Keeping Cape Summer (A Pelican Pointe novel Book 11)

by Vickie McKeehan

  “What’s up, Harris family?” Simon yelled out over the racket, the noise of kids talking all at once.

  Before he got two steps inside, little Scottie latched his arms around Simon’s legs and wouldn’t let go. “Did you bring Merlin with you today? I told Quake he could have a play date with Merlin.”

  Merlin was Simon’s Newfoundland mix, a rescue that Cord had foisted off on him from day one. The pooch usually came along with Simon on most of his tours, but since this was an all-day excursion involving fish, Merlin could sometimes bark away the catch.

  “Sorry, Scottie,” Simon began. “Not today. Long day on the water for Merlin means boredom. I left him at home with Silas and Sammy, so he could run around the yard and play.”

  “Without Quake? Aww, man,” Scottie lamented in his four-year-old voice. “Quake’s gonna be soooo disappointed.”

  “David Scott Harris,” Nick called out, using his son’s full name. “Let go of Simon’s legs and let him at least get in far enough to close the door.”

  Scottie dropped his grip and did as he was told. “I just wanted Quake to have someone to play with while I’m at school is all.”

  Simon ruffled the kid’s hair. “And I promise we’ll get them together this weekend. How’s that sound?”

  But Scottie had already gone on to something else. Pestering his older sister, Hutton, was his second-favorite pastime.

  “Coffee’s still hot,” Jordan said to Simon. “And I fixed you a basket of food, mostly sandwiches, for the trip.”

  “I’d kiss you, but I figure your old man standing over there would get jealous.”

  “Is Simon gonna kiss Mommy?” Hutton piped up, her caramel-colored hair so much like her mother’s, swinging with the bob of her little head.

  “Simon is definitely not kissing Mommy or anyone else,” Nick returned.

  “Let’s not rule out anyone else,” Simon fired back. “I am unattached.”

  “Fine. But watch out who you call an old man.”

  After pouring coffee into a mug, Simon slapped Nick on the back. “Don’t mind me. I’m preparing to spend the day on the water fishing and not stuffed into a suit. Like you.”

  Nick glanced down at his attire. “Makes me question why I ever decided to go back to banking. I was a lot happier helping Jordan run the inn.”

  “’Cause you help people get houses and cars and stuff,” Hutton explained. “That’s what Mommy said.”

  “The important stuff for sure,” Simon agreed, lifting his cup. “Your dad gives people hope that they otherwise might not have.”

  “I shuffle paperwork around,” Nick grumbled. “I used to have more time to spend with the kids and help out Jordan until someone talked me into sitting behind a desk for eight hours.”

  Jordan kissed her husband’s cheek and patted his chest. “We’ve been over this. No one’s chained you to the bank. Don’t blame Murphy for talking you into it, either. You like helping people buy their first house or start a business. So don’t pretend you’re sick of it.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the only reason that makes it worthwhile.”

  Scottie stood tugging on his suit coat. He reached down to scoop the boy up in his arms. “Daddy’s gotta go to work. Be a good boy today for your teacher, okay?”

  Scottie bobbed his head. “I like Miss Neenah. She reads good stories. And she sings good.”

  Neenah Brewer, a grandmother and former teacher, had grown tired of retirement and decided she wanted to work with the pre-kindergarten kids at the Community Church. They adored her approach to story time and seemed to gravitate to the way she ran her classroom.

  “Everybody loves Miss Neenah,” Nick stated before kissing his son and setting him back down on his feet. “If you’re done with breakfast, then grab your bag and head to the car.”

  The boy scooted to the corner of the kitchen where a desk had two backpacks on top, one a red canvas carrier sporting a likeness of Spiderman, and another light-pink tote with Hutton’s name adorned across the back.

  Scottie grabbed his bag and took off running through the house.

  Nick swiped a kiss on his wife’s face. “I’ll see you tonight. Come on, gang, let’s get moving. We don’t want to be late. Hutton, don’t forget your lunch box.” He swung back to stare at Simon. “Nice day to spend on the water. Wish I was headed there myself.”

  “Want me to catch your supper?”

  Nick finally cracked a grin. “The kids won’t eat fish. But they love to toss a line in the water. We don’t do that enough these days. I guess Scott’s too young to clean one and Hutton thinks they’re too slimy to touch.”

  “They may start out slimy but steam them over a smoky campfire with just the right amount of butter in the pan and they become a buffet. Where are my three anglers anyway?” Simon inquired. “The day’s wasting.”

  “Dawdling over breakfast,” Jordan stated. “I made the mistake of making Belgian waffles and they’re lingering over their plates. Go on out and get acquainted,” she urged. “Shoo them out of here so I can start cleaning up.”

  “Will do, boss,” Simon answered with a mock salute, disappearing through the swinging door and into the dining room.

  Simon took a seat across from three guys in their thirties who were still stuffing their faces with syrupy chunks of golden crust. After making introductions, he found out they were all from a little town in Nevada, on a sabbatical from their jobs and their wives. A trio of overworked buddies who’d gone to college together and needed a break from kids and their everyday routine.

  Jason was a gym teacher. Locke was a computer nerd. And Jeff was a press operator for a printing company. Just working stiffs who needed some time off.

  Simon was willing to do his part to make sure they could relax and enjoy themselves while they were on vacation. He grabbed a couple pieces of bacon off a platter and leaned back in his chair. “Are you guys ready to catch some fish or sit around all day? Because we’re burning daylight and every minute counts.”

  Locke drained his orange juice. “This is what we came to the coast for, catching us a mess of striped bass for supper. The owners said we could use the firepit in the courtyard out back to cook whatever we bring in.”

  “We’re hoping for at least one tuna,” Jason chimed in.

  “You won’t catch anything sitting around the table,” Simon pointed out. “Grab your gear or whatever you’re bringing and let’s hit the water.”

  “Don’t we need to get bait?”

  Simon smiled and took his sunglasses out of his pocket, slid them in place. “All taken care of. The cooler on board is stocked with everything you’ll need. The innkeeper even provided your lunch.”

  Leading the way from the top of the cliff down to the sandy beach below, Simon came to a long pier he’d built himself. Two years earlier, this had been his first project. Born of sweat and pride in workmanship, this is where he’d left the dinghy tied up in the shallow water.

  Jeff stared at the skiff. “Cool. Does that come with us?”

  “It’s what gets us to the Sea Dragon and back again. So, yeah.” Simon hauled the basket of food onto the raft and directed the others to hop in. “Your fishing adventure awaits.”

  Locke cupped his hands over his face to peer out past the cove and into the horizon. “Nice boat. I gotta say I envy your lifestyle. Free to work like this, do whatever you want. I bet you aren’t married.”

  Simon shook his head. “Nope. So far, I’ve managed to avoid the manacles of marital bliss.”

  “Not much bliss,” Jeff grumbled. “Just a bunch of yelling and screaming when you don’t follow orders.”

  “Tell me about it,” Locke shouted over the surf. “Marriage is like a permanent stint in the Army.”

  That prompted the trio to go off on an in-depth discussion of their personal troubles, mostly about their wives. Simon only half listened to the analysis because he didn’t share anything in common with these three. He had a great life sans marriage and he inte
nded to keep it that way.

  Pulling up next to the Sea Dragon, he motioned for the men to climb aboard and showed them where to sit and stow their gear. He handed out life jackets.

  “Do we have to wear these?” Locke groaned. “I’m not a little kid.”

  Simon slipped his Wayfarers down on his nose and peered over the frame. “You didn’t read the agreement you signed at the B&B, did you? The jackets aren’t optional.”

  “Okay. Sure,” Locke said, sliding his arms into one while tossing the others to his buddies.

  After getting them seated, Simon revved the engine, guided the cruiser out of the cove, and headed for open water.

  It took less than half an hour to get to the spot that Simon had discovered brought a good yield. Each time he’d taken a group here, it had produced enough of a catch to make the fishermen happy and willing to come back. Happy clients meant repeaters who would return again and again.

  Even before the others baited their hooks and found a favored spot at the rail, Locke sought out the cooler that contained the beer and began to imbibe almost immediately.

  They wagered, good-naturedly, who would bring back the most fish and the biggest.

  The sun was warm on their faces and the group seemed to be having a good time. Every now and again one would feel a tug on his line and reel in a brightly-colored, but slightly puny, rockfish.

  “Do these have a good flavor?” Jeff wanted to know.

  Simon kept an eye on how much alcohol the guys kept consuming. The heat of the September day seemed to make them especially thirsty. “It’s been my experience that Pacific flounder always fries up real nice. In fact, most anything you’ll catch here does.”

  By noon, the guys were on their way to getting hammered. The more they drank, the mouthier they got. Between buddies, surly insults began to fly. Locke took out a bottle of bourbon and began to knock that back in between bottles of beer.

  In the two years since Simon bought the business, he usually let these kinds of scenes play out without getting involved in the group’s banter. It was, after all, why guys like this came hundreds of miles out of their way to fish along the coast---to let their hair down and have fun without consequences.

  But when the name-calling grew intense, and the profanity turned toward Simon, it reminded him of another time and place. These guys were acting like a bunch of frat boys who weren’t getting their way. When the insults came faster because they weren’t catching anything big enough, they began chunking beer bottles into the water.

  Simon had heard enough and cleared his throat. “You know, you might be better fishermen if you didn’t scare the fish off. Maybe if you laid off the booze...”

  “Hey, you can’t tell us what to do,” Locke challenged, swaying on his feet. “We’re paying for this lousy trip.”

  “I’ve never thrown anyone off my boat before today, but with you, I’m willing to make an exception.”

  “You can try,” Locke boasted. “But there’s three of us and only one of you.”

  “Yeah, but I’m the one who’s stone-cold sober and I’ve gone to the mat with guys like you before.”

  “Oh yeah. Says you,” Locke retorted as he drew back his arm to throw a punch. “You’re not that tough.”

  Simon would’ve had to be blind not to see it coming. He merely sidestepped the man, put his shoulder into his gut, and tossed him into the water. “Man overboard! I forgot to ask if you guys could swim. Which one of you wants to go next?”

  Jeff put his hands in the air in surrender. “Whoa, not me. That was so cool.”

  “How about you, Jason?”

  “No way. Locke’s the one mouthing off. He’s the ass.”

  “Locke!” Simon yelled from the deck. “Are you ready to fish or would you prefer to swim back to the hotel?”

  “Get me out of here!” Locke screamed, bobbing up and down in the whitecaps, still wearing his life jacket.

  “I don’t know, have you sobered up yet?” Simon stated, throwing a buoyed rope into the water. He went to the helm and started the engine, maneuvering the bow into the wind so that Locke would drift toward the boat. He cut the motor and pulled the tow line up to the side, reaching out to help Locke up and over the railing.

  “I guess I had that coming,” Locke admitted as Jason handed him a towel.

  “Next time, don’t throw trash into the water,” Simon cautioned. “And if you’re unhappy about the catch, I’m always willing to move to try out another spot. All you need do is ask…nicely. Just don’t go shooting off your mouth. I don’t put up with that crap. Not on my boat. Are we clear?”

  Simon waited for each man to acknowledge in his own way. “All right. Good. Now what is it you’re unhappy about exactly?”

  “We wanted to catch something really big.”

  “All right. I’ll go out farther. But if you’re serious, you gotta stop scaring off the fish.”

  After trying another location, the rest of the day proved fruitful. The gym teacher Jason caught the most at nine good-sized lingcod. But the real winner was Jeff, who reeled in a thirty-pound halibut.

  Simon took pictures of the trio with their catch, so they could post it on whatever social media accounts they had.

  “This’ll prove to Katelyn that I’m with you guys,” Locke said before all eyes turned on him.

  Locke lifted a shoulder. “She got it in her head that I’m having an affair and thought you guys were covering for me. She was sure that I intended to go to Cancun with a coworker.”

  That statement brought another round of disgruntled talk about married life while Simon did his best to tune them out, silently counting down the minutes when he could unload these guys back at the B&B.

  But he was surprised when Jordan grabbed him as soon as he entered the kitchen. “There’s a woman in the living room who’s been here for forty-five minutes waiting for you.”

  “What does she want?”

  “She’s from Boston.”

  Alarm jammed his throat. “Is it about my mom?”

  “I don’t think so. She brought a baby with her.”

  “A baby?”

  Simon allowed Jordan to lead him into the other room where he spotted a rather stern-looking thirty-something woman sitting on the sofa holding a baby on her lap. When she saw Simon, she stood up, all business, prepared to do what she’d come to do.

  Jordan made the introductions. “Simon, this is Margaret Tyler, an attorney…uh…from Boston, like I said. She’s been appointed by the court as the guardian for Delaney Bremmer.”

  Still not worried, Simon nodded. “Okay. Who’s Delaney Bremmer? Obviously one of my relatives, right?”

  Margaret cleared her throat. “Temporary guardian for Delaney Amelia Bremmer, who is the minor child of Amelia Langston and Simon Bremmer.”

  He started to protest that she had the wrong Bremmer until the name Amelia sank in. “Amelia Langston? It doesn’t mean it’s the Amelia Langston I knew.”

  Undeterred, Margaret shoved onward. “I’ve been appointed to represent Delaney. I’m her temporary guardian and the conservator of her mother’s estate. You obviously knew a woman by the name of Amelia Langston, address…”

  The lawyer rattled off numbers and a street Simon recognized as the Allston section of Beantown.

  “Uh. Sure. I know an Amelia Langston. I’m just not sure we’re talking about the same Amelia, because the one I’m familiar with never said anything to me about a baby.”

  “I’m here as an officer of the court for the state of Massachusetts. Ms. Langston died ten days ago in a car accident.”

  “Whoa. Was the baby with her?”

  “No. Fortunately the child was with a nanny. Ms. Langston’s will, probated two days ago, left the bulk of her estate to you and named you legal guardian of her daughter, Delaney.”

  “To me? Why me?” Simon looked dumbfounded. He stared at the cute, very female bundle in the woman’s arms, wearing a pink outfit with a rabbit on the bib. “I still don�
�t understand what this has to do with me.”

  “You’re named in the will as Delaney’s legal guardian,” Ms. Tyler repeated slowly as if she were speaking to a very dimwitted adult. “I’ll need you to sign some paperwork.”

  “No way. This has to be some kind of a joke, right? Why would Amelia ever do that unless I was the father?” His own words hung in the air, suspended there in time, the implication sinking in. “Now wait just a minute. Amelia never told me I was a father. I haven’t heard from her since…in two years. You obviously need to find this baby’s real daddy. It’s not me.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you’re the father or not. At all. Amelia Langston made you her daughter’s legal guardian in the event anything should happen to her. It did. The court already approved you as Delaney’s guardian after doing an extensive background check on you. That took an extra three days, by the way. So whether or not you’re related to this child is immaterial. The court’s found you suitable as her guardian and Ms. Langston’s last will and testament, found to be valid, states that you are this child’s legal guardian. How many ways must I say it? If you persist in this childish denial, you should also know, I brought all the documentation necessary with me that says, you, Simon Bremmer, were named on Delaney’s birth certificate as her father. It’s an official document.”

  Simon’s knees wanted to buckle. “You can’t leave that baby here with me. I don’t know a thing about taking care of a baby, especially a girl baby, especially one that young.”

  “Toddler. Delaney’s a toddler. She’s fifteen-and-a-half months old. Everything you need to know about the child is in the folder I brought with me, including her medical records.”

  “Not everything,” Simon muttered, combing his fingers through his hair. “You aren’t listening to me. I don’t know a thing about toddlers or kids in general. You can’t do this. She obviously needs someone to take care of her who knows what they’re doing. I’m telling you that isn’t me.”

  “Look, Mr. Bremmer, the estate paid for this trip. I’ve fulfilled my obligation by getting your daughter here to be with her father. I’m delivering her to her next of kin. That’s the end of it as far as I’m concerned.”