Sea Glass Sunrise (24 page)

After a few moments, she shifted in his arms, slid her hand down, and took his as he let her go, then silently continued on their walk, not releasing his hand, even when she crouched down to continue her hunt. It wasn’t clingy, or needy. In fact, there was something both sweet and very intimate about it, a connectedness that was somehow more powerful than when he’d been buried deep inside of her.

By the time they got to the end of the small cove, he had a breast pocket full of sea glass and a few more chunks in the front pocket of his jeans. He’d just opened his mouth to ask her if she had some time the following day—Saturday—to drive out to his farm with him. He wanted—needed—to see her there now. Even though he knew it might be the stupidest thing he could do. She’d just come home to her family, a place she clearly loved, and seeing her here on the water, he felt pretty positive that she’d made the right choice. Would she want to go back to D.C.? Only time would tell. But was she in any real shape to make some other big leap? Say, in the direction of Calais?
You’re an idiot. And since when are you in an all-fired hurry to take any big leaps yourself?

He still had one to take with his father, and his brothers, about his future with the company. And that would have to wait until after he’d gotten out from under the arson situation here in Blueberry Cove. So the very last thing he should be thinking about was tangling her life up with his any further, much less imprinting the memory of her in any part of his life on the farm. That was his new life.
His
life. No regrets. No . . .
foolish ideas of happy ever after
, his little voice supplied.

It was probably divine intervention when his phone rang before he could issue an invitation. He hadn’t realized he’d shoved his phone into his back pocket until the ringer went off. He couldn’t help going tense, but he’d be damned if he’d let his father intrude on any of the remaining time he had with Hannah. “Sorry,” he muttered, and slid the phone out. Then he paused in his steps, bringing her to a halt alongside him, as he looked at the name on the screen. He looked to Hannah. “It’s Winstock. Or his office, anyway.”

She nodded, her face instantly going into sharp, legal-eagle mode, and damn if that didn’t make him grin, too.

He answered the phone. “Calder Blue.” Then his eyes widened when none other than Brooks Winstock himself came on the line.

“I’m back in the Cove,” he said. “Dinner meeting, seven o’clock?”

So much for preliminaries. “I can make that work,” Calder said.

“Come on up to the house. I’m buried under a mountain of stuff here and I can have the cook rustle us something up. More relaxed that way. Sounds like we could both use a little of that.”

Calder wasn’t entirely certain what Winstock was alluding to. Their protracted attempts at meeting? That both of them had been questioned regarding the arson fire? He didn’t sound amused or pissed off, just . . . direct. So Calder didn’t probe for clarification. “Sounds good.”

“I’d give you the address, but anyone can direct you. Why don’t you ask your lawyer?” he said, and for the first time, there was the barest hint of an edge to his voice. “She knows exactly where I live.” Then the line went dead.

Calder slowly pocketed the phone again and looked at Hannah, who, standing as close as she was, had clearly heard both sides of the conversation. “So,” he said. “That was fun.” He smiled, though it was rueful. “I wonder if he knows my father?”

Her smile matched his. “Do you want me to go along? As counsel? Arbitrate the contract?”

“There won’t be any contract,” Calder said.

She grinned. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

He laughed outright, and pulled her into his arms for another fast kiss. “I believe you have bridesmaid debauchery to attend.” She made a face, which made his grin deepen. “I’ll handle this one on my own.” He leaned in, kissed her again, but softly, then deeply, until she moaned again. He ran slow kisses along her jaw to her ear, his body leaping in response when he felt the shudder of pleasure race through her. “But I reserve the right to request counsel later.”

Chapter Sixteen

Hannah stood on the stretch of lawn that separated the old keeper’s cottage from the lighthouse, marveling over the stunning transformation of her childhood protector. At least that’s how she’d always thought of the Point light, though she’d never told anyone that. She cradled an oversized mug of her brother’s famously delicious coffee between her hands, and thought about how, while listening to her grandfather’s many stories about the McCrae lightkeepers and the lighthouse itself, her seven-year-old self had considered that if roadways had the same sort of beacon lighting as Pelican Bay, maybe her parents wouldn’t have crashed their car during that ice storm when she was five. Maybe they’d all have remained one big, happy family.

She’d loved listening to her grandfather’s stories of when the lighthouse had been operational, of her ancestors and their families who had been both lightkeepers and cottage caretakers. After the accident, those stories had become a great comfort to her, as had the tower. She’d somehow come to believe that as long as she had the lighthouse in sight, or in her heart, nothing bad could happen to her. “And we see how well that worked out for me,” she murmured as she brought the mug to her lips again and sipped.

Although, if she were honest with herself, she hadn’t really kept the Point light in her heart, not in any meaningful way. She loved her home and her family, but she’d let her life in D.C., her goals, her dreams, her relationship all hold sway over her, until they consumed her every waking thought, pushing her home, and even her family, to a distant second place, especially the past few years. Standing there now, she wondered how she could have possibly gone a full three years without seeing her brother, or either of her sisters, without her beacon.

“What a lovely setting for the wedding.”

Hannah didn’t start; she’d heard the approaching footsteps. She turned at the sound of Owen Hartley’s voice, a sincere smile of affection creasing her face. “Isn’t it? They’re calling for sunny and clear tomorrow, just like today. It’s going to be beautiful.” She turned her head so her hair would catch in the wind off the water and blow away from her face as she laughed. “Though they might have a tough time trying to say their vows in the ever-present sea breeze.”

Owen smiled as he leaned in for a quick one-arm hug, careful not to jostle her coffee mug. “Somehow, when your brother looks up and sees Alexandra at the end of the aisle, I doubt anything else will register in his mind.” He smiled as he stepped back and shifted to stand beside her, both of them looking over the preparations that were under way for the following day’s festivities. “From talking to Alex, my sense is she’ll have the same feeling, looking at her groom.”

Hannah smiled, and then relaxed shoulders she realized she’d tensed as Owen had started talking about the wedding. She’d been subconsciously waiting for that ping of hurt and betrayal to nip at her, followed by the guilt of letting her own ugly past mar her joy for her brother’s well-deserved happiness. But that ping didn’t come. In fact, rather shockingly, when Owen had mentioned Alex looking at her groom, the person Hannah had pictured hadn’t been Tim. It had been Calder.

She closed her eyes briefly, hid behind her coffee mug as she took another long sip, and tried to block out exactly why Calder Blue dominated her every thought. And it wasn’t because she knew he was, at that very second—hopefully—finally sitting across a table from Brooks Winstock. She’d gotten a short text from Calder the night before, letting her know he’d arrived at the Winstock estate only to be greeted with the unbelievable news that Brooks had been called away at the last second. Calder had been put up in the Winstock manse for the night with a promise of a breakfast meeting right there in the family dining room the following morning. Hannah supposed she shouldn’t be so surprised, but the gall of the man was incredible. Calder had promised her that he wasn’t leaving the house until he’d seen Winstock. She smiled into her coffee as she recalled the other thing he’d texted her after she’d asked again if he wanted representation during the meeting. He’d responded by telling her exactly how he’d like counsel to be representing him in the king-sized bed he’d been assigned for the night.

“It’s good to have you back in the Cove,” Owen was saying.

Hannah tuned smoothly into the conversation again, lowering her mug, and simultaneously thinking she needed to find a way to raise her rapidly dwindling defenses where Calder Blue was concerned. It was one thing to have a hijacked afternoon of crazy behavior. Quite another to be thinking about the man while watching town volunteers help to set up chairs for her brother’s impending nuptials. “It’s really good to be back,” she told him sincerely, and renewed her determination to keep her thoughts exclusively on her family, her sisters, the wedding, the town—anything but the man who had taken her body up against his truck, then claimed far more fragile pieces of her by taking her hand for a stroll down a tide-gutted cove.

“How is life treating you down there in our beautiful nation’s capital?”

She was surprised to hear herself laugh so easily, and stunned to realize she wasn’t forcing it. “The city is lovely, but life? Mmm, it’s been better.”

His pale brow knitted in concern. “Your brother has mentioned that you put in a lot of hours.” He rested a hand on her arm. “Make sure you take some time, find some balance.” He smiled a bit sheepishly. “Something I’m learning the importance of more and more lately.”

Her face brightened. “That’s right! I haven’t officially congratulated you on your mayorship, Mr. Mayor.”

“You said as much on the phone, no need to fuss over it,” he said, and charmed her with the blush that rose to his pale cheeks.

She leaned in and kissed one of those cheeks. “Now it’s official,” she said, smiling gaily as his blush deepened. Owen wasn’t old enough to be a father figure, maybe more like a much older brother, or beloved uncle. She’d known him her whole life and he’d always been kind, always offered a willing shoulder, always been a safe port.
Safe ports. Beacons. Funny how you’re framing everything in terms of safety this morning.

“So, I had the chance to meet Jonah’s great-nephew,” Owen said, inadvertently turning the subject directly to the one person she was trying not to think about.

“I heard,” she said, looking once again at the white folding chairs being set up in neat little rows. “Calder was very grateful for the Blue family background you shared with him.”

“I was surprised he didn’t know,” Owen said, after a brief moment of apparent surprise that she knew of their conversation. “On further reflection, I suppose it’s not so shocking given the history. Do you know how things are progressing with him and Brooks? When we spoke, his meeting had been cancelled—more than once, I believe. Then there was that awful fire . . .” He let the words trail off, shaking his head.

“I hope you know he had nothing to do with that fire,” Hannah said, telling herself she was rushing to Calder’s defense as his attorney speaking to the town mayor, nothing more. “You met him, you’re a very good judge of character. Surely you—”

“I don’t think he did it,” Owen said, “and I’ve been vocal about that with the council, if that helps.”

She took his arm, squeezed. “Thank you,” she said, knowing her reaction had nothing to do with being Calder’s counsel of record.

“I know the investigation is proceeding,” Owen said. “I feel awful that it’s happening now of all times.” He nodded toward the wedding preparations. “The council wants me to press the chief for answers.”

“He’s doing everything he can,” Hannah assured him.

Owen nodded. “Oh, I know. I do. To be honest, I suspect the pressure from the council members was coming from Jonah, looking to get his pound of St. Croix River Blue flesh.” He glanced at her, a rueful look in his soft eyes. “Sorry. But you know how he can be when he’s on a tear.”

“Don’t apologize for him,” she said, hearing the edge in her voice. Just because she’d known Jonah Blue her entire life, and his great-nephew less than a week, did not mean Jonah automatically earned her support. And, in this instance, she was fairly certain she’d feel that way whether or not she’d ever laid eyes on Calder Blue. “I do know. But you’re saying the pressure isn’t coming from him?” At Owen’s quick shake of the head, she sighed. “Let me guess. Brooks is pressuring them. Not surprising. And I probably shouldn’t say this to you, but I have to think the reason Brooks is pushing this to a rushed conclusion—while the finger is pointing in a different direction, namely at Calder—is to keep suspicion from shifting to him. He’s the one with something to gain by Jonah’s business taking a bad turn. Assuming he wants to continue with his one-man harbor revitalization kick.”

“What does your brother—I mean Chief McCrae—think about that?”

“He agrees that there is logic to the assumption, but that’s all it is. An assumption.”

Owen nodded thoughtfully, looking a bit absent for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said. “I have put you in an awkward place.”

“No,” he said, still sounding caught up in his personal thoughts. “I mean, yes, you’re right. I just—” He broke off and made a humming sound in his throat.

Hannah’s gaze narrowed slightly. “What aren’t you telling me, Owen?” She asked calmly enough, gently even. “Logan doesn’t think Calder did it, either, but there’s no evidence proving anyone else did. And if the council is pressuring him—and you know something that might lend credence to my theory, or some other person—”

“Nothing tangible,” Owen said, blinking, looking back at her. “No proof of any kind. Obviously I’d have given anything like that to the chief.” His gaze cleared completely as he looked at her more directly. “I share your concerns. About Brooks. About his possible future plans for the harbor. In fact, Calder and I spoke about that very thing, about what his motivation might be. Especially since he’s been uncharacteristically ruthless.”

“I thought the same thing. He’s richer than Croesus, and yet he seems more interested in swindling folks out of their harbor property than approaching them head-on. I know he’s very aggressive in his business and that’s a large part of why he’s been so successful, but I’ve never heard of him going to such lengths to get what he wants.” She paused. “Of course, how well do we really know anyone?”

“We did theorize a bit on that score,” Owen admitted.

“Yes, Calder mentioned something about thinking Winstock might want to leave a bigger legacy given he has no direct heir to his throne. But he already owns, what? A quarter of the town’s property at least, maybe more. How much legacy does he need?”

“I think he wanted to do something that would change the course, the future, of the town, something that would be more . . . I guess for lack of a better word, historic. Owning property, even as much as he has, isn’t the kind of thing that gets more than a footnote in the history books, even if those books”—Owen made air quotes of the word—“are the local lore handed down from generation to generation.”

“Hasn’t he ever heard of charitable works? I mean, if he wants to leave a more lasting impression that will change the course of the town, why not build a park, a senior home, whatever. Slap his name on it for all eternity.”

Owen lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I do know that it’s not Brooks directly pushing at the board. It’s coming more indirectly, from his son-in-law. I’m assuming, however, that it’s being encouraged by Brooks. And knowing Ted, he’s happy to comply, to demonstrate that even after losing both his head council seat and his bid for mayor last year, he can still throw his weight around, and prove the same to his father-in-law.”

Hannah’s head swung around as the words struck her, and struck hard. “Is Brooks still upset with Ted for losing his seat? I mean, has it been a publicly divisive thing between the two of them?”

Owen looked momentarily surprised by the intensity of the question, but took it seriously. “I . . . I suppose you could say that. I mean, I’ve felt a certain amount of animosity from Ted. No more, I think, than he’d have directed at anyone who dared to challenge him. And Brooks was definitely not happy that he lost his direct link to the council, but, in all honesty, he seemed to move on. I think he doesn’t waste much time wallowing in his defeats. He usually moves directly forward to the next conquest. I told Calder as much.”

“His next conquest being to continue his makeover of Half Moon Harbor to reflect his own ideal of what this town should be.”

“Yes,” Owen said, looking confused now. “That’s why he’s a suspect in Jonah’s boathouse burning down, right?”

“Right,” Hannah said, only more to herself than to Owen. Her mind was spinning. Brooks had been around a long time, and while his methods had been less than compassionate—the way he’d tried both to take part of Brodie’s shipyard, and to get ownership of Delia’s property—all those maneuvers had been legal. Why resort to arson, then? It just didn’t jibe. “Think about what has changed from the time he took the diner property to the time of the arson,” she said, thinking out loud. “Only one thing stands out.”

“Ted lost the election,” Owen said, scrambling to follow her line of thought.

“Exactly. Brooks’s son-in-law no longer holds any political power in this town. I mean, he still has some political clout, no doubt, through whatever allies he still has on the council, but any actual, immediate power? Gone. And to get it back, he’ll have to start over again.”

“All true. But I’m not sure I see how that connects—”

She looked directly at Owen now. “It’s never been a secret that Cami married Ted for his political aspirations, and that both Winstocks, father and daughter, have been grooming Ted to ascend the mayoral throne here, mostly as a launchpad to state politics, and perhaps further. Given the shenanigans both of them get into outside their marriage, clearly there is nothing else between them. No children, nothing. And, as you said, no grandchildren for Brooks, no heir to the family throne; the family legacy ends with Brooks.”