He should have invited the fishermen onto the Jack Hammer months ago.
“Catch you in a bit,” he told them as they headed off for their morning pick-me-up.
Suitcases. What could that signify? Mom had never mentioned anything about any suitcases, but he knew his father had been sleeping on the boat. Everyone had told him about that, including Mom.
Was he meeting someone here? Carrying on an affair? Smuggling contraband? Developing dementia?
It might mean nothing. But he didn’t remember seeing any suitcases when he’d first stepped onto the Jack Hammer. So it could be significant.
Would Officer Badger be unhappy that he had a possible new lead? Probably.
Was he going to see where it went? Definitely.
Something bumped against the bow of the Jack Hammer. He sighed. He knew exactly what it was, because the same thing happened every week or so. He climbed out of his boat and strode to the tie-up ahead of him. The stern of the damn Forget Me Not was kissing the bow of the Jack Hammer, the barest brush of wood against fiberglass.
Grumbling, he unfastened the line from the cleat and drew the boat tighter against the ramp. It wasn’t completely Megan’s fault. Their boats both needed bigger spaces, but an influx of wealthy sports fishermen had made summer slips hard to come by. But still—she needed to be more careful about tying up her boat.
He tightened the lines and coiled the end neatly next to the cleat. Then he went back onto the Jack Hammer and found one of his business cards. He wrote a note on the back and wedged it between the line and the cleat.
This time when he went back to work on his engine, he couldn’t suppress his smile. He could already picture the face she’d make when she saw his note, her woof of exasperation.
Forget how to knot? He’d written. Private lessons available.
He’d be lucky if she didn’t try to dump him overboard after that. This feud was pretty ridiculous. But also kind of fun.
Chapter Seven
Padricny of Megan’s friends ever came to Lost Harbor for a visit, they’d probably think she’d lost her mind. The cabin she rented barely had running water, and you had to wait a good fifteen minutes for the on-demand water heater to make enough hot water for a shower. For washing dishes, often she saved time by heating water on the stove.
The little cabin had one bedroom, which she and Ruby shared. It had no landline, and the power went out at least once a month. Even though it had a propane heater and a wood stove, during the cold months she and Ruby had bundled up in layers of wool and silk underwear. And still they’d noticed every little cold draft that snuck through the cracks in the walls, which dated from the 1940s.
But she loved it despite all those flaws.
It had one feature that made up for all those drawbacks: a view. Perched on a ridge a thousand feet above sea level, the cabin’s hundred-and-eighty degree view was better than TV. On clear days they could see all the way to the open ocean on the other side of the point. She and Ruby loved to count the glaciers and peaks of Lost Souls Wilderness just across the bay. They could even see the long arm of the Lost Harbor breakwater curling protectively around its flock of boats.
From here, the name Lost Harbor made perfect sense. Sailing in from the ocean, the first explorers would have seen spectacular mountains and glaciers and vast endless wilderness before they noticed the notch in the coastline where boats could shelter. Maybe they kept losing track of it, as the legends said.
And then there were the clouds. Megan could watch for hours as clouds paraded across the sky and cast shadows on Misty Bay. On stormy days they loomed dark like a horde of elephants stampeding through a gap in the mountain range. Sometimes clouds drifted like dandelion fluff lost in a dream. On certain days banks of thick fog would roll in, or whimsical wisps of mist, which explained the name Misty Bay.
The bay was always changing, and if Megan had an ounce of artistic talent, she would set up an easel and never move.
Instead, she usually kicked up her feet in a lounge chair and never moved.
She and Ruby had bought planters and filled them with oregano and rosemary. An old apple crate made a side table between the two plastic Adirondack chairs she’d rescued from the dump.
While Ruby buried herself in a new math book that Dev had sent, Megan took her mug of tea and laptop to the deck. Even though the tourist season had begun, the air still hadn’t warmed up enough to qualify as summer. She still needed a cardigan and fuzzy socks, not to mention her hot tea.
She set her laptop onto the apple crate and dropped into the chair with a sigh. Her to-do list lurked inside her computer like a troll. Check for new bookings. Answer inquiries. Update website. Pay bills. Ask for extensions on bills. Consider advertising options. Explain to her father why she was throwing away her almost-degree on nature tours.
She ignored all that and tilted her face to the sky. The air still held the memory of winter, but a tender warmth was just beginning to break through, like a green shoot through snow. And it was so pure, as if the glaciers had washed it clean as it passed across Lost Souls Wilderness.
Her phone rang. Zoe. One of the very few people she’d consider talking to at this moment.
“The Trekking producer wants to see you in action before he commits, but he’s open to considering you.”
“Really?” She sat straight up and planted her feet on the deck. “That’s incredible, thank you.”
“Actually, you should thank Lucas. He told the producers they should give you a look.”
A funny feeling settled into Megan’s stomach. She didn’t want to owe Lucas anything. He’d just lord it over her. “How do you know that?”
“The producer told me. He also told me that he thinks audiences will find it boring.”
Megan winced. That stung. “Have you ever heard of the concept of sugarcoating?”
“I have. I’m not a fan. I’m giving you good information here. You have a shot to get on TV, but you have to make it interesting.”
“Science is interesting! It’s everything. It’s all around us. Birds are fascinating, they’re like little dinosaurs flying around.”
“Yes, but this is a travel show, not Bill Nye the Science Guy. It’s TV, it’s visual. And a bunch of elderly tourists staring through binoculars is not visually compelling. You need a gimmick.”
“A gimmick. What kind of gimmick?”
“Well, you have Ruby. A mother-daughter team running boat tours, that’s appealing.”
“No, I’m not putting Ruby on TV. Dev would hate that. He’s always going on about privacy issues.”
“Well, you have to do something, because—” Another call flashed on Megan’s screen.
“Crap, it’s Dev. I have to take it. We signed an agreement never to ignore each other’s calls.”
“See that, in a nutshell, that’s why I never want a husband. I reserve the right to ignore calls.”
Megan laughed. “I’ll call you later, Zoe. Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
She switched to the other call. “Hi Dev.”
“Hi. I have a free week coming up, I need directions. Why is it called Lost Harbor? Is it hard to find?”
She couldn’t hide her shock. “Wait, what? You’re coming here?”
“Making the arrangements now. I did hope you’d give up on that silly boat by now, but you’re still there.”
“Thanks for that vote of confidence.”
“No harm meant.” Dev still had a trace of a British accent from being raised in India. “You know what I mean.”
She did, of course. After the university incident, she’d needed to escape, to get as far away as possible. “I honestly didn’t expect to stay this long either. But Ruby really loves it.”
“Then I need to see this place.”
“You won’t like it. It’s chilly and not very exciting.”
“I’m certainly not going to live there.”
“Of course you aren’t,” she said fervently. Did that sound a little too enthusiast
ic? “I mean, you could if you wanted to, I suppose.”
“I got your point, no worries.” His dry tone reassured her. In many ways, they’d had the perfect breakup. As a couple, they’d driven each other equally crazy, and neither had wanted to hang onto the relationship any longer than the other. The only catch was Ruby, and they both worked very hard to do the best thing for her—with Eliza Burke the mediator’s help.
“I’ve been researching some programs for gifted students that might be right for Ruby. Perhaps even for this fall.”
“So soon? She’s only eight!”
“She’s a prodigy, Megan.” She heard the pride in his voice, and while she shared it, it also made her nervous. “She needs to have the best teachers available. No matter how scenic Alaska, there probably isn’t a PhD to be found in that little town of yours.”
There’s me, she wanted to say. But that wasn’t a solution, even though she’d been home-schooling Ruby up to now. Her degree was in ornithology, not math, and she hadn’t even completed it. Ruby had already surpassed her in calculus. “She’s also a kid who wants to have fun. Dev, just wait until you see her here. She loves the ocean, she loves all the harbor doings, she loves the characters here.”
“That’s why I’m coming, so I can see for myself. But Megan, we’re responsible for her development. We can’t just hide her away in the wilderness and forget that IQ of hers.”
Megan took the phone away from her face and glared at it. She counted to five, then spoke into it again. “An IQ is just a number. Ruby is a person. We’re responsible for all parts of her, not just her brain.”
“Of course, but her brain is paramount. I’ll see you soon.”
After he ended the call in his usual abrupt way, Megan nearly hurled the phone off the deck. Dev was so highhanded. Of course Ruby’s gift for math was important. But was it the most important? What kind of special program did he want to send her to? Would it require leaving Lost Harbor? Would she be on her own? That, Megan would never agree to. She and Ruby stayed together, no matter what.
If Dev insisted on sending her to some advanced program somewhere, Megan would be right by her side. Forget Me Not forgotten.
But maybe Dev would see right away how happy Ruby was here. She’d make everything perfect for him. It generally was perfect, except for one person.
Maybe she’d get really lucky and Lucas would be out of town during her ex’s visit.
Ruby came out on the deck, her math book open to a page covered with charts.
“How’s it going there, sweetie?”
“Good,” she said absently and climbed into the other chair. Completely engrossed, she didn’t look up from the book.
Damn. Maybe Dev was right. Ruby had a mind for math and she deserved the best education they could give her.
“Honey, I just talked to your dad. He’s coming for a visit.”
“Okay.”
“He wants to send you to a program for math whizzes.”
“Okay.”
“He thinks we should sell the boat for scrap.”
“Okay.”
Megan sighed. When Ruby was deep in her studies, nothing could distract her. Megan used to be like that too, until life had interrupted with all its twists and turns. Now she got distracted by all kinds of irrelevant things—like Lucas without a shirt.
Lucas winking at her from the lower deck. Lucas lobbing verbal volleys at her while the sun gleamed on his chiseled muscles.
Why had he recommended her boat to the Trekking producer? What was in it for him? As long as she’d known him, he’d been a grouchy bear to her.
She’d never forget the first moment they met. She’d been docking the Forget Me Not on one of her very first solo trips. Admittedly, it wasn’t her best effort. A new boat was tied up in the spot next to hers, and it surprised her.
It was a slick charter boat with fishing poles aggressively bristling from it. Even the sight of it unnerved her.
She’d come in too fast, bounced off the float like an enormous pinball, and then jammed into reverse. Too late. She’d bumped against its stern hard enough to jolt it.
On the deck, a man had jumped to his feet. He was holding something in his hands, but she couldn’t see what. Everything was a blur—his dark scowl, his broad shoulders, his protective posture.
“Hey! Watch it!”
“Sorry!”
Wrestling with the helm, she’d successfully brought the Forget Me Not snug against the float, dropped the fenders over the side and jumped out to tie it up. But Lucas was way ahead of her. He snagged the line off the bow and whipped it around the cleat in the kind of smooth motion that meant he’d grown up doing it.
“Where’s Carmen? Why’s she letting an ignoramus drive her boat?”
Every bone of her body had snapped straight. How dare he speak to her with so much scorn dripping from his voice? “It’s my boat now. Carmen’s gone.”
“Did you run her over?”
“No! She left. I’m taking over. I did take over. Forget Me Not Nature Tours is mine now.”
He’d stared at her for a long moment, then given a harsh bark of laughter. “Where the hell did she find you? Let me guess, California.”
“You have something against California?”
“Ha. So I was right.”
She waved him off. “The fact that I’m from San Francisco is irrelevant. I have a degree in—”
But he was already turning away. “I don’t need to hear your resume. I doubt you’ll be around long enough for it to matter. But if you really want to study something, try the Boat Basics class at the high school. They do an excellent job teaching the kids.”
That was the first time he got the last word.
She’d fumed for a good hour or two as she’d hosed off the decks of the Forget Me Not. What. An. Ass. She’d just barely bumped his boat. He didn’t need to be such a dick about it. Jack Hammer, his boat was called. Seemed about right.
The next time she saw Zoe she’d asked about the captain of the Jack Hammer. That was when she learned that his name was Lucas Holt—son of Jack Holt, who had drowned shortly before Megan had arrived in Lost Harbor. Lucas had hauled out the boat for repairs—that was why she’d never seen the Jack Hammer before. Zoe also told her that Lucas was a local legend as a rescue volunteer and had saved more lost boaters than anyone.
With her sympathy activated by the news about his father, she’d decided to be nice to Lucas. She’d brought him a coffee the next day as an apology for bumping his boat.
He told her he was trying to quit coffee.
She’d offered her condolences on the loss of his father. “Did you know him?” he’d asked.
“No.”
“He was a mean bastard and he would have ripped you a new one.”
“Amazing how genetics works,” she’d murmured.
“What was that?”
“Nothing important.”
“No, I heard you. Just wondered if you’d be willing to say it again, a little louder.”
She’d snatched the coffee back. “I retract my condolences.”
“And my heart breaks all over again.”
And that was the second time he got the last word.
Clearly he wanted nothing to do with her and her niceness. The only time he smiled around her was when Ruby was at her side. The rest of the time, he either ignored her or mocked her or publicly disagreed with her suggestions for the harbor and the boardwalk.
Fate kept throwing them together—the only office space she could find was at the back of the Jack Hammer office. The only slip available was right up against the Jack Hammer. Etcetera, etcetera.
So she’d followed his lead and switched to giving back as good as she got. It was empowering, really. Energizing. It felt good, fighting with him. Sometimes she even got the last word and a kind of fizzy joy would follow her the rest of the day.
Maybe…she jolted to her feet as a thought occurred to her. Maybe Lucas was pulling a bait-and-switch. A doub
le-blind bait-and-switch. He knew the producers thought a nature cruise was too boring. By suggesting they give her a shot, Lucas got to look like the good guy. She would still get rejected, but he’d come out smelling like a rose.
Oh hell no. If Lucas thought he had this in the bag, he’d better get ready to eat his words. To grovel at her feet. Because she was about to shock them all.
She snatched up her phone and called Zoe.
“I have an idea about the Trekking audition. But I might need your help.”
Chapter Eight
The day of Lucas’ Trekking shoot did not start off well. His mother was in a mood. Even the Holt Homestead, which consisted of a hundred acres of land, three houses and six cabins, wasn’t big enough for both of them sometimes.
Janet Holt, whose primary passion in life was crafting, had recently bought a Tibetan yak with the idea of shearing it for wool. Yaks were supposed to like the Alaska climate—just like the Himalayas. But the yak didn’t get along with her cows, so she’d had to build a separate enclosure, and still the yak liked to secretly nip at the cows. Milk production was down.
He didn’t say it out loud, but to him it was no surprise to find one more feud on Holt property. Or in Lost Harbor in general, for that matter. Feuds came with the territory.
After ranting in her mud boots for a good half hour about the yak’s passive-aggressive ways, she launched into her complaints about Lucas. He knew them by heart by now.
Why was it taking him so long to go through his father’s junk pile?
Because Jack Holt had accumulated tools and machinery and supplies for sixty years before he died. All of it was stored on the property in case he needed it one day.
Why didn’t Lucas just move into the big house so they could rent out the other ones?
He was paying rent, a fact which she conveniently ignored.
Why didn’t he sell his consulting business and stop threatening to leave Alaska?
He wasn’t ready to sell, and it wouldn’t be so simple in any case.
Why didn’t he sell the Jack Hammer? They could all go on a cruise to Florida with that money.
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