by Meredith, MK
“He’s cute now, but in a very short time the cute turns into dangerous.” Evette walked around the stage picking up all the papers, the baby moose at her heels.
“Don't worry about that, Miss Evette,” Claire said. “I've got it.”
“No, no, this is my fault. I didn't mean for it to happen. I left him in the woods, and he followed me home, then I took him back, but he somehow found me. I need to call the animal control,” Evette said.
Blayne grimaced. “What will they do? Nobody better hurt this little guy.”
“Let's look into it a little bit more before we call anyone,” Shelly Anne suggested, and with that, the North and South Cove ladies were on the same page.
Maxine gave Claire a small nudge. “Alright, lady, you sure are growing balls in your old age.”
Claire couldn’t do anything but laugh. She loved this woman for being such a model of strength and compassion wrapped up in a feisty, fashionable package.
“You can count on us,” Maxine continued. “We’ll get everything organized and make this festival everything it's never been before.”
“Thank you,” Claire whispered, a rush of gratitude making it difficult to speak. She swallowed past the emotion, embracing her friend. “I want this to go really well for Larkin and the Archer Conservation Center of Cape Van Buren. I think my program could help a lot of kids here.”
She held Janice’s gaze, hoping the woman couldn’t see into her heart. “We just need to get your son's approval.”
Janice put her hands out. “Like that boy ever listens to me.”
Just the thought of him, the sound of his name, sent a flutter of sensations running through Claire’s body. The more time she spent with him, the more drawn to him she was.
She watched the calf follow Evette around, its heart on its little moose sleeve.
It was a powerful thing when someone fell in love with you. And all the more devastating when you couldn’t love them in return because of the pain they might eventually cause.
Chapter 14
Mitch jogged down the Cape house stairs with a mix of mounting stress and increasing excitement. The Cape was teaming with both citizens and tourists to participate in the last day of the Coast Week event.
The celebration of the state’s coastal resources occurred every year with groups of volunteer-organized events to clean every inch of the coast from the shores to the tide waters, bagging, and responsibly disposing of trash that had found its way into the marine habitat.
He looked out over the crowd of people trying to find the platinum head he’d grown so fond of seeing. Finally spotting Claire along the shoreline just south of the lighthouse, he made his way toward her. She was going to be pissed, but part of his decision was to protect her as well. She had her event planning business, which was her livelihood. He didn’t want to see her lose it in any potential nasty litigation.
A warm sensation filled his chest as he got closer. Her soft voice met his ears, gentle like the waves gliding onto the sand on a calm summer afternoon. He needed to tell her, tell her it was for her own good, and find a way to keep her at arm’s length when all he wanted to do was pull her in closer.
There was more than one way to hurt a woman, and for some damn reason, he was doomed to hit on all of them when it came to Claire.
He was no good for her. He knew it, she knew it. Hell, the whole town knew it.
Pulling in a deep breath of ocean air, he shoved his doubt away and grabbed the garbage bag she held out to him as he approached.
“Thanks.”
She grinned. “Where’ve you been? We’ve all been slaving away for over an hour now.” As she continued to pick and prod through the rocks along the edge of the water, she jerked her chin toward the cape between the house and the South Cove beaches.
A collection of trash bags, six feet tall, was being loaded into Charlie Jones’s truck. The contractor’s bald head gleamed in the afternoon sun but wasn’t a hint brighter than his fire engine red beard. Mitch grinned. The man did good work. He’d been working with Ryker back when his buddy thought turning the Cape into a housing community would be a good way to right his past, but when the project changed, Charlie just rolled with the punches and put his boys to work with renovations on the house with a drive to accommodate visitors to the town’s new community center.
“I had some work to catch up on.”
Wrinkling her nose, she asked. “Are you going to tell me already? It’s wicked torture waiting to hear.”
He swallowed the need to give her whatever she wanted and forced out a casual chuckle. “You’ll find out with everyone else. But don’t worry about it. One way or another, you’ll provide an art program.”
She frowned as she shoved a plastic cup into her trash bag. “But I don’t want to just give art lessons. Hell, Max Stanton could do that.”
Max was the son of the town physician but used his hands for sculpting not healing.
Taking a stick with a nail poking out one end from a bucket, Mitch carefully navigated the rocks, trying to get close to the water without getting wet. “Look, I understand. You want to make a real difference. I get it. That’s the very reason I want the city attorney position.”
He stabbed an empty cigarette pack, disgusted that anyone still smoked and even more disgusted that anyone still threw their garbage on the ground instead of in a can. “Unfortunately, my reputation doesn't help me, not here anyway. Thankfully, Portland is another story.”
She froze in the middle of tying down a full garbage bag. “Portland? My parents live that way. I feel like I hardly see them anymore.”
Gripping the knot she made, he slung the bag over his shoulder, handing his bag over to her. He continued to poke about the rocks for trash as he talked. “Yeah. I have to keep my options open just in case. There’s a chance that I won’t get exactly what I want either, and if that happens, I need to have a way to still do the work I know I’m meant for.” Clearing his throat, he added, “They’ve a wicked smart city council in Portland, and the city is bigger than Cape Van Buren, giving me the potential to do even more. They seem very open to my ideas and how I think I can help.”
“But you can do that here,” she said, a frown forming between her brows.
“That’s my plan, but Cape Van Buren doesn't see in me what Portland does.”
They made their way off the rocks and back onto the lawn, dodging a few locals as they went.
She swung around. “I don’t get you.”
He shrugged, unable to follow her train of thought, but feeling as though he were being accused of something. “Don’t get what?”
“You. You play at being this big womanizing, life of the party kind of guy when really you’re a compassionate, generous man who wants to give back to his city. Why don’t you show that guy to the city council?” She stomped off.
Jogging to catch up with her, he flung the bag he carried onto Contractor Jones’s truck, then grabbed her upper arm and swung her around to face him. “I did.”
“Really? When? At your interview?” she scoffed.
“Well, yeah.”
She gripped her hands into fists. “Why haven’t you been showing them that all this time? What a waste. And now what? You’re going to leave and go live in...Portland?”
“What’s wrong with Portland?” He wasn’t following at all and with mounting frustration, jammed his pole into the ground.
“Hey! You better watch what you’re doing, young man. Your mother will have a fit.” Maxine yelled from the back porch of the Cape house, a cobalt blue jar in her hand.
Mitch glanced down and winced. He’d jabbed the pole right through a bed of purple asters. Carefully pulling the pole out from between the stems of the flowers, he sent an apologetic shrug to Maxine.
Turning his attention back to Claire, he asked again. “What’s wrong with Portland?”
She stared at him hard, then finally said. “Nothing. Portland’s amazing.”
They walked ar
ound the Cape house to the front porch, where a sign-in sheet and a stack of directions sat under a paperweight on a small table. She turned the sheet, running her finger over the names as if taking count.
Suddenly, a group of children burst through the front door all screaming at once. “Miss Claire, Miss Claire!”
She started in surprise, then straightened from the desk. Her frown reversed into a smile, brightening her whole face, and he couldn’t help being stunned by the transformation. Claire had an easy, friendly style with the kids, asking them questions about the start of their school year. She also let them all know she was very pleased to see them at the Cape, helping to take care of the town, and the pleasure on the face of each kid from such praise was a testament to the bond she’d created with them.
He watched the light in her eyes, the genuine happiness on her face. She loved working with these kids. A picture of her, holding a baby, swaying in front of a large window, popped into his head and left him with a yearning that confused the hell out of him.
She didn’t belong to him, a future with her was not his to hope for, but at that moment, seeing the compassion on her face, hearing the kindness in her voice, he wanted it more than anything.
“Now, off you go. Today’s the last day, so let’s find every tiny piece of trash you possibly can.” She placed a hand on one of the children’s head and ruffled his hair.
“Okay, Miss Claire, we’re on it!” They took off down the stairs and toward the flat beach area of the shore just south of the house.
“How do they know you so well?”
“I hold a paintbar at Blayne’s store once a month. It’s like the wine and painting bars for adults but with chocolate milk. The kids love it.”
Standing alongside her, his chest expanded with something unfamiliar, and he struggled to label it. “You’re so good with them. You’re going to be an amazing mother someday.”
She stiffened. “No. No, I’m not. I love kids, don’t get me wrong. But I’ll never go through that again.”
“Claire, you can’t back away from a future, from happiness, because of something that happened in your past.”
She tilted her head at him. “Of course, I can. We all do.” With a sigh, she turned back to the table and straightened the papers as if keeping herself busy until he left, but he refused to walk away.
“You hold the future of my program in your hands, Mitch. It could be gone with a stroke of a pen. To top it off, you may be moving away. All of it is just further proof that growing attachments only sets a person up for pain.”
The drive to pull her into his arms, shield her from all the pain and uncertainty in the world, was so strong that he had to shove his hands into the front pockets of his pants to keep from doing so.
The truth was right there, crushing his chest, and his brain immediately strategized on how to fix the problem that now faced him.
“Meet me at the lighthouse tomorrow night at seven,” he said.
“Why?”
“Just do it.” He gave a two-fingered salute from his temple and went to find Ryker. Maybe his buddy could talk some sense into him.
Fucking hell.
He was falling in love with a woman who didn’t want to be loved.
Chapter 15
Sunday evening, Claire pulled her long gray sweater tighter around her shoulders as she waited for someone to open the bright red lighthouse door. She thought she’d dressed appropriately for this time of the year, but the temperature had dipped lower than they’d reported as the sun disappeared over the trees west of town.
She’d spent most of her day working through a few events that were coming up: Cape Van Buren Halloween contest in October, another Just for Kids Paintbar in two weeks, and some finishing touches on the layout for her Coping through Art program that she was determined to implement at the Center.
All she had to do was get Mitch to sign off on it. She couldn’t begin to understand why he was hesitating even for a moment. Well, this was her chance to make sure he saw it her way. She was tired of wanting it so bad.
It was time to make it happen.
The door swung open, and Mitch ushered her in, looking as if he’d stepped out of the pages of an L.L. Bean advertisement for sexy Mainers. His distressed jeans encased his thighs in a way that made her want to dig her fingers in and see if they were as hard as they looked, and his navy cable-knit sweater made his broad shoulders even broader.
The women of Portland were going to love him.
She frowned.
“Did something happen?” he asked, a concerned look in his eyes.
“What?” Shit. “No, no...just thinking.”
He led her up the stairs to the main living space, teasing as they went. “If I recall correctly, that’s difficult for you, isn’t it, Adams?”
That snapped her out of it right quick. He was a wicked pain in the ass, but she chuckled anyway. “Oh, please, we all know thinking for you doesn’t venture beyond ‘shall I wear boxers or briefs.’”
He flashed her a grin, stopped, and pressed her up against the wall of the stairwell, just outside the living room. “We both know the answer to that.”
Oh yeah, they did.
Her heart sped up as the heat of him washed over her. Suddenly her gray sweater was all too warm, and she felt as though she’d have a heat stroke if she didn’t get it off.
Dipping his head, he slid his lips over hers.
Her toes curled in her socks, and she sighed into the kiss. As he pulled away, she blinked a few times, not realizing she’d closed her eyes, and cleared her throat. “What’d you do that for?”
With a soft caress of his fingers along her cheek, he said, “I realized I hadn't given you a proper hello, and that must be where all the vinegar was coming from.”
His words sunk in, and she gave him a playful slap.
“You’re ridiculous.”
They just stepped through the door. If she were ever susceptible to even humoring the idea of a happy ever after, the scene that lay before her would be the catalyst for such a crazy idea. The soft earth tones of the newly renovated lighthouse were set aglow with a myriad of tapered candles that flickered shadows around the room. Soft music played in the background, and as she recognized the familiar croon of Etta James, a feeling of returning home washed over her.
Her mother used to play Etta all the time when she was preparing the house for something special. She'd have to tell her mom of this night. It had been a while since they'd spoken, and she knew her mother worried about her baby girl. It was because of that worry that she often stayed away far too long.
The savory aroma of fresh-caught salmon made her mouth water. September meant salmon festivals all up and down the coast of Maine. There was no telling where Mitch scored this particular catch, but if it came from the coast of Maine, then it would be the best she'd ever eaten.
“You cooked?” She made her way into the living room, loving the feel of the thickly padded, plush carpet under her feet. So much that she removed her socks, leaving them by the door, her blue-tipped toes dotting the floor.
“Make yourself at home.” He chuckled.
“I couldn't resist, this carpet is amazing.”
He nodded. “I believe Jade Dawson did most of the designs for the Cape house and here.”
She nodded, having heard the same thing. Jade was one of three triplets, Coach Dawson's daughters. Each one more beautiful than the last and it didn't matter what order you saw them in. They were smart as a whip, bold as any businessman, and determined to make their mark on Cape Van Buren.
“Speaking of the Dawson triplets, have you heard anything about the Hide Away and Stay Inn not being around much longer?”
The place had special memories for everyone in town, especially her friends. The kids of Cape Van Buren had spent many amazing summers on that property, most adults as well.
“It would be such a shame,” she said.
The look on Mitch's face spoke volumes. With his
background, especially in real estate, she was sure he knew more than he was saying, but she also knew there were some things he just wasn't able to share.
Thinking about that only made her worry about next week, but she decided that she needed one night of pure and utter unadulterated enjoyment devoid of any work-related stress. An evening with Mitch Brennan always promised just that.
Shrugging, he poured two glasses of white wine into stemless wine glasses that boasted the Cape’s logo, handed one to her, then lightly tapped her glass with his own. “There are a lot of rumors, so let’s focus on what we know. The festival is going to be amazing, thanks to you.”
She warmed at his praise, shoving away the censure of her own mind, telling her it shouldn’t matter.
“Here's to making a difference in Cape Van Buren.”
The Coast Week event warmed her heart but also left it grappling for more. Though she enjoyed her time with the children more than anything else, it came at a cost. It hurt to think that she’d never call any child her own, that the one she had was lost, never to be held or cherished and doted upon like her own mother always had with her.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and repeated his words. “Here’s to helping those of Cape Van Buren.”
The wine was cool and crisp, relieving her dry, parched throat and relaxing her muscles from the tight hold of emotions that were pressing down on her. “How did you do all this?” she asked.
“Good friends.” The sarcasm was thick, but the smile on his face belied any hard feelings.
“I wanted to show you the kind of date you should be having. A date where you spend time with somebody you enjoy, you eat good food, you share some stories about when you were growing up or the first time you kissed a boy with braces.”
She laughed, trying to imagine him in braces. He was probably the one teenager who could pull it off and seem even cooler as a brace-face than without. “You never give up, do you?”
The expression on his face was one of determination, and it sent a shiver of awareness down her spine like the very first time just before he kissed her.
