Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove)

by Donna Kauffman

  Privately, Alex knew there was a good bit more to it than that, but thought better of saying so.

  “The thing is, dear, you’re drawn to the unique, the one of a kind. You want something with history, with meaning. You see more than the engineering, the math. You see the qualities in what a creative mind once put together. You see where and how it fell apart, and you feel it, like a physical thing. You want—need—to make it whole again. It makes something in you whole again.

  Alex stared at her, unable to comprehend how this stranger had pegged it and so . . . perfectly.

  “I understand, because we’re one and the same,” Eula said as if the conversation was being conducted out loud on both sides. “Only I don’t need to go climbing all over a lighthouse, risking life and limb, to get my fix.”

  Alex stared at the various furnishings on the table, already having recognized that each one truly was a unique and interesting piece. Nothing standard issue, only pieces that came from the creativity and artistry of a single set of hands. And she could see how, though the restoration process was entirely different, the satisfaction would still be very similar to what she felt in her own work.

  As if Alex had said the words out loud, Eula nodded. “And I’m fortunate in that I get to have all my adventures, do all my exploring, and face all my challenges right here.” Her eyes lit up in what might have almost been described as a smile as she nodded to the pieces in various stages of restoration around her. “And my playground is far more vast and varied than yours. I daresay, it’s also a lot more fun.”

  Alex didn’t know what to say to that, or why she bothered saying anything at all, since it seemed Eula was reading her thoughts anyway.

  “Offer stands,” Eula said. “Make time to consider things. Instinct brought you to the Cove. It brought you here to me and to the others whose paths you’ve now crossed. There’s always a reason. Unfortunately, we don’t always take time to understand what that reason is. Or, worse, we try to apply logic to help us make sense of it. Logic, Miss MacFarland, doesn’t apply to instinct.”

  “You’re saying I should go with my gut.”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “But go with my gut on what?”

  The old woman looked up from her work and Alex was surprised to see a hint of what might have been loosely described as a smile hovering at the corners of her thin, compressed lips. “That would be the question now, wouldn’t it?”

  “But—”

  “I’ve work to do. No time for idle chatter. We’ve covered what needs covering. Have a good day.”

  Alex wanted to ask her to explain . . . well . . . a lot of things. The workroom was just the beginning. But she’d been quite clearly dismissed. “Okay. Um, thank you. Anyway. I’ll show myself out.”

  Eula said nothing more and Alex turned and stepped back through the half-open panel door, feeling as if she was stepping back through the looking glass. As she stepped through, she could have sworn she heard what sounded like the tittering of a bunch of mice or . . . some sort of chirring noise. Maybe some tool Eula had switched on. But it was . . . odd. The sound made the hairs on her arm lift a little and her feet hurry as she crossed back through the shop. She did pause at the tree, though, and place her palm flat on the trunk for an extended moment. She didn’t question why she felt the need to do it, but it made her smile, and feel . . . connected . . . in some way.

  She heard the waterfall chimes tinkling as she let herself out of the shop, then laughed at herself as she shook her head a little. “Well, that certainly got my mind off of Logan and the lighthouse situation for five minutes.”

  But the time had come. She needed no more distractions and headed back down the hill to the hardware store.

  How can you know what other paths there might be, if you don’t open your eyes, look around you, and find out what they are? Instinct brought you to the Cove . . . and to the others whose paths you’ve now crossed.

  There’s always a reason.

  Alex shut out Eula’s tantalizing, yet confusing comments. Her instincts had told her to restore the Pelican Point lighthouse. And, at the moment, that goal had brought her to Owen. For now, that was all that mattered.

  Chapter 14

  I’m no’ stayin’ in for the holiday meal this year, laddie.” Fergus pushed a mug of coffee across the bar to Logan. “I’ve decided to join the band of merry misfits at Delia’s this go.”

  “I thought we’d do what we did last year. Maybe ask Owen to join us. Lauren’s not coming home until winter break, so—”

  “It’s proud I am that you thought of it. Although”—Fergus lowered one bushy brow—“my guess is a certain desk sergeant probably put the bug in your ear. Aye, I can see the truth of it in your eyes. It’s all for naught, actually, as Owen told me himself he plans to join us down on the harbor.” He freshened his own mug. “Besides, for all I’ve been haranguing you to get out and be social, I figured I should take my own advice and chat with folks when they aren’t payin’ me for the privilege of chatting back. By the by, laddie, wantin’ you to come to the Puffin to socialize doesna’ mean comin’ in the back door and sitting in the kitchen, brooding over a pint. It means being out here with actual people.”

  “I see actual people all day long,” Logan retorted, knowing full well that wasn’t the point. “I’ll do better next time.”

  “Aye and that ye will, because yer comin’ to Delia’s with me on Thursday. Don’t even bother puttin’ up a squawk. I’m no’ be letting you sit out there on the Point by your pathetic, moping self, eating heated-up God only knows what and feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “How do you know I’d be out there by myself?” Logan asked. “And I’m not feeling sorry for myself.”

  “Well, you’re sure looking it right enough. And the reason I know is because I spoke to Delia, who happened to mention that our Miss Alex just this morning rented the room over her place.”

  Lord save him from the town grapevine and his uncle’s role as head grape. “And you wonder why I don’t spend more time in town when I don’t have to.”

  “Why would the lovely Miss MacFarland be needin’ a room here in town when she had a perfectly good roof over her head out on the Point, I’m wonderin’?”

  “It’s complicated,” Logan said, nursing his coffee and knowing he sounded exactly like he was moping. And maybe he was. Alex had said she was going to pack and go while he was at work. He’d quietly left her bed after daybreak to take a shower, intending to come back down and make breakfast for them both, and talk to her. About all of it. Her moving out, the lighthouse. To say the previous night had been an emotional seesaw was putting it mildly. He just wanted to clear the air, make sure they were both okay, and frankly, get a bead on just how ready she really was to tackle the tower.

  If it was better for them not to tackle it together, then Owen was a good choice, and yet Logan couldn’t help but feel frustrated at the substitution, at being boxed out of being there for her, even though he agreed with the reasons behind making the switch. He was annoyed he couldn’t do a better job of being there for her during what would probably be her biggest test, without it threatening to undermine their attempt at a business-only relationship.

  Annoyed didn’t come close to describing what he’d felt when he’d come downstairs after showering and shaving, having spent the night holding her in his arms, protecting her, being there for her . . . and wondering if there truly was no way that they could make it work between them . . . only to find her already packed and gone.

  “The best relationships are complicated,” Fergus said. “You’d die of boredom if it were simple.”

  “Ours is a business agreement,” Logan said, hating the truth of it. “That’s all.”

  “Och, and you’re an even bigger fool than I feared, then.”

  Logan looked up and met Fergus’s clear, crystal blue gaze. But rather than bluster and protest too much, what came out was the truth. “That’s my fear, too, Gus. But
I don’t see a way around it.”

  Fergus sighed, and his shoulders slumped a little. “As good as it is to hear you admit it, I wish I had better counsel for you.” He refreshed Logan’s mug, and topped off his own, and Logan let him ruminate a bit. He had nothing else to say at the moment, anyway.

  “You’re afraid you’ll come to care too deeply, only to lose her to wherever the road takes her next. Is that the crux of it, then?” Fergus said at length.

  “I already care too much . . . and she hasn’t been here a month.” God, it felt good to say it, to own up to the truth of it.

  But rather than crow about it, about being right, Fergus looked as tormented by the confession as Logan felt. He’d have rather endured the crowing. “And Alexandra?”

  Logan lifted weary eyes to look at his uncle. “She’s . . . we’re both fighting it.”

  “Well, laddie,” Fergus said, as serious as Logan had ever heard him. “It seems a damn shame when a man and woman find each other as ye have, both of you acknowledging the power and goodness of it, both of you wanting what the other has to offer, especially after losing all that was dear to you in the past . . . only to let it go. Why would you not move heaven and earth to find a way to keep something so precious?” He laid a hand on Logan’s arm. “It’s one thing when the fates conspire against ye, taking from you what you love, without so much as giving you a say in the matter. You’ve both endured that particular cruelty. So forgive me if I dinnae understand how, when those same fates have seen to bless you and you’ve finally the power to do as you please . . . you simply give up without a fight. Is she not worth that to ye?” Fergus lifted a shoulder. “If so, perhaps you’re right, and you should leave her be.”

  “I—it’s not that. She is worth it.”

  “Then why did you let her move out?”

  “I don’t let Alex do anything.”

  Fergus’s eyes picked up a bit of twinkle when he smiled. “Another reason why you should have been a bit more creative in finding a way to make her want to stay. You want out of your rut, and she seems like just the woman to keep you guessing.”

  “Her moving out wasn’t what we wanted, Gus. Either of us. It comes down to the fact that my life is here. And my roots are deep. And hers will be everywhere but here.”

  “Just because Pelican Point is your heritage, doesna’ mean you should be shackled by it. If life’s journey calls you to go elsewhere, then look for other solutions.”

  “That’s just it, I don’t feel shackled by my life here in the Cove. I will admit you’re right that I’ve become too comfortable with the safety and stability of my routine. I am in a rut. But I can work on that. I want to. Bottom line is, I’m where I want to be, where I’m meant to be. I love what I do, and, frankly, being responsible for the Point is probably a large part of why I am who I am. It pushed me, forced me to grow up, to deal with what’s been handed to me and find a way to make it work.”

  “Then use what you’ve learned and find a way to make this work.”

  “I have, or I’ve tried to. Trust me.” Logan had just spent a very long night trying to figure out exactly that. “But . . . I don’t see it. Not realistically. Sure, I could give it all up, find someone to manage the Point. I know I’m replaceable as chief. It’s not like I’m the only one who’s ever held the job.”

  Fergus’s bushy brows climbed halfway up his ruddy forehead. “You’ve considered that, have you? Well then . . .” He trailed off, then shook his head.

  “Why is that a surprise? Do you think I’m so stubborn or so stuck in my rut that I’d only consider things one way? My way?”

  “No, no. Quite the opposite—hearing you say it so matter-of-factly.” Fergus held Logan’s gaze directly. “Do you understand that the very fact that you even considered making such a monumental shift in your life is proof that you can’t just up and let her go?”

  “Yes, of course I do.” The house had felt ridiculously empty, and Logan was dreading going back that night. He’d once embraced the quiet, the solitude, the sameness of life on the Point. Now it would just feel lonely. Distant. Apart. “But even if I chose to leave here, to follow Alex when she was done with the Point project . . . what would I do? My calling isn’t hers. She might be worried—terrified even, in some respects—about having what it takes to do what she’s always done, what she loves . . . but I see her love of it every day. The deeper she gets into the project, the clearer and more obvious it becomes that she’s doing what she’s meant to do. I think when the work finally gets underway, it will resolve any questions she has left. I’m proud of her and want that satisfaction for her.

  “But, quite honestly, I don’t see a role for myself in her world. The work I do restoring the Point is only gratifying because the place itself has meaning to me. Restoration, in and of itself, is not my passion or my calling. I’ve already found my calling. And I can’t do what I do while traipsing around the world.” He fidgeted with his coffee mug, staring at the dark brew as if it could magically provide him an answer. He finally looked back up at Fergus. “The only thing I could really come up with was that if I truly do care about her . . . then maybe the best way to show it is to do whatever I can to help her get back to the life she loves.”

  “Did it ever once occur to you to ask her to stay?”

  Logan frowned. “I just got done saying that I couldn’t see a role for myself in her life. But I’m supposed to be selfish and ask her to find a role in mine?”

  “The work you do doesna’ translate to the lifestyle her job requires. That is true enough. Why do you automatically assume the same is true in reverse?” Fergus lifted a hand to stall Logan’s reply. “What I’m saying is, the life she once knew . . . she can’t get back. Her family is gone. I’m betting that a large part of the satisfaction she found in that calling was doing it with her family. Doing what they loved together. Her family is gone now. And the framework of the extended family, meaning those who worked alongside them, is all gone, too. Remember, she didn’t go out and seek a life restoring lighthouses. She was born into it.”

  “She loves it, Gus. It’s in her blood, just as life here in the Cove is in mine.”

  “I’m not doubting that. But how much of that was because she got to do something so fulfilling with her father? Her grandfather? What is it about restoring lighthouses in particular that so fulfills her? What I’m saying is, there are all kinds of restoration. In fact, she’s already working for you and for Brodie, doing projects that have nothing to do with that lighthouse. Does she not find some measure of fulfillment in that? Would it be enough? Or is it truly the towers themselves? Or even the vagabond life? Have you talked about that? Considered that?”

  “She agreed with me that our lifestyles weren’t compatible. That when this was done, she’d be leaving. That didn’t sound to me like someone looking for a new life—or a different one, anyway.”

  “Maybe because she hasn’t considered that there’s a different life to be had. She’s trying to get back to the one she lost . . . because what else does she know to do?” Fergus leaned his elbows on the bar. “Seems to me the thing she’s truly lost isn’t her passion for her work. What she lost was what made it important. Her family. They were her home, her Cove. But now . . . it will be just her. Alone. Maybe what she really needs is a new home . . . except she can’t just up and go find that. Maybe she doesn’t even see it. So, she’s thinking she’ll find a sense of belonging in her work, instead. I think we both know that that’s not the same thing.”

  “If she thought there was something different for her, or even wanted to find something more permanent, don’t you think she’d have figured that out on her own? Is that something you can ask of a person? Hey, just hang out a while longer, I’m sure you’ll fall in love with the place? We’re not her family, either.”

  “You’re the closest she’s got to the beginnings of one. She’s been forced to start over . . . and she has to start somewhere. It sounds like she’s already found a rhythm here,
and in a short amount of time, to boot. A year from now, she might have roots she wasn’t even aware she’d planted. My guess is she’ll have a much harder time moving on than she knows. Perhaps now is the time to get her thinking about what kinds of things she might want to do here in the long term, so she can keep both. Her work . . . and her new home. She’d be welcomed here by more than just yourself. She already has been.”

  Logan wanted to pick apart all the flaws in Fergus’s thinking, but they weren’t readily visible. In a perfect world, Alex would fall in love with the Cove. If he were remarkably lucky, with him, too. She’d find a way to combine their worlds. It felt like such a huge gamble, a risk beyond anything he’d imagined. What if she didn’t fall in love? With the town or with him? He was pretty sure he already knew the direction he was headed. It was hard enough to find her gone this morning. How would it feel a year or so from now, if he’d let himself not only want it all, but truly believe he could have it . . . only to watch her walk away forever?

  His radio squawked just then, saving him from having to put any part of his greatest fear into words. He unclipped the receiver from his belt and pushed the button. “Yes, Barb?”

  “Owen’s on his way to you.”

  Logan sat up straighter as he automatically switched gears, relieved at the reprieve to think about something other than Alex. “Is everything okay?”

  “Remember Dan was going to help him with those motion sensors? Well, seems Owen took matters into his own hands early this morning.”

  Oh, for the love of—“You should have told him to stay put at the station.” Logan slid off the stool and palmed his hat. “Call him and tell him to meet me at his store.”

  “He should be outside the Puffin any second. Talk to him.” The amusement he hadn’t heard at first, came through now. “You’re not going to believe this one. Sir.”

  Before Logan could even respond, Owen stuck his shaggy head inside the pub door. “Chief? Could I have a word?”