Half Moon Harbor (26 page)

“No, I get it. I didn't exactly make an appointment or give you a heads-up. I . . . I appreciate that you took the time you did.”
Just . . . don't let me walk away,
she silently begged.
Well then, don't let him, you idiot. Stop waiting for other people to save you.
“I want to see you again. I'd like to see the island. See what it is you do. When . . . whenever you can fit it in.” She braced her hand on her forehead again as the sun peeked out from behind a passing cloud. When the silence spun out, she said, “I'm staying, Ford. I'm here. And I'm not leaving. Blueberry Cove, I mean.”

He held her gaze for a long time. “Okay.”

“Okay, you'll show me the island? Okay, that I'm living in Maine now?”

That ghost of humor flickered across his face, then was gone again. “Just . . . okay. For now.”

“Doc? There's a problem with the generator in Cabin 2! Cam is down in Grid 30 through Grid 42.” The shout came from a young man who'd just climbed up to the pier from the rocks on the other side, about twenty yards closer to shore.

“Go do your work,” Grace said, hugging his words, his acceptance to her heart as if he'd just made an undying declaration of brotherly love, tentative though they were. “I'll just—uh, well, I don't know what I'll do. You can put me to work, too, if I can help in some way.”

He glanced at the young man hanging at the ladder that led back down to the rocks. “How are you with mechanical things?”

She grinned, and it felt . . . tremendous. “Yeah, um . . . what else do you have?”

“Doesn't matter,” he said, looking past her out to the open water. “I think your ride is here.”

“My—what?” She spun around. A single-mast sloop was dropping anchor in the harbor. She'd seen the boat before, moored one pier over from Brodie's two-masted schooner. She'd thought it belonged to someone else, as she had the schooner, but she realized it had to be his, too.

She turned back to Ford and saw he was walking back down the pier. “Wait,” she called out.

He paused and looked over his shoulder.

She had a moment of hesitation, of debating whether it was the wise thing to do, what he'd think about it, then thought
screw that
and started walking toward him. He didn't turn to face her, much less walk toward her, but he didn't walk away. Then she was jogging and then running and all she could think was
I'm finally running toward something, not away from it.
She didn't bother to look for acceptance or even willingness. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly, so many emotions going through her mind. It was weird to feel like she was hugging a total stranger, but she was. Tall and rangy, his body was hard and lean . . . and completely stiff and unyielding. But in her heart, she knew she was holding on to the one person she'd loved from the very first day of her life.

“Hug me back, dammit,” she whispered fiercely. “Just because I was mad at you a million years ago doesn't mean I don't love you. Then and now.”

“God, Gracie, don't say that.”

“Too late, I already did.” She held on for another moment, then finally started to let go.

A heartbeat later he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her so tightly she lost her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut against the instant onslaught of tears, thinking this was everything,
everything,
she'd come to Maine for . . . and so much more than she'd ever hoped she'd actually get. “I missed you so much,” she said, barely getting the words past the lump in her throat.

Then he let her go just as abruptly as he'd hugged her, turned before she could see his face, and headed down the pier.

That's okay
, she told herself. It was a start. And left no doubt in her mind or her heart that he still loved her, too. Everything else was workable, if they had that. “I want to come back and see the island,” she called out to his retreating back. “If you don't want me just showing up like an annoying baby sister, invite me. Just tell Blue's when and I'll be here.”

He didn't make any signal that he'd heard her, but she knew he had. Hell, the whole island probably had.

“If you come in to Blueberry Cove, I bought one of Monaghan's boathouses in Half Moon Harbor. Last one on the left as you come in from the water. No advance warning necessary. Just . . . come.” Her bravery faltered then and she fell silent. She waited, for what she wasn't sure, hand still propped on her forehead against the bright sunshine.

The young man at the ladder was staring unabashedly at her. As he realized Ford was at the ladder, he quickly climbed down so Ford could climb down after him. Her brother disappeared below the dock without so much as a single wave, but she hadn't expected otherwise.

Her gaze skimmed past the ladder to the rocky shore. Two girls in hard hats were out on the boulders. Both of them had stopped what they were doing and were also openly staring at her. She assumed her shouts had carried to them and had no idea what they'd make of her showing up on the island, much less what she'd said to their boss. She assumed he was their boss. They seemed to come running to him when they needed something, anyway. It was a good bet that her presence was going to make things challenging for him, having to explain. Or maybe he simply wouldn't. She sincerely doubted he'd told anyone that he had a sister. That might have worried her before, but that hug . . . She closed her eyes just for a moment and relived every too-short second of it. She'd waited so long. So damn long.

Tears continued to trickle down her cheeks as she turned to look out at the harbor and Brodie's sailboat. She couldn't see anybody on board and silently thanked him for giving her the space she'd asked for and having her back at the same time. She remembered when she'd first met him, she'd had him pegged for a love-'em-and-leave-'em charmer, a looking-out-for-number-one kind of guy.

She hadn't been so wrong about the love-'em-and-leave-'em part—he'd admitted that very thing to her . . . right before making her eyes roll back in her head as she came for the third or fourth time. But she was realizing she'd been wrong about the rest. He was proving himself to be a pretty stand-up guy. Or more specifically, a stand-up-for-her guy.
All those sisters must have taught him something.

She lifted his baseball cap, which she realized was still crushed in her hand, and waved it from the end of the dock. She still hadn't seen any sign of him above deck. He must have been watching from belowdecks because a minute after she'd waved, he lowered an inflatable skiff into the water off the side of the boat before hopping in and skimming over the water, heading her way.

She watched him man the small speedboat over the waves with an ease that revealed how much time he'd spent on the water. The wind ruffled his thick, sun-streaked hair, while black shades covered his green eyes. Even from a distance she admired the play of muscles in his bare arms and shoulders and how the sleeveless T-shirt was plastered against a chest and torso she was intimately familiar with.

She'd just proven to herself, to Ford, hell, to the world, that she was willing to do whatever it took, even if it was hard. She felt strong and whole, finally able to take risks and put herself out there for what was truly important. “And here comes Brodie Monaghan to my rescue,” she murmured, wiping away the last of her tears. “Who'd have thought it?”

He throttled down and let the boat drift and bump up against the pier pilings. At the top of the ladder, she looked down at him and found him grinning up at her.

“Ahoy, lass. Need a lift?”

And who'd have thought I'd really like it?

E
ven before Grace had gotten fully in the boat, Brodie could see that she'd been crying.
Shit.
He really wanted to figure out this whole relationship deal, do the right thing, but tears were his Kryptonite. He'd known that long before he'd even had his first kiss, courtesy of six sisters who, when quick wit and collective strength weren't enough to get their way, had swiftly learned the value of a well-timed tear tracking down a fair, freckled cheek.

“I wasn't tryin' to intrude,” he said, as he helped her jump lightly from ladder to boat.

“No, no. You didn't. In fact, you were remarkably timely.” She balanced herself quickly and moved to sit in the front as he took up his position by the engine again, revved it back up before turning neatly and heading back over the water toward his sailboat.

He watched her look back to the island, but wasn't sure from the expression on her face if things had gone as she'd hoped. Better? Worse?

“How did you—what made you come out?” she shouted back to him over the sound of the motor and the wind.

“I was over at Blue's docks, chatting with the guys coming in with the last eel catch, when Robie radioed that he was heading out and not going back to Sandpiper until tomorrow. He didn't seem real clear on whether that was okay with you or not. So . . . I thought I'd head out, anchor, and”—he lifted a shoulder—“be there for the ride back whenever you were ready.”

“Thank you.” Never more sincere, she smiled, holding his gaze. “I know you've got a lot going on, so I really appreciate that.”

He nodded, feeling a bit of anticipatory dread start to curl in his gut. He had come out for exactly the reason he'd said . . . and because he was hoping the time they'd spend alone on his boat, away from any and all distractions, would give him a chance to explain about the schooner deal. And about Cami.

Even with Grace spending all of her time knee-deep in the boathouse renovation, there was no way she wouldn't hear about it. With no idea how Cami would react when he didn't agree to her being a signing bonus, he had to make certain Grace heard the news from him first.

But with her face freshly tear-streaked, he wasn't so sure his timing was all that great. Not that he had much choice.

He angled the skiff along the back of the sailboat.

“The
Margaret Mary,
” Grace said, reading the name on the back.

“My dear, departed mum,” he replied with a smile.

Smiling in return, Grace leaned out and grabbed the handle mounted to the back. He liked seeing how comfortable she was on the water. Not surprising given her hobby, but her natural grace and balance definitely stirred more than his professional respect. Her tear-streaked cheeks didn't keep him from eyeing her curvy little bum as she climbed from skiff to deck, either. She didn't typically dress in a manner that overtly showed her figure off, but he rather liked the way her khaki cropped pants and loose polo shirt left most things to the imagination. Well, not that he'd cry foul if she suddenly decided to wear something a bit more snug with an occasional plunging neckline, but as she hopped onto the deck, showing off the flex and play of strong, shapely calves, he was okay with her keeping all the rest of what was strong and shapely for his eyes only.

He tied up and joined her on the deck as Whomper trotted over and gave her a warm, wriggling welcome.

“Hey, there. Check out the new first mate!” Grace knelt down and gave him a good head scratch, then laughed as she added a belly scratch to the deal when he rolled over, still wriggling in delight. She scooped him up and hugged him, burying her face in his fur, keeping it there for a few extra seconds until he started to squirm. “Okay, okay. Go back to your duties.” Her laugh was a bit watery sounding as she let him go and stood again.

“Hey.” Brodie stood behind her. He touched her arm and turned her. “It's okay, you know.”

“What is?” she asked, a sniffle escaping even though she was clearly trying to pretend she wasn't teary-eyed and emotional.

“It was a big thing ye did.” He reached up and gently touched her cheek, rubbing away a tear or two. “A very emotional thing. I'm no expert on tears. In fact, they scare the life out of me. But I'm thinkin' you shouldn't have to work at keeping them at bay. Maybe letting them go is the thing to do.”

“You say you're not good at relationship stuff,” she said, turning a little pink when her snuffle ended up as a rather inelegant snort. “But if that's true, you do a damn good imitation of someone who is.”

“I just don't want to see you struggle with this more than you have to. Tears kill me. In fact, I'd do just about anything to keep you from crying, so this is largely selfish on my part. If letting them out gets us to a no-more-crying place faster, then let 'em rip. That's what I say.”

She laughed and sniffled at the same time. “You're so full of shit.” Her smile started to crumple as the threat of real tears started to win the battle. “And I can't tell you how much I appreciate that.”

“Och, darling lass, come here.” He pulled her into his arms and held on tight, sighing when her arms snaked around his waist and she held him just as tightly.

“I don't know why I'm crying,” she said, her forehead pressed into his shoulder, even as her own shoulders began to shake. “It went so much better than I'd hoped.”

Brodie had arrived and dropped anchor just in time to see the two siblings hug on the docks. Or more to the point, in time to see Grace run and hug her brother as he walked away. It had taken surprising restraint for Brodie to keep from heading straight to the pier and taking Ford Maddox on, demanding to know why he couldn't find it in his heart to take better care of what she was offering him. Brodie had no idea what the real backstory was between the two, and for all he knew, Ford was well within his rights to hold himself separate and apart.

But from what Brodie knew of Grace, the kind of person she was, and what she'd sacrificed and risked to start over in the Cove for the sole sake of reuniting her family, he had a hard time believing Ford would have a moral leg to stand on.
And he'd have an even harder time if I took him out at the knees,
he remembered thinking.

Then Ford had reciprocated. If the way he'd grabbed and held on to his sister was any indication, he did it with fierce emotion. He'd walked away, leaving her standing there. Grace had continued to talk to him, though Ford hadn't looked back.

Still, it was a beginning. One she seemed pleased with.

Brodie couldn't help but wonder if she would be equally open-minded with his news. He'd be happy with anything short of gunfire.

Grace pulled herself together and wiped at her eyes, but he kept her in his arms. “We don't have to head right back. Take your time.” He leaned back a bit and tipped his head so he could look into her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head and said, “Yes,” at the same time, making him smile and her croak out another watery laugh.

“I actually understand that better than you can imagine. I remember getting so mad at my younger sisters. They'd torment the hell out of me, then pull the innocent act when I finally retaliated. I'd get the punishment while they got the ‘there, there's.' Infuriating enough, but then I'd go off to bang on wood at my grandfather's and he'd make me talk about it.”

“The horror,” Grace said, smiling at him, her hands on his shoulders, her fingertips toying with the hair brushing his neck.

“Talking about my
feelings,
” Brodie said with a mock shudder. “Some of the best conversations I had with him started that way. He shared a lot of wisdom with me, which of course I didn't come to appreciate or even understand until much later.”

“And here I was crediting your sisters with your enlightenment, but maybe it's the Monaghan men who really have it together.”

His eyebrows lifted a bit at that, but he merely grinned and shook his head. “No' that it's completely unheard of for an Irishman to wear his heart on his sleeve, but usually you have to ply him with a pint or three to get him maudlin and pouring his heart out.” He brushed her hair from her cheek, then rubbed away one last tear track. “I'm pretty sure I'm simply winging it, as they say, but my grandfather would be proud indeed to think he had any hand in helping me figure out relationships, women, and how to keep both of them happy and functioning together in the same sentence. He was married to my grandmother for forty years before she passed and never stopped loving her.”

“That alone sounds like quite a testament to figuring out women and relationships,” Grace said, her smile turning wistful. “I wasn't so fortunate. In fact, I can say with fair certainty that you know way more about family, women, and relationships than I do. Well, other than being a woman myself.”

He framed her face, held her gaze, and realized that when they stood like that, connecting gazes like that, no matter what position they happened to be in at the time, something simply . . . settled in him. As if everything was always bouncing around inside his mind, ideas spinning in ten different directions, except in those moments. Then he felt, well . . . grounded. Like there was a foundation underneath everything. It didn't stop the constant hamster wheel of work and design and the myriad demands of life in general that were always running through his mind, but it made him feel that at least they wouldn't run away with him. There was a stepping-off point. A reason to slow down, to put things in perspective. An entirely new perspective.

“You can tell me anythin',” he said, searching her eyes, wanting, needing some kind of confirmation, some sign that he wasn't alone in thinking they could build something solid and sound between them. “Ye know that, right?” He tipped her face up to his and dropped a kiss on one salty cheek, then the other. “I may not always have the right words in response, but it won't be for not wanting to understand or offer support.”

He felt the shaky breath she took even more than he heard it.

She'd closed her eyes when he'd kissed her tear tracks, and it took a moment longer before she opened them again. “You know, I thought the scariest thing I could ever do in my adult life was going to see my brother. Don't get me wrong, it was pretty terrifying. Amazing and thrilling and . . . so many other things,” she added in a rush, smiling even as her eyes went glassy all over again. “And yet, terrifying all the same. But . . . uh . . .” She trailed off, looked down briefly, and cleared the tightness from her throat.

Brodie gently tipped up her chin. “Grace,” he said quietly, “it's been a big day. Ye don't need to—”

“I do. I need you to know that you—this—scares me, too. More, even. My brother will always be my brother, no matter what happens between us. But you . . .” She searched his gaze as if struggling to find the right words and maybe looking for the same confirmation he was. “You're becoming someone I find myself counting on.” She looked at her hands locked around his neck and pressed her fingers to the nape of his neck, then looked back at him. “Leaning on.”

He felt like something perfect blossomed all big and warm inside his chest. “Is that such a bad thing?” he asked, his voice a bit gruff.

“I-I don't know. If you'd asked me a year ago or even a month ago, I'd have said absolutely. Counting on anyone but myself is just asking to make things harder later. Better to always be in charge of myself, handle everything myself. Then the only one who can disappoint me, is me.”

“I have a passing knowledge of that feeling,” he said, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

“See, that's part of it, too. In so many ways, we're very, very different. Our backgrounds, the way we are with other people—you're so naturally social and outgoing and I'm perfectly happy to be in my office alone, no people. You charm people as naturally as breathing, where I refer to it as having to make nice.”

He did smile then and slid his hands down her back to her waist, drawing her closer. “Oh, I don't know. I've found ye to be a pretty friendly sort.”

She tugged on a piece of his hair and made a face at him.

“Ow!” He chuckled.

“It's a good thing one of the things we have in common is our sense of humor,” she added archly.

“Aye, indeed.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then quickly pulled her in again when she would have ducked away. “Tell me the rest then.”

“In other ways, we're a lot alike. Not so obvious or tangible ways, but . . . we get each other. You wouldn't think we would, and yet . . . you do. Get me, I mean. And I think I get you, too. At least you make me feel like I do.”

He walked her back a few steps until they were under the awning and her hips bumped up against the teak panel next to the hatch that led belowdecks. He was smiling, but when he spoke, the words had never been so heartfelt. “When you look at me, Grace, you look into me. Past all the stuff that most folks see . . . and then you keep looking. Disconcerting is what it is.” He cupped her cheek. “But I've never felt anything like I do when you keep looking . . . and you're okay with what you see.”

Instead of melting, she thumped his chest. “And see? That's exactly what I mean.”

He leaned back, eyes wide. “What? What about that could possibly be wrong?”

“It's not. It's impossibly right. That's what I mean. You're impossible. I've got this inn to build, which is turning into a major undertaking, then I have to figure out how to run the damn thing and make a success out of it. I'm completely swamped with all this emotional baggage with my brother, which we've only taken the tiniest first step in dealing with. Then you come along with your charming laugh and your sexy-as-hell dimples, flashing green eyes, a body that won't quit, hands that—well, I can't even go there—and on top of all that, you're a good guy.” She thumped his shoulder with her palm again. “A really, really good guy.”