by Deb Kastner
“That would be great,” she agreed with a sigh. “My plane left Richmond early this morning, and it’s been kind of a weird day.”
“How do you mean?”
As if on cue, David Birdsall, dressed in the height of nineteenth-century fashion, pedaled down the street on his tall antique bicycle. Bree gave Cooper a little smile, arching a single eyebrow that clearly said she had all the ammunition she needed to portray Holiday Harbor as a quaint seaside lunatic asylum.
Cooper grinned back. “That’s different. You can’t just jump on one of those things and make it work, you know. It takes practice.”
“Why is he riding it in the first place?”
“Monday’s our Independence Day celebration. He always hauls it out for that.”
“And the outfit?”
To an outsider it must look ridiculous, and Cooper couldn’t help chuckling. “That’s just a bonus.”
“Interesting.”
She’d said that before, and he got the distinct impression she was going out of her way not to aggravate him. Unfortunately her efforts were having the opposite effect, and he cautioned himself to be patient. Cynical and way too smart for her own good, he had the feeling she was going to batter his sleepy little town like a nor’easter.
“There are two weddings in town this weekend, and the inn on Main Street is full up,” he explained. “The Harbor Mansion’s being refurbished and won’t be ready for a couple more weeks.”
She frowned. “So am I camping out somewhere?”
“No need for that. There’s a room at the lighthouse for you. I called in some favors, and you can stay out there for free as long as you’re here. It’s small, but the view’s amazing.”
“I saw it on my way in,” she said hesitantly, “and it’s kind of far away. I was hoping to spend most of my time here in town, talking to people.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I borrowed my mom’s spare car for you and left it at the lighthouse. Nothing fancy, but it runs well and should get you where you need to go.”
“Thanks. I’m sure that’ll be fine.”
Cooper detected a slight strain in her tone. Raised by his single mother, he was no stranger to feminine-speak. He was well aware that when a woman said things were “fine,” it was time to start worrying. Since there was nothing he could do about it, he chose to ignore her comment and forge ahead.
He paused beside a burgundy four-by-four with no top or doors, and she turned to him with a shocked look. “This is yours?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where’s the rest of it?”
Tossing her bags into the back, he laughed. “It’s so nice today, I decided to go open-air. You’ve never ridden in one stripped down like this?”
“I’ve never ridden in one of these, period. A lawyer who drives a four-by-four,” she muttered, climbing into the passenger seat. “Now I’ve seen everything.”
“You haven’t been here that long.” Taking his aviator sunglasses from their clip on the visor, he put them on and started the engine. “You never know what other surprises we’ve got.”
In response she tilted her cute little nose in the air, but he’d witnessed enough courtroom drama to suspect her confident demeanor was mostly an act.
As he pulled away from the curb, he said, “I think you’ll find the folks around here aren’t like other people you’ve met. They’re proud of being unique.”
“Then we should get along well. I’m not like other people I’ve met, either.”
He slanted her a quick glance. “Are you trying to be a pain, or are you just naturally prickly?”
“Yes.”
Pointedly ignoring him, she slipped on a pair of big, Hollywood-style sunglasses. Cooper knew almost nothing about his passenger, but Nick had warned him that her latest bungle had turned Bree into a virtual leper. His old buddy was the only editor—print or online—with the guts to hire her. During their brief conversation, Cooper had noticed plenty of attitude, not to mention a good-sized chip on her shoulder.
Still, he couldn’t imagine what she might have done to warrant the blackballing she’d received. In his very first Sunday school class, he’d learned that everyone deserved to be forgiven if they truly regretted what they’d done. As he got older, his mother had told him more than once that the people who seemed to want it the least needed it the most.
It was possible that the sarcastic young woman beside him was one of those people.
From the corner of his eye he saw Bree slide her tablet from her messenger bag. When she tried to wake the screen, she groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“That won’t work out here, but there’s internet at the lighthouse, to keep track of the satellite weather reports. You should be able to connect to that.”
She eyed the distant beacon with no enthusiasm at all. “It’s kind of isolated out there. Us city girls are used to working where there’s things going on. There must be a café in town with an open connection.”
“Nope.”
Clearly horrified by the lack of technology in Holiday Harbor, she nudged her glasses down and scowled at him in the rearview mirror. “If you want people to come visit this place, you’ve got to bring it into the twenty-first century.”
“Don’t folks go on vacation to get away from all that?” Focused on the two-lane road that wound its way toward the ocean, he motioned to her tablet. “I mean, most days when I get home, I’m happy to turn it all off and go for a sail.”
“That’s nice for you, but for the rest of us, modern technology makes the world go ’round.”
Prickly and hard to please, he thought with a mental groan. Just what he needed. But she was his guest, and her impression of Holiday Harbor would undoubtedly affect the way she depicted the town to her readers. Keeping her happy was in everyone’s best interest. “I’ve got Wi-Fi at my office. You’re welcome to use it instead.”
“I just might take you up on that.”
“Anytime. It’s on Main Street, in the cream-colored building next to the gnome store.”
That got him a short, sarcastic laugh. “Of course it is.”
He’d finally had enough. But when he shot her a glare, it made no impression at all because she was staring in the other direction. He came dangerously close to giving her a piece of his mind, but decided to give her a break. She’d called herself a city girl, and the quaint fishing village must feel as alien to her as the face of the moon. He’d just have to show her how beautiful his hometown was.
For her article, of course. Intriguing as she might be under all that attitude, her personal opinion couldn’t possibly matter less to him.
“Here it is,” he announced as they crested the last rise and descended toward the water’s edge. “Last Chance Lighthouse.”
ISBN: 9781460317297
Copyright © 2013 by Debra Kastner
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