Half Moon Harbor (8 page)

He wouldn't have been surprised in the least if a forked tongue had snaked out of her mouth like a fast whip. He'd often wondered how it was in a town as small as Blueberry Cove that no one seemed to see this side of her. Of course, maybe they all did, but, like him, had their reasons for not airing their true opinions in public. Or private. Her family was as old Pelican Bay money as it got and wielded the kind of power that made folks think twice about speaking their true minds.

Cami continued her careful, deliberate approach until Brodie was forced to stop what he was doing and turn as she closed the space between them to mere inches. He held her gaze easily, his demeanor calm, unaffected.

That wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't attraction he was fighting, though she was a damn beautiful woman. It was fury.

“So, the thing is,” she said, her gaze dropping deliberately to his mouth, then back to his eyes, “Grace is making some noise about maybe expanding her little enterprise. You've no doubt heard she has Langston deVry as her architect, and Lord only knows who else is in her little black book of connections. I know she had no problem writing a check for that boathouse. Now that she knows the situation with the property, there's nothing to stop her from writing another one.” Cami leaned a bit closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “And another one.”

Brodie's gaze never wavered from her eyes, though he was certain that despite the fact that his body hadn't moved so much as a twitch, she hadn't missed the tightening of his jaw.

“Of course,” she added, almost purring. “Grace and I, we've grown close. Businesswomen sticking together and all that. Smart, powerful businesswomen.” She shifted until her lips were beside his ear. “I could probably convince her that spreading herself thin that way, in a town this small, isn't a wise business decision.” She trailed a soft breath along the side of his neck, before lifting her head enough to look him in the eyes again. “If someone were to persuade me to consider it.”

Brodie held her gaze, letting the moment stretch out until it was tightly strung as a thin, taut wire. Then he let a slow grin—deep, wicked, knowing—curve his lips and watched as desire punched those black pupils so wide they soaked up almost every last bit of the dark chocolate brown. He heard the small gasp and all but felt her body tense in anticipation, little signs that a man who wasn't too far from her description of someone who took what he could have and made good use of it knew from years of experience.

“You're right about Grace,” he said, his voice low, his gaze remaining directly on Cami's. “She is a pretty smart woman. Knows her own mind, which it seems is quite made up on this inn business. She'll do whatever she thinks is best, and I doubt she'll be looking for a second opinion, much less be swayed by one.” He took a step back then, picked up a rag, mostly for something to do with his hands, other than wring Cami's slender white neck. “But thank you for the heads up on the threat to what's left of my property,” he said quite pointedly holding her gaze. “I'll be sure to take that into consideration as I move forward.”

If eyes could turn to hot coals, Cami's would have combusted under the pressure of the fury presently seething within the hard brown depths of hers.

Brodie silently acknowledged that messing with her in that way—or any way—had probably been unwise. But she'd once again put herself on the path to certain disappointment. As it was, he thought he should be congratulated for not resorting to physical violence. His lips curved again as he recalled yet another valuable lesson learned oh so well at the hands of his sweet, sweet siblings. No matter the provocation, no matter the torture, a man could never, not ever, lay a hand on a woman in anger. Women, on the other hand, when provoked in any manner, large or small, incomprehensible or no, had free rein to do whatever struck their fancy. Often with whatever was in easy reach. He knew this to be true because he had the scars to prove it.

He gave a quick glance at the tools in the immediate vicinity, something perhaps he should have done sooner, and had barely gotten out a half sigh of relief that they were all out of range when she swung her purse off her shoulder and at his head in a clean, sweeping arc. Fortunately, all those formative years had left him well trained in the three D's. Deflect, duck, and defend. He blocked the bag with his forearm and ducked at the same time so the weight of the trajectory was then on her end, and the bag went sailing. Brodie turned just as it smashed against one of the tool shelves, setting up quite a clatter.

It spooked Auld Eán from his deep slumber. The pelican made his disdain for the intrusion quite clear and quite loud. There was a burst of grumbling squawks and flapping of very long wings.

Cami shrieked in terror in that pitch it seemed only women and small dogs could achieve, which sent him ducking again, hands over his ears. Eán opted to take his cantankerous self someplace where there wasn't such a piercing squeal, and Brodie watched him lift off and calmly flap and glide his way out the big open sliding door and over to the boathouse at the end of the far pier where he'd made his nest. “Can't blame ye, old chap. I'd follow if I could.”

“What in heaven's name—” Cami was clutching her chest with one hand and scrabbling over toward the tool bench, gripping whatever came in handy to keep her balance as she went. “Did you know that beast was in here? Of course you knew,” she said accusingly as if he'd set the whole thing up on purpose. She snatched up her purse and examined it closely. “If there's so much as a mark on this, you'll be replacing it. A Louis Vuitton limited edition doesn't come cheap.”

Brodie could have pointed out that she'd thrown the bag herself, before Eán had ever awoken, but wisely remained silent.

“Perhaps it would be best if you called ahead next time. Then I could arrange more civilized surroundings,” Brodie said. Quite pleasantly, he thought. He even managed to hide the broad smile that threatened as he noticed the big black streak on the back of her jacket shoulder where she'd clearly backed into the hoisting chains. It might almost be worth the money it would cost to replace it to see the look on her face when she discovered it. Not to mention the grease smudge on her cheek where she'd pushed her hair back.

“Oh boy,” he murmured under his breath, trying not to wince as she brushed off her sleeves with the same grease-smeared fingertips.

Realistically, he doubted she'd be sending him the bill for anything. She'd have to explain why she had grease stains all over her nice little suit and just exactly what
had
she been doing in that boathouse with Brodie Monaghan, anyway? Frankly, he could do without the town speculating on that front. It was enough that she'd confirmed that he'd lost the boathouse to female retribution. It wasn't a stretch to think that she had likely said something innocuous to Sue Clemmons to keep her from alerting him to the sale, which meant that the whole thing hadn't happened because the town was against him.

Just one angry, wealthy, powerful woman scorned. Whom, in his infinite wisdom, he'd just scorned again, bringing the tally to Brodie: 4 Cami: 0. Lord only knew what this one was going to cost him. Clearly she wasn't a woman who believed in the three-strikes-you're-out rule.

Cami slid the chain of her bag back up over her shoulder and managed to pull herself together quite sharply, all things considered. “Oh, there won't be a next time,” she said scathingly.

Even better.

“When our paths cross again, you'll be handing your keys over to the tax officers right before you pack up and head back where you came from.”

If raw will and desire were anything to measure by, he'd be packed and on a boat to Ireland by morning. Fortunately, wealth plus power didn't always add up to a magic wand that the mighty could simply wave at something they didn't like and make it go away.
Although damn close,
he thought.
Damn close.

She stumbled on her way to the sliding door and he automatically moved forward to assist, only to be rather viciously waved off. “Don't touch me. Don't ever presume to even
think
about touching me.” She made her way to the door, drew herself up rather impressively, then turned and struck an elegant pose in such an offhand, second-nature manner that Brodie wondered if she'd rehearsed it endlessly as a child in front of a mirror or whether she was simply born to it.

“You may have been born into a last name that this town has historical affection for,” she stated, her voice crystal clear and once again perfectly poised. “But don't mistake our largesse in tolerating your presence here as any sort of real acceptance. Unless you plan to make a real contribution to the Cove, and by contribution, I mean getting your family's property out of hock and somehow managing to keep the roof from falling in on your head before you turn anything resembling a profit, don't expect those same arms to remain open much longer. Others have arrived here after you, bringing a brand of ingenuity and fire that puts you to shame.”

Brodie understood she was referring to Alex. He supposed she could add Grace to that list. It annoyed him that she was right on both counts. Both women had been in the Cove a shorter time than he and both were making faster or at least more immediate headway toward having a real impact on the town's bottom line than he was. Of course, when he'd arrived, he hadn't known the enormity of the obstacle he would be facing. Nor had he been aware it was a race to see who could prove their worth first.

“Flirting and charming the women of whatever little village you came from in Ireland might have been enough to get you by there, but here we demand more. We expect things like character and integrity. Grit, passion. Someone not afraid to bend his back and get the work done.” Cami scanned the boathouse interior and appeared to barely restrain herself from shuddering in disgust. “You've been here a full year and what have you got to show for it?”

Had it been anyone else questioning his integrity or his willingness to work, he might have responded differently. In this instance, however, Brodie merely tapped the corner of his mouth with his fingertip. “Careful, there, Mrs. Weathersby. My sisters tell me that carrying tension at the corners of your mouth is sure to bring about signs of early aging. Something about making your lipstick bleed into tiny wrinkles?” He shrugged. “I don't know that I recall exactly.” He smiled lightly. “Just trying to be neighborly.”

The screen of civility dropped and ugly venom dripped from her tongue. “So sure of yourself. So certain that Half Moon Harbor is the place you want to spend the rest of your days. Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Monaghan. Your ancestors knew when to give up. And so, one way or the other, will you.”

Brodie stood right where he was for several long minutes after Cami departed. The fury he'd felt when she'd first arrived had dissipated somewhere along about the time she'd tried and failed once again to seduce him into being her latest lapdog. At least he understood, with no ambiguity or question, what he was up against.

There was nothing he could do about Cami Weathersby. There was only what he could do for himself and the heritage he'd set himself on the path to restore. “If it's grit and passion she's wanting, a man willing to bend his back—” Brodie bit off the rest and ground down on a tight jaw. Maybe there was still a bit of fury left in him. There was definitely a whole lot of fight.

Question my integrity and character, will you?
Coming from a woman with questionable morals and no qualms about playing dirty, the challenge shouldn't have inflamed him as it had.
I'll add in honor, dedication, loyalty.
His family had a very different idea about how he should be expressing those last three and would have sided with Cami on the wisdom of abandoning ship in the States and going home again.

He, on the other hand, had not a single doubt about his path.

To that end, he carefully put his tools away and stored his notes in a drawer under the tool bench. He walked to the small version of a drafting table he'd erected in the corner of the long, narrow building and flipped the cover page over the drawing of the single-mast sloop he was building. It was only his third such contract since arriving in the Cove, but he'd had to completely overhaul his plans on how he would resurrect a modernized version of the family shipbuilding heritage, and still hadn't quite figured out how he was going to make it all happen.

Building boats to order was a full-time job. Renovating property that had all but crumbled to the ground from disuse was more than a full-time job. It was a career in and of itself. He needed to do one to earn the income to hire folks to manage the other, but as one man, he could only do so much, so quickly. He'd funded the renovation on his boathouse with the first boat he'd built. The second one he'd completed over the winter and just recently delivered would keep him in heating oil and food through the summer months as well as fund the early stages of restoration on the largest boathouse.

He'd accepted it wasn't going to be a speedy process. But he was a patient man, and would take all the more pleasure for bringing the place back to rights with the labor of his own two hands and the sweat of his own bent back, however long that took. At least, that had been the plan.

A quick sweep of the floor and the power circuit flipped off, and all was set to rights.
If only life was as simply tidied up,
he thought as he stepped outside, slid the panel door closed, then bolted and locked it.

Then he did what he should have done the morning after he'd found Grace Maddox tangled up on his dock, waving deed papers in his face. He headed down and across the network of piers to pay her a visit.

He'd meant what he'd said about her being smart and decisive. He doubted she really wanted to take on additional property so soon, given how much of a learning curve she had in front of her already. If she did have second-stage plans, however, then he needed to find out what they were so he could plan accordingly. He'd lost one boathouse. He didn't intend to lose so much as another parking space to her or anyone else. It was vital he impress upon her how important his own mission was to him. She'd been sensitive to that. In fact, apparently she had gone so far as to discuss with Cami her discomfort with how the sale had gone down.