice. He slapped Calder on the back with just enough force behind it to make a point, and motioned him toward the shipyard. “Welcome to the Cove, mate.”
Chapter Four
“Oh . . . wow.” Hannah let the car roll to a stop along the Cove road as she stared down the short stretch of Pelican Bay shoreline, then out to the Point, where the McCraes’ lighthouse stood, a proud old sentry, historic and beloved. The sun was just rising above the horizon line behind it, casting it in a pinkish-golden halo of light.
Just shy of two hundred years old, and long since decommissioned, Pelican Point had been in the care of the McCrae family from its inception, both an honor and a burden. Hannah had always felt a little guilty that Logan had been left to somehow find a way to maintain the lighthouse, the keeper’s cottage, and the rambling main house. “But look at you now,” she breathed, astonished by the end result of the renovation that had begun a little more than a year and a half earlier.
Even from this distance, she could see that the uniquely shaped exterior, a sort of boxed-out square with angled corners, had gotten a complete face-lift. The salted-over and weather-damaged windows set into the tower walls had been replaced and the morning sun glinted off their clean, glossy surface. The whole of the tower appeared to have been resurfaced, as well as repainted a resplendent, beacon white. “And the station house . . .” My house. Home.
She felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes and ignored the sting as the bruised skin around her eyes—which had indeed grown a ghastly dark purple overnight—tightened. She’d been more than a bit unsteady after Calder had left the police station the evening before, and Barbara had gone into full drill-sergeant mom mode. She’d made the decision that Hannah was done for the day. Barbara had bundled her off to the pharmacy to pick up the pain meds she’d been prescribed before taking her back to the Benson household and putting a bowl of homemade chowder and a grilled cheese sandwich into her, then tucking her summarily into one of her guest room beds.
Hannah hadn’t put up more than a token resistance, mostly because her body had pretty much been one hundred percent in favor of being horizontal on a soft mattress, and because she wanted this specific view when she was awake, alert, and feeling a lot more steady on her feet.
Home.
So many feelings, thoughts, and emotions swamped her: that she was back to stay, how badly she’d missed this view, missed her tower. That it would be Logan and Alex’s home now . . . and she’d have to find herself a new home. Where would she land? In town? On the coast road? Some little bungalow, tucked away in one of the many inlets?
Her gaze hung on the lighthouse as her heart thumped inside her chest. She didn’t feel much steadier this morning, as it turned out, and the enormity of the decision she’d made, to come back home to stay, to live full-time in the Cove, made her feel shaky. Not because it had been the wrong decision. She didn’t regret leaving her life in D.C. behind. But . . . where to begin? She hadn’t lived here since she’d been in college, and then only as a pit stop between semesters, clerking, internships, and the like. Her world had been full of dreams then, of life in the big city, of being engaged in a more vital, immediate, impactful world.
“Well, you got what you wished for,” she murmured. Her life on Capitol Hill had certainly been . . . impactful. Ten years later, here she was, back home again. Only, as the old adage so wisely proclaimed, she couldn’t go home again. Not really. She was back in the Cove . . . but had no idea what home would actually mean to her now. “Home, and yet . . . not entirely home.”
Dabbing carefully at her eyes, she avoided so much as a glance at herself in her rearview mirror, and pulled resolutely back onto the road . . . toward home. Yes. Home. Pelican Point had always been that,
so deep a part of her she couldn’t separate who she’d been as a child growing up here from the place itself, as if they were forever entwined. Beloved, and steeped in memories that swept the scope from tragic and challenging to wondrous and perfect, the Point represented where she’d come from, why she’d become the person she had. It was her foundation, her home base. And in that regard, it would never change.
Hannah took a deep, slightly less shaky breath, feeling better, steadier.
The list of all the things she’d yet even to begin to figure out—not only where in the Cove she would live, but how she was going to use her legal skills to earn a living there—began to clamor again as she turned down the long driveway that led out to the main house. She shut them off. There would be plenty of time for all that later. Right now, there was a wedding to prepare for, and a homecoming to enjoy.
As it turned out, it was Alex who came out to meet Hannah. Fiona had texted both of her sisters with photos of Logan and Alex on her past few trips home, so Hannah recognized the shorter woman with the trim, athletic body and wavy, dark hair. She was smiling broadly as she approached the car Hannah had ended up borrowing from Sal that morning; her little Audi would take some time to repair. Hannah was thrilled to finally meet Alex in person, so she was surprised by just how many butterflies were fluttering in her stomach.
“Hi,” Alex said brightly as Hannah opened the car door and slid out. “I want to hug you, but Fiona said—”
“A hug would be really nice,” Hannah said, and they more or less fell into each other’s arms.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you,” Alex said, her tone more fierce than her hug, which Hannah knew she was keeping purposely gentle.
“Me too.” The hug went on another moment longer, and Hannah whispered, “Thank you.”
Alex leaned back, surprise on her pretty face. “For what, loving your brother?” Her smile shifted to a grin that begged one in return. “Oh, my pleasure, trust me.”
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