by V. K. Sykes
Because it had to be fine, didn’t it?
She forced a smile, determined to make the best of a bad situation. “Aiden might be a big old spider, but, darlin’, I assure you that I’m no fly. And may I remind you both that I do have some experience escaping his evil web of sin.”
Morgan laughed. “We know, but that was a long time ago. And he is Aiden Flynn, after all.”
“I’m hoping to find out more about what he’s thinking in terms of selling his land,” Lily said, changing tack. “I thought about asking him straight out last night but just couldn’t do it. It felt like coming at it that way might bring all the old, stupid feud stuff right out in the open, especially with Bram and Granny almost getting into it.”
Morgan flashed Holly a cockeyed grin. “The way Aiden was looking at her when they were playing darts, I figured I’d better hustle her out of the Pot as soon as I could if I wanted to preserve her virtue. I swear he had visions of laying Lily out on the pool table and—”
Lily thrust up a hand, palm out. “And we are not going there. I refuse to have that particular image rolling around in my head.”
Morgan laughed. “Rolling around, huh? A lot of women wouldn’t mind doing some rolling around with Aiden Flynn. There were more than a few ready to climb all over him last night—as you would have realized if you ever thought about something else besides your boat and Seashell Bay.”
Lily grabbed the lemonade pitcher as if to pour it over her best friend’s head. “Can we please talk about something else? And what’s wrong with worrying about Seashell Bay? Somebody’s got to do something, or pretty soon those idiot developers will end up destroying the island.”
Both Holly and Morgan turned serious.
“It’s getting clearer every day how much this development is dividing people,” Holly said in a worried voice. “My aunts say it’s pretty much all anybody’s been talking about at the store since Bay Island Properties started sniffing around. And all the rumors flying around lately have just made it worse. I’m not around much so I’m not sure what’s true and what isn’t.”
“Dividing us is right,” Morgan said. “A lot of the full-time residents are worried as hell about the impact on the island, though others want the business it would bring in. The people with vacation homes aren’t crazy about an influx of newcomers, but most are keen on having a car ferry, so you can’t depend on them to hold the line. At the B&B, our regular guests seem to be more or less split. Some like the island just the way it is and some think it would be great to have more development because it would bring some more stores and restaurants. According to that crowd, quaint is cute for a few days but a big bore after that.”
Morgan had summed up the situation pretty accurately. Just thinking of big-city developers ripping up their beautiful, serene island made Lily sick, almost as sick as seeing the nasty fractures that had started to form among the residents.
“That’s exactly what I worry about,” Holly said. “What would happen to our general store if the population doubles or triples? Would it bring more business for my aunts?” She shook her head. “Maybe, but you can also bet that some mainland retailer will want to set up a bigger store here at some point. Florence and Beatrice always put on a brave face, but they’re not making much money. It’s hard to imagine them having to compete with a chain store that would undercut their prices.”
“A bigger population and a car ferry could be good for the B&B,” Morgan said. “Dad thinks so, anyway.”
Holly shook her head. “Maybe, but a big resort with all the amenities could hurt your business too, couldn’t it?”
“Yeah, I worry about that,” Morgan admitted. “I’ve always thought our clientele prefers our home-style atmosphere to that of a resort, but who knows how it would all shake out in the end?”
In silence, the three friends contemplated what a big development on the Flynn lands could do to Seashell Bay. Every soul on the island would be deeply affected, some possibly for the better, but others definitely for the worse. It sure didn’t seem worth the risk to Lily, not with all the unknowns.
“I know it’s not as clear-cut for your families as it is for mine,” Lily said, “but you know how strongly we feel about that proposal. I’m going to keep fighting it with everything I’ve got, because I don’t have a choice. If the Flynns and Bay Island get their way, we won’t recognize this place in five years. It could even end up as some junior version of Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket. The Seashell Bay Island we grew up in will basically cease to exist.”
By the time she finished, she was starting to choke up. It made her feel sort of stupid, so she stared out over the trap lot toward the rocky shoreline until she regained control.
Morgan reached over and squeezed her hand. “You know I’m there for you, Lily, no matter what. Even if I have to go toe-to-toe with my dad, though I sure hope it doesn’t have to come to that. I’ve been working on him a little every day to come out for the no vote.”
Lily grasped her friend’s hand. It felt like a lifeline in a frigid, storm-tossed sea. “Thanks, sweetie. You know how much I appreciate it.”
She did, too, because she also knew how much Morgan hated disagreeing with her father. Ever since his wife’s death two years ago from ovarian cancer, Cal Merrifield had come to emotionally depend on his eldest daughter more and more. Cal continued to do everything he could to convince her to move back home, and Morgan felt tremendous guilt over her refusal to give up her teaching job on the mainland.
Morgan gave her hand one more squeeze and then let go. “But let’s forget about that depressing stuff for a while. It’s the Flynns I’m worried about and how they’re going to cheat to win the boat race. Aiden was always a stand-up guy, but Bram has been getting a little weird the last few years. And their no-good father…” Her mouth curled into a sneer, which expressed how they all felt about Sean Flynn.
Holly put her empty glass down on the wicker table beside her chair. “How the heck do you cheat in a boat race? Don’t the captains just open their throttles wide and blast straight down the channel to the finish line?”
Lily waggled a hand. “You’d be surprised at the lengths some guys will go to win, and there’s not much that can be done about it. The organizers here don’t go in for heavy-duty regulations and engine inspections, like they do in the bigger races along the coast. It’s more of a friendly match atmosphere. The nine-hundred-horsepower superboats don’t bother with our little Blueberry Festival races.”
“If the Flynns want to soup up that old tub of theirs, Aiden’s got the money to do it,” Morgan said in a dramatically dark voice.
Lily had thought of that factor after she’d thrown out her challenge to Aiden. For all she knew, Aiden and Bram could even be on the mainland buying a powerful new engine for Irish Lady. Or contracting for some structural modifications, though they wouldn’t have time for anything major. Still, something like that might give them the edge they needed to win.
“They could,” she acknowledged. “But I haven’t exactly been resting on my laurels since I won my class last year. My boat’s in great shape. I had Josh do some fine-tuning last week, and he’s going to be at it again tomorrow.”
Morgan wagged a finger at her. “Fine-tuning, as in squeezing out every last ounce of horsepower your diesel’s got?”
“You know Josh,” Lily said, keeping it vague.
Josh Bryson wasn’t a marine mechanic—his specialty was motorcycles—but he could work miracles with almost any kind of engine from lawn mowers to big truck diesels. He worked on a few boat engines around the island, but most captains kept their business with O’Hanlon’s Boatyard. Lily, on the other hand, was happy to support Josh. The island certainly didn’t need to lose another young man to the mainland due to lack of work.
She leaned forward in her rocker. “Let’s just say that I have no intention of losing the race to Aiden Flynn. Besides, the poor guy probably couldn’t run a boat on a straight course to save his soul. You know
how much he hated going anywhere near Irish Lady.”
Holly and Morgan exchanged knowing glances.
“We all know why too,” Morgan said. “So it’s a pretty gutsy thing for him to be doing, if you ask me. There’s more than just his ego at stake, which is why he’ll probably do anything to win.”
Lily knew that all too well. For Aiden, stepping on board Irish Lady would bring back bitter memories of his father’s abuse.
To Lily, and to everyone else she knew, the island and its people were one in blood and bone, and neither distance nor time could erase the bonds that had grown over the generations. She had no intention of ever leaving, but if something were to force her away, everything about Seashell Bay would stay with her until the end of her days, always cherished and always missed.
But with Aiden it was different. To him, island life was something to leave far behind, to wipe from his memory as much as possible. And yet here she was, shoving it all right in his face.
Chapter 5
Aiden pounded along the asphalt, slowing his pace as he took the sharp bend where Island Road abruptly shifted direction, bringing the sun around to his back. A few minutes earlier, as he’d headed east from Bram’s cottage, it had crept over the Atlantic’s horizon in a perfect sphere, tinting the calm ocean a glowing orange. The reflection had skipped across the dark water straight at him, stirring up memories of other sunrises on the island. The cool, damp stillness of dawn, with only a few squawks from seagulls to keep him company, seemed to reach deep inside to unleash a flood of memories. Unfortunately, most of them were ones he’d rather have kept buried, far from the light of day.
Sunrises spoke to the soul, and crisp dawns could invigorate mind and body. Or so he’d been told a thousand freaking times by lobster fishermen, who liked nothing better than freezing their asses off while they gripped a mug of coffee in one hand and steered their boats out into the channel with the other. But Aiden never got it. For him, the sunrises of his youth had preceded long days of work on his father’s boat, and there had been no pleasure on Irish Lady. Just backbreaking work and more than the occasional backhand across the face or slap to the head from his father’s ham-sized fists.
Aiden had never hated the work itself, as tough as it was, because it was an honest way to make a living, and he enjoyed physical labor. But nothing he did was ever right in his old man’s eyes. No matter how hard he’d sweated to keep up, he almost always fell behind the punishing rhythm enforced by his father. In those days, even a half-drunk Sean Flynn could haul a trap and clean it out in seconds before impatiently shoving it at Aiden to load new bait.
To this day, Aiden still didn’t much like either dawns or boats, so how ironic was it that he hadn’t been on the island even six hours when Lily Doyle had challenged him to a boat race? The universe could be a fickle bitch.
After stewing most of the night, he’d been glad to abandon his restless sleep and throw on a sleeveless jersey and sweat shorts. Running had always been a sort of mental therapy for him, a way to slow down his racing brain and bring a semblance of order to his thoughts. And right now he really needed to get those thoughts in order.
Yesterday, after they’d turned the fate of Irish Lady over to Rocket Roy Mayo, Aiden and Bram had sat down at the cottage, cracked a couple of beers, and reviewed the developer’s preliminary plans for their land. Bram had wanted to bring their father into the discussion but Aiden had balked. Another shouting match was not on the agenda if he could help it. He’d wanted to carefully study the plans with Bram and ask questions that would be met with answers, not tirades and threats.
The sketches and descriptions his brother had laid out on the battered kitchen table had knocked Aiden off-kilter. Months ago, when Bram had first contacted him about the possibility of a land sale, the only project he’d mentioned had been the construction of a resort overlooking the bluffs—a hotel complex that stretched from the eastern portion of their father’s property across Aiden’s entire acreage to the western third of Bram’s land. Though Bram had been full of regret that the proposal would eliminate the possibility of Aiden having an oceanfront house of his own, Aiden had assured him that he had no intention of ever building such a home—or any other home—on Seashell Bay Island.
But the new plans clearly showed that Bay Island Properties had their sights set on clear-cutting three-quarters of the Flynn lands. In addition to the resort, over a hundred luxury homes would be constructed, most of them on their father’s huge parcel between Island Road and the sea. If the full project went forward, something much like a city suburb would rise up on the Atlantic side of the low hill that bisected the island.
Aiden could barely imagine it. The historic little town on one side, with its old Victorians, its seaside cottages, and its quirky local businesses, and a weird slice of suburbia on the other. No wonder the developer was now insisting on the car ferry as a precondition. Those swathes of oversized, high-end homes would have to be filled by people who would commute to the mainland for work, along with well-heeled mainlanders who would use them as vacation homes.
He got it that his father and Bram were anxious—even desperate—to give the developer confirmation that all three of them were fully committed to the sale. That way the lawyers could get started on the paperwork, and Bay Island could be comfortable getting their architects and engineers working on detailed plans. Aiden understood all that, but he had no intention of caving in to their demand that he do it on their schedule and not his. There was simply too much at stake, for his family and for the entire island.
With his mind finally settling down into the rhythm of the run, Aiden swung off Island Road onto Water Street, the dockside lane the locals called “the landing” or “down front.” At the bottom of the slight hill, past the big parking lot, the ferry dock poked out into the channel. To the right, a few dozen boats were tied up at the town’s floating piers. The area normally bustled with activity from the ferry, the Town Hall, and the Rec Center, along with the little seasonal store, but not at this early hour. Only a couple of fishermen were at work down below, readying to push off in their skiffs and head out to their moored boats. He didn’t give them more than a passing glance until one of the fishermen turned around to grab a lobster buoy.
Aiden stopped on a dime because that fisherman was Lily, now easily recognizable even though she’d scrunched her hair into some kind of knot behind her head and wore an orange oilskin jacket that came down well past her hips, protecting her from the morning chill off the water.
Lily didn’t glance up, obviously too busy loading her skiff with supplies and replacement gear to notice him. Aiden considered leaving her alone, continuing his run. He knew from experience that most lobster fishermen liked to get out to their boats and start hauling traps at first light or even earlier. But she looked like she could use some help, what with a stacked pair of traps and more buoys, a big box, a plastic cooler, and a couple of spools of pot warp to load into her skiff.
His feet made the decision for him, pounding down the ramp and onto the floating pier, heading straight for the far end where Lily toiled.
Of course, she heard his thudding footsteps on the damp, composite planks long before he reached her. When she looked up, her lips parted in surprise.
“Hey, Lily,” he called, “let me give you a hand with that stuff.”
When she unleashed a welcoming grin, warmth spread through him that the swiftly rising sun couldn’t possibly equal.
He slowed to a stop at the end of the dock and allowed himself a quick scan of her slender body. Underneath the open Grundéns jacket, she had on a white T-shirt and clean but faded jeans that clung lovingly to her curves. Except for the jacket, she wore essentially the same outfit he’d seen on her yesterday from the ferry, so he figured that was probably her standard lobstering attire in dry August weather. While some fishermen preferred to wear oilskin overalls and even jackets all year, Aiden knew from experience that the heavy gear was too hot for many in the
summer, even the mild coastal summers of Maine.
Of course, Lily could even make oilskins sexy. But it was her eyes that pulled him in. Stunning emerald eyes that had always grabbed him low down and hard. Lily in lobstering gear, devoid of makeup and with her wild hair escaping from its twist, was as freshly beautiful as any woman he’d ever seen.
Unpretentious. Confident.
Real.
“Trying to work in some weightlifting along with your cardio?” Lily said, giving him the once-over. He was pretty sure he saw feminine appreciation in her gaze along with gentle mockery. “Well, be my guest, because I’m already later than I wanted to be. But I hope you haven’t forgotten how heavy these suckers are.”
She pointed to the pair of thirty-six-inch, green mesh traps—older ones that he suspected she’d had to repair.
“Hell, yeah, they’re heavy. I can remember stacking them six high and five wide in the stern when I was a kid,” Aiden retorted. It had been rugged work. The wire traps were heavy enough, but when you added the three bricks needed for ballast in each one and then stacked them higher than your head, things got really interesting.
“Sure, but look at you,” Lily scoffed. “You’re practically a giant. But think about little me out here, schlepping all this heavy gear around by myself.”
Frowning, Aiden took a quick look around for her sternman. Usually, the sternman rode out to the lobster boat in the captain’s skiff, but he could see no one around the dock other than old Forrest Coolidge and a young woman Aiden presumed to be his helper. “Are you going out without a sternman today? Lily, you know better than I do how dangerous it is to go out there alone.”