Summer at the Shore (Seashell Bay Book 2) (5 page)

“Uh, thanks for helping us out,” Sabrina said.

“Those are great shoes,” he said, glancing at her feet. “That purple trim is totally cool.”

Sabrina looked down, then managed a shy grin. “Thanks.”

Morgan started to relax a little now that the ice had been broken. She crossed the kitchen and reached down into a cupboard for an iron skillet. “Bacon, sausage, and eggs okay, Ryan? How do you like your eggs?”

Ryan moved around the island to stand next to Sabrina. “Any way is fine.”

“Coming right up.” Morgan grabbed her pink apron from a hook on the back of the pantry door.

“Sabrina, how about I give you a hand with those veggies?” Ryan said.

Sabrina glanced over at Morgan, looking uncertain.

“If he insists, I say we put the man to work,” Morgan said.

Sabrina extracted a wide-bladed knife from a butcher
block on the counter and handed it to Ryan, who carefully ran his thumb along the edge. Then she reached down and pulled out another cutting board. “Would you mind doing the onions? They burn my eyes something fierce.”

Ryan grabbed the pair of big red onions. “When you cut into an onion, it releases a gas that combines with the water in your eyes to form an acid. People have come up with a lot of ideas to avoid burning tears. I’ve only found a couple of things that help though.”

Morgan stared at him. He was the last guy on Earth she thought would be talking about cooking tricks.

“Like what?” Sabrina asked as she sidled a little closer to him. “I’ve tried cutting them under water, but it felt stupid and awkward.”

“Well, I start by keeping the onions good and cold.” Then he started to chop with fast, precise strokes. Morgan and Sabrina exchanged startled glances.

“The key is to have a really sharp knife,” he went on, still chopping, “and get it done as fast as possible. Without lopping off the ends of your fingers, of course.”

Other than a few professionals she’d watched on the Food Network, Morgan had never seen anybody slice and dice as fast as Ryan. He polished off the pair of onions in what seemed like a dozen heartbeats.

“Wow,” Morgan said, “maybe you should take over the cooking around here, and Sabrina and I should do the repairs.”

Sabrina’s eyes were practically bugging out at the sight of the neat pile of onions. “Wow, I’ll say.”

Ryan laughed. “Just because I’m good with a knife doesn’t mean I’m a good cook. I’ll leave that part up to you experts.”

Morgan wasn’t buying it. He was probably a damn good cook, just like he seemed to be good at everything else. And he’d handled Sabrina, skittish at the best of times, like a real pro. It reminded her again how little she knew about the grown-up Ryan Butler, mystery man par excellence.

She could only hope he stayed around long enough for her to find out who he truly was.

M
organ sidled up behind Sabrina, who was stirring the soup after she tossed in another pinch of sea salt. Ryan had headed for Portland to pull together the materials he needed to start on the shingle repair. The ballpark estimate he’d given Morgan on that seemingly small job had been substantially more than the rough calculation she’d made that morning. It was because she hadn’t taken into account the fact that he’d need to rent a lot of construction gear, including safety equipment. Still the cost was going to be a whole lot less than her earlier estimate of what it would cost to have a professional roofer do the repair.

Morgan rested her head on Sabrina’s shoulder. “Ryan said he’ll start on the roof tomorrow.”

Her sister put down her spoon and moved away, leaning on the counter by the sink. “He said he really liked my shoes.” She glanced down and twirled her left foot. “You think he meant it?”

“Of course he did.”

“He’s never said much to me before, but he was nice today.”

“You’ve never really had a chance to get to know him,” Morgan said. “High school hardly counts, and he hasn’t been home that much since.”

“He was just one of those big-shot athletes before he went into the army,” Sabrina said, folding her arms tight across her chest. “One of those cute guys the popular girls always gushed over. Guys like that never even noticed I was alive. Not unless they decided they needed someone to bully.”

Morgan had sometimes thought that, when it came to bullying, the girls at their school had been worse than the boys. But poor Sabrina had drawn fire from both, and Morgan and Lily had spent a lot of time protecting her. Sabrina had been even more painfully shy back then, almost always dressing in gray, which Morgan had figured was an unconscious attempt to camouflage herself against the slate-gray walls of Peninsula High.

“Ryan’s a good guy,” Morgan said. “And we’ve all changed a lot from high school, right?”

Sabrina’s brow creased as if she was mulling that over.

“What’s going on, Sabrina?” Morgan finally asked.

“I’m glad Ryan’s going to save us some money,” Sabrina said. “It’s nice of him, and I don’t want to seem ungrateful. But I still don’t see why you can’t borrow the money we need to get the place in shape. We both know this place needs a big makeover, not just some handyman work. We need new furniture, new everything.” Her chin went up in a defiant little tilt. “Dad would have borrowed the money.”

They’d been over this issue enough times that Morgan wanted to cry with frustration. “Oh, honey, we’ve gone through this already.”

Sabrina opened a kitchen drawer, yanked out a tea towel, and slammed the drawer shut. “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.”

Patience, Morgan.
She dredged up a smile. “I’m sorry. We can talk about it as much as you want.”

Sabrina hugged the towel to her chest. “Dad always found a way to come up with money, so why can’t you? He never had problems dealing with the bank.”

Not true. He just hadn’t bothered to tell his daughters about them.

Morgan remembered their father telling them that hardworking people could usually get the banks to be flexible. Maybe that was true in the old days, but not so much anymore.

“Banks are happy to lend you money as long as they’re confident that you’ll be able to pay it back,” Morgan said. “Sadly, our bank doesn’t have that kind of confidence in the B&B anymore. They say it’s too risky to extend us more credit.”

Sabrina shook her head. “But we’ve always made our loan payments. Dad told me that, and so did you.”

That streak would be coming to an end next month unless a miracle happened and the remaining empty rooms suddenly got booked. “Yes, but the past doesn’t count for much. I had nothing to show the manager to convince him we’d be in a position to take on more debt. We’re barely half-booked for the rest of the summer, and we’re wide open after Labor Day.”

“But doing nothing is a guaranteed recipe for failure,” her sister said stubbornly. That was one of their dad’s favorite sayings, one Sabrina tended to fall back on whenever they got into this argument. “We’re having a hard
time getting bookings because the place is practically falling apart. But if we spend some money and make it look really nice, people will come back.”

Morgan held out her hands, palms up. “Sweetie, we have
no
money.”

“Well, Lily and Aiden must have plenty of money these days. He was a pro baseball player, and now they’re building that fancy resort. Lily would do anything for you, Morgan.” Sabrina’s blue gaze had turned almost desperate.

“Their money is tied up in the resort and renovating the old Flynn house. And even if they did have some available cash, how could I ask my best friend to invest in a place that might not survive past the summer season?”

Sabrina tossed the tea towel across the room and yanked off her apron, throwing it onto the counter. “So what’s the answer, then? Help from Ryan sure isn’t going to be enough.”

“Well, it’s certainly going to help.”

“Oh, stop it!” Sabrina snapped. “I’m not some child you have to shelter from reality. It’s going to take real money to get this place in shape, and you won’t even try to raise it.”

Morgan felt her mouth gape open. “Sabrina, that’s just not—”

“Don’t say it’s not true, Morgan. Sometimes I think you’d like nothing better than to sell this place and wash your hands of it.” Sabrina stopped abruptly as her voice caught, half turning away to look out the window into the yard.

Morgan beat back the sense of frustration that threatened to choke her, refusing to rise to her sister’s angry bait. That last jab had hit her in a very vulnerable spot.

“Look, you’ve got a great job on the mainland,” Sabrina said in a lower voice, “so I get why you want to get back to it. But all I have is the B&B, Morgan. And what about Dad? Don’t we owe it to him to do every last thing we can to keep his dream alive?”

Now was not the time for Morgan to talk to her sister about coming to live with her in Pickle River. That would just send the argument into the stratosphere. “Let’s just take it one day at a time, okay? I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Sabrina huffed. “You don’t really care about what happens to Golden Sunset. If you truly cared about Dad and me, you’d have come back and helped when he asked you to. Instead, you picked your job over your family. How do you think that made us feel?”

Man, talk about a freaking guilt trip. “Honestly, I’ve never seen the two as mutually exclusive,” Morgan said, wishing she didn’t feel so defensive. She loved teaching, and she’d worked hard to put herself through college and build the career she’d always wanted. Why was it wrong to refuse to give it up?

Still, deep in her heart, Morgan felt guilty as hell. Maybe it was the curse of the eldest child, but the guilt was beginning to take a real toll on her spirit.

Sabrina grabbed the kettle off the stove and started to fill it. “Anyway, you’d better get the idea of selling out of your head, because the only way it can happen is over my dead body.”

A horrible mix of anger, sadness, and fear about where this would end up threatened to flatten Morgan. “Honey, you know I don’t want to sell,” she said softly.

Sabrina threw her an angry glare. “Dad left me half
the inn, thank God,” she said as she plunked the kettle onto the stove. “So you can’t dump this place without me, and I’m not leaving unless the sheriff comes and drags me away. I mean it, Morgan.”

Morgan just shook her head. There was no point continuing the discussion, especially with her sister so wound up. She had to wonder if it was just Ryan’s presence that had shaken her up, or if Sabrina was finally getting how serious things were.

M
organ stepped out of the kitchen, holding a tray with one hand while she gently closed the rattletrap screen door with the other. She’d spent most of the morning tidying up in the kitchen, stewing over the latest batch of bills and fretting over last night’s argument with her sister. Finally, she’d stuffed the bills in a drawer and set out making a snack for Ryan, who’d started early on the shingling job. Last evening, the poor guy had walked into the aftermath of her fight with Sabrina, and Morgan still felt badly about it. He’d quickly picked up on the tense atmosphere and made himself scarce.

She felt guilty that Ryan was giving up a perfect kayaking day. Morgan hadn’t missed the long look he’d directed out at the water before he went up the ladder with a load of shingles draped over one brawny shoulder. There was little doubt he’d rather be out in his kayak instead of slaving away on a hot roof. Since he wouldn’t let her do anything to help him—not that she could really envision herself crawling around the roof, lugging heavy packets of shingles—she figured the least she could do was to entice
him down for some refreshment. The tray held a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade and two chilled glasses, along with fresh-made blueberry scones and a small container of butter.

She set it down on one of the patio tables and then, shading her eyes against the glare, looked up.

Ryan had his back to her as he hammered a shingle into place, and for the second time that morning, her breath pretty much seized in her chest. His broad, tanned shoulders and bare, muscular back glistened with sweat under the straps of his safety harness. His yummy biceps flexed with power as he swung the heavy hammer, driving in each nail with a single, smooth blow. And then there was the tool belt slung low over his cargo shorts, highlighting his truly stellar ass. Ryan Butler was the construction worker fantasy come to life.

Yep, the heat index was definitely going up around Golden Sunset, and it wasn’t because of the summer sun.

Morgan cleared her throat so she wouldn’t squeak when she called up to him. “Hey, you hardworking man, how about taking a break? I’ve got fresh lemonade and a blueberry scone with your name on it.”

Ryan glanced back over his shoulder, dipping his head to peer under the safety rail. He waved and started to say something—to decline, she suspected. But then he paused and seemed to reconsider. He slung his hammer into a slot on his tool belt and stood up. “On my way down.”

Morgan hurried to the ladder and gripped the aluminum rails to steady it, just as she’d done earlier that morning. It made her feel like she was doing something useful. Ryan shucked off the safety harness and smiled down at her as he swung his long legs onto the ladder. She took
that smile as a silent acknowledgement of her small effort to assist.

Plus, the view from the bottom was pretty spectacular. How could she not keep her eyes glued to that glorious example of male physical perfection, especially when all he had on this morning was a pair of cargo shorts, work boots, and a tool belt? Her mouth went so dry she felt more than ready for some ice-cold lemonade.

She kept a firm grip on the ladder, as much to steady herself as to help him. As he neared the bottom, she had to resist the urge to run her tongue over his glistening back.

Get a grip, Morgan
. She let the ladder go and took a quick step away from temptation.

Ryan smiled as he planted his feet on solid ground and turned to her. “There’s no way I could resist fresh lemonade.” He flicked his gaze over her body. “Or such beautiful company.”

“You old sweet talker, you,” Morgan said, trying to cover up her nerves. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the ones who serve me lemonade and homemade scones.” He reached over and gently tugged on a lock of her hair.

Feeling a little breathless, Morgan led him to the table. She’d better focus on the work or she might end up dragging him into her bedroom. “I can hardly believe you’re almost done already. You really know what you’re doing up there.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly rocket science.”

Morgan smiled and filled one of the glasses with lemonade. “Sit for a while and relax. There’s no need to rush to finish. The guests aren’t going to be back for hours, so you don’t need to worry about bothering them.” The
Dawsons were spending the day in Portland, while the Lyles were on a boating excursion.

“No, but I’d sure like to get in some kayaking on such a perfect day.”

Morgan had to repress a wince as she poured herself some lemonade. “You could always keep your kayak here, you know.”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I guess that would make sense. It should be safe to leave it on the beach, right?”

She settled into one of the chairs, and he followed suit. Morgan couldn’t help noticing that he took a long, appreciative look at her legs, all the way up to her little white shorts.

“Nobody but Daisy Whipple steals anything on the island,” she said, ignoring the way her face had heated. “And I highly doubt she’s into lugging your kayak home.”

“She’s still doing her thing, huh? My mother gave up buying garden ornaments years ago. Said she got tired of running over to Daisy’s all the time to retrieve them.”

“I’ve always thought having a town kleptomaniac added a nice dash of local color,” Morgan said. “Micah always jokes that he won’t charge Daisy unless she starts stealing cash or Red Sox memorabilia.”

Deputy Sheriff Micah Lancaster, Seashell Bay’s law officer, had been Morgan’s friend since childhood. While a tough, rugged cop, he always gave islanders a break unless they proved not to deserve it. He had a particularly soft spot in his heart for poor Daisy.

Ryan laughed. “Since he’s Seashell Bay’s biggest collector of Red Sox junk, I can see why he’d say that.”

“Junk? Deputy Lancaster better not hear you say that, my friend, or you’ll be serving time behind bars.”

“Hell, I’ve said it to him a dozen times over the years. The guy’s such a nut for the Sox that he can’t go to Fenway without coming home with an armload of crap.”

Morgan wagged a finger at him. “I wouldn’t call all those signed baseballs he’s collected crap. He’s got a Carl Yastrzemski, a Mo Vaughn, a Nomar Garciaparra, and a Pedro Martínez, plus a bunch of the newer stars. And he has hundreds and hundreds of Red Sox cards too, including some pretty valuable ones.”

“Okay, now I’m weirded out. Have you memorized his whole collection or something?”

“No, but I did help him organize it a while back. He didn’t have a good system for keeping records, which would be a problem with insurance if he ever had a loss in a fire or flood. I downloaded some free software for organizing collectibles and showed him how to use it.”

A slight scowl marked his brows. “That was neighborly of you. Have you two gotten closer by any chance?”

Now there’s a question I didn’t expect
. “Do you mean are we dating?”

“Just curious.”

Morgan repressed a smile. “We’re not, but we’ve been good friends all our lives, as you well know.”

Ryan shot her a skeptical look. “Friends sometimes turn into lovers.”

It was hard to tell what he was thinking from his expression, but did she detect a teeny bit of jealousy in his tone?

“Something like that would never happen between Micah and me.” She paused a moment, debating whether to say anything more on the subject of the deputy and his personal life.

“But?” Ryan probed.

Morgan wanted him to be totally clear that Micah was not interested in her. Why that seemed so important was a question she wouldn’t look at too closely. “No buts. It’s just that, well, it’s not me that Micah’s interested in anyway. The deputy has developed eyes for someone else, especially since last summer.”

“Like who?”

She waggled a hand. “Let’s just say that it’s a one-way street at this point and leave it at that.”

“Oh sure, now you go under the cone of silence.”

“Yes,” Morgan said sternly. “And don’t you breathe a word about it to Micah or I’ll creep into your room in the middle of the night and smother you with a pillow.”

Oh man, did I really just say that?

“Well, you’re more than welcome to try.” His slow, sexy grin made clear exactly what he was thinking.

Morgan was under no illusions as to what would happen if she ever did creep into Ryan’s room. Her head told her it would be an epic mistake, but even the thought of it made her girl parts want to stand up and give Soldier Boy a salute.

She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “So, did you learn all your construction skills on that summer job you had after high school or did your dad teach you?”

Kevin and Julia Butler had built their house with their own hands when she and Ryan were in elementary school. Though a lot of lobstermen built additions or did renovations to their homes, few had constructed an entire house, much less one as cozy and comfortable as the Butler home.

“Both.” Ryan gave a little shrug. “But shingling is pretty easy stuff, babe.”

His unconscious use of the sexy endearment gave her a little jolt.
Down, girl. It didn’t mean anything
.

“You’re being far too modest. A lot of men these days don’t know one end of a hammer from the other.” She’d learned that having a reliable handyman was on virtually everybody’s wish list—even in Seashell Bay, where most of the local men were as hardy and self-reliant as you’d find anywhere.

“I can’t argue that.” He took a long swallow of lemonade and then finally sampled the scone. “Hey, this is really good.”

“Sabrina’s the main baker,” Morgan said, “but we both know our way around pastry. Mom was a genius with it, so I guess we got a little talent passed down in our DNA.”

Morgan still couldn’t roll out dough without thinking about her mother. Even now, her loss remained an open wound for both her and Sabrina. Mom had been only fifty-three when ovarian cancer took her so quickly that it had left the family stunned and overwhelmed.

“She won a lot of prizes in the Blueberry Festival contests, didn’t she?” Ryan asked.

“Absolutely. Mom totally cleaned up. She and Aiden’s mother always had a friendly competition going as to who was the best baker on the island.”

“I still remember Mrs. Flynn’s famous blueberry pies,” Ryan said. “Mom would send me down first thing in the morning to get in line for them. And your mom’s specialty was muffins, wasn’t it?”

“Muffins and scones, like the one you’re scarfing down. Somehow neither my efforts nor Sabrina’s can quite measure up even though we use her recipes.”

Ryan took another bite and shook his head. “Hard to believe anything could be better than this.”

“Thanks. There are plenty more where it came from.
As long as you keep working, Sabrina and I will keep you well supplied.” Morgan winked at him. “God knows you don’t have to worry about putting on weight.”

She tried to inject a light note into her voice, but talking about her mom always brought out the heartache, especially when she was back in Seashell Bay. Every single thing on the island seemed to evoke the memory of her parents, reminding her of how desperately she missed them. Though she’d been teaching on the mainland for years, she’d always come home at least once or twice a month and had spent all summer in Seashell Bay. In some ways, she felt like she’d never really left home.

Ryan’s expression grew serious. “It must be hard. I mean, not just coping with the B&B but with losing your parents like that.”

Morgan’s throat went tight, but she powered through it. “I see Dad everywhere. Like, he’d sit on this patio for hours on end talking to guests. He’d tell them stories about the island—half of them made up or exaggerated—and he’d ask them questions about where they were from, what they liked, and what he could do to make their stay more enjoyable. You should take a look at the comments in the guest book, Ryan. People just loved Dad.”

Some days, the old place felt so empty without him.

“When I was in Afghanistan, I thought a lot about kids who lose their parents,” Ryan said.

Surprised, Morgan waited for him to elaborate.

“You couldn’t walk ten feet there without seeing a homeless, orphaned kid sleeping on the street, a lot of them maimed by land mines.” Ryan’s fingers whitened as he gripped his glass hard. “Once you’ve seen it, it keeps eating away at you, even when you’re no longer in country.
I give money to the Afghan Women’s Mission, but that seems kind of feeble. I wish I could do more.”

Though Morgan didn’t really think of herself as an orphan, she was, of course. That had obviously tapped into Ryan’s somber memories.

“It’s not feeble at all,” she said. “It’s wonderful. I’ll Google that charity this afternoon and make a donation too.”

His appreciative smile lit up her insides.

“That would be great. You don’t need to give a lot—even ten bucks makes a difference.” Ryan pushed himself up out of the chair. “But now I’d better get back to work if I want to have any hope of getting in some kayaking. And thanks for taking such good care of me, Morgan. I appreciate it.”

She shook her head as she rose. “Don’t be silly. You’re the one taking care of us. Any little thing I do for you is nothing compared to what you’re doing for Sabrina and me.” Instinctively, she reached out to rest a hand on his muscled bicep. But she snatched it away an instant later, blushing at the feel of his warm, naked skin under her fingers.

Or, more truthfully, how much she wanted
more
of that warm, naked skin under her fingers.