Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove)

by Donna Kauffman

  Probably because it had been dark when she’d claimed his mouth like he’d been a dying man who’d requested one final kiss.

  Yesterday, she’d looked like woman on the verge of collapse. Actually past that verge, since she actually had collapsed. Now she looked all dewy and soft with eyes that reached right down inside a man and—yeah, don’t go there. Too late. The part of his body he’d like her to reach right down inside and grab sat up and said good morning.

  Suddenly, he realized why she probably wasn’t meeting his gaze. Come to think of it, he didn’t know exactly what to say about what had happened last night, either. And not just the kiss. That might have left a lasting impression on his too-long-neglected libido, but it was the wrenching sobs and the nightmare that had followed him to sleep the night before. He had a suspicion she was more upset about that part of the evening’s events.

  He set the pot on the table and took the seat across from her. “Alex, listen, I—”

  She held up a hand, stalling him.

  He watched, bemused, as she closed her eyes and took another long sip of coffee. She made a little moaning sound as she swallowed. “This is . . . really good.”

  “Cop coffee sucks. So I learned early on how to brew—”

  She held up her hand again. He raised a brow, but held his tongue while she took another sip. Another little sigh, a little shudder of pleasure that made his body react as if she’d just done a pole dance on the kitchen table, and he was all done waiting.

  Not sure whether he was more frustrated with her, or his damn reaction to her, he put his mug down. “Listen, we need to talk about—”

  She opened her eyes and pinned him with a very direct gaze, which, as it turned out, was far more effective than the talk-to-the-hand gesture in shutting him up. “Okay, so there might not be enough coffee in the world.”

  “For?”

  “For me to get over that voice of yours. It’s really . . .” She trailed off, shook her head, then took another fortifying sip.

  “Deep,” he finished for her, fighting the oddest urge to smile. Sex-god Voice.

  Did she remember saying that? Did she remember any of it? She was a lot . . . different today. Now that she wasn’t fighting the combination of exhaustion and a sugar crash, she was calm, collected, and surprisingly direct.

  Although, when he remembered the kiss the night before, maybe that last part shouldn’t have surprised him all that much. “I know. But it’s the only one I’ve got.”

  “Well, it’s . . . something.” She started to take another sip, then paused with the cup halfway to her mouth.

  Remember something? He hid the beginnings of a smile behind his coffee mug and took a sip of his own. He had no clue how he’d thought she’d behave this morning, but he was pretty sure this wasn’t it. But what the hell did he know? At least she didn’t look so haunted or fragile. Of course, she was ducking his gaze again, so he couldn’t really tell for sure.

  “About yesterday,” he started.

  “I’m very sorry for all of that. More than you know. Trust me, I’m usually more professional. Or at all professional.”

  She lifted her gaze to him, and it was like getting poleaxed, every time.

  “What?” she asked. “Your expression,” she clarified. “Is something—?” She reached up and felt her cheeks, her hair. “I couldn’t possibly look any worse than I did yesterday.”

  “You’re fine.” More than fine. “You were fine then.” At her arched brow, he lifted his mug again. “Okay, so you might not have been at your best, but I gather it had been a rough couple days.” Weeks, months. “We all have them.”

  “We do, and it has, but I’ve never gotten myself into anything like that.” She lifted her coffee mug in silent salute, a hint of a wry smile kicking at the corners of that soft mouth. “You were the lucky one to witness the first.” She took another sip. “I sincerely do apologize. And I realize that I’m probably the last person you want to trust with the restoration, but—”

  “Not true.”

  She looked at him, clearly surprised.

  “Well, not the last person, anyway.”

  Her brows pulled together for a moment, then she hiked up one of them in a oh no you didn’t look, before ducking her gaze and taking another sip. Only he was pretty sure that had been a smile, not a scowl, he’d caught before she’d looked away.

  He smiled himself, thinking this was quite possibly the most bizarre morning he’d ever had. Following one of the strangest evenings he’d ever had. At least she couldn’t say she hadn’t made a memorable first impression. “To be honest, I hadn’t actually thought about hiring anyone.”

  She glanced up. “Wait, what? Are you not restoring the tower? Fergus said—”

  “If you knew him, you’d know that my uncle will say any number of things to get what he wants, with or without letting anyone else know if his plans will trample theirs. He’s pretty sure he’s always right.”

  “And is he?”

  “Frustratingly often.”

  For the first time—well, with her alert and lucid, anyway—he got a real, all the way to the eyes smile. It packed a pretty good one-two punch when combined with all that deep-sea blue.

  “You’re looking at me funny again. I have jelly on my chin or what?” She touched her face again.

  She had no guile about her at all, something he found himself liking. A lot. But Christ, those eyes were enough to kill a man, or drown him, or both. He took a sip of coffee, then another. “Yeah, there isn’t enough coffee.”

  She looked at him more closely, sizing him up. “For?”

  “To get over your eyes. They’re really . . .” He trailed off on purpose.

  “Blue,” she said at length. “I know. But they’re the only ones I’ve got.”

  They both grinned at that.

  He put his empty mug down, then turned it in his hands as he spoke. “I have to apologize, too. About Fergus and about the trip—where did you drive in from?”

  “Thunder Bay. On Lake Huron. Michigan.”

  “Ah. Wow.”

  “Right.” She set her mug down, too, all business. “Why don’t you want to do the renovation? Fergus mentioned you have a town tricentennial celebration coming, which is pretty impressive, by the way. And he mentioned the lighthouse is closing in on its bicentennial. What better time? If you don’t mind my asking. If you start now—”

  “I’m putting the labor into the house. The tower will have to wait.”

  “Is it funding?” she asked, quite directly and without sounding nosy. “Because I know a number of ways to raise funds and get—”

  “The tower is privately owned. By me. Well, by my family, and I’m not interested in taking on any kind of partnership or working with an organization to restore it. We’ve been down that road in the past and it’s not—” He broke off, waved his hand. “The particulars don’t matter. And I’m very, very sorry to have caused you what has obviously been a big inconvenience. I’ll be happy to reimburse you for all your travel expenses, gas, hotel, food. Whatever. And apologize again for—”

  “No need,” she said, studying him for another few seconds before draining her mug and setting it on the table with a little push. “I understand.”

  “You do?” He didn’t know why he was so surprised. Or why he wasn’t more relieved. He guessed, despite her initial appearance yesterday, she struck him as someone who didn’t back down easily. “Good. If only Fergus had talked to me first—”

  “You would have shot him down. So it’s no wonder he didn’t. But that’s none of my business. And, actually, this is on me. We always research any project before coming out to see it. I didn’t this time. If I had, I’d have known you were the owner, not Fergus, though he is family. I would have spoken to you directly before making such a long haul.”

  Logan wondered again about her story. Echoes of her nightmare continued to resonate inside him, and he recalled the condition she’d gotten herself into. He was pretty
sure she’d hauled more stuff with her than someone would who was just being hired to do restoration work, regardless of the duration of the proposed assignment. She’d said “we” when referring to her company, and yet she was alone, and Fergus had made no mention of any other MacFarland being involved. Son, brother, father, or otherwise.

  He had been privy to such a private thing as her fears or her grief or . . . whatever had provoked that nightmare with her father playing some role in it, and felt awkward asking about her business, her background.

  Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Her credentials didn’t matter. He wasn’t hiring. Anyone.

  “Well,” he said at length, “regardless of how it came about, or who should have done what, it happened, and I’d like to do what I can to mitigate any further inconvenience.”

  She ducked her chin for a moment, but not before he caught the if you only knew expression that flickered through her eyes. “Not necessary,” she said, taking a breath and meeting his gaze directly. “Appreciated, but I can take care of myself.” That wry smile kicked up again. “Yesterday’s episode notwithstanding.”

  He tried, and failed, to ignore the memory of what it had felt like when she’d nipped his lower lip, when she’d kissed him with that wry mouth, those soft lips. And wondered what it would be like when she had all her senses about her. Like she did now. He was pretty sure it might kill him. And he’d die smiling.

  “Okay.” He paused to clear his throat. And tried not to shift in his seat hoping for a more comfortable fit to his jeans. She hadn’t made a single mention, or even hinted at the things that had happened once he’d brought her back to the house. And given how straightforward she’d been about everything else that morning, he’d thought she probably would have. So he could officially just tuck all that away, filed under “interesting, but never to be repeated.” It might take his body a bit longer to get the memo, however.

  “If you need a place to stay for a few days until you sort out your schedule—”

  “That won’t be necessary.” She gave him a brief look that let him know how ridiculous he’d sounded. Sort out your schedule? Like a project the size of Pelican Point wouldn’t have been a major undertaking. She had no other schedule.

  “I’m sorry, that was—I’m sorry.” He sighed and pushed his chair back. “The offer stands. You can stay here until you figure out what you’ll be doing next. Fergus told me yesterday that he’d promised you the keeper’s cottage, which was right decent of him, except I doubt it’s habitable. No one’s even cracked the door open in . . .” He trailed off, then abruptly stood and went to the sink to rinse out his mug.

  “In?”

  “A long time. But the guest room is yours if you want it. I’ll see to the shower problem.” He ran the water over the mug far longer than necessary, trying to keep his thoughts in the moment and not on the keeper’s cottage, the past . . . his past, and how they tied together. Failing.

  He hadn’t thought about that part of his past, about Jessica, the many lazy afternoons and chilly nights they’d spent in that cottage, in such a long time, he was surprised that it could still snatch at him the way it did. Probably just the odd direction his life had taken in the past twelve hours. Combined with that kiss.

  “That’s not necessary,” she said from a spot just behind him.

  He felt his skin react in awareness of her proximity, and thought that her refusal was probably a good thing. Definitely a good thing.

  “Can I ask one favor? Then I’ll be out of your hair. Or I will be as soon as I change my flat tire.” She stepped next to him, leaned in and put her mug under the still running water.

  He put his on the drain rack and stepped aside, but only a step—because he couldn’t figure out why she stirred him up so effortlessly and he wanted to. It had been a hell of a kiss, sure, but, end of the day, just a kiss. And because he was apparently a glutton for punishment. “What favor?”

  She turned the water off, then fiddled with the handle when it continued to drip. “You need a new washer and a . . .”

  “This whole house needs a . . .” he said.

  She shot him a brief smile. “I’m pretty good with a wrench.”

  “So you’ve shown. I—”

  “I’m sure you’re just as handy with one. You also have a full-time job. One that I’m guessing probably keeps you busy a lot more hours in the day than a normal nine-to-five would.”

  “All true, but—”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not angling for a job. You said you weren’t hiring. Someone else will be. I had a split-second thought to offer a trade while I find that someone, but never mind. It—I’m going to go.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask you to work in exchange for room and board. I meant what I said. You’re welcome to stay until you sort things out.”

  “Appreciated, sincerely, but I had a different trade in mind.”

  His body stood right up and saluted at the first trade idea that sprang to his mind. Given it was highly doubtful that was what was on her mind, he shoved that thought away.

  She ducked her chin, and for the first time, the tiny hint of the vulnerability that he’d seen yesterday crept in.

  “What’s the favor?” he asked, hearing the quiet in his voice, wondering how she did that to him so easily.

  She seemed to shake off the momentary dip and looked up again, but not at him. She was still facing the sink. “You know what, it’s not important. I really should—”

  “Alex. What’s the favor?” He heard a short sigh.

  “I’d like to go out. Look at the tower.”

  He couldn’t see her eyes, but there was a different kind of tension, one he couldn’t explain. Only it wasn’t between them. Just within her.

  She cut him a quick sideways glance. “For myself. No hidden agenda. No hard sell.”

  He started to ask why, not because he cared so much as because his natural curiosity had him poking at the reason for the tension. Then he noticed her hands on the edge of the counter were trembling. Slightly, but it was there.

  As if she felt his gaze, she pressed her palms flat, then lifted them, rubbing them on the sides of her pants. She took a breath, turned to him. “Like I said, it’s really not important. I’ve overstayed my welcome as it is. Do I need to call someone to get out to my truck?”

  He shook his head, caught up once again in those stormy seas. “It’s out front. Tire’s fixed.” He’d peeked out the window and seen it earlier.

  When they’d first gotten in the truck to head to the Point, Logan had called Fergus. He must have gotten old Earl to get it done sometime last night. While they’d been sleeping in the chair. Her all curled up and soft and warm in his arms. Before she’d kissed him like a house on fire.

  She clearly didn’t remember any of it, whereas he couldn’t seem to forget it.

  He broke their gaze and walked over to the table and started clearing. “I’ll take you out to the lighthouse. Not much to see, I’m afraid. It hasn’t seen a helping hand in quite some time.” He knew it was nothing to be embarrassed about, just as he knew thoughts of his past, of Jessica, shouldn’t be bothering him the way they were. He thought it was likely Alex’s nightmare more than her kiss that had stirred up those old emotions. And even older memories.

  “I can find my way around. You probably need to go in to work. I don’t want to keep you. You’ve already done a lot more than you should have had to.” She was over by the door leading to the mudroom with the whole kitchen between them. “You can lock the house before you go if you like. I just want to see the tower.”

  “I doubt it’s safe. No one has been in it for a very long time. The wind is up and the rocks are dangerous.”

  “I don’t know what Fergus did or didn’t tell you about MacFarland & Sons, but it’s safe to say I’ve been around one or two towers in my lifetime. Most of them aren’t exactly situated in easy-to-get-to places. By comparison, from what little I saw of yours yesterday, it looks remarkably accessible. No bo
at required, no shaky or icy bridge.” She said it without arrogance or sarcasm, simply stating fact. “I realize the situation yesterday might lead you to believe otherwise, but I can take care of myself. Want me to sign a waiver or something?” When he didn’t respond right away, she pushed off the frame. “No problem. You’ve been more than kind, Chief McCrae. Thank you for the hospitality and the coffee. I’ll get out of your way.”

  “It’s Logan.” He looked up when there was a continued pause.

  She’d already turned to go, then seemed to physically shake off whatever she’d been thinking. “Thank you. Logan. Just let me grab my coat and boots.”

  “Alex.”

  She stopped, but she didn’t turn around. And there was that tension again, only at least a little of it was between them.

  He couldn’t have said why he did it. He never invited trouble. His job brought it right to his doorstep; no need to go courting any personally. But he crossed the room anyway, and took a set of keys off the rack pegged to the wall above the counter, right next to the door. “Here.”

  She looked over her shoulder.

  He held up the keys. “Small one is the side door to the keeper’s cottage. Don’t use that, it’s boarded shut inside. Big one opens the front door. Or would have. It’s probably long since warped shut. Middle sized one opens the door to the tower, but I imagine that’s in even worse shape.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to look and couldn’t see from my position yesterday, but are the main house and cottage connected?”

  “No. The house sits back inland, closer to the trees. The cottage is between the house and the tower, rocks on one side, open ground on the other, pretty much exposed, which is why the main house was added later. Tower is out on the promontory, about twenty yards past the cottage. There’s a brick path between each, but it’s not in the best shape. The weather really takes a toll out here. The old oil house is off to the side on the north.”

  “Oil house is still intact?” She nodded approvingly. “Original housing?”