Sea Glass Sunrise (5 page)

“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 until 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.

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.”

Hannah smiled, winced as it pulled bruised skin, but didn’t stop smiling. “Yeah, that might fall into the category of TMI, at least as it pertains to older brothers.” She shifted her gaze from Alex to the house, stunned all over again by just how much had been accomplished in such a relatively short time. “I meant thank you for this.” She took in the new shakes, the renovated and freshly painted frames around all the dormers inset into the roof, the siding, the porch . . . all of it. She looked to Alex. “You fixed my heart, my soul,” she said. “The house, but even more, the tower. It’s . . . majestic now. Like it should have always been. I can’t believe you did that.” She laughed a little self-consciously. “How
did
you do it?”

Alex beamed with pride, clearly pleased by Hannah’s reaction, and maybe a little relieved as well. “It’s what MacFarlands do,” she said simply. “We let the lights shine again.”

Hannah could only shake her head. “You have no idea how much that—” She paused, let out a watery laugh. “I’m not usually so emotional.”

Alex stepped in and gave her a gentle, one-armed hug. “It’s okay. I’m loving every moment of this reaction, trust me. Makes all the hard work ten times more worthwhile.” Her smile shifted from one of beaming pride to one of simple happiness. “I know what the tower means to Logan. I mean, he’s told me . . . the whole story. About his fiancée and—”

“He did?” Hannah shook her head. “What am I saying? He’s marrying you. Of course he told you all about his past, especially about the tower, since you’re the one in charge of restoring it.”

“I know that the tower is a big part of all of your lives.” She grinned. “Fair warning, Logan has shared many—
many—
a childhood tale with me about life with his three sisters.”

“Ah, well . . . now that we’re all going to be home again, please allow us to help balance the scales.”

Alex’s eyes danced. “I was so hoping you’d say that.”

Hannah laughed and felt a little silly for being so nervous. It was going to be okay. Just being there felt so good. It was an enormous relief to finally be on ground she could trust to remain solid and steady. “I hope, for Logan’s sake, our stories don’t change your mind about your future husband-to-be.”

Alex laughed, but Hannah was more charmed by the blush that accompanied it. Alex didn’t seem the blushing type. “Nothing is going to change my mind about marrying your brother,” she said, clearly over the moon about her fiancé. “He’s the best person I know.”

Hannah’s smile was watery—again, dammit—as she nodded. “The very, very. And if you tell him I said that before I at least have a chance to give him a hard time, I will flat-out deny it.” She swore under her breath, hoping the tear fest would stop for good, and soon. “You have to know that I am not a crier. They called me the Iron Maiden in court.”
And a whole host of new things outside of court.
“But now I’ve come home . . . I can’t seem to stop.” In truth, the tears had started with Tim’s betrayal, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—go there. “I could blame your impending nuptials for making me all mushy, but I’ve decided I’m going to place the blame squarely on Calder Blue’s shoulders.”
His nice, wide, manly-man shoulders
, a little voice helpfully supplied.
Stop that.

“Calder Blue?” Alex asked.

“The man who gave me these,” she said, and pointed to her black eyes, which Alex had been exceedingly kind not to stare at.

“I thought you were in a car accident. But—someone struck you?”

Hannah sighed, wishing now she’d never mentioned him. Why had she? “No, I did all the striking. I guess if I want to find an unwitting scapegoat, I should be blaming Beanie’s road sign.” She smiled briefly. “It was just more satisfying to blame Calder.”

Alex’s gaze became more speculative. “Would he be the arrogant, pickup truck guy?”

“Who called him that?”

“I did.”

Hannah turned to find Fiona coming down off the front porch and closing ground fast. “Why? He was the quintessential Good Samaritan.”

Alex’s eyebrows rose a fraction at Hannah’s turnabout, but she wisely stayed out of it.

“Did you or did you not just lay the blame at his work-booted feet?” Fiona didn’t wait for an answer. “Let me see your face.” She took Hannah’s chin gently in her hand and tipped it this way, then that. “Barbara warned me it wouldn’t be pretty.”

“Gosh, don’t fawn and stroke my shattered ego or anything.” Hannah shifted her chin from Fi’s grasp and stood straighter. Funny how they fell back into the rhythms of their childhood, no matter how long they’d been apart. Hannah the stalwart leader, Fiona the determined caretaker. All they were missing was Kerry, the eternal troublemaker.

Fiona didn’t falter. “What did Bonnie say?”

“That I’ll live. Do you think you can do something to cover this, or at least reduce the Frankenstein factor for the rehearsal later?”

“Hannah,” Alex interjected, “please don’t worry about that. I’m just thankful you’re here and that you’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

Hannah gave her a grateful look. “That is pretty much the nicest thing anyone has said to me since I got back.”
Or, for that matter, since Tim’s pregnant wife showed up in my office
. “You’re like the anti-bridezilla.”

Alex gave her a crooked smile. “Then my work here is done.”

Hannah turned back to her still-clucking younger sister. “Although I’m thinking maybe we need a second medical opinion. Psychiatric this time.” She gestured to Fiona’s outfit. Currently, her sister was swathed in a skirt made of yards—and yards and yards—of the most awful shade of mauve tulle, with big green-sequined flowers sewn quite unfortunately in far too many places all over it. The skirt of many horrors was topped with a strapless, bandeau-style sequined tube top that matched the flowers. All of this was made magnificently worse by the matching headband that sported trailing strands of . . . something that looked shredded and badly in need of recycling, topped with little green sequin flowers marching, upright, across the flat band. “Weren’t you wearing something equally psychotic at the scene of the stop-sign crime yesterday? What
is
that?” She wanted to look away, but it was like rubbernecking at a bad train wreck of fashion. “Are you being punished? Is this some kind of humiliation-through-community-service thing?”

Fiona rolled her eyes. She was the sister who did that the most, too. “It’s for this afternoon’s rehearsal. Remember, I sent you a note telling you to bring the worst bridesmaid dress you owned, or could beg, borrow or steal.”

“You had to wear that dress in an actual wedding?” Alex asked, horrified. “Complete with the head gear? Really?”

Fiona nodded, then reached up to center the headband. “And the one yesterday. In fact, there are more.” At Hannah’s and Alex’s gaping expressions, Fi looked at Alex and added, “It’s because you get the horror of it all, and therefore would never inflict similar bridesmaid crimes on us, that you are fast becoming the best sister-in-law-to-be ever.” She turned to Hannah. “Our dresses are beautiful. Stunning. Although we might have to work on yours. Have you lost weight? And why? You’re already the tall, skinny one. Cut the relentlessly curvy sister here a break, will ya?”

Hannah just smiled. Even Fiona’s fretting and clucking felt good. Familiar. It came from love, so she let the warmth of family seep in and soothe the aches and pains. “Hey, at least you can fill out the front of that thing without requiring David Copperfield illusion engineering.”

Fiona stared down at her full, perfect breasts. “Yes, the booby fairy was kind to me. So very, very kind.” She smiled sweetly up at her sister.

“So, I get why you’re dressed like that today, at least from your crazed perspective, but you still haven’t explained why you were wearing that other getup yesterday.”

“Oh, I went to see Delia, so we could go through her closet. I brought that one with me, thinking seeing one of mine would make her feel more inclined to join in the fun.” She grinned. “Oh my God, wait until you see the dress she decided to wear! It puts the fabulousness of this to shame.”

“She had options? Like . . . she had to decide which one was worse? Than that?” Hannah immediately raised a hand. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know. Am I the only one who has never been subjected to such horror? I mean, there has been the occasional too-lemony shade of yellow or unfortunate butt bustle, but . . . what kind of friends do you have, anyway?”