"I have no idea, but I'm sure she's fine, and she'll be back once she calms down," Fiona replied.
"I'm not so sure," he put in. "When Mom was talking to Phillip and me, she seemed quite upset with Dad, and very interested in making a change in her life. She said something to us about it being time to make herself happy. That it was her turn."
"Well, it is her turn," Fiona agreed. "That's what she just told us all."
"Along with a few other things," Brock said with a frown. "What was that secret she was talking about?"
"A secret?" Ross interjected, a questioning gleam in his eyes. "No one told me about a secret."
"Mom said something about keeping Dad's secret before she stormed out," he told Ross. "But I have no idea what it is. Does anyone else?"
There were blank looks around the table. His gaze came to rest on his grandmother. "Nana? Do you know what secret Mom has been keeping for Dad?"
"Does it have something to do with the whisky?" Brock asked.
"Oh, boys, you need to let your parents work this out between the two of them," Fiona answered. "Speculating about secrets won't make anything better."
"Which isn't an answer," he told her.
She gave him a smile. "Wasn't it?"
"If something is going to blow up the business, we need to know," Trey put in.
"Maybe you should stop being so concerned about the business," he told his brother. "And worry more about Mom and Dad."
"I am worried about them," Trey snapped back. "That's why I'm trying to figure out what's going on."
"Rumors will be flying," Brock added. "There will be a lot of talk. I'd like to get out in front of it."
He loved Trey and Brock but sometimes they could have as much tunnel vision as his father.
"It seems to me if either of you want to know, then you should ask Dad," Logan said. "Leave Nana out of it."
"That's an excellent idea, Logan," Fiona said. "But I wouldn't ask Graham anything tonight. Give him time to cool down. Your father may sometimes be a thoughtless, stubborn mule, but I have never had any doubt about his love for your mother or her love for him. This is just a bump in the road. And no one does bumps in the road better than a Blackthorne. When times are tough, we get tougher. We came together as a family after Mark and Julie died, and we'll continue to do so, no matter what challenges are in front of us." Her gaze swept the table. "I can't tell you how proud I am of all of you. You've grown from wild boys into strong, intelligent, capable, and proud men. Let's toast to that." She raised her glass. "To the Blackthornes—to the next generation—may you be better than all who came before you."
He clinked glasses with Phillip and Trey, who were on either side of him, and then reached across the table to touch his glass to his grandmother's. She gave him a small smile. Out of this generation, he was probably the closest to Fiona, simply because he lived in Maine all year round and lately she'd been spending less and less time in Boston and more time in her cottage and her garden at the estate.
Perhaps he could get a little more out of her when they were alone. While he wasn't worried about this alleged secret hurting his business, he was worried about how it might affect the future of his family.
"Now, let's eat," Fiona added. "There's a buffet table full of food, and if I know anything about you boys, it's that you can all eat."
"Dad, you're not eating," Hannah told her father, as she watched him swirl his spoon in a big bowl of clam chowder without taking a bite. He had, however, had several long draughts of Blackthorne Gold while they'd been waiting for their meal.
She hadn't wanted to come to the Vault for dinner. The pub and the adjacent distillery were Blackthorne properties, and she would have thought the last place her father would want to dine would be any place owned by a Blackthorne. But the Vault had always been his favorite spot, and he'd told her he wasn't going to let the Blackthornes take anything else away from him.
With its paneled wood walls, parquet floors, colorful rugs, and an extensive display of liquor, the Vault was sophisticated but also warm and comfortable, and it was popular with the locals and the tourists. It also had the best chowder in town, and with the stiff ocean breezes that had kicked up after five, it was a good night for a steaming bowl of chowder.
Not that her father seemed to have any appetite at all. He looked haggard and drawn, his thinning brown hair showing more strands of gray, his blue eyes filled with shadows, his shoulders seemingly sagging under the weight of his worries. He'd always been lean, the result of long hours of physical labor and his appalling lack of focus on getting three square meals down. When he worked, he forgot to eat. She couldn't remember the last time she'd forgotten to eat. She and her father were definitely not alike in that way.
Actually, they weren't all that alike in any way. But they did share a love of boats and sailing. It was the glue that had held them together after the divorce. It was the one thing they could talk about that didn't make either one of them unhappy.
But now the boats were making her father quite depressed, and she wanted to make the problem go away; she just didn't think she could do it alone.
"Dad," she said again.
He looked up, his gaze distracted. "What?"
"I've been talking to you for five minutes. You're not eating."
"I'm not hungry," he said, setting down his spoon.
"You should try to eat." She frowned when he motioned to the waiter to refill his whisky glass. "And maybe not drink so much."
"I don't need you telling me how much I can drink, Hannah."
"I'm just worried about you. I haven't seen you like this in a very long time—not since…" Her voice drifted away as she realized bringing up the painful subject of divorce was not the best idea.
"Since what?" he challenged. "Never lost a job before, so this is a first."
"I was talking about when Mom and I left—the divorce."
"Oh, right." He let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Hannah. You came all this way to be here for me, and I've been a grumpy bear."
"It's okay. I know you're having a difficult time." She paused, thinking back to her earlier conversation with Devlin. "Did something happen between you and Graham that precipitated him firing you?"
"Why would you ask that?" His gaze narrowed. "You didn't talk to Graham, did you?"
"No." She hesitated, and her dad's mouth tightened.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"I spoke to Devlin. I told him you're the heart and soul of his company and he'd be a fool to lose you. And I'm not sorry I said it," she added defiantly. "Because it's true."
"This is not your fight, Hannah."
"That's the thing—I don't understand why you're not fighting."
"Wouldn't do any good."
"Why not? What happened? Please talk to me. Maybe I can help."
"You can't help. You should go home, Hannah. I appreciate your support, but this isn't a situation you can fix."
"Okay, but you must have some thoughts. What are you going to do? Where are you going to work? Will you stay here in Maine?"
"Whoa, slow down." He put up his hand. "I'm still considering my options."
"I'm sure a lot of people would love to hire you. Devlin is going to feel the pain of your loss in so many ways, including the race coming up. He's never won it without you. In fact, the Blackthornes have never won it when you weren't on the boat."
"Devlin is a good sailor, a good racer."
"Not better than you."
"No. But he'll still have the best boat in the race, one I built with my own hands. The odds will be in his favor, no matter who he gets to crew with him."
"It's not right," she said, as another wave of anger washed over her. "It's your boat."
"It's a Blackthorne boat. It was their money that built it."
"But it was your design, your craftsmanship."
"You need to take a breath, Hannah."
She probably did need to slow down, but she couldn't, not with a new idea tak
ing hold in her head. "We could enter the race and beat the Blackthornes. Take the trophy for ourselves."
He gave her a bemused look. "We? When was the last time you raced a sailboat?"
"Not for a few years, but I'm good. You taught me well. And I have two weeks to practice."
"Don’t you have to get back to work?"
"I work for Mom."
"Yes, but I'm sure that doesn't mean Marianne takes it easy on you."
"She doesn't," she admitted.
Her mother had worked hard to build a real estate business after the divorce. She'd wanted to be able to provide a good life for both of them, and she had. After college, she'd gone to work for her mom, which had been mostly good. However, her mother was driven to succeed, and she expected that same drive from Hannah. She didn't always live up to those expectations, but she'd had a good spring and had closed a sale the day before she'd come to King Harbor.
"I can take a few weeks off, Dad. I would love to race with you. And I know we'd be good together."
"You're very persuasive, but there's one rather large problem—we don't have a boat."
"Let's find one."
"It won't be easy. Every boat in King Harbor that would qualify already has a crew."
"But you know everyone in the sailing world. We can look elsewhere in Maine, maybe Portland or Kennebunkport. The entries aren't closed yet, are they?"
"Not for three more days. I could put out some feelers…"
"Let's do it. Let's beat the Blackthornes."
"I forgot what a bulldozer you can be when you get an idea in your head," he said, with humor in his eyes. "You're a little like your mother in that way."
"I think she'd say I'm like you. Or maybe all three of us are very stubborn people."
"Too stubborn for our own good probably. How is your mother?"
"She's happy. She and Tim bought a new house. They're moving in next month. It's beautiful; it has a pool and a private tennis court, and it's also close to their country club."
"It sounds nice. What about you? Do you enjoy selling houses?"
"I've found that I'm rather good at it."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's a good job."
"Hannah…"
"I like parts of it," she conceded. "Meeting people and putting them in their dream homes gives me a lot of pleasure. I do wish I had more autonomy from Mom. It's still her baby, and she doesn't give me a lot of respect."
"You should talk to her about it."
"I have. She admits she has trouble giving up control. But I don't even know if it's the job that's not making me happy; I just know that there's something missing in my life."
"You never told me what happened to Gary."
She sighed. "He went back to his ex. That's really all there is to say."
"I'm sorry."
"Me, too. Anyway, let's get back to the race. It would be fun for us to do it together and to stick it to the Blackthornes. It's a win-win."
"Only if we win. Let me think about it."
She bit back a groan of frustration. Her dad had always been a thinker, and patience was not her strength. But if she was going to get him on board, she needed to let him decide on his own.
"Hold on! Is this little Hannah?" a booming voice asked.
She turned her head to see a tall, brown-haired man moving toward their table. His weathered, ruddy skin and bright-green eyes made her jump to her feet in delight. "Uncle Joe."
Joe Crawford embraced her with a big bear hug. In his early sixties, Joe was not really her uncle, but he was one of her father's best friends, and for as long as she could remember he'd been Uncle Joe.
Joe's love of sailing had brought him and her father together years ago. Joe was an accountant by day, but on the weekends, he could always be found on one of his boats, and he was currently serving as president of the King Harbor Yacht Club, the organizer of the upcoming race. Maybe she could get him on her side.
"I can't believe you're back in King Harbor," Joe said, as he released her. "You stayed away a long time."
"After college, my summers were no longer free. Can you join us?"
"I can." He pulled a chair over to their table and sat down. "When did you get in, Hannah?"
"Yesterday."
"That's great. How long are you staying?"
"I'm not sure, but probably through Memorial Day."
"You'll be here for the race?"
"I will. Dad and I were just talking about it. We're thinking of racing together. We just need to find a boat."
"Hannah," her father said with a frown. "I told you I'd think on it."
"Well, you don't have that much time. You said entries close in a few days. What do you think, Uncle Joe?"
He grinned with approval. "I like it."
"I haven't agreed to anything," her father interrupted. "And that boat I built for the Blackthornes is probably unbeatable."
"I'm sure it's amazing," she said. "But it still needs a sailor, and you are the best there is."
"She's right about that," Joe said. "What about Howard Palmer's boat?"
"I'm sure he's racing it."
"Nope. His wife made him go on an African safari with his in-laws. He left two days ago and won't be back until June."
"Is that a possibility, Dad? Is his boat a good fit?"
"He's never won with it," her father replied. "But he's not the best racer, either."
"I think you should do it, Frank," Joe said. "After the way the Blackthornes treated you, if nothing else, you can take that trophy they love so much."
"To be fair, Devlin has treated me well," Frank said. "It's his father I have a problem with."
"Well, you know how much Graham loves to get in the winning race photos, even when he's never actually on the boat," Joe reminded her father. "I'll text Palmer now and ask him if his boat is available."
"He'll have to agree to let me fix it up," Frank said. "I'm not going to race if I have no chance of winning."
"I'm sure he'll be thrilled to have you work on his boat."
She smiled at her dad as Joe typed out a text. "This will be good," she assured him. "We haven't sailed together in a long time."
Her dad nodded, but she could see indecision in his eyes. "It's not that I don't want to sail with you, Hannah; it's more complicated than that. I'm not a Blackthorne, but I've built their business and their boats. I've always been a loyal man."
"You have, but Graham hasn't shown you the same loyalty."
"Already got an answer," Joe interjected, an excited gleam in his eyes. "Palmer said yes. He didn't have to think about it for a second. You've got yourself a boat, Frank, and you can do whatever you want to it. Oh, and he says you better win."
"We will," she said confidently.
Her dad reluctantly smiled. "Now I know what it feels like to be steamrolled."
Despite his words, she saw a new light in his eyes. He didn't look nearly as unhappy or defeated as he'd been a few minutes earlier. In fact, he picked up his spoon and slid it into his chowder, as if he'd suddenly found his appetite.
"You came at the perfect time, Uncle Joe," she said.
He gave her a warm look of understanding. "I think you did, too, Hannah."
Chapter Three
Not Hannah, Devlin thought with an inward groan as he made his way into the Vault with his brothers, Ross and Logan. He'd been hoping to avoid her as long as possible. But there she was with her pretty blonde hair falling softly down her back. As she turned her head, and her blue-eyed gaze connected with his, she frowned, losing the sparkle in her eyes.
He shouldn't care that she didn't like him. It wasn't as if they'd had a relationship before this. But it still bothered him. He didn't like the position his father had put him in, and he had every intention of making everything right for Frank, but after what had happened with his parents tonight, that might take a little longer than he'd hoped. He needed Frank to hang on, and he needed Hannah to understand that while he might
be a Blackthorne, he was not as heartless as she thought.
"Why don't you guys get a table? I'll be over in a minute," he told his brothers. "I need to talk to someone." He headed across the room and slid into the empty chair between Hannah and her father.
"I don't think we invited you to sit down," Frank said shortly, giving him a grim look.
"I knew you were about to," he lied, offering them both a smile that was not reciprocated by either one.
"Unless you're here to tell us that my father is rehired, I don't think we have anything to say to you," Hannah said.
"Unfortunately, I was unable to speak to my dad tonight. The party took a surprising turn, and to be honest, my father has an even bigger problem to deal with now. I know you won't want to hear this, but I need you to give me a few days to talk to him, to get him to come around."
"What happened tonight?" Frank asked.
"My mother walked out of her birthday party. She announced she was leaving my dad, packed a suitcase and took off. I have no idea where she went."
While Hannah let out a gasp of surprise, Frank didn't seem to be as stunned as he would have expected.
"I can't believe she actually did it," Frank muttered.
His gut twisted. "You knew she was thinking about leaving my father?"
"I wouldn't say that. But I knew she was unhappy, that she was trying to get Graham to take more time off. She wanted him to commit to spending more than the summer here. She thought if she could get him out of Boston, he'd be different, less absorbed with work," Frank said.
"When did she tell you that?"
Frank shrugged. "She has said it a few times over the past year, but we had coffee about a week ago, and she was more upset than I'd ever seen her. I told Graham if he didn't start paying attention to his wife, he was going to lose her, but he didn't want to listen to me. He thinks he knows everything. He's always right, and everyone else is always wrong."
He suddenly realized what had precipitated Frank's firing. "You should have told me about this conversation."
"It wasn't my place to tell you. And I wouldn't have said anything to Graham if he hadn't demanded to know what I was talking to Claire about. But, as usual, your father didn't want to hear criticism. I can't believe she actually left him. But I guess she felt she needed to make a big statement to get Graham's attention."
Devlin Page 3
