Harbor Nights (2 page)

“A dolphin is a mammal, not a fish.” He pushed Flipper away from the rosebush. Now that Norah's fingers had stopped paying all that attention to his belly, Flipper wanted to go investigate the whimpering sound coming from under the bush. If Zsa Zsa was scared of seagulls, he didn't want to see her reaction to a hundred and fifty-pound Newfoundland. “Would you like me to get your dog out from under there?”

“I would love it.” Norah bit at her lower lip. “But she nips when she's scared.”

“Considering I can't even see her, her teeth can't be that big.” He knelt down and looked under the bush. Way in the back, he spotted a tuft of brown fur sticking out of a pile of trembling mulch. The mound of ground wood chips was about the same size as one of his hands. He didn't want to offend Norah or her mother so he tried not to chuckle at the ridiculous sight. He'd had bigger critters crawl into his tent while camping.

With a quick movement, he gently snatched up the little dog and hauled the squirming mound of mulch out from under the thorny bush.

Zsa Zsa started to bark and yelp like she was the Mini-Me of the hounds of hell. Mulch went flying in all directions. One well-timed nip and a scratch or two later, he placed the shaking furball into Norah's outstretched hands. If the dog weighed four pounds, it was due to the clinging mulch. He chuckled at the sight. “I've held bigger hamsters.”

Zsa Zsa showed her tiny white teeth and growled at him before pressing herself up against Norah's chest, seeking the safety of someone she knew.

Flipper started to run around Norah, looking to play with the miniature dog. Zsa Zsa bared her teeth, snapped wildly, and generally acted like she wanted to rip Flipper apart.

Norah's gaze was on his now empty hands and not on the tiny Pomeranian. She wasn't paying any attention to Flipper, but there was fear in her eyes. Most people would fear for their safety when confronted with a massive dog the size of Flipper. Not Norah. The fear darkening those enchanting eyes had been directed at his hands as he'd passed Zsa Zsa to her.

His stomach dipped at the sight. He'd never had a woman fear him or his hands before. He quickly took a step back and grabbed hold of Flipper's collar. The fear faded, and Norah seemed to take a breath.

In the distance, a door opened, and more light flooded the yards. A voice called out into the night, “Norah?”

Norah pulled her gaze away from Ned's hands and the distant memories. She glanced over at her mother. “I'll be right there, Mom.” Zsa Zsa started to squirm in her arms.

Ned looked over at the woman standing on the back porch of the other house. She was a petite woman wrapped in a cotton bathrobe and slippers.

“Where's Zsa Zsa?”

“I've got her, Mom.” Norah's grip tightened on the small squirming dog. “She snuck out of the house when I opened the back door to take out some of the empty boxes.”

“Who's with you?”

“Ned Porter, ma'am. My parents live here, but they are out of town for a couple of days. I just stopped by to check on things.” Ned debated going over to introduce himself properly, but somehow, he didn't think Norah's mom would appreciate a guest while she was in her pajamas.

“Is everything all right?”

“It is now,” he said. Ned chuckled at the mess Zsa Zsa was making of Norah's light green shirt. A lone mulch chip clung to the enticing swell of Norah's breast.
Lucky, lucky mulch chip.

“Mr. Porter had to drag your dog out from underneath his mother's prize rosebush.” Norah plucked another piece of mulch off the dog and brushed aside the piece that was clinging to her chest.

He glanced at Norah and whispered, “Mr. Porter's my father. I'm Ned.”

“She wasn't any trouble, was she?” Norah's mom sounded anxious.

“No problem at all, ma'am.” Ned reached over and plucked another piece of mulch off the dog. He chuckled when Zsa Zsa tried to nip him.

Norah tapped the dog on its pint-sized nose. “Behave or I'll take you down to the docks.” Norah's generous mouth turned up into a breathtaking smile. “Thank you for rescuing my mother's dog, Ned.”

“Any time.” He loved her smile, but he couldn't fail to notice she avoided looking at his hands. For some reason, he didn't want this strange and magical creature to leave. “Do you need any help unpacking boxes or moving furniture?” He couldn't picture either woman pushing around a sofa or hauling mattresses up the stairs. Didn't they have anyone to help them move in? No husbands? No family? No boyfriends?

“Thanks for the offer, but we are just about settled in now.” Norah stepped between two bushes making up the small hedge that separated the properties. “It was nice meeting you, and I hope your aunt gets better.”

“She's getting out of the hospital tomorrow, and the pleasure was all mine. Good night, Norah.” Entranced, he watched as Norah made her way to the back porch and placed Zsa Zsa into her mother's waiting arms. He could hear Norah's mom coo and scold the dog all the way into the house. Norah gave him a wave and then followed her mother in.

He released Flipper to go scout out the new and interesting scents that now permeated his parents' backyard. He leaned against a wooden picnic table and felt the cool night breeze against his face as he studied the small cottage-style house next door. In the growing darkness, he watched as the exterior lights from Norah's house were extinguished one by one. Somehow, it seemed fitting that the rose fairy with the spiked red hair and more jewelry than a gypsy queen had taken the light with her.

Half an hour later, Norah was still putting away her grandmother's good china into the dining room's hutch. Her mother had unpacked, washed, and dried the good dishes before taking her shower. She had volunteered for the job of putting it all away since her mother was elbow deep in doggie shampoo and conditioner. Zsa Zsa was docilely standing in the kitchen sink, enjoying every stroke and rub of her mother's fingers. The Pomeranian acted like she was at a five-star spa and resort.

“You're spoiling her, Mom.” Norah repositioned the soup tureen so it would be in the center of one of the four glass doors on the cabinet.

“By giving her a bath?” Joanna Stevens gently poured another cup of lukewarm water over the sudsy animal. “You'd rather she smelled like decomposing wood chips and Lord knows what else?”

“No.” She placed one of the serving trays up behind the stack of dessert plates. The service for twelve, along with every companion dish known to mankind, barely fit in the antique cabinet. “I was referring to the amount of hygiene products you've bought her.” She glanced at the huge basket overflowing with doggie care items sitting on the counter next to a pink, fluffy bath towel. Her own bath towels were yellow, and she had purchased them on sale at Wal-Mart. Zsa Zsa got 100 percent Egyptian cotton. Her mother had the nerve to say the dog wasn't spoiled. “She even has her own toothbrush and toothpaste.”

“You don't want her to get tartar buildup, do you?” Joanna rinsed the dog one last time and then carefully placed her on the pink towel.

“Heaven forbid that she'd have to get her teeth scraped and cleaned like the rest of us.” She wrinkled her nose at the soaking wet dog. Without her hair being all puffed out, Zsa Zsa looked like a drowned rat.

“What's with you tonight, Norah?” Her mother wrapped the dog up into a big ball of expensive cotton. Only Zsa Zsa's miniature face was sticking out of the cocoon. “You seem tired. Maybe we've been overdoing it lately. There's no need to get everything unpacked right away. We put a pretty big-sized dent in the boxes, and everything we absolutely need is away.”

“I'm fine, Mom.” She gave her mom what she hoped was a convincing smile. “Just a bit embarrassed at being caught underneath the neighbors' rosebush losing a battle of wills against a four-pound dog.” This time her smile was the genuine thing. She could still see the look on Ned's face when she'd told him that Zsa Zsa had a fear of seagulls. Ned hadn't known if he should help her get the dog out from under the bush or have her committed.

“Ned Porter seemed like a nice young man.” Her mother's gaze was probing.

“He was very helpful.” She placed the bone china cups on their saucers and scattered them throughout the cabinet. “What color are you thinking about painting this room?” As a change of subject, it was guaranteed to work. It was the first thing her mother had said when she'd signed the settlement papers on this house. She was looking forward to painting every room in the place any color she wanted to. It had been a strange statement from a woman who'd never painted a room in her life. Every room in the house Norah had grown up in had been white. White ceilings, white walls, and light beige carpeting had dominated every room. Norah hadn't even been allowed to paint her bedroom walls when she was a teenager, let alone hang a poster or two in the sterile environment.

Had it been any wonder that she had fallen in love with the dorms at college and had rarely come home to visit?

Her mother took the bait as she studied the white dining room walls. “Blue.” She softly rubbed the towel against the dog. “I'm thinking a deep, rich blue to match the pattern on the china.”

Norah smiled as she put away the last plate. Joanna's prize possession was her mother's china. She watched as her mother fluffed out Zsa Zsa's hair and then plugged in the hair dryer.

As the hum of the dryer filled the kitchen and the dining room, Norah jammed all the crinkled newspapers into the empty boxes and carried them to the back porch to join the other stack. Her mother was right. She was exhausted, but it was a good tired. It was the tired feeling you got from physical labor and accomplishing something. The downstairs rooms were in pretty good shape, and her mother's bedroom looked a lot better than her own. She had been too busy helping her mother to worry about the upstairs where her two rooms and a bath were. Her mother would be appalled if she knew Norah was still digging through boxes to find clean underwear and her deodorant.

Norah leaned against the porch post and studied the house next door. Ned's parents' home was once again in total darkness. Not even a hall light was lit to warn away potential burglars. Ned and Flipper were long gone. She had heard them drive away about five minutes after she returned home.

She had lied to her mother. She wasn't fine. Tonight, she had discovered a horrible truth about herself. She had been afraid of Ned and his obvious physical strength. She had the heart of a coward, and she was darn grateful for the fact that Ned wasn't their neighbor. How would she have the strength to keep hiding that fear day after day?

It was one more thing to hate her father for. Vincent Stevens, the man who had given her life, had put that fear and cowardice into her heart.

How was it possible for her mother to look at six-feet, two-inch Ned and think he looked like a nice young man, when all Norah kept seeing were his hands? Big, work-roughened hands.

Hands like her father's.

Hands that hit, and hit hard.

Norah could close her eyes and still see the night over a year ago when those hands had shattered her trust, her respect, and the love she had always felt for the man who used to bounce her on his knee and give her horsey rides.

Norah stood beside Peggy Porter and tried not to let her anxiety show. Four angry lobster fishermen were standing in the middle of her front yard voicing their discontentment with her first weekly article. While the lobstermen weren't very eloquent in their speech, they were vocal.

Loud enough for her mother to head back inside the house to try and calm Zsa Zsa down. The four-pound Pomeranian had taken an instant dislike to the shouting men. Their voices had been loud enough for their new neighbor, Peggy Porter, to come storming over to find out what in the world was going on.

Peggy looked like she could armwrestle and beat every one of the angry men. Norah now knew where Ned got his height and his broad shoulders from—his dear old mom. Peggy Porter stood six feet, one inch tall and had the shoulders of an NFL linebacker. Her brown hair, which was cut short, was liberally sprinkled with gray. Peggy was wearing a pair of cutoff jeans, a Rolling Stones concert T-shirt from what had to be one of their first American tours, and construction boots. Her cheeks were sunburnt and her lips were chapped, but she had a mischievous look of laughter in her light blue eyes as she shouted right back into the faces of the men. Peggy looked like a woman who was enjoying herself immensely.

Norah loved the woman on sight.

“Leland and Lonny Higgins, you should be ashamed of yourselves.” Peggy Porter crossed her arms against her ample chest and glared down her nose at the sweaty, stubble-jawed men. “You too, Oscar and Russ. I have half a mind to call your mothers and tell them how you big oafs are terrorizing a poor, defenseless woman.”

Norah watched as Russ, a forty-something-year-old man, kicked a tuft of grass with the toe of his sneaker. Oscar, the baby of the group in his early thirties, winced as his windburnt cheeks reddened further. Leland and Lonny didn't seem frightened of the prospect. She wasn't sure which was Leland and which was Lonny, but they had to be brothers. The good Lord wouldn't have cursed two unrelated men with a nose like that.

“You don't know what she wrote, Peg,” whined Oscar as he twirled his baseball cap between his fingers.

“Yeah, you don't make your living by hauling in lobsters all day,” added one of the Higgins men.

“No,” countered Peggy, “I make it by hauling in tuna.” Peggy's stance grew more rigid and formidable. “I read her article this afternoon, and I couldn't find one untruth in it.”

“She's siding with them!” shouted Russ.

Norah knew who
‘them'
was—the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission. Her first weekly article, which had pointed out the benefits of the mandatory dredging and counting of lobsters off the coast, was causing an uproar. Her boss had warned her that most of the local lobster fishermen held that practice in contempt. She had known she might not be making friends with the article, but she hadn't figured on some of the more vocal fishermen knocking on her front door and voicing their displeasure.

She should have known that life in Misty Harbor would be throwing her some barbs. Her new job at the weekly paper, the
Hancock Review,
had been going too smoothly. Her mother and she had finally settled into their new home, Maine's summer was absolutely gorgeous, and Zsa Zsa had stopped trying to escape every time they opened a door. Life had been great up 'til about five minutes ago.

“As I recall,” Peggy said, “Norah didn't voice her opinion one way or the other. The article stated facts, not opinions.”

“The facts were wrong,” Oscar said.

“Just because you don't agree with them, doesn't make them wrong.” Peggy's shoulders relaxed now that the shouting had died down to a low roar. “Didn't you guys read Thomas Belanger's introduction for Norah's articles? He told you why she was hired to write ‘Views From The Other Side.' Norah doesn't have any family in Maine to sway her opinions. She also isn't from around here, and she has never lived on the coast before. She's the perfect candidate for writing these kinds of articles.” Peggy wrapped a muscular arm over Norah's shoulders and gave a little squeeze of support. “It's her job to take the other side of the argument and try to get thick blockheads like you guys to open your minds a little.”

Norah felt as if the bones in her shoulders were in a vise. Peggy Porter had the grip of a boa constrictor. A fiercely protective, but incredibly sweet, boa constrictor. Maybe it was time to speak up and try to defend herself once again. She hadn't been doing too badly before Peggy had stomped across the yard and taken control of the situation. With her new job of playing devil's advocate, she was bound to run into upset citizens from time to time. Just because there were four big, physically strong men yelling at her this time didn't mean she couldn't handle them. She had to learn how to deal with them because there was no guarantee that Peggy Porter would be around the next time the Higgins brothers got their lobster-hauling shorts in a twist.

“I did ask Tom Belanger,” she said, “if I could do an article on the lobster fisherman's point of view. He informed me that the paper had already run two separate articles covering that in the past six months, plus countless editorial letters.”

She tried to smile to soften her words, but her gaze kept straying to Oscar's huge work-roughened hands as he twisted and turned his baseball cap between them. Her gut got that queasy feeling she hated so much. “I'm sorry if I offended anyone; that wasn't my intention.”

Peggy gave her another squeeze that nearly knocked her to her knees. “Don't you dare go apologizing to these bullies. You didn't offend anyone, especially this sorry lot.” Peggy glared at each man to show her displeasure. “They'd have to have feelings to be offended, Norah. This bunch hasn't had an honest emotion since the day the town council took the beer vending machine out of the local fire hall.”

“That wasn't right!” shouted Leland, who now appeared more upset about the loss of a beer machine than about the mandatory counting of lobsters off the coast.

Norah tried not to chuckle as her stomach settled back down now that the men's anger was directed away from her. The men of Misty Harbor obviously had their priorities, and grabbing a cold one after fighting a fire ranked pretty high up on that list.

“What's going on here, Mom?” demanded Ned Porter as he stepped next to his mother and frowned at the four fishermen.

Norah had been so involved in the argument that she hadn't noticed Ned's truck pulling up to his parents' home, let alone him stalking across her front yard to join the dispute. Ned looked furious to find four men yelling at his mother.

She didn't blame Ned. Protecting your mother is what a child should do. Especially if that child was a full-grown adult, and Ned was definitely full grown.

Peggy gave her another comforting squeeze before releasing her shoulders. “Some of the local boys didn't like Norah's article from this morning's paper. I heard the shouting from the back patio and came over to give the poor mite a hand.” Peggy gave her a friendly wink. “Norah might have been outnumbered, but she was holding her own against this obnoxious crew.”

Ned's expression hardened into disbelief as he glared down at the men. “Let me get this straight,” his voice rumbled across the neighborhood. “You idiots knocked on Norah's door and then started yelling at her because of what she wrote in the paper?”

She took a half step closer to Peggy. The Ned she'd met the other night seemed big yet friendly. This Ned seemed not only threatening but also dangerous. It didn't help matters that he had obviously just gotten off work; whatever he did for a living wasn't done in a suit and tie. Ned looked like he'd just chopped down half the trees in the state of Maine. Well-worn jeans were molded to his legs, and a few specks of sawdust and dirt were scattered across his blue T-shirt. A nasty-looking scratch marked the back of one of his hands. He looked sweaty, hot, and entirely too
male
for her peace of mind.

The other night she had thought Ned was good looking. In the bright afternoon light, she had to admit she had been wrong. Ned Porter was gorgeous, if a woman liked her men big, physical, and looking like they had just stepped out of an L.L.Bean catalog.

Three of the fishermen took a step back, away from Ned. One of the Higgins brothers was the only one either brave or stupid enough to hold his ground. “It wasn't like that, Porter.”

Ned raised a dark brow and crossed his arms against his chest in a perfect imitation of his mother's earlier stance. “You are practically standing on Ms. Stevens' doorstep, and my own mother heard all the shouting.” His square jaw hardened, causing a slight tic beneath his right eye. “How was it like, Lonny?”

Leland quickly stepped between Ned and his brother. “Now, Ned, calm down. I'll be the first one to admit we might have stepped over the line of being hospitable to Ms. Stevens.” Leland flashed a quick smile in her direction and hurriedly swiped off his baseball cap. “But it was our livelihood she was writing about. Tempers have a way of getting a little riled when it concerns the paychecks.”

“I read the article, and in no way did she threaten your jobs or your livelihood. In fact, if you open your minds and really think about it, she might be showing you a way to save that way of life for future generations.”

“By having the government impose more rules and regulations on us?” cried Leland.

“Those rules and regulations are already here, and there's more coming. It's the nature of that particular beast.” Ned shook his head. “That's the truth, and there's nothing that you, I, or Norah's article can do about it. Either you can be bullheaded and keep fighting a battle you will eventually lose, or you can attempt to be somewhat reasonable about it and try compromising.”

“We stopped their dredging off the point last month,” boasted Leland.

“Yes, you did; congratulations,” drawled Ned sarcastically. “Keep doing it, and they will be dredging off the coast of Massachusetts, taking the lobster count from there, and setting your regulations by that dismally low number.”

“Dredging destroys our breeding stock,” said Oscar.

“All the damage they do, and they still can't get an accurate number,” added Russ.

“They are a bunch of stupid scientists who sit in front of computers all day,” said Lonny. “What do they know about lobsters?”

“It ain't fair,” snarled Leland in disgust.

Ned shook his head. “Who ever told you that life was going to be fair?” Ned relaxed his arms, and the dangerous look left his expression. “Instead of shouting at some poor innocent journalist who was only doing her job, maybe you all should be putting that energy into figuring out a way to get an accurate count without destroying breeding stock.”

“We already told them how many
catchable
lobsters there are out there,” said Russ.

“You have to prove it to them, Russ. They are scientists. They need data and facts, not a bunch of unshaved, ripe-smelling, fresh off the boat lobstermen shouting numbers and stories at them off the top of their sunburnt heads.”

Norah tried to hide her smile, but she had a feeling that she had failed when Peggy gave her a quick smile and another wink. Peggy looked quite proud and pleased with her son. She didn't blame Peggy. Ned was not only gorgeous; he also had a brain. She was impressed.

“I think an apology is in order.” Peggy frowned at the men and started to tap the toe of her boot on the walkway. Peggy looked mean, formidable, and ready to get down to business if the men didn't comply with her order.

“I also think Norah needs to be reassured that the next time you guys take exception to her column, you will take your complaints to the
Hancock Review
office and discuss it with Tom, her boss.” Ned positioned himself on her other side. “I'm sure Ms. Stevens didn't appreciate finding four angry men on her doorstep.”

Norah wasn't sure whether to laugh or to feel insulted. One minute, she was being yelled at by four men, and the next, she had two overprotective bodyguards. Both of whom topped her own five-feet, one-inch height by at least a good twelve inches. She was beginning to feel as if she had moved into the land of giants.

Before she could think of what to say to regain control of the situation and exhibit some backbone of her own, the men started mumbling hasty apologies.

“We're sorry, Ms. Stevens,” muttered Russ.

“We didn't mean to scare you or anything,” Oscar added with a small smile that seemed genuine.

“That's okay,” she said. “You didn't really scare me, just gave me a moment of pause, that's all.” She returned Oscar's gesture with what she hoped looked like a sincere smile. She was lying through her pearly whites.

She had been afraid when the four big men had started their shouting, but at least she hadn't acted like a coward. She had calmly made her mother take Zsa Zsa into the house and close the door. Her first instinct had been to protect her mother, which she had done. Her second instinct had been to run like hell and follow her mother to safety behind a closed and locked door before calling the police. But she had held her ground and faced the men. Thankfully, she hadn't had to face them alone for long. Before the shouting had gotten out of hand, Peggy Porter had barged onto the scene and taken control of the situation.

Ned gave her a funny look, almost as if he didn't believe her. Leland offered his apology, “Sorry, Ms. Stevens.”

“Please, call me Norah. Ms. Stevens sounds like my mother.” She took a deep breath and finally relaxed. “I must say it is heartening to see my first column get such attention.” She would have preferred to have gotten rave reviews instead of outraged lobstermen, but one simple fact remained—like it or not, people were reading her column. What more could she ask for? “I can't wait to see what everyone thinks of next week's column.”