A Misty Harbor Wedding

by Marcia Evanick

  Matt kissed her again. “I’ll be here by six.” He walked to the side of the house, then disappeared into the darkness around the corner.

  She sat back down onto the swing and wondered what had just happened. How could a simple kiss get so far out of control so fast? The answer was easy.

  There had been nothing simple about Matt’s kiss.

  Chapter Seven

  Juliet left Olivia’s bed-and-breakfast at exactly two minutes past nine. The Pen and Ink didn’t open its doors until nine, and she didn’t want to appear too eager even though she was so excited that she had barely slept last night. Her mother had hoped that Gordon Hanley hadn’t changed that much over the years. From her mother’s memories, Gordon was not only a perfect gentleman, good looking, and intelligent, but he was a very nice man as well.

  Her mother’s memories hadn’t been wrong. Juliet had been especially thrilled to discover she had so much in common with her biological father, from their mutual love of Shakespeare to poetry. They shared not only an amazing amount of physical characteristics but mental ones too.

  The first order of business they had discussed had been what she was going to call him. “Mr. Hanley” seemed ridiculous, and there was no way she could call him Dad. She already had a father, and his name had been Ken Carlyle. They had settled on plain and simple “Gordon.”

  Gordon had taken her out to dinner last night to what had to be the best restaurant in town, the Catch of the Day. He had entertained her with stories about the town and some of its residents. She returned the favor by highlighting some of her childhood memories. Gordon hung on her every word and had a million questions. It should have been odd or awkward having dinner and conversing with the man who had fathered her, but it hadn’t been. Although they couldn’t finish each other’s sentences, they could finish each other’s quotes.

  Only her mother could keep up with her and recite back some Shakespeare. Both of her brothers were more apt at reciting Monty Python or Mel Brooks movies. Blazing Saddles and The Holy Grail were two of their favorites. Her sister, Miranda, leaned toward Disney movies and the color pink. Juliet had teased Miranda about always wanting to be a princess and that her brother Brad looked like Igor from Young Frankenstein.

  Life in the Carlyle house had never been dull. Well, it was never dull for the other three Carlyle children. They were always coming and going and getting into everything. They had joined, and exceeded in, every sport available to them, headed up committees, and volunteered for anything under the sun. She preferred to read in the quiet of her room and get lost between the pages of a great book. Her brother Ken had christened her with the nickname Bookworm, and it had stuck.

  She had hated that nickname as a young teenager. It was just another reminder of how out of sync she had been with the rest of the family. She now understood why. Her brothers and sister did not share the same father with her. They had all inherited Ken Carlyle’s physical abilities, while she had been born with the proverbial two left feet and her nose in a book. It just went to prove that heredity, not environment, played a more important role in shaping a child.

  Juliet pushed the memories of her childhood away as she walked down White Pine Street. She enjoyed the morning sunshine and cool ocean breeze on her face. She could see part of the busy harbor as she neared Main Street. The whale-watching boat was boarding its passengers for the morning tour.

  A tall, good-looking guy was collecting tickets and waving a family of four on board the boat. The kids seemed to be enjoying themselves, but it was the ticket collector who caught her eye. From a distance, he appeared to be around her age, in his mid-twenties, nicely built, and tall. Being five feet nine inches tall herself, she tended to pick out the tall guys in a crowd. Not that the wharf was crowded this morning. He had tawny hair that was blowing all over the place and she could tell he was smiling. Now there was some nice sightseeing. The town ought to advertise him in one of their brochures.

  The residents of Misty Harbor, or maybe they were other tourists, were a friendly bunch. Everyone greeted her or waved. An old man with a gray beard, wearing an old oily baseball cap and driving a beat-up old truck, honked and waved as she hit Main Street. She waved back, and by his grin, she might have made his day. Well, at least his morning.

  She looked toward the dock for a last look and froze. The tawny-haired stranger was staring at her. She knew a blush was sweeping up her cheeks, but there was no way he would see it. The honking must have caused him to glance in her direction, but it didn’t explain why he was still looking.

  She didn’t consider herself beautiful. Passable, in a quiet and shy way. In Regency times, she would have been a wallflower. Miranda, on the other hand, was vibrant and outgoing, and left a string of broken hearts in her wake. Miranda also had a lush figure and blond hair that men fawned over, while Juliet was stick thin and flat chested, had nearly black hair, and wore glasses. Miranda brightened any party, while she served the appetizers with cute plastic toothpicks sticking out of them and tried not to spill the tray.

  A boarding passenger distracted the man’s attention and broke the spell. Giving her head a shake, she hurried on her way. She turned right onto Main and headed for the row of shops. Gordon’s bookshop was nestled in between Bailey’s Ice Cream Parlor & Emporium and a store called Harbor Gifts.

  Juliet glanced in the gift-shop window. A touristy T-shirt and ball cap were on a cardboard cutout. A porcelain lighthouse, a pillow, a rubber crab, and a stuffed red lobster completed the display. The shop was dark inside and the door appeared locked. The list of hours, posted on the plateglass door, told her that whoever was in charge of opening the store was late.

  She walked to Gordon’s store and was surprised to see the front double doors wide open. A cast-iron doorstop shaped like a lobster was keeping one open. The other managed to stay open all by itself. She walked inside and saw Gordon struggling with the back windows in the tobacco section. The windows were giving him a devil of a time. “Morning.”

  Gordon turned around and smiled. “Morning, yourself. You’re up early.” He gave the window frame a hard whack with the palm of his hand and tried it again. This time he managed to work up the swollen wood frame.

  The cool morning breeze was now blowing in both windows. Although the shop still smelled, it wasn’t quite as overwhelming as it had been yesterday. She doubted that the odor of cigars, pipes, and cigarettes that had been smoked over the past hundred years would ever leave the shop. There was history in the shop, and it penetrated every square inch of the place.

  “I said I’d be by first thing.” She knew Gordon had purposely opened the door and windows for her. “Thanks.” She nodded toward the windows.

  This morning Gordon was dressed in a pair of black pants and a retro gray and black fifties-style shirt. His black and silver hair was pulled back neatly in a ponytail, giving his face a more angular look.

  “Realized last night that you were right. It does smell like an ashtray in here.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that comment. The shop did smell. “Opening the door and windows also lets in the natural light so customers can see what they’re looking at,” she said. The display window for the shop was covered with a burgundy curtain that obstructed every ray of light from entering the shop.

  She had studied the display case yesterday before entering the shop, trying to figure out what kind of man Gordon Hanley was. The display window hadn’t given her much hope. Except for one current best seller propped up in the corner, the entire display could have been set up in the eighties, or even the sixties. Dark, thick tomes of literature were piled haphazardly and an assortment of pipes was scattered about. Prince Albert tobacco still came in a can and the pipe cleaners had faded from the sun. There was nothing about the display to invite a person in to browse around and shop. There also hadn’t been a clue about the owner besides a certain lack of creativity, or his lack of interest in the shop.

  “Maybe you can tie back the display win
dow curtain. It would let in plenty of light to brighten up that section of the store.” Last night Gordon had asked her for some ideas on the shop and how to improve it. Her mind had raced with one idea after another all through the night. This morning she would offer up some simple suggestions and let Gordon do what he wanted. It was his shop, after all.

  Gordon walked over to the thick curtain and frowned. “How about we take the whole thing down? It’s not like we don’t want people to see what’s in the shop.”

  “True.” The curtains on the back windows that were pushed aside were another problem. Who wanted to see the current view of a back alley? “I can take them down for you.” She was itching to brighten up the place. Maybe even wash a window or two.

  “I’ll get them. I don’t want you to fall.” Gordon headed for the back storage room. “I put on a fresh pot of coffee and even picked up a box of donuts from the food store this morning before I opened.” He pointed to the small area next to the cash register. “Go help yourself to some.”

  “Thank you.” She loved coffee, but she wasn’t a big sweets person. Gordon had gone to a lot of trouble for her, so she helped herself to one of the store-bought powdered donuts. Last night at dinner, Gordon had taken his coffee black. This morning a mismatched creamer and sugar bowl sat next to the coffee machine. The creamer was filled with cold milk. He had thought of everything.

  Gordon carried the small stepladder over to the drapes and unhooked the rod from the brackets. The heavy drapes and rod fell to the floor in a cloud of dust. Gordon waved the air and coughed.

  She pretended not to notice the dust and bit into the donut. White powder scattered down the front of her dark green tank top and onto her skirt. She brushed at the powder, while Gordon hauled the drapes out back and, from the sound of it, into a garbage can.

  Gordon walked back in and blinked. “Geez, I might have to wear my sunglasses in here from now on.”

  “It’s not that bright.” She chuckled as she stirred milk into her coffee. There was a marked difference in the shop, but she couldn’t say it was better. With all the added light she could see the dust and disorganization more clearly. So would the customers.

  “I have light-sensitive eyes.” Gordon poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Let’s put the drapes back up.” Why hadn’t he said something before taking them down?

  “Not after what they just landed in.” Gordon chuckled. “It’s not that bad in here, Juliet. I was kidding.”

  “You don’t have light-sensitive eyes?” When they had walked to the restaurant last night, he had been wearing sunglasses. He hadn’t worn them when he walked her back to the bed-and-breakfast, but by then evening had fallen.

  “Those I have.” Gordon glanced around the shop and squinted. “I take it you don’t?”

  “No, but I do wear glasses.” She smiled over the edge of the cup. “Or, like today, contacts.”

  “When I knew your mother, she wore glasses for reading.” Gordon’s squint wasn’t quite as pronounced.

  “She wears them all the time now. She hates contacts and is too chicken to get laser surgery. None of my brothers or my sister wears them.”

  “You’re the only one?”

  “Yep. Dad said it was because I wore my eyes out by reading too much.” It felt funny talking about her dad to her biological father.

  “There’s no such thing as too much reading.” Gordon seemed appalled by the blasphemy.

  She laughed. “That’s what Mom told him.”

  “Good for Victoria.” Gordon glanced around the shop and seemed happy about the work he accomplished. “So what are you planning to do today?”

  “Hang around here.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why can’t I be serious?” She didn’t see what the big deal was. How else was she to get to know her father?

  “You’re on vacation. You need to get out and meet people your own age. Why would you want to hang around a dusty old shop?”

  “Because you’re here.” She started to wonder if she had misread Gordon. Maybe he didn’t want her in town and in his shop. “You’re the reason I came to Misty Harbor. Of course, if you would rather I leave . . .”

  “No.” Gordon’s voice was sharp and held a note of panic. “I mean, please don’t go. I want you here, it’s just that I’m afraid you’d be bored within an hour.”

  “Of you, or the shop?”

  “Both,” Gordon said.

  “Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

  “You’re quoting Shakespeare to me?” Gordon chuckled. “Careful, I might take that as a challenge.”

  “Feel free.” Her smile matched his. “So are you going to allow me to help you in the shop?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Gordon didn’t look too concerned about her decision.

  “I could always go back home.”

  “I could always close the shop,” Gordon countered.

  She shook her head. “No deal. The shop stays open.” She didn’t know much about Gordon, but from the little she had seen, he didn’t strike her as being rich. As far as she knew, the store was his only income. Considering the amount of customers, or the lack of them, he could use every dollar he made. “Since the bed-and-breakfast won’t take my credit card, I’ll be helping out here during my stay. It’s the perfect solution.” She winked. “Besides, bookstores are my favorite places.”

  “Okay, but there’s one condition.”

  “That would be?”

  “You’ll take time away from here and do some sightseeing, relax, and pretend you’re on vacation. I’ll take some time off and show you some of the sights.”

  “Such as?” She didn’t need anyone to point out the rocky coastline, and the town wasn’t big enough for her to get lost in.

  “We can take a ride out to Bar Harbor, go into Bangor for a day, maybe even do a whale-watching cruise.”

  “I would like that.” Especially the whale-watching tour. “It’s a deal.” She glanced around the shop. “So what do you want me to do first?” She had spent countless hours volunteering at the local library back home, and more time than she cared to think about wandering, browsing, and getting lost in bookstores. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she would be able to handle whatever Gordon threw her way.

  Gordon shrugged. “Wait for a customer.”

  “What do you usually do?” She couldn’t sit on her backside and wait.

  “Read a good book, drink coffee, or smoke my pipe.” Gordon’s smile was contagious. “Being a shop owner is hard work. You can do whatever you like.”

  She couldn’t very well tell him the shop needed a good cleaning. “Well, since I want to browse your shelves, I think I’ll dust them as I go.”

  “I gave up dusting them years ago. It’s a thankless job that never seems to end.”

  “Since I’m going through the books anyway, I might as well dust them.” She glanced under the cash register where there seemed to be a collection of junk. “Where do you keep the cleaning supplies?”

  “Back room.” Gordon seemed uncertain. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Go through your stock? Darn straight I do. I noticed yesterday that you have some great books hidden away.” She headed for the stock room in search of a rag before Gordon came up with another excuse.

  Matt sat in his pickup truck in front of Sierra’s place and wondered if he was making a colossal mistake. Sierra was all wrong for him. She had a child and they would be leaving in a couple weeks. Although those things were important, they weren’t his real worries. Sierra never came out and said it, and there wasn’t anything to give it overtly away, but his gut was telling him that Sierra came from money. Big money. Her style and sophistication wasn’t married into or learned; it was inherited.

  It was six o’clock at night and big, bad Matt Porter was scared of a beautiful woman and a little money. That wasn’t quite true. He wasn’t scared of money, he was intimidated by it. Money
was power. Money bought dreams. Half the time he disliked the rich on the size of their wallet alone.

  His dream since he had been eight years old was to buy and live in the Misty Harbor lighthouse. The abandoned lighthouse was run-down and was in dire need of repairs. Now that he was an adult, he knew he couldn’t live in the actual lighthouse, but he could rebuild the lighthouse keeper’s house, which at one time had been connected to the lighthouse. Over the years he had collected three old black and white photos of the house, and for his twenty-fifth birthday his family had given him what had passed for blueprints of the original house. All he needed to do was to convince Millicent Wyndham to sell him the property for a reasonable amount, an amount he could afford.

  His dream was about to crumple. The Randall Corporation, a major U.S. hotel chain, had made Millicent a substantial offer for the lighthouse and the coastal acreage it sat upon. He would need two lifetimes and a winning lottery ticket to match the financial offer.

  He considered himself a practical man, one who didn’t mind working hard for a living and saving for what he wanted. One who didn’t believe in rich, unknown relatives passing away and leaving their stock portfolio to him or relying on a fairy godmother to appear in a pumpkin patch. He had been saving for his dream since he was eight. With the current price of coastal property, he could now afford a couple dump trucks worth of rocks, a swimming pool of seawater, and enough grass to hold a Wiffle ball game on. The lighthouse wasn’t the expensive part of the deal, it was the land.

  He snorted as he got out of the truck. What did he have to complain about? Millicent, knowing how much he wanted that piece of property, had given him the heads-up two weeks ago, before the town had found out. His savings account looked impressive. There was more than enough to buy a nice-size piece of property outside the town’s limits and to start building a home.

  Besides, he had more important things to think about tonight—mainly a beautiful woman who might or might not be rich but who sizzled when she kissed. He had returned to his small apartment last night achy, hard, and lonely. The window air conditioner had been cranked on high all night, but he had gotten no relief.