Sea Glass Sunrise

by Donna Kauffman

  His heart was beating a rapid tattoo as he went back to Vixen, murmuring his apologies for not spoiling her a little longer. He led her to her stall, hung a feed bucket of oats inside, then tried really hard not to head to the house in a dead run.

  A million questions ran through his mind as he crossed the packed-dirt path that led from the stables to the house. Why was she here? Had something else happened back in the Cove that involved him somehow? Wouldn’t she have just called him if that was the case? And if that wasn’t the case, then what had brought her all the way out here without advance word?

  She wasn’t in the car, or on the front porch, which was a good thing, since there were parts of it he was fairly certain wouldn’t support even her weight. He went in the back way, through the mudroom, and shucked his boots since he hadn’t bothered to brush them off before leaving the stables.

  “Hannah?” Maybe his mind was playing some kind of weird trick on him. Maybe he was more stressed out than he thought, seeing things that he only wished were there.

  He found her in the kitchen, which was big, and ran across most of the back of the house. It was one of the reasons he’d bought the place. Not that he cooked, per se, but it just seemed . . . homey. Friendly. Warm. Like a family should live in it, cooking meals, kids doing homework at the table, stuff tacked up on the old pull-handle fridge. Someday.

  “Hannah?”

  She jumped, then turned and looked at him guiltily. “Calder.” Her smile was slow, and tentative, and he realized he must be looking at her like she had two heads. “Sorry. I didn’t see you out around the paddocks, so I knocked, then stuck my head inside, and then I was kind of already in, so I figured I’d just sit here and wait. I—probably shouldn’t have done that.” She started to stand.

  “No,” he said, almost swallowing his tongue in his haste to keep her from getting up, from going anywhere. Praying she hadn’t come on business. “Stay,” he managed.

  “You’re mad. I should have called. I’m really sorry. You have so much going on, I don’t know what I was—” She did stand then, and he finally snapped out of the almost out-of-body experience he was having, because she sounded almost exactly like he felt.

  Nervous. Uncertain. Hopeful. But, hoping for what?

  “Stay,” he said again, less urgently. “Please.” He couldn’t stop drinking her in. Right there. In his kitchen. He could smell the lavender scent she used on her hair; he noticed the scar was healing really well on the bridge of her nose, hardly noticeable, and any other remaining traces of the accident were gone completely. And not hidden under layers of makeup. Because if he wasn’t mistaken, and he wasn’t missing a single speck of her, she wasn’t wearing any makeup. “You look so . . .” Beautiful. Delicious. God, I’m so hungry for you. “. . . good,” he finally got out.

  Then his gaze fell on the legal folder she was clutching in her hands. And his heart sank so hard, so fast, he leaned against the frame. See? Told ya. So, she was here on business. Though he couldn’t fathom what on earth it would be. Surely Winstock wasn’t holding the club contract over his head.

  He cleared his throat, and finally managed to get his act together. Though he kept his weight on the door frame, because he was pretty sure if he took a single step toward her, he’d have her hauled up against him half a second later. “What brings you all the way out here?” When she just continued to stare at him, seemingly as hamstrung by the moment as he was, he nodded toward the folder. “Business, I take it?”

  She looked dumbly down at the folder in her hand, then back up at him. “Oh! Right. Yes.” Then her gaze got tangled up in his again and he started to think maybe they’d both lost their minds, because she was just as tongue-tied as he apparently was.

  Only, in her case, it was probably because he was staring at her like a feral animal left in the wild too long without food. She was probably worried he was going to pounce on her and fill himself right back up again. And he wished he could reassure her she was wrong. “Is it something with the yacht club?”

  “What?” She dragged her gaze away from his, and looked back at the folder. “Right. Yes.” She took a visible breath and he saw her try to regain her professional demeanor.

  He wanted to tell her that if she wanted to go back to being the cool, elegant woman who had almost T-boned him in the intersection a few weeks ago, leaving her hair down and all wild like that, and wearing soft floral sundresses he wanted to peel off of her . . . with his teeth . . . was not the way to go about it.

  “Yes, it is. Well, sort of, it is. I was going to call you about it, but then I thought maybe it would be better if I showed you.”

  There were a lot of things, a very long list of things, he wanted her to show him. And not one of them would be located in that folder. “Okay.” He gestured to the table. “Here you are, then. And here I am. We should sit down.”

  “Yes. Of course.” She pulled the chair back out and tried to sit, all while still looking at him as he walked into the room.

  He pulled out a chair across from her and had to dig his fingers deeply into his palms to keep from reaching for her and finding her a far better seat. In his lap. “What’s going on with the club? Do I need to sign off on something so Winstock can get another builder? Because I never signed anything to begin with—”

  “There’s not going to be a yacht club,” she said, her gaze dropping from his face, to his hands, and then almost desperately back to the folder, which she all but slapped open. “A lot has happened in the past few weeks.”

  That was an understatement, and at the same time, it felt as if his whole world had been standing still since the day he’d driven away from her as she stood beside that damn blue muscle car, looking like a stiff wind would tilt her right over. And he wasn’t going to be there to catch her. She’d hate it if he thought she needed catching. But she did. Everybody did. Sometimes. Right now he damn well did. And here you thought she’d be the high-maintenance, needy one.

  He ignored his little voice. “Such as?” he prodded.

  “Well, the whole thing with Ted, and then the divorce news, and Brooks coming off like he was somehow bullying Ted into taking desperate measures to stay in the family fold—though I have to tell you, I’ve spoken to Brooks personally and he was leveled by this whole thing. He did not see any of it coming. He didn’t know about the divorce, either.”

  She’d gone from being tongue-tied to talking almost too fast.

  “I’m surprised,” Calder said. “Because it seemed as if Cami had moved back home the morning I was there, and Brooks made a comment that she’d made the right decision.”

  “Well, I don’t know what that was all about. Maybe he thought they were having a spat, or that they were both moving in, with Ted not working. But I can guarantee you he didn’t know Cami had asked Ted for a divorce. I think she planned to tell him that day, but then everything happened.” She shook her head, seemed to take another breath, but her nerves were still apparent.

  And he couldn’t stand it another second. He reached across the table and trapped her hand under his. “Hannah, stop.” When she laughed self-consciously and tried to slip her hand free, he held it more firmly. “What’s going on? You’re like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof. I’m not upset you’re here. It’s—is something else wrong?” He groaned, and felt like an idiot for assuming her nervousness had to do with him. Without thinking, he slid his fingers through hers and something in him instantly relaxed at the connection. He didn’t know how to take care of himself these days, but taking care of her, that felt like something he could do blindfolded. Every day. For the rest of his life. “What happened?”

  She went still, her gaze dropping to their joined hands, then lifting slowly back to his. “Nothing,” she whispered. “I mean, nothing bad. Winstock isn’t going to build the yacht club.” She fished around for the folder with her free hand, but gave up and just looked at him, as if she were drinking her fill of him, too, as if she might not get the chance, ever again.
“He couldn’t get the investors he needed.”

  “Investors?” Calder frowned. “Why did he need investors? He could build ten yacht clubs with his pocket change.”

  “I think the whole point of the club was to show off to his friends, make them see what a vital business opportunity his little private mecca would become. Only they apparently weren’t buying it. That was why he was putting you off. He was trying to convince them it was a good deal, but frankly, they knew what we all knew. Blueberry Cove is too far north to be practical for most people, even wealthy people. Boat tours and a restored, historic lighthouse weren’t enough to attract their interest, and a working harbor wasn’t exactly the elite spot they were hoping for. He’d apparently let his anger about that slip to Cami, and she’d told Ted, which was why he made the desperate grab for Jonah’s property. He thought the harbor would be more attractive to investors without Blue’s in business.”

  “So, why did he bring me in then? What was the angle?”

  “I think he was hoping you’d contest the rights to the property, then he’d work through you to buy it out, knowing Jonah would never sell. But he couldn’t even get the concept of the yacht club to take root. Rumor is that the members of his club down in Bar Harbor were laughing behind his back about his little ‘fishing town club.’” She made air quotes around that last part.

  “I bet that went over not well at all. So . . . what is he going to do?”

  “I don’t know. He donated the land for the club back to the city, and walked away from it. Actually, he’s more or less been a recluse since the incident with Ted. Ted has been recommended for outpatient psychiatric help, and he’s also been arrested on a very long laundry list of things. He’s been transferred to a larger jail facility near Bangor, where they can keep him from doing anything stupid to himself. I have no idea what will happen with the marriage. Cami hasn’t been seen or heard from either. I think this really brought both father and daughter down so many pegs . . .” She trailed off, then shook her head. “It has to have changed them in some way, some permanent way. But it remains to be seen how.”

  “Might not be a bad thing,” Calder said, “though not worth the danger folks were put in to get there.”

  “That’s the thing, I think, that really got them. Brooks and Cami, I mean. Seeing Bit like that, in Ted’s arms, with that gun.” She shivered then, and he rubbed his thumb over her fingers.

  “So, will your friend Delia get the land back now, build a new diner? Seems like the least the town can do, give her first dibs.”

  Hannah shook her head. “She’s started in on a new place, so she’s good.” She looked from their hands, to his face, her gaze on his. “Actually, the town wants to build a community center there. The boat tours will happen, and Grace—Brodie’s significant other—will open her inn there on the waterfront very shortly. Delia’s place should be up and running by then, too. Brodie’s boatbuilding shops are going well—the publicity of the schooner he built has brought him a lot of attention. He’s got contracts from all over, even international interest. The schooner launches in a few weeks, with the town’s tercentennial celebration, so that will officially get things rolling. But it’s all . . . I don’t know. Now it all seems to fit. Everything will stay slower, quieter, and the new businesses will still celebrate the harbor as it’s meant to be, what with the historic Monaghan shipyard operating again, albeit on a much, much smaller scale.” She smiled. “Though apparently Brodie will be building a yacht or two with the international contracts, so that’s kind of ironic.”

  Her smile shifted from wry to hopeful. “There’s talk of turning one of his boathouses into a maritime museum, celebrating his family’s contribution to founding the town, along with the other main enterprises that built the Cove and the harbor, like Blue’s. Jonah is digging in, doing everything he can to rebound from the fire and the town is really rallying around him. It’s all new, but it’s all very promising. It feels . . . back to normal. Only better.” She broke off, and looked down again. “I’m rambling. I shouldn’t be so nervous. I don’t know why I am. It’s ridiculous.”

  He tugged at her hand until she looked up at him again. The tension in the room had lessened as she’d talked, giving them both a chance to take a collective breath. At least the nervous tension had decreased. Now when she looked at him, an entirely different sort of tension stirred.

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She shoved the folder at him with her free hand. “It’s a contract. For your company. To build the community center. We felt it was the least we could do, seeing as you risked your life to save one of our own.” She held his gaze. “You are one of our own. You made things right, that day. Forevermore, you’re a part of our town.”

  “Tell Jonah that.”

  “Actually, Jonah has come around. A little,” she added at his skeptical look. “But he’s conceded that he might have been a little hard on you.”

  “A little.” Calder shook his head, but he’d ceased to be annoyed with Jonah. His father’s stroke had taught him that life was far too short, and too precious, to hold grudges. Especially when that’s what had gotten the Blues into trouble in the first place.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you get a call from him. Jonah, I mean.”

  “Your doing?”

  She shook her head. “Not me. But I know Owen had a long talk with him.”

  Calder smiled, thinking if anyone could get to Jonah, it would be the unassuming-looking Owen. “He’s like the stealth mayor.”

  Hannah laughed. “Exactly!” Her smile lingered as she went on, though she sounded a bit tentative again. “I was thinking that you’d said your nieces were the same age as Bit. And, if you take the contract offer, you and your brothers will be coming in to do the work on the community center. Maybe your brothers’ wives would come with them on occasion, bring the girls. There aren’t that many young kids in the Cove and I know Bit would love having play friends.”

  A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

  “What?” she asked, looking honestly perplexed.

  “I’m surprised any of your cases went to trial, Counselor. You are quite adept at negotiating a settlement.”

  She smiled then, too. Lifted a shoulder. “Go with your strength.”

  It was all he could do not to pull her into his arms right then. “Why did you come all the way out here?” he asked her, his voice quiet now, but the smile still teasing his mouth.

  “The contract. To get you to sign it.”

  “I know this house may not look like much, but our offices are actually very nice. Our offices, with the fax machines and everything.”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d even look at the contract if I just sent it over. I didn’t know how you felt. Or if you ever wanted to even think about the Cove again, considering all you have going on.”

  He rubbed the side of her hand with this thumb again; then he turned her hand over, and rubbed it over her palm. She gasped, and he felt the shudder of response to his touch run through her. And his pulse went from steady to hot and thrumming, like a temperature spike. “Just the contract then.”

  She nodded.

  “I’d think you’d have a better poker face,” he said idly. “All that time in front of juries, and everything.”

  “I—”

  “Would it help if I told you that I want you so badly I can barely breathe? That I think about you when I open my eyes in the morning, see your face when I close them at night, and that a good number more seconds than is possible, given all that is going on in my world right now, are spent doing that exact same thing, all damn day long? Every single day? Would that help? Because you need to tell me if it doesn’t. And I’ll find some other words.”

  “Calder—”

  “I’ll sign the contract,” he told her. “There. Now your business here is done.”

  She just looked at him.

  “Hannah,” he said, the word rough
. “Put me out of my misery. One way or the other.”

  He wasn’t sure if she stood first or if he just dragged her across the kitchen table. But the folder went flying one way, the contract pages another, and he didn’t give a good goddamn about any of it because she was finally back where she belonged again. In his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hannah framed his beautiful, handsome face with shaky hands. “I—didn’t know if—I didn’t know.”

  He was running his hands over her arms, tunneling his fingers through her hair, touching her face, as if making himself believe she was really there, reuniting himself with every part of her. And she rejoiced in every step of his rediscovery.

  “Then you should have asked,” he said. “What didn’t you know?”

  “Like you said, you have so much going on, and your life is upside down.”

  “Yours, too.”

  “Mine is my own, yours is anything but.”

  “I want you, Hannah. I never stopped wanting you. But . . . I don’t have the right to ask you to tangle yourself up in my family madness. That’s not why you came back to Maine.”

  “Shouldn’t that be my decision?”

  He looked startled. “Is that—why would you even consider it? Hannah, there is no part of my life that makes any sense right now.”

  “I’m good at making sense of things.”

  “I have no doubt. But that doesn’t mean you should—”

  She put her finger over his lips. “Will you be here? Does this madness of a life come with you in it?”

  His gaze burned into hers and he nipped her finger, which she pulled away as desire flared in his beautiful golden eyes. “I’d say for better or for worse, only, sweetheart,” he said, doing a really, really bad Bogart impression, “I’m afraid it’s pretty much all for worse right now.”

  Hannah could only grin at him in response. And it felt glorious. “Why don’t you let me worry my pretty little head over that,” she replied, in full-on Scarlett. She realized it made no sense with his Bogey, but hearing him laugh, seeing the smile light up those eyes of his, she thought she’d do a lot, go to a great deal of trouble, in fact, to make sure he did that far more often.