Half Moon Harbor (22 page)

D
ammit, he should have gone with her. Shouldn't he? “Why don't they make friggin' handbooks for these things?” he asked Whomper, who looked up from the bone he was working on and wagged his stubby tail, eyes gleaming as he bestowed all of his canine adoration on Brodie for a few moments, then went back to his treat. “If relationships with women were only as simple as the one between man and dog,” he told the little ball of scruff.
Bugger it all
. This was exactly why he steered clear of them.

He paced his boathouse, checking the old, brass ship's clock mounted to the wall between the kitchen and lounge area for the dozenth time. Was she out there yet? Was her brother welcoming her? Or making her wish she'd never set foot in Maine? From what little she'd told him, it was likely the latter. Added to that, Winstock was late for their meeting, leaving him too long with his own thoughts.

He'd understood Grace's need to take a little time the night before to get ready for the day she'd been planning for such a very long time. He'd appreciated that she'd shared with him as much as she had, especially given it was a topic that she hadn't shared with anyone since her arrival.

Not that it had kept the locals from burning up the grapevine speculating about it. He hadn't mentioned that to her, though, as she didn't seem to be aware of the gossip and he didn't want to put any additional weight on the proceedings. He knew she'd been making acquaintances with many of her new neighbors, but she'd spent the lion's share of her time in the boathouse working her cute little bum off, so it wasn't all that surprising that she hadn't heard. Nor was the fact that no one had brought it up directly with her.

For all that being in a small village made it possible for everyone to know everyone else's business, in the year he'd spent there, he'd come to learn that Mainers had their own quirks. They might gossip and speculate about a person among those who were so inclined to join the conversation, but otherwise they were a private lot who didn't butt in.

He'd also understood Grace's desire to head out to Sandpiper alone to reunite with her brother. It wasn't Brodie's place to be part of that meeting. He didn't even know what place he had in her life as yet. So no one was more surprised than he that he'd wanted to be part of it in the first place. Familial drama was something he'd always happily avoided; his own, as well as everyone else's.

That hadn't kept him from spending the night and all of the morning thinking about it, about her. Had she found his note? Was she pissed at him for being that presumptuous? Or had the note given her the peace of mind he'd have tried to provide had he gone along for the ride? Somewhere about three in the morning, he'd come to realize that it wasn't so much about wanting to be a part of the reunion as it was wanting to do whatever it took to protect Grace from being hurt by her brother. It was hard to just sit by and do nothing.

That was also new.

He heard footsteps on the pier out front.
Winstock. Hopefully alone.

Some quirks were a bit harder to respect. Like a father who not only was willing to look the other way when his only child conducted herself in a manner that was about as unbecoming as it got, but was willing to facilitate his little princess's every whim, to boot. Even if her whim was wanting a man other than the one she'd married. Brodie shook his head.
Who the hell does that?

He tried to imagine his mother, aunts, or any of his sisters putting up with that kind of bullshit, much less pimp themselves out to support it, and the idea was so outrageous it was comical. But there was nothing funny about the arrangement Brooks Winstock was trying to rope him into.

Their meeting was to go over the plans Brodie had drawn up for the schooner. Plans he'd enjoyed laboring over, often well into the wee hours, for nights on end. Every detail, large and small, bore his own personal stamp, as well as exhaustive research into his ancestors' work on building the same exact ship. He was excited by the end result and hoped that Winstock would be just as excited.

Brodie also hoped he had completely misread the older gentleman in regards to his desire to tie their contract to some sort of verbal agreement that suited the desires of his daughter. Or, at the very least, that Brooks was willing to pretend it had never been mentioned, when it became clear that Brodie wasn't going to be manipulated that way.

The schooner was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one no sane man would give up. But would a sane man enter into a devil's bargain for it? He shook his head again.
Not this man.

A quick, sharp rap on the door had Whomper up and racing to greet the newcomer, while Brodie took a deep breath as he raked a hand through his hair, then crossed the room to slide the panel door open. “Down, boy-o,” he said to the pup, who instantly plopped his butt on the floor, tail still spinning furiously as he looked up to Brodie for approval. Brodie flashed him a quick grin, thinking Grace would be proud of the progress they were making turning the wee scruff into a gentleman. Because he was dog sitting and because he'd wanted home-turf advantage, he'd requested that the meeting take place in his boathouse rather than at Winstock's offices in town or at his requested location, his yacht club situated a good hour and a half south of Blueberry Cove on Frenchman Bay off Bar Harbor. Where the money lived.

Something Winstock was looking to change.

Brodie flipped the latch and rolled the door open. “Mr. Winstock, good morning. Thanks for meeting me here.”

“Please, it's Brooks.” The older gentleman stepped into the boathouse, then looked down as Whomper danced around his feet, sniffing and panting. “Well now, who might this young fellow be?” he said, flashing a quick grin and reaching down to give the dog a good healthy scratch behind the ears.

“This is Master Whomper,” Brodie said, thinking Winstock couldn't be all bad if he was a dog person.
There has to be a workable solution here somewhere.

The older gentleman straightened and took a look around. He was tall, lean, perpetually tanned, with a thick head of white hair, neatly groomed, and casually elegant in pleated trousers and a navy blue golf shirt sporting his club's insignia on the pocket. “Nice work on the remodel. Yours?”

Brodie shook his head. “My skill set runs more toward things that float. Alex MacFarland did the planning and oversaw the work. She's the one presently doing the restoration on—”

“The lighthouse. Yes, I know.”

Brodie's attention sharpened at the subtle note of disdain in the man's tone. Another time he might have pushed a little to see what the issue was, but he had his own issues with the man to deal with.

“Surprised you worked with her, after the way she treated you,” Winstock said.

Okay, so I guess we're going to deal with this one, too.
“I'm sorry. I don't follow. She does exceptional work, she had the time, and she's been nothing but professional with me. And everyone else she's dealt with, far as I know.”

“Way I heard it, she let the town believe you two were an item to serve her own purposes. She led my son-in-law Ted on a merry chase as well. Made something of a fool of both of you when it came out she'd been shacking up with the police chief the whole time.”

Brodie's hackles rose, but he kept his voice calm. “I can't speak for your son-in-law, but Alex was nothing but straightforward with me in our dealings. I can't help what the gossips wanted it to be. She and Logan McRae seem quite well suited, and I count Alex as a good friend. I'm happy for her.”

Winstock shot him a somewhat patronizing smile. “Yet, I note you don't have equally generous words for Chief McRae.”

“I don't know the man personally, but I trust Alex's judgment. Folks who do know him have nothing but respect for him.”

Winstock nodded, but the damn condescending smile never left his face.

Brodie wasn't sure which annoyed him more—that the man was insulting Alex or that he'd hit a bit close to home with Brodie's lack of generous support of Logan McCrae. The police chief was a hard-ass, at least to Brodie's mind, but he didn't have to be buddies with the guy to respect that he made Alex happy.

“No man likes to be cuckolded,” Winstock said.

Annoyance was shifting quickly to outright anger, and Brodie was having a hard time containing it. “There was nothing between us, so that wouldn't apply. Since Ted Weathersby is married to your daughter, I fail to see how the attentions, or lack thereof, of another woman cuckolded him, either.”

Rather than anger the man, the comment seemed to amuse him.

If money bought that kind of privilege, it was a status perk Brodie was happy to be missing.
What is wrong with you people?

He waited a beat, expecting Winstock to use the opening to delve into his sordid expectations where Brodie and his daughter were concerned, which would have been fine by him. Better to implode the deal sooner than later . . . because there was no deal if Cami was any part of the transaction.

Winstock, however, went straight to business. “Enough chitchat then. I'll be blunt. I know I told you that I was taking several bids under consideration for this contract. Assuming you're as talented as your forebears when it comes to shipbuilding and we agree on your design and the bid on the work, I'd like you to be the one to build my tall ship. As I told you when we first spoke, it's long past time we took advantage of the modern age of social media and the like and expanded the appeal of our small town to the tourist trade. We're ignoring a huge potential influx in capital that would only benefit the Cove.”

“I'm guessing the town council is already on board with the idea of bringing a tall ship sailing business to Blueberry Cove?”

“I did mention that the head of the council is my son-in-law,” Winstock said with a chuckle. “Naturally, I'll want to operate the business out of Half Moon Harbor.”

Brodie's attention sharpened. Winstock had just made it very clear he had no problem manipulating his family connections to get what he wanted, and damn the consequences. He happened to be right that the town would benefit economically from the enterprise, but that was only a good thing if the town was willing to take on the rest of the issues that came with being a tourist destination. Higher traffic volume, property tax increases, and the like.

That Winstock was looking to use Half Moon Harbor as a base for the enterprise wasn't a surprise. If he wanted the enterprise in Blueberry Cove, where else would he go? But the more Brodie understood the nature of the man and how he did business, the more wary Brodie became of tying himself to Winstock in any way that extended beyond building the man a boat. Even a really, really big one.

“What, exactly, did you have in mind?” Brodie asked.

“Seeing as you have the largest single piece of real estate on the waterfront and it sits right in the pocket of the deep harbor, it's also prime real estate for my proposed venture. Blue owns the only other harbor property with direct access to the deepest part of the harbor, which would be mandatory for a ship the size and scope of what we're doing. Frankly, a commercial fishing business isn't the sort of combination I think would work well with the clientele I have in mind. Naturally, if charter trips on the schooner book well, we can talk about the rest.”

An unease of an entirely different sort put Brodie's instincts on full alert. Winstock was one of the most powerful men in all of Pelican Bay, if not
the
most powerful. In any dealings they had, the leverage would always be on his side. Bottom line, Brodie wanted to build the tall ship to have the experience of taking on and completing such a magnificent piece of work . . . as a pretty impressive entry on his personal résumé . . . and as a memory. He didn't have to be buddies with, or even respect, Brooks Winstock to do business with him . . . but he didn't want to hate himself in the morning, either. Nor did he want to wake up one morning and find he'd been screwed out of the rest of his heritage.

And I thought being expected to screw Cami as part of the deal was the worst problem I could have.

“Maybe we should detail the entire proposal now,” Brodie said.

“A bit ahead of ourselves. I've yet to see your plans for the ship.”

“You won't find anyone who can design a ship that is a true wood-hull replication of an eighteenth-century three-masted schooner, but me. One of the very same kind that my own ancestors built right here on this land. Having that particular historic tie can only bolster your marketing plans, especially if you're wanting to work a deal to operate your charters from my docks.”

“Well, that does bring up another interesting bit of business.”

Now we finally get down to it.

“I understand you're in a bit of arrears on the taxes on the property. Lost a prime piece of it recently, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Given your daughter arranged the sale, no, you would not be mistaken.” Brodie worked to unclench his jaw, certain that Winstock was baiting him on purpose and annoyed with himself for giving him even the slightest satisfaction.

“Yes, indeed. I understand that you were unaware of that deal. My daughter is a shrewd businesswoman.”

She's a vindictive bitch.
“She made no commission on that deal.”

“No, but by putting the deal together she got the attention of numerous other interests who now realize the property has value and is fair game.”

Brodie didn't bother to mention she'd make no commission on them, either. He had a sinking suspicion he'd already been played. Rather than having to screw Cami, it looked like she was going to do all the screwing while keeping her clothes on for a change.