Half Moon Harbor (21 page)

“Me either. But it seems to me that our best bet is to figure it out together. Unless you really have no desire to try and figure out what the answers are and would rather brainstorm ways to convince yourself you shouldn't go for it. Then I could simply let you do that as I wouldn't have to risk anything, either. I wouldn't even have to take the blame.”

“I can't imagine your problem is that women are trying to get away from you.”

“Sure and I'm fun to play with, but smart women soon figure I'm, at best, catch and release, and they go off looking for bigger fish. Or better ones, anyway.”

Grace held his gaze for one sober moment, then burst out laughing.

“What? What did I say? I'm telling the truth.”

“Oh, I don't doubt it. The truth as you see it.” She was still laugh-snorting, and her eyes had teared up with the effort to squelch it. “Luv,” she said in a dead-on impersonation of his accent, “women would cart ye home to their mamas in a heartbeat if they thought they could get you there . . . and that their papas wouldn't shoot you dead on sight.”

“Meaning?” he asked archly . . . but her laughter was contagious.

“Meaning you flirted shamelessly with me until you got me, then the very next thing you did was warn me that you'd disappoint me. The women didn't have to release you, because A, if they were smart, as you say, then they knew pretty much right off that they'd never really caught you, and B, it didn't matter, because you were wriggling off the hook before they could even set it.”

He opened his mouth to shoot her down . . . then closed it again.

She shot him a smug smile. “I rest my case.”

“So . . . what if I don't want to wriggle off your hook? What do I do then?”

Her smug smile froze and she searched his suddenly very serious expression.

“See? Uncharted waters. Both of us. In all of those depths that you said I couldn't imagine. Well, I can imagine. That's all I was trying to say.”

It was her turn to open her mouth then shut it again. Only there was no smug smile from him this time.

“You really do listen,” she finally said.

“I try.”

“Why me?” she asked.

“Why me?” he countered.

Her eyes went wide and she made a gesture at him, head to toe. “Seriously?”

“If anything, with you I think that works against me, not for.”

“Well. I wouldn't go that far.” Heat stole into her cheeks again.

He hooted a laugh and tugged her the rest of the way into his arms, pushing his fingers into her hair as he tipped her face up to his. “You don't suffer fools, you curse like a sailor, and with your hair loose you look like a goddess emerging from the sea. I was lost before I had a chance.”

“Remind me never to get you a pair of glasses,” she said dryly.

“To me, you are all those things. That's all that really matters, is it not?”

“Brodie . . .” She trailed off, sighed, but her gaze never left his.

“Let me ask you this. You said you don't know what to do with me. Would you rather just do without me, then?”

Her felt her body soften and the tension went out of her shoulders. She shook her head. “No. I just—”

He pressed his lips against hers and said against them, “No just-ing. And no more words.” He took her mouth in a soul-searing kiss that said everything he wasn't willing to put into words. Yet. “Kiss me back,” he murmured. “Show me what ye canno' tell me.”

She pressed her lips to his in a hard kiss, but whatever her plan, it quickly shifted to something far deeper, more real. At least, when she softened completely into him, then slid her arms around his neck and kissed him like he was the last man she'd ever see, it felt like that to him.

When they broke off for air, she buried her face in his neck . . . and simply hung on.

And maybe, he thought, that was what you did with each other, for each other. You just . . . hung on.

“So,” he said, nuzzling her neck, keeping her wrapped up against his chest. “Tell me about this favor you need of me. We'll start there, okay?”
And then I'll tell you about how Brooks Winstock is trying to buy his daughter a stud pony with a tall ship.

Yeah. He hoped it was a really big favor. Though he wasn't sure there was a wish he could grant that was big enough to keep Grace hanging on after he got done telling her about that.

G
race pulled her hair back and shoved it in the baseball cap Brodie had given her, squinting into the morning sun as the boat chugged over the open water toward Sandpiper Island. It was probably better that he'd gotten her a lift out to the island on one of Blue's workboats than on his sailboat. The day was going to be complicated enough. She didn't need to also be thinking about Brodie.

“Like that's not exactly what you're doing anyway,” she murmured, tipping her face to the salt spray as she perched near the front of the boat. She was the sole passenger and appreciated the alone time as she tried to get herself ready for what was to come.

She knew Brodie was right, knew that she'd have likely done exactly what he'd predicted she'd do—find a list of reasons to not pursue things with him and go with the safe exit. Of course, the list wasn't hard to come by. “But saying no to him is damn near impossible.”

The real question is . . . do you want to say no to him?

Despite his pushing her yesterday after they'd left his sailboat, if she told him she didn't want to see him any longer, no matter what her reasons were, he would respect them. That was part of why she was really making sure she thought things through. Running away because she was too scared to try was one thing. But pursuing something she knew would be a bad idea in the long run, just because he'd goaded her into it, was also something she didn't want to do. It wouldn't be fair to her, or to him.

She just needed to think, clear her head, and try to figure out what she really wanted and what would be the best choice. And if they had a chance in hell of being the same thing. She knew damn well what she wanted. He was smart, hot, aggressive in all the right ways, and spoke with a sexy Irish accent.
Why can't it be that simple?

That was the other question. Could it be that simple? He was right next door. They wanted to spend time together, see if there was something worth pursuing. He seemed to have gotten a grip on the fact that she'd bought some of his property out from under him. Not to mention he was endlessly fascinating, sharply focused, intuitive, funny, and ridiculously good in bed.

She sighed. “Honestly, what's wrong with me that I'm not flinging myself in his arms and promising my undying love already?”

She leaned back against the rail, thankful that the wind on the water snatched her words away before they could find their way back to the boat captain. Robie was in his mid-sixties, she'd guess, stocky, with a burly white beard and a Mainer accent so thick she could barely understand him. He was quick with a laugh—though she couldn't say what exactly he found so funny—and willing to take her out to Sandpiper with no questions asked.

She was very thankful for that as she looked out to the bay and the island that was steadily looming closer. Why wasn't she flinging herself at Brodie?
Because I haven't even figured out how to have an ongoing, healthy relationship with my own brother yet. What makes me think I can handle one with Brodie?

He hadn't taken her out to Sandpiper because of some business meetings he had in town. He'd seemed nervous and excited about them, but hadn't told her anything more. Instead, after she'd asked her favor, he'd asked if she wanted to talk about her brother or her family or . . . any of her other reasons for coming to Maine besides building an inn.

She'd been surprised to realize just how much she wanted to tell him, partly because she wanted him to understand where her insecurities came from. More stunningly, to her anyway, was because she knew he'd truly listen.

Langston had been a dear friend and very supportive and understanding of her childhood story, but more in the sympathetic way friends are for friends. Grace couldn't help but think Brodie would have a more personal ability to relate. Not because his situation mirrored hers in any way—if anything, it seemed the total opposite—but because he seemed to have a real sense of self, of people, of life.

The idea that he'd truly connect to her because of her story, not despite it, was thrillingly seductive . . . and scary as all hell. Because that connection to her would only deepen her connection to him.

Her feelings for Langston were purely those of friendship, of family chosen; there was no risk that he would abandon her, or not love her back because of her past. The demands of maintaining their friendship didn't come close to what it would take to establish an intimate, strong, committed relationship with Brodie.

The potential reward of having that kind of deep, meaningful relationship with someone was tantalizing. The flip side was risking being rejected, abandoned by someone she loved deeply. Again. She didn't know if she had it in her to try, much less risk failure.

She'd ended up begging off staying with Brodie the night before and had opted to go out to the house on the Point, take a much-needed shower, sleep in a real bed. Alone. Well, except for Whomper, whom she'd admittedly snuggled with a bit too tightly.

She sighed and finally pushed away all those questions that threatened to plague her and drive her straight to crazy town. She shoved all thoughts of her suddenly complicated personal life aside and focused instead on the more complicated situation that lay ahead.

Today was the Big Day. The biggest. Whatever happened with Ford would help her figure it all out. Or at least be a giant step in that general direction. Any directional help would be appreciated at the moment.

As the boat drew nearer, she turned her attention to the island. It wasn't huge, and rather than being long and flat, it was round and hilly. She knew from the research she'd done during her Wi-Fi time at the library that, from above, it was actually heart-shaped. She'd smiled at the whimsy of it at the time, hoping it was more good omen than some kind of karmic irony.

From the side they were approaching, the island appeared to be nothing but tall pines and rocky shore, jutting out from a pointed bluff that shaped the bottom of the heart.

They rounded the north side, which formed the top of the left side of the heart, comprised mostly of a jumble of rocks and boulders like children's blocks that rolled out to the sea. Tucked between the twin heart tops was a beautiful, calm, sheltered cove. It was there, on the rocks and boulders lining the natural harbor, that the seabirds came to nest each May, lay their eggs, and raise their young, until they all took off for life at sea once again in the middle of August. She knew the island was also home to harbor seals and other predatory seabirds like the black-headed gulls and common eider ducks, each hoping to help raise their own young by feeding on the nests of the more vulnerable. Ford worked with a small band of scientists and interns, studying the habits of the endangered birds, namely the puffins, arctic terns, and razorbills, in hopes of finding ways to encourage better breeding results.

She had no desire to intrude on their delicate research and had questioned Robie about the best way to approach the island with that in mind. She'd learned there was only one dock and it was tucked safely in a pocket of the harbor. Blue's, in addition to being a commercial fishing company, also helped out by running workboats out to some of the islands in Pelican Bay over the summer months, which included ferrying the scientists and interns to and from Sandpiper, as well as delivering supplies, food, mail, and anything else that needed to get to or from the island.

There was no schedule. It wasn't advertised, as the work was private and the public wasn't invited. Someone on the island contacted Blue's when they needed something. A run had just been made the week before, so there'd been nothing scheduled when Brodie had inquired for her.

As it turned out, he hadn't even batted an eye when she'd asked her favor. He'd known exactly what to do, whom to contact. She kicked herself for waiting so long, but tried to cut herself some slack. It had seemed so impossible and overwhelming when she'd first arrived. She'd just bought a two-hundred-year-old boathouse that she had no idea how to turn into a business she had no idea how to run, so her learning curve had been steep.

The captain had said runs were usually called in last minute and simply squeezed in with whatever fisherman could get the job done at the time, so she'd scheduled her own run and offered to pay them well for the trouble. She was thankful that Brodie had convinced Robie to take her out without specifically mentioning why when they radioed ahead, just that they had a package to deliver for Ford.

“Something tells me he's not going to think it's Christmas in July when he sees what's in the box,” she muttered.

As they chugged around the tumble of boulders at the top of the heart, her stomach knotted tighter, and tighter still, until she really thought she might be sick.
It might be better if I could be sick, so I can breathe without wanting to beg Robie to turn around before it's too late.

They came around the last jut of rocks and she got her first look at the small, natural harbor. It was nothing short of gorgeous. The water was such a deep blue it made her heart twist. Framed by the tumble of gray and brown rocks, then backed by the deep green of the tall, soldierly pines, it looked for all the world like they were protecting the island in a giant group hug. The sky above was a startling light blue, with white puffy clouds floating by. It was so postcard perfect, it felt surreal. Or maybe she was just having an out-of-body experience because she so desperately wished to be anywhere but in her own body.

She moved to the center of the boat as they neared the dock, then nervously pulled off her baseball cap and shook out her hair, smoothing her T-shirt, her khaki pants, the thin, button-up sweater she'd pulled on as the temperatures had dipped out on the water. She realized she was twisting Brodie's ball cap into a knot, then noticed something tucked inside the hatband as she smoothed it back out. She pulled out the small, folded piece of paper, crumpled but otherwise looking none the worse for wear. It wasn't old or worn; she turned it over and saw her name had been printed on the other side, in neat blueprint-type script. The only time she'd seen that kind of printing had been on Langston's plans. But Langston hadn't had his hands on this cap. Nor had she seen him since his one visit to Blueberry.

No, there was only one person who could have stuck that note in the hat. She smiled, her heart tilting already as she unfolded it. She read the small, neatly printed script.

Tears sprang instantly to her eyes. He hadn't said a word about knowing anything about Ford, only asking if she wanted to talk about him. He'd backed off when she'd declined his offer . . . then found his own way to say what he thought needed to be said.
And this is the man I'm considering walking away from? Really?

“Your package is right here,” she heard Robie say.

She quickly wiped her eyes and shoved the note into her pocket. She glanced at the captain, who was looking not at her, but up at the dock. With the tide half out, it was a good ladder climb up to the pier. Her gaze followed his to the man standing up there, staring down at her. He was a complete stranger, and yet she'd know him anywhere. No matter how many years had passed.

“Hi, Ford.” She tried a smile, failed spectacularly. But she didn't throw up, so there was that. When his expression didn't so much as flicker, she lifted her hands, then let them fall to her sides. “Surprise.”