by Tessa Bailey
Henry Cross was the last man of the Westport crew to die while hunting the almighty king crab on the Bering Sea. There was a memorial dedicated to him on the harbor, a wreath placed on the pedestal every year on the anniversary of the sea taking him.
It was not unusual for men to die during the season. King crab fishing was, by definition, the most dangerous job in the United States. Every fall, men lost their lives. But they hadn’t lost a Westport man in over two decades.
Randy had dropped onto his stool, dumbfounded. “No. Are you . . . You ain’t Maureen’s girls, are you?”
“Yes,” Piper said, her smile too engaged for Brendan’s peace of mind. “We are.”
“Holy mackerel. I see the resemblance now. She used to bring you girls down to the docks, and you’d leave with pockets full of candy.” Randy’s attention swung to Brendan. “Your father-in-law is going to shit himself. Henry’s girls. Standing right here in his bar.”
“Our bar,” Brendan corrected him quietly.
Two words out of his mouth were all it took to drop a chill into the atmosphere. A couple of the locals shrunk back into their seats, drinks forgotten on the crates that served as tables.
Brendan finished his beer calmly, giving Piper a challenging eyebrow raise over the glass neck. To her credit, she didn’t blanch like most people on the receiving end of one of his looks. A stony stare through the wheelhouse window could make a greenhorn shit himself. This girl only seemed to be evaluating him, that limp wrist once again drawn up against her shoulder, that long mane of golden-rosy-honey hair tossed back.
“Aw. The deed says otherwise,” Piper said sweetly. “But don’t worry. We’ll only be killing your weirdly hostile vibe for three months. Then it’s back to LA.”
If possible, everyone retreated farther into their seats.
Except for Randy. He was finding the whole exchange hilarious, his smile so wide Brendan could count his teeth, three of which were gold.
“Where are you staying?” Brendan asked.
The sisters both pointed up at the ceiling.
Brendan bit off a laugh. “Really?”
Several patrons exchanged anxious glances. Someone even hopped up and tried to rouse Tanner at the bar, but it was nothing doing.
This whole situation was absurd. If they thought the bar was in shambles, they hadn’t seen anything yet. They—especially her—wouldn’t last the night in Westport. At least not without checking in to one of the inns.
Satisfied with that conclusion, Brendan set his beer aside and pushed himself to his feet, kind of enjoying the way Piper’s eyes widened when he reached his full height. For some reason, he was wary of getting too close to her. He sure as hell didn’t want to know what she smelled like. But he called himself an idiot for hesitating and strode forward, picking up a suitcase in each hand. “Well, then. Allow me to show you the accommodations.”
Chapter Five
Who the fuck. Even. Was this douche?
Piper forced her chin up and followed the beast to the back of the bar—the bar which was essentially the size of her closet back in Bel-Air—and up a narrow staircase, Hannah in tow. God, he was freakishly big. Just to make it up the stairs, he had to bend down slightly, so his beanie-covered head wouldn’t hit the ceiling.
For a split second, she’d found the silver-green eyes under the band of that beanie kind of captivating. His black beard was decently groomed. Full and close cropped. Those shoulders would have been seriously valuable in the chicken-fight competition a couple of weeks ago, to say nothing of the rest of him. He was large all around, and not even his beat-up sweatshirt could conceal the beefy musculature of his chest, arms.
He’d been staring at her, so she’d done what she did best when a man seemed interested. She did a little stationary flossing.
It was as natural as breathing, the subtle hip shift. Finding the light with her cheekbones, drawing attention to her mouth and sucking his soul out with her eyes. It was a maneuver she normally performed with a high success rate. Instead, he’d only looked pissed off.
How was she supposed to know he was married? They’d walked into a crowd of two dozen people. Into her father’s bar, which had apparently been commandeered by a group of townies. There’d been a lot to take in at once, or she might have noticed the gold band. He’d seemed to purposefully flash it at her, and as she was definitely not the type to go after someone who was taken, she’d shut down her come-hither glance immediately.
Piper rolled her shoulders back one by one and decided to try being friendly to the beast, at least one more time. It was kind of admirable of him, wasn’t it? To be aggressively faithful to his wife? If she ever got married someday, she hoped her husband would do the same. Once he realized she wasn’t trying to catch his eye, maybe he’d chill. She and Hannah would be living in Westport for ninety days. Making enemies right off the bat would suck.
“Don’t we need to get an apartment key from Tanner?” Piper called up the stairs.
“Nope,” he responded shortly. “No locks.”
“Oh.”
“The bar entrance has a lock,” he said, kicking open the apartment door and disappearing inside. “But almost everyone downstairs has a copy.”
Piper chewed her lip. “That doesn’t seem very secure . . .”
His derision was palpable. “Are you worried someone is going to break in and steal your lipstick purse?”
Hannah sucked in a sharp breath. “He went there.”
Tenaciously, Piper held on to her poise and joined him in the apartment. The light hadn’t been turned on yet, so she stepped aside to let Hannah in and waited, more grateful than ever that her sister was stubborn and refused to let her be banished to Westport alone. “I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Piper said to the man. Wherever he’d gone. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” came that mocking baritone from the dark. “It’s Brendan.”
“Brendan—”
The light flipped on.
Piper gripped Hannah’s arm to keep from collapsing.
Oh no.
No no no.
“Ohhhh fuuuuuck,” Hannah whispered beside her.
There had to be some mistake.
She’d googled Westport and done some nosing around, if minimally. Everywhere else was simply not Los Angeles, so what did it matter? Her search told her Westport was quaint and eclectic, located right on the cusp of the Pacific Ocean. A surfing destination. A cute village. She’d imagined an ocean view in a rustic but livable apartment, with lots of photo ops of her roughing it, with the hashtag #PNWBarbie.
This was not that.
Everything was in one room. There was a paper-thin partition blocking off the bathroom, but if she went three steps to the left, she’d be in the miniature kitchen. Three to the right, and she’d ram into the bunk bed.
Bunk. Bed.
Had she ever even seen one of those in real life?
Brendan’s boots scuffed to a stop in front of the sisters. He crossed his arms over his wide chest and surveyed the apartment, his disposition suddenly jovial. “Second thoughts?”
Piper’s eyes tracked along the ceiling, and she lost count of the cobwebs. There had to be an inch of grime on every surface—and she hadn’t even seen the bathroom yet. The one window looked directly at the brick wall of the building next door, so the musky odor couldn’t even be aired out.
She started to tell Hannah they were leaving. They would take the pittance Daniel put in their debit accounts and use it to rent a car and drive back to Los Angeles. Depending on how much it cost to rent a car, that was. It could be a thousand dollars or fifty. She had no clue. Other people usually arranged these kinds of things for her.
Maybe if they called Daniel and told him his custodian had been cashing a check and doing none of the work, he would relent and allow her and Hannah to return home. How could he say no? This place was unlivable. At least until it was scoured clean—and who was going to do tha
t for them?
Brendan’s unwavering gaze remained on her, waiting for her to crack.
She was going to crack, right?
Multiple voices drifted back to her, tightening the nape of her neck.
You play dress-up and spend your daddy’s money.
You don’t have a reason to learn anything.
There’s just nothing to you, okay?
You have no drive to go anywhere. Or do anything. Why would you when this life I’ve provided you is always here, rewarding your lack of ambition with comfort and an excuse to remain blissfully stagnant?
Brendan’s smugness was suddenly cloying, like glue drying in her windpipe. How original. Another man who thought she was worthless? How positively breathtaking.
He didn’t matter. His opinion was moot.
Everyone’s low expectations of her were beginning to wear kind of thin, though.
One look at her and this prick had become as dismissive of her abilities as her stepfather and her ex-boyfriend. What was it about her that courted such harsh judgment?
Piper wasn’t sure, but after being dumped and banished to this murder hostel, she didn’t really feel like taking another lump, especially when it wasn’t warranted.
One night. She could do one night. Couldn’t she?
“We’re good, aren’t we, Hanns?” Piper said brightly. “We never got to do the whole summer-camp thing. It’ll be fun.”
Piper glanced over at Hannah, relieved when her face warmed into a smile. “We’re good.” She sashayed across the space like she was surveying a million-dollar penthouse. “Very versatile. Cozy. Just needs a splash of paint.”
“Mmmm,” Piper hummed in agreement, nodding and tapping a finger against her chin. “Form and function. That abandoned pallet in the corner will make a lovely display shelf for my shoe collection.”
When she risked a look at Brendan, it stressed her out to find his superior smile hadn’t slipped an iota. Which was when she heard the scratching. It reminded her of a newspaper being crumpled in a fist. “What is that?” she asked.
“Your other roommate.” Brendan tucked his tongue into his cheek, sauntered toward the exit. “One of several, I’m guessing.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a rodent scurried across the floor, darting one way, then the other, his itty-bitty nose twitching. What was it? A mouse? Weren’t they supposed to be cute? Piper scrambled onto the top bunk with a yip, Hannah hot on her heels. They met in the middle and clung to each other, Piper trying not to gag.
“Enjoy your night, ladies.” Brendan’s arrogant chuckle followed him out the door, his boots making the stairs groan on his way back down to the bar. “See you around. Maybe.”
“Wait!” Gingerly, Piper climbed down off the bunk and shuddered her way out onto the landing where Brendan had paused, keeping her voice low. “You wouldn’t happen to know a good, um . . . exterminator slash housekeeper in the area, would you?”
His derision was palpable. “No. We clean our own houses and catch our own vermin here.”
“Catchy.” She checked around her ankles for hungry critters. “Put that on the town welcome sign and watch real estate prices soar.”
“Real estate prices,” he echoed. “That kind of talk belongs in LA. Not here.”
Piper rolled her eyes. “What is it like having such an accurate sense of where things belong? And who belongs where?” Still scouting for critters, she said absently, “I can be in a room full of people that I know and still not feel like I belong.”
As she played that statement back to herself, Piper’s eyes snapped up to find Brendan frowning down at her. She started to smooth her blurted truth over with something light and diverting, but her exhaustion made it too much of an effort.
“Anyway, thanks for the warm welcome, Mayor Doom and Gloom.” She retreated a step back into the apartment. “You’ve sure put me in my place.”
He squinted an eye. “Hold on.” Weirdly, Piper held her breath, because it seemed like he was going to say something important. In fact, she kind of got the feeling he didn’t say much unless it was significant. But at the last second, he seemed to change his mind, dropping the thoughtful expression. “You’re not here to film a reality show or some shit, are you?”
She slammed the door in his face.
Chapter Six
Brendan locked the door of his house and double-checked his watch. Eight fifteen, on the dot. As was a captain’s habit, he took a moment to judge the sky, the temperature, and the fog density. Smelled like the sun would burn the mist off by ten o’clock, keeping the early August heat minimal until he could finish his errands. He pulled on his beanie and took a left on foot toward West Ocean Avenue, traveling the same route he always did. Timing could make all the difference to a fisherman, and he liked to stay in practice, even on his off days.
The shops were just opening, the squawking calls of hungry seagulls blending with bells tinkling as employees propped open doors. The drag of a chalkboard sign being hauled out to the curb advertising fresh catches, some of which Brendan’s crew had caught themselves on their last outing. Shopkeepers called lazy good mornings to each other. A couple of young kids lit cigarettes in a huddle outside the brewery, already dressed for the beach.
Since they were nearing the end of tourist season, there were markdowns advertised everywhere. On fishing hats and postcards and lunch specials. He appreciated the cycle of things. Tradition. The reliability of weather changing, and the shifting seasons setting people about a routine. It was the consistency of this place. Enduring, just like the ocean he loved. He’d been born in Westport, and he never intended to leave.
A ripple of aggravation fanned out beneath his skin when he recalled the night before. The stone tossed into the calm waters of how things were done. Outsiders didn’t simply show up and claim ownership of things here. In Westport, people worked for everything they had. Nothing was handed over without blood, sweat, and tears. The two girls didn’t strike him as people who had an appreciation for the place, the people, the past it was built on. The hard work it took to sustain a community on the whims of a volatile ocean—and do it well.
Good thing they wouldn’t be sticking around for long. He’d be shocked if Piper made it through the night without checking in to the closest five-star hotel.
I can be in a room full of people that I know and still not feel like I belong.
Why did his mind refuse to let that drop?
He’d gnawed it over for far too long last night, then again this morning. It didn’t fit. And he didn’t like things that didn’t fit. A beautiful girl—with admittedly sharp humor—like Piper could belong anywhere she chose, couldn’t she?
Just not here.
Brendan waited at a stoplight before crossing Montesano, breezing through the automatic door of the Shop’n Kart, the wrinkle of irritation smoothing itself out when he saw that everything was in its place. He waved at Carol, the usual register attendant. Paper gulls hung from the ceiling and blew around in the breeze he’d allowed inside. Not many people were in the store yet, which was why he liked to come early. No conversations or questions about the upcoming crab season. If he expected a big haul, the course he’d charted. If the crew of the Della Ray would beat out the Russians. Talking about his plans would only jinx them.
As a seaman, Brendan was all about luck. He knew he could only control so much. He could construct a tight schedule, guide the boat in a direction of his choosing. But it was up to the ocean how and when she gave up her treasures. With crab season quickly approaching, he could only hope fortune would favor them once again, as it had the last eight years since he’d taken over from his father-in-law as captain.
Brendan picked up a handcart and headed west, to the freezer aisle. He didn’t have a list and didn’t need one, since he got the same groceries every time. First things he’d grab were some frozen burger patties and then—
“Siri, what should I make for dinner?”
That voic
e, drifting over from the next aisle, made Brendan stop in his tracks.
“Here’s what I found on the Web,” came the electronic reply.
A whine followed. “Siri, what is an easy dinner?”
He ground a fist into his forehead, listening to Piper speak to her phone as if it were a living, breathing human being.
There was some frustrated muttering. “Siri, what is tarragon?”
Brendan dragged a hand down his face. Who had let this girl child out into the world on her own without supervision? Frankly, he was kind of shocked to find her in a supermarket at all. Not to mention this early in the morning. But he wasn’t going to question her. He didn’t care about her explanation. There was a schedule to adhere to.
He trudged on, ripping the burger patties out of the freezer and throwing them into the handcart. He turned to the other side of the lane and picked out his usual bread. No-frills wheat. He hesitated before turning down the next aisle, where Piper was still yacking at her phone . . . and couldn’t help but draw up short, a frown gathering his brows together. Who the fuck wore a sequined jumpsuit to the grocery store?
At least, he thought it might be called a jumpsuit. It was one of those deals women wore in the summertime with the top attached to the bottom. Except this one had shorts that ended right below her tight ass and made her look like a goddamn disco ball.
“Siri . . .” Her shoulders sagged, her handcart dangling from limp fingers. “What is a meal with two ingredients?”
Brendan let out an inadvertent sigh, and with a toss of hair, she glanced up, blinking.
He ignored the stab of awe in his chest.
She’d gotten prettier overnight, damn her.
With a roll of his shoulders, he tried to ease the tension bracketed by his rib cage. This girl probably inspired the same reaction in every man she ever came across. Even in the harsh supermarket lighting, he couldn’t pick out a single flaw. Didn’t want to look that closely. But he’d have to be dead not to. Might as well admit it. Piper’s body reminded him, for the first time in a long, long time, that he had needs that couldn’t be satisfied forever by his own hand.
