Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove)

by Donna Kauffman

  At least that had been his plan before he’d gone and looked into her background. He’d been prepared to find something tragic involving her father, but he hadn’t been at all prepared to discover she’d been there with him on the tower the day he fell to his death. And that she’d been the one trying to save him . . . only to have him literally slip from her fingers.

  He wished he couldn’t imagine that or what it would feel like. Except he could. All of it. Every harrowing second of it. His experience had been different only in that it had taken place on the water, and the fall had been from a boat. And it hadn’t been his father. It had been his fiancée.

  In his case, there had been no photographs, and the news stories had been local and brief. It was sad, tragic, and had devastated every person in his small town. But it had been an accident, nothing nefarious or negligent. And since Blueberry Cove was still largely a fishing town, it wasn’t the first, or the last, sad loss at sea they’d experienced.

  Alex hadn’t been so fortunate to be able to grieve privately. The accident had caused quite a stir. In the wake of the tragedy, the owners had had the gall to file a suit against Alex and her company, blaming them for cutting corners and being at fault for her father’s tragic death. Alex had claimed the exact opposite was true. In the end, after much litigation, there hadn’t been enough proof one way or the other, and the suit had been dismissed by the judge. But the protracted battle had tangled Alex in its grip, preventing her from moving forward, either with her business or her personal grieving.

  He couldn’t believe she was as together as she was, seeing as the lawsuit had only begun a little more than a year ago and ended far more recently. He’d been some version of a zombie or a ghost, barely stumbling through the rest of that summer. The better part of his senior year in college was simply a blur to him, something he’d done by rote as grief and guilt consumed him.

  He’d made choices that following summer, changing directions, deciding that feeling so helpless was simply unacceptable. He hadn’t been able to save Jessica, but he could be there to help someone else. Honor her, and work through his own doubts about himself, about his worth, and what was important, by dedicating himself to others. He’d come home . . . and joined the Blueberry Cove police department.

  Part of what helped him decide were all the McCraes who had come before him, who had worked so hard to establish a legacy they could be proud of. Alex knew something of that. MacFarland & Sons had started over a century ago, and had continued on until it was just Alex and her father. And now . . . it was just her.

  The difference was, when his parents had died, Logan had had his grandfather and his sisters, and later, when tragedy had struck again, he’d had his siblings and Fergus. For that matter, he’d had the entire population of the Cove holding him up, supporting him, believing in him. He’d always had a foundation of love and support throughout his life, through tragedy and triumph. When Alex had lost her father, she’d had . . . no one.

  Part of him wanted to know what in the hell she thought she was doing, essentially moving herself lock, stock, and trailer to some small coastal village in Maine, taking on a job the size of Pelican Point alone. But another part understood the need to reconnect . . . to bury herself in the one thing she knew and understood as a way to heal, to get beyond, to find, fix, move forward. He couldn’t rightly blame her for taking the first thing that had come her way.

  It left him exactly . . . where? He honestly didn’t know. Fergus waved him over to the bar. He nodded, but took a moment to scan the pub interior, looking for Alex. He said his hellos and patted arms, nodded, and otherwise acknowledged every person he passed on his way over to Gus. He liked the sense of community, the warmth and security of feeling so connected. But there were times when he really wished he could just be a guy walking into a bar for a cold beer where no one knew his name or tracked his every movement. Tonight qualified as one of those times.

  “She didn’t stick around?” Logan asked as he reached the end of the bar. What he should have felt was relief. So, it didn’t help much when he felt quite the opposite.

  Fergus slid a tall glass of ale across the bar. “She stuck. She got held up is all.”

  “Held up where? The only people she knows here are you and me.”

  “That might have been true this morning, but you know how the Cove can be.”

  There was no retort for that, because Logan did indeed know. He just hadn’t thought of Alex as the type who would easily fit into new environments. He pictured her telling him very directly, politely, that he could take his offer to house her while she scrambled for more work and shove it. She was memorable, he’d give her that. Maybe even the kind that would grow on a person over time, but inside a single day . . . he didn’t really see that.

  “So, where, exactly, did she get hung up?”

  “Boathouse. Talking to young Monaghan about something or other.”

  “She’s with Brodie?”

  Fergus raised a brow at the edge in Logan’s tone, but kept wiping down the bar. “I heard something about him discussing some ideas he had on a remodel, but that’s all I know.” He spared a glance at his nephew. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll put your concerns first.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I fired her, remember?” Logan didn’t get into the part about how he wasn’t planning on hiring her back. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might stick around the Cove, anyway. Her business was in lighthouse restoration. And he was the only one with a lighthouse. So what the hell was she doing with Monaghan? And why did it piss him off?

  He sipped his ale and tried not to look at his uncle, who had a knack for mind-reading. Logan was fairly convinced that’s how he knew what he knew. Logan recalled Fergus’s comments about Alex and him needing help. He’d initially assumed Fergus had meant she needed the work and Logan needed work to get done. But now that he knew about her father, and that, as far as he could tell, she hadn’t worked a restoration project since his death . . . that would mean her first time back on a tower would be Pelican Point. Was that why she’d wanted to go out and just look at it? Was she even ready to get back on the horse, as it were? Would she ever be? Her nightmares suggested otherwise. As did the fragile condition she’d let herself get into. She was still grieving. She’d barely had time to bury the man and set his estate to rights, much less deal with the legal woes she’d faced in British Columbia.

  The more he thought about it, the more convinced Logan became that his initial plan to let her move on was still the right decision. He set his glass back on the bar. “Might be a better choice for her, anyway. MacFarland’s experience isn’t just with the lighthouses; they’ve done almost as many keeper’s cottages and the like. She’d be able to manage pretty much any kind of restoration project, I’d imagine.” Or would be able to if her head were screwed on straight.

  “So, you looked her up then.” Fergus tucked the bar rag in his apron pocket and gave Logan a considering look. “If it’s pity you’re feeling, don’t let that guide ye. You wouldn’t have stood for that after Jessica died. I imagine Alex feels much the same.”

  “How do you know what she feels? It’s entirely different, what happened with me and Jessica. It was Alex’s father, for God’s sake. He was all she had left.”

  “Different in some ways, yes. In all the ways that count? Not really. All I’m saying is let Alex find her own way. Don’t go making choices for her.”

  “The choices I’m making are for me. For us, the family. She hasn’t been on a tower since her father died. She’s grieved herself literally to the point of collapse, which I don’t hold against her.”

  “Wise, given we all recall the shape you let yourself get into that summer and most of the following year. Understandable as it was.”

  Fergus could be blunt to the point of brutal, but Logan could handle that. “I also wasn’t trying to head out on a fishing trawler anytime soon after that, either, if you recall. Took me several years until I knew
I was ready. Do we really want to find out if she’s ready to handle something like this the hard way?”

  Fergus started to move away as calls for drinks were coming in from the other end of the bar, but he paused and looked his nephew right in the eye. “Sometimes, if moving forward is what you’re after, hard is the only choice available. Would ye rather she pine herself into the ground next to him, then, lad?”

  “No, of course not. But you’re saying don’t make decisions based on pity and I’m saying maybe what’s smarter for us is to hire someone we know can handle the job.”

  “So you are planning on hiring someone then, are ye? Well then, that’s one step forward for you, isn’t it?”

  “I—” Logan paused, and it was enough time for Fergus to walk to the other end of the bar, leaving him to stew in his own juices . . . probably just as his uncle had planned.

  “He’s right, you know.”

  Logan’s gut tightened, but he turned on his stool and faced Alex MacFarland squarely.

  She stood barely two feet behind him, dressed as she had been that morning, but with a bit more color in her cheeks. In some ways, she still looked too slight and too haunted. In other ways, she looked every inch the wrench-slapping, “shove-your-offer” stating professional.

  One tugged at his heart, the other tightened his gut. One he might have been able to ignore, or at least walk away from. But together, they felt like a two-fisted punch that left his ears ringing a bit. “Listen, that was—I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were standing there. I know it sounded callous and that’s not what I meant.” And thanks, Gus, for cluing me in.

  “No need to apologize for speaking the truth. As you see it, anyway. And I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what you meant. No need to pretty it up on my account. Contrary to my arrival yesterday, I’m really not a fragile flower. The business I’ve dedicated my life to is hardly soft or sweet, nor are the men I’ve worked for and with. And whose respect I’ve busted my ass and more than a bone or two, to earn. But earn it I did.”

  “Alex—”

  “Let me finish. I wasn’t hiding anything. Your uncle knew all about my . . . business situation. In fact, I was surprised he hired me as readily as he did.”

  “You were?”

  She nodded. “If I were a prospective employer, I’d be concerned about me, too. I don’t take offense at what you said. It’s smart business.”

  “But you came out here. You took the job. Or were willing to.”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  She searched his eyes for a moment, but she didn’t falter in her answer. “Because, like Fergus said, I have to find out somehow, and there’s only one way to do it. I was straight with him, and he with me. So I figured if I was going to try . . . it seemed like as good a fit as any. I didn’t know about you.”

  Logan ducked his chin for a moment. Her gaze was more penetrating than his uncle’s had been. A feat he hadn’t thought possible. She’d completely disarmed him with her matter-of-fact candor. She wasn’t bragging, nor was she blowing smoke. She was being bare-bones honest with him. It was hard not to respect that.

  But it didn’t change his mind about hiring her.

  “I didn’t fire you because of . . . anything having to do with you. I didn’t know about your company, or the . . . events of this past year . . . until today. I fired you because I’m not going to restore the lighthouse.” He lifted a hand. “Fergus knows this, and he agrees.”

  That got a small lift of surprise out of one eyebrow. “What about the house and the cottage?”

  “I conceded defeat on the house. The cottage will have to wait.”

  Her mouth curved a little . . . which surprised him. And also had the unfortunate result of reminding him of exactly how her lips had felt on his the night before. Despite her directness, he still couldn’t read her. How could she not remember anything about the previous night?

  “And?” she asked.

  “And I’m sorry. Again. I can hire locally for the work I need done. Your specialty is lighthouses, so it seems better to . . . let you get on with that. I will eventually work on the lighthouse and I’m happy to keep your card until then. I can even promise you first offer when the time comes.”

  “Thank you,” she said, with no trace of sarcasm, apparently accepting the offer as sincere. Which it was. He liked that she expected nothing less.

  “No problem. I did read your family’s work history. It’s impressive. I’m not surprised Fergus hired you on the spot. He has good instincts.”

  “And you?”

  His eyes widened at that. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the chief of police, so I assume your instincts are pretty sharp.”

  “I’d like to think so.” He studied her face, and wondered if she played cards. If so, she probably cleaned house in poker. “But they’re not infallible.”

  “Given my arrival yesterday, and what you learned about my family today . . . if you were going to start work on the tower now, would you take a chance on me? Seeing as I’m here and all.”

  Logan immediately retreated. He might not be able to read her, but he was quite certain he could read a setup before he walked into it. “Point’s moot, isn’t it?”

  “Humor me.”

  “Why is my opinion important? You don’t know me any more than I know you.”

  “Actually, we know each other exactly the same amount.”

  Logan’s mind went immediately to that kiss, to the way she’d smiled and called him Sex-god Voice. He would have sipped his ale to buy time, if he hadn’t drained it already. He wasn’t used to someone calling him out like she did. It . . . well, it rattled him . . . more than he liked to admit. “And how is that?”

  “Your opinion is based on spending about twelve hours with me, give or take. And reading my work history, about which there is some pretty extensive information. My opinion is based on spending those same twelve hours with you, though I concede I was unconscious for more of that time than you were.” Her lips curved again, and damn if it didn’t make his palms itch. “The rest of my opinion is based on spending today in your town, talking to the folks who rely on you to keep the peace and keep them safe and sound.”

  “And?”

  “And they respect you. Your uncle respects you, so your opinion carries weight. I’m an expert at what I do, so my opinion carries some weight. If you were hiring for the restoration of Pelican Point, would you hire me?”

  “Based on what I knew when you left this morning? No. Based on what I knew when I walked in here? You’d have had your work cut out for you, but you’d have had the chance to plead your case.”

  She looked bemused and, if he was reading her expression properly, intrigued by his blunt response. The fact that she handled straight talk as readily and easily as she dished it out had him feeling exactly the same.

  “And now?” she asked.

  “Now? I’d probably have hired you. Only I’m not sure if it would be because I thought you could do the job, or out of curiosity to see if you would succeed.” He did smile then. “I could always fire you again if you proved me wrong.”

  She poleaxed him by smiling back. A full-out grin, in fact. The way it lit up those deep-sea blue eyes of hers made the impact like another double-fist punch straight to the gut. Or . . . somewhere in that general vicinity.

  “Then I have a proposition for you.”

  He blew out a sigh, more disgusted with himself for letting his guard down than disappointed in her for taking advantage of it. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

  “You’re not even going to listen?”

  “I will.” Logan looked over his shoulder to find Fergus standing behind the bar, wiping down glasses.

  Logan had been so wrapped up in his little tête-à-tête with Alex that he’d completely tuned out the general hubbub of the rest of the bar. Something he had never done, and didn’t think, given his training, he would have been capable of even if he’d wanted to
. But he had. So much so, that he realized the entire place had gone collectively silent. He could hear the squeaks being made against the glass Fergus was steadily wiping. He gave a quick scan of the room, and found every head in the place was turned toward them. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.

  Logan turned back to Alex. “You seem to have me at a distinct disadvantage here.”

  “How could that be when you hold all the cards? I’m certain, after what I heard today, the fine townspeople of Blueberry Cove will respect your decision.”

  Logan wouldn’t be too certain of that. He might not be able to read her, but he could sure as hell read the room. The barely tempered, unmitigated glee he’d noted on most of those familiar faces said it all. Just exactly what in the hell had she been doing all day, anyway?

  He shot a glare at Fergus, who was whistling, the picture of innocence as he wiped down the perfectly clean bar.

  “At the risk of being lynched by those very same fine townspeople”—he leveled a direct gaze toward them as he did a slow, steady scan of the room, which cowed not a single solitary one of them—“go for it.”

  To her credit, she didn’t look smug or even entirely confident. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, for the first time since she’d faced him that night, she looked almost . . . nervous. Was it because she really wasn’t sure of her own scheme? Or because she wanted it that badly?

  “Let me do the project analysis I’d have done before taking on the job. I’ll waive my normal fee, and you’ll get a detailed report on the restoration needs and costs for the lighthouse, the cottage, and the house. It’s information you’re going to need no matter how you proceed. I am well aware, as you said, that you’re quite capable of hiring subcontractors who can tell you what’s wrong and what needs fixing. But even the newest part of your house is a hundred years old, the cottage and tower twice that. It’s not necessarily a simple matter of getting someone to slap new shingles on it. If you want it renovated, sure, hire whoever and let them have at it. But restored is a different story. You have to know who can maintain the integrity of the original structure without destroying it in the process.