Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove) (7 page)

Alex didn’t know quite what to say. He’d caught her completely off guard with his deeply insightful wisdom. She wasn’t sure how deep his knowledge went into her recent past, beyond knowing that her father had died. Not that she’d kept it a secret in any way, but she hadn’t announced she was the only MacFarland left, either. She wasn’t sure what digging Fergus had done, because nothing about her father’s death was on their business website. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to pay tribute to him, to the work he’d devoted his entire life to, but how did one share that without appearing to be working the tragedy for the purposes of commerce? In point of fact, she hadn’t even looked at the site, much less updated it, since the accident. She hadn’t been sure there’d be a business left to tend to.

The accident had made the local papers, at home in Michigan and in British Columbia, where it had happened. She supposed something about it would probably come up on an Internet search. She’d never looked, and never would.

“I-I don’t know what to say. I—thank you. For all the kind words, the wisdom, the advice. For trying, making the effort. I know your heart was in the right place.” That was clearly true, and she was glad she’d made the stop on her way out of Blueberry Cove. It didn’t help her figure out what she would, or should, do next, but it did help her put the loss of this job in a more comfortable perspective. And maybe more, once she’d had time to give his words some proper thought.

“I hope you don’t mind my speaking my thoughts. But I needed ye to understand that it wasn’t just a random thing, my ringing you up. And while my nephew might be willing to toss it off as the whim of an interfering auld man, I’m no’ so willing to let him.” The more emotion he allowed in, the deeper his brogue became.

“Mr. McRae, I’m grateful. More than you know,” she said, meaning every word. “Your confidence in me is . . . well . . . humbling and inspiring. But I have to respect Chief—Logan’s—decision in this.”

Fergus gave her arm a final little pat, then surprised her with a quick wink and a right devilish grin. “You might, lassie, but I don’t. If he’s going to treat me as a meddling nuisance, well then . . . a nuisance I shall become.”

“Oh, Mr. McCrae, please—”

“It’s Fergus to you, lass. And I’ll only ask ye this. Do you want the job?”

She thought about . . . well, everything. She hadn’t walked out to the tower before leaving, but she’d taken a good long gaze at what she could see from the drive before heading out. It wasn’t exceedingly tall as towers went, no more than forty feet. The jutting rocks and position on the point had naturally provided a goodly percentage of the necessary height for the focal point of the beacon. The squarish shape was actually uniquely charming in design, with framed-out windows on the side she could see that she assumed were repeated on the front and far side, as well. They would bring light into what would otherwise be a dank, dark interior, keeping the occupants from experiencing the same suffocating feeling that many towers had, though requiring significantly more upkeep. The black lantern housing and gallery at the top completed its day mark and, even from a distance, it wasn’t hard to imagine the damage the weather had inflicted on the structure over the years of neglect.

A little research would tell her everything she needed to know about the light station, both the tower and the outbuildings. She’d have typically done that and much more before meeting whoever was in charge of its maintenance, much less accepting any contract offer. But none of that had mattered. Timing and distance were all the selling points she’d needed.

Her reasons for wanting to see the tower hadn’t been about cataloguing any of those particulars, either. She’d wanted to see it, up close and personal, for a far more basic reason. She’d wanted to feel the yearning, the excitement, the finger-twitching, soul-stirring need to dig in, to fix, to restore.

She’d be lying if she said those were the things she’d felt when she’d looked up at the lantern gallery. Fear, trepidation, stomach-clenching nausea . . . those were the emotions that swirled inside her. For the first time, she’d wondered if perhaps Logan’s decision hadn’t been the wisest one.

What if it wasn’t just a matter of
if
she wanted the job? Staring at it, hands trembling as they gripped the steering wheel, she’d been forced to wonder if the greater concern was would she have been able to actually
do
the job, even if she were hired?

Not only was it moderate in height as lighthouses went, the location was in as protected a place as she was likely to find. All lighthouses were exposed to the elements as part of their inherent function, but for many, that meant being positioned in fairly dire and challenging locations, from the tips of long rocky seawalls, to the ends of ice-encrusted bridges, or located out in the water, accessible only by boat and only then with extreme caution.

Pelican Point, however, was situated on an easily accessible promontory, the entire light station located on the same open stretch, all in close proximity, with the tower accessible on foot. The cottage and tower sat in the open clearing on the promontory itself, with the main house behind them, backed by forest that all but hugged the rocky point from just above the shoreline. If she was going to face her worst fears, and have any hope of conquering them, of getting the answers she needed . . . Pelican Point would be the safest, easiest place to do it.

Then there was its owner. Logan McCrae. What would it have been like, working with him? All but living with him while she did? Even if the keeper’s cottage could be made serviceable, it was all the same property. How would it be working with someone . . . and wanting him? At least in the physical sense. Needless distraction? Or possibly a much needed diversion while tackling all the many things she had to work through?

“Yes,” she heard herself say. “I do. I want it.”

“Then let’s see what we can do about that.”

“Mr. Mc—Fergus, I don’t want to stir things up or cause problems.”

“Och, darlin’ what’s the point of drawing breath if not to stir things up every once in a while? And trust me, the Cove will be thrilled to see action being taken, so there are no obstacles there. We’ve only to persuade one man. I’ve a good feeling, if you’ll let me talk to him, the tide will turn.”

Alex felt the tide in her stomach pitch, but worked to maintain an even, confident smile and tamp down the panic. It was one thing to work through her issues on some rural, rustic site, reporting back to those in charge of the place as the job unfolded. The thought of doing the job under the close, watchful eye of the owner—an owner who’d made it clear that, left to him, she wouldn’t be there—not to mention carrying the hopes of an entire town on her back as well . . . maybe she wouldn’t think about that until she had to.

“Why don’t you head on down to Delia’s and grab a bite. It’s down Harbor Street, right across from the docks. Winter is coming and you’ll do well to put a few pounds on that mite of a frame of yours or the wind will pluck you right off that tower.”

She felt her face go stone white and the bottom of what stomach she did have drop right out.

Fergus’s expression was immediately stricken. He ducked under the bar, and came straight to her, took both her arms. “Och, but I’m a right bloody fool, I am. Should be whipped for speaking before thinking. An expression is all it was. I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Alex shook her head. “I know. I know you didn’t.” She took hold of his arms, intending to step back, show she was fine, only she held on to those thick forearms for another moment, until she could be certain that was the truth. It took a moment longer to forcibly switch gears away from the past, away from visions of watching her father falling from the lantern gallery rail to the rocks below. She knew better than to close her eyes, so she focused on the first thing she could find.

Her gaze latched on the beautifully hand-carved, wood sign hanging behind the bar, which matched the one perched atop the small building, each featuring the name of the place. “Why did you pick puffins?” she blurted out, desperate to get back to the here and now and not caring if she sounded a bit manic. “Why not Rusty Pelican? Wouldn’t that make more sense? Blueberry Cove is on Pelican Bay. Puffins are cute, like penguins, right?”

She felt the tension ease from his arms. The concern was still there in his eyes, though the corners crinkled up a bit as he spoke. “Well, the pelican has more than gotten his due now, hasn’t he?” Fergus patted her arms, then tucked one through his and walked her over to the door, where several framed photos lined the walls. “Actually, I hail from County Kerry, in Ireland, along the coast. Grew up with a view of Puffin Island and the Skelligs, both home to that fine feathered friend.” He motioned to the top two photos, which had engraved brass plates on the frames, announcing the names of their Irish locations.

“My first summer here, naught much reminded me of my homeland, until I saw the puffins had come to roost out on Sandpiper Island. It was as if they’d come all the way here to wish me well.” He motioned to the bottom two photos. One of Pelican Point with the lighthouse in the background, and the other was labeled Sandpiper Island. The latter showed puffins lining the rocks. He lifted a shoulder, and Alex saw there was a bit of mist mixed in with the twinkle. “So, it was simply the natural thing to do.”

She wanted to tip her head, lean on his shoulder. It also seemed the natural thing to do. And the ache that came with the need, the longing to do the very same thing again with her own father, tightened like a fist around her heart. But for once, she was able to keep her focus outward and simply be thankful for the contact, for the comfort. She squeezed Fergus’s arm and gave in for a moment, briefly touching her head to his shoulder, then slowly sliding her arm free. “That’s a lovely story. Thank you for sharing it with me. And these photos are beautiful. Did you take them?”

“I did, aye.”

“They’re really well done. You should consider making prints and selling them, unless that’s something you already do.”

“Oh, it’s a hobby, is all it is. When I see something that moves me, I like to keep it with me, and photographs allow for that, even when the memories here begin to fade.” He tapped his temple. “I give them as gifts when the subject matter calls for it, but I wouldna’ ask money for them.” He shot her a wink. “Would take all the soul out of it. Not to mention the fun.”

Alex smiled and felt the pressure in her chest ease. Fergus had a rather infectious joy in him. No matter what happened with the tower, she was glad she’d come by and met him. After all the events of the past year, legal and personal, she’d been resistant to deal with new people, with anyone really, just wanting to hole up inside herself, insulate herself from everything and everyone.

But Fergus was easy to talk to and had found his way past her usual barriers without even trying. As had his nephew, although in a very different way. She even found herself wondering why Fergus had left Ireland for Maine, surprised at how much she’d really like to talk with him. She wanted to hear more about his story, but didn’t feel it was her place to ask. Especially as she was leaving, not staying. “I think it’s a lovely tribute. All of it. The name, the photos. Makes the place here as unique and charming as its owner.”

Fergus let out a laugh at that, the mist clearing from his eyes as he slipped a beefy arm about her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “You’re a charming one yourself, Miss MacFarland. Of course, a good Irish name doesn’t hurt your case with me any, either. You’ll have to tell me about your people someday, and where they hail from.” He patted her arm, and smiled so sincerely, she covered his hand and squeezed back. “Blueberry Cove will be happy to add you to its hardy little clan.”

“Fergus, your passion for your adopted home and the people here, your nephew, all of it, is equally charming, but I don’t feel right, ganging up. Maybe we should respect your nephew’s wishes.”

“I’ll strike this bargain with you. All I ask is that you spend the day introducing yourself to the Cove. I’ll speak with Logan, and then you come back to the Puffin this evening after the sun has set. You’ll get a sense of the people, as well as the plot, as they say. And we’ll see what we see.” Eyes twinkling quite merrily, he smiled. “Do we have ourselves an agreement?”

Her smile deepened. “You make it hard to decline.”

“Then don’t.”

“Okay.” She lifted a hand before he danced a jig or something. “But here’s my only stipulation. If he’s not receptive, then that’s where it ends. I don’t want to be held up as part of some organized town lynch mob or anything. He was very kind to me yesterday when I—well, when I had a bad day. This morning as well. I don’t want to repay that kindness with confrontation.”

“Understood.”

Alex eyed him a bit warily. She didn’t know Fergus that well, or at all, really, but given his determination to change his nephew’s mind, she wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t apply the same wiles to her, if push came to shove. “Okay.” She put her hand out. “Then we have an agreement.”

He took her hand by the fingertips and bowed his stout frame with surprising grace over her hand. He pressed a fast, polite kiss to the back of her knuckles. Then winked at her as he straightened. “Never shake a hand, when you can kiss one.”

“Why is it I have a sneaking suspicion I just struck a bargain with the devil?” She said the words with a pretty spot-on imitation of her great-grandfather’s brogue, perfected by her grandfather and father after him, even though both had been born on American soil. Her efforts earned a hoot of laughter from Fergus.

“I’m no saint, lass,” he assured her, grinning. “But I could be your guardian angel. And we all need one of those from time to time.”

N
ow, Mrs. Darby—Eleanor—we’ll get it taken care of. I’ll send Randall over. He’ll get it out of—no, I’m sure you don’t need to spray it with—Mrs. Darby? No spraying! We don’t want to antagonize—yes, yes, I realize he started it. Just . . . now listen to me. Leave the raccoon alone and I’ll get Randall right over to take care of it for you. I’m sure it’s more afraid of you than you are of it at the moment.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose.
Lord knows, I am.
He hung up and buzzed his desk sergeant.

“Yes, Chief?”

“Don’t put Mrs. Darby through to me again. Today, anyway. Even if she bullies you. You can take her, Sergeant. You’re armed.”

“I’m not sure bullets would work on her, sir. Maybe a wooden stake and some garlic?”

Logan choked on a bark of laughter. “Just get Animal Control over there ASAP, will you? Get Randy if you can. Tell him to take the critter cage with him.”

“For the raccoon, sir?”

Logan shook his head, but couldn’t keep the smile from spreading. “I believe that’s the only one we have the right size for, yes.”

“I’m on it.” Sergeant Benson clicked off.

Logan pulled the stack of files across his desk, wishing not for the first time that there was less paperwork in police work, and was debating a third refill for his coffee mug, when Fergus strolled in.

Logan immediately hit the intercom buzzer. “Barb?”

“I’ve got Darby back on line two. Your pick. Sir.”

“Never mind.” He clicked off the intercom and grumbled, “I’ll take Door Number Two.”

“I might be a wee bit ahead of you in years, boy-o, but I’m no’ deaf as yet.”

Logan put his empty coffee mug back on the desk, wishing he’d been a bit faster on the draw. Given the gleam in his uncle’s eye, a healthy dose of caffeine was only the beginning of what he needed. “Please take a seat,” he said to the already comfortably seated Fergus. “Let me clear my schedule.”

“Auld Missus Darby let that raccoon get in? Figured it would happen at some point.” Fergus shook his head. “Ye know she’s feedin’ the damn thing, doncha?”

“She’s not feeding—” Logan broke off and frowned as Fergus held his gaze, lips twitching, seeing the truth in his uncle’s eyes. “She’s feeding it? What the—why would she do that? She hates the damn thing. And how would you know?” Logan’s expression went slack. “Please tell me you’re not—” He immediately lifted a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Not a single detail.”

“No, I’m not. I might be an old fool, but not that big a one.” Fergus visibly shuddered at the thought. “A man would have to be blind, deaf, and—it doesn’t bear thinking. I know she’s feedin’ the damn thing because Owen was in the other night for a short brew and mentioned she’d asked if the cat food she gets from him would be dangerous for small wildlife animals.”

“She threatened to spray it with furniture polish. She’s probably trying to poison it, not nourish it.”

“Well, all I’ll be sayin’ on the matter is I’ve seen the size dish she keeps on her back stoop. If it’s a cat she’s feedin’, remind me to steer clear of the docks behind her place in the wee hours. Thing’d be the size of a cougar by now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got one of them, too.”

Logan rubbed his palm over his face, then pushed the topic aside, quite certain that his uncle was about to replace it with something far more irritating. “What brings you by?”

“Alex MacFarland stopped in to see me on her way out of town early this morning.”

Logan had been anticipating this argument, but was caught off guard by that tidbit of information. “She did, did she? I’m guessing she was none too happy to have dragged all of her worldly possessions halfway across the country for a job you weren’t in the position to hire her to do.”

“Actually, she was looking for some breakfast because apparently you couldn’t be bothered.”

“She said that? I wasn’t expecting company, but I did make coffee and—she does realize that asking you for advice on good cooking is like—”

“Asking you for the same? I might have mentioned that.” Fergus’s smile faded, and his expression turned more serious. “She wasn’t complaining. In fact, she said she was grateful for all ye did. She was quite embarrassed by what happened yesterday.”

“She said as much.” Logan looked back to his folders, uncomfortable. “It was understandable, under the circumstances. I don’t hold it against her.”

“Ah, so she told you then. About her business. About her father.”

Logan’s gaze jerked back to his uncle’s. The wrenching pleas for her father during her tumultuous nightmare and the sobs that wracked her afterward echoed clearly through his mind. In fact, the whole night had played through his mind more than once since he’d arrived at work. As had the morning’s events. The nightmare provided such a strong contrast to when she’d given him that blistering kiss. Combined with visions of her smacking that wrench into his palm, all business, despite being wrapped in an old towel, her face and hair still dripping from the broken pipe blast. That had just been in their first twelve hours together. He’d been trying to forget all of it since he’d come downstairs to find the house empty, not liking at all that it felt that way. Empty.

“Ah,” Fergus said, a glint in his eye as he studied Logan’s face. “So, she didn’t tell ye. What circumstances were you talking about then?”

“Just that she’d been traveling a long distance, hadn’t taken care of herself. She was pale, a bit hollow-cheeked. Bonnie thought she might have recently gotten over being sick and was probably anemic. She wanted her to go in for tests, make sure, but Alex didn’t want any part of that.” Logan wanted, badly, not to know anything about the real whys and wherefores that had caused Alex to pass out, literally, in his arms, but he knew from the look in Fergus’s eyes that he wasn’t going to be that lucky. If he were being honest with himself, he’d also admit that it wasn’t going to take Fergus pushing the point to keep Alex MacFarland in his mind.

“You didn’t talk to her at all, then, did you? About her qualifications? Her work history? It’s remarkably impressive, given her age.”

“First, she wasn’t in much shape for that—”

“Yesterday, maybe, but there was no need to give her the bum’s rush out the door this morning. She came all that way, the least you could do was—”

“I offered her the house, Gus. I told her she could stay as long as she needed, while figuring out her next step. She chose to leave instead. And I didn’t need to know her references or her qualifications, because I’m not investing the trust in the lighthouse when it’s taking everything I have to keep the house from falling down around me. The same house that provides the roof over my head.”

“Then maybe it’s time to consider getting some help. With the house, and . . . all the rest.”

Logan didn’t want to admit it to Fergus, but he’d thought about doing exactly that. For the main house, anyway. Blueberry Cove was hardly a hotbed of crime, but Alex had been right that there was still a constant stream of peacekeeping issues that kept him busy far outside normal business hours. Small towns also had small police forces, which meant even as chief he still shouldered a fair share of working directly on any issue that might come up, as well as taking on the larger political role of working with the town council and the mayor. And more of the same on the county and, at times, state levels.

The thing about living in a place where you could name every single person who resided in it was that folks felt a direct kinship of sorts. With that connection came a heightened sense of trust and faith that he’d be there for them, come any crisis. He valued that, was humbled by it, but when that individual bond was multiplied by the number of residents in the Cove . . . well, he was only one man. But he did what he could, putting the needs of the folks who relied on him first.

That meant the house out on the Point had become like the old family member whose needs were constantly moved down the list, neglected because family could be counted on to understand. Like a family put too long on the wait list, the house was getting more and more unforgiving, and if he didn’t find some kind of solution, he might find himself out on the proverbial street.

“The house . . . has been a challenge,” Logan said, not wanting to give Fergus even a toehold in the conversation, because he wasn’t going to relent on the tower. “I haven’t been able to put as much time and effort into it as I’d hoped and the list is, admittedly, getting a bit daunting.” He lifted a hand before Fergus could launch what was sure to be a well-thought-out campaign to get him to reconsider his stance. “But if anything is done, it should be the house first, the tower after. I understand about the tricentennial and the lighthouse’s bicentennial, but as nice as it would be for the tower to be restored, the end result doesn’t help us or the town. The folks that come to look at lighthouses still see it on the harbor boat tours. Even restored, we can’t open it to the public.”

“Why not?”

Logan’s eyes widened. “Because I live there and don’t want to encourage people to be tromping around my property and through my house. I’m the chief of police, as well as a private citizen. Neither one of them think that’s a great idea. We get enough interlopers every year as it is, who think simply because it’s a historic building that it’s open season to go wherever they like.”

“To be fair, it’s relatively rare, comparatively speaking, for lighthouses to be privately owned.”

“Which is why we posted a sign. For all the good it does.”

“Is it the funding then?” Fergus asked.

“I just got done telling you that I won’t be selling tickets to my living quarters, so—”

“I don’t mean about the lighthouse, or the keeper’s cottage. You’ve recently taken a bigger role in managing the trust. Are we in worse shape there than you’ve let on? If that’s so, ye need to come clean with me.”

“No, it’s okay. But it doesn’t earn what it used to. Growth is slow, sometimes negligible. We’re damn lucky it didn’t go the other direction. I’m hopeful we can be more aggressive in finding ways to grow it without taking too many risks, but that will take time. What’s in there now— we’d wipe it out just to renovate the tower. And then what? It won’t stay renovated. Over time, the winds, the sea, the weather, will hammer it all over again. True of the cottage as well. If we can get a healthy part of the house up to par, that would be the wiser investment. I guess I kept thinking if I maintained the place by doing as much of it myself as I could, then eventually we could start a modest campaign on the cottage and tower. But I have to admit . . . I’m losing that battle. I should have admitted defeat sooner and I should have been more aggressive with trust management. It’s not my forte, but—” He broke off, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.”

Fergus reached over, gripped Logan’s forearm, squeezed, then held tight. “Yer doin’ the best with what ye have. I dinnae blame ye, laddie. You’ve been dealt a tough hand, and not just once. I know ye just wanted to find peace, simplicity, and let things work at their own pace. I understand that, as ye well know. I could have pushed harder, but I guess I wanted to believe it would all resolve itself, too.”

“It’s the McCrae legacy,” Logan said quietly. “Left to me to oversee. I should have done better with that.”

“Yet another burden for you to take on,” Fergus said. “As I see it, you’ve never shirked a one of them. As ye said, yer but one man.” He leaned farther over the desk and cupped Logan’s cheek with his other hand. “Even a lad as stubborn as yourself knows when it’s time to ask for some help.”

Whatever argument Logan thought he’d been prepared to mount, Fergus had wiped out with that one quietly stated declaration. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had the discussion before in some form or other. But that was before any actual steps had been taken, and other people had been involved. Alex MacFarland, specifically. He understood now why Fergus had done it.

“I might not have, but you did,” Logan said, feeling the weight of every single one of his forebears as if they were sitting directly on his shoulders. It was ironic that he could single-handedly carry the entire town of Blueberry Cove on those same shoulders, and do a pretty damn good job of it, yet fail the single branch of his own ancestral tree so utterly. “It’s a monumental task and will continue to be one. I’m not even sure, frankly, where to begin. And that’s talking about the main house.”

“That is why I stepped in to help ye out a wee bit. It’s what family is supposed to do. And I’ve been just as lax, so the fault lies equally with me.”

Logan sighed and held Fergus’s gaze squarely. “What is one single woman going to do?”

“Have you bothered to even look at her credentials? Do a search on her background in this business?” Fergus didn’t wait for the reply as they both knew the answer to that. “She’s done this her whole life, and her father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and more before her. They know a thing or two or three about what it takes, and that includes raising the funds to see it done.”

“She might have mentioned that,” Logan allowed.

Fergus’s brows climbed halfway up his ruddy forehead. “Did she now? And you what? Dismissed the golden goose out of hand?”

“That’s just it. There is no golden goose, no golden eggs. I didn’t follow up with Alex because I’ve done that legwork in the past, although it’s been years. I know there are ways to raise the funds, and each and every one of them comes with a price. The main one being that I lose control over the property and how it’s utilized. That’s something I’m not prepared to relinquish. It’s the reason we McCraes bought the damn thing to begin with. It’s our home. It’s been our home for two hundred years.”

“You’ve asked for a place to start and I’ve handed you one.”

Logan wanted to say part of the reason he’d put off hiring out was it would begin a never-ending parade of subcontractors and workers on the property. After putting in a long day making himself personally available to every single person in the Cove, he didn’t want to face another army of people when he went home at night. He wanted time to himself. Needed it. It provided balance, a retreat, separation between his professional life and his personal one—as much as he had one anyway. He knew it was also because of those other burdens Gus had mentioned, but it wasn’t hiding. It was simply . . . finding a way to live. He’d been settled and comfortable with his life for some time.