Pelican Point Page 7

  “It seems this client wants to purchase the adjacent parcels of property as well as the lighthouse and build a luxury weekend home that could also be used for corporate retreats and meetings with his senior management.”

  “Why does he want a lighthouse?” Marci dug some bills out of her shoulder bag and passed them to Charley.

  “He doesn’t. He wants the view. That’s the problem. He’s already checked state and federal laws, but he wanted to verify there were no issues from our end if he tears it down.”

  “What?” Marci’s heart flip-flopped. “He plans to level a town landmark?”

  “Apparently.”

  “We can’t let him do that!”

  “How are we supposed to stop him? There’s no zoning ordinance that would prevent him from combining parcels of land up there, and the lighthouse is privately owned.”

  “But . . . but it’s been part of this town for more than 125 years!”

  Charley set her change on the counter. “I agree.”

  “Hey.” Brent held up his palms. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just giving you a heads-up. I wish the town had the means to buy it, but we’ve already been down that road, and it’s a dead end.”

  “Ned would be sick about this.” Marci swiped up the coins and dumped them in her bag. “Does Ben know what’s going on?”

  “The attorney said the firm had been in touch with him.”

  “And he’s going to sell to someone who plans to tear the light down, knowing how much it meant to his grandfather?”

  “That I can’t answer. But I have to believe he’s receptive to their offer if the firm is conducting due diligence with city hall.”

  “I suppose it’s hard to fault a man for entertaining a reasonable offer.” Charley pulled some more fish out of the cooler. “I’m sure Ben wants to settle the estate and move on with his life. He has no reason to linger in Hope Harbor.”

  “It seems to me he could have tried a little harder to find someone who respected the heritage and history the lighthouse represents. I mean, selling it is bad enough, but tearing it down . . .” Marci snagged her bag of tacos, trying without much success to rein in her temper. “Someone ought to talk to him.”

  “Are you volunteering?” Charley threw the question over his shoulder as he laid Brent’s fish on the grill.

  “I did promise to give him copies of Ned’s columns, so I have an excuse to drop by.”

  “I say go for it.” Brent pulled a few napkins from the dispenser on the counter. “What can it hurt to have a calm, rational discussion about what the lighthouse means to the town and politely ask him to see if he can find a buyer who’s willing to preserve it?”

  Calm.

  Rational.

  Polite.

  Marci wasn’t feeling any of those things at the moment.

  But maybe that was okay.

  Maybe this situation called for passion and fervor and zeal.

  Those she had in spades.

  “I’ll do it—as soon as I eat my tacos and pick up Ned’s columns from the office.”

  “Good luck. We’re behind you 100 percent.” Charley gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Thanks.”

  But as she crimped the top of the brown bag between her fingers and hurried back to the office, she had a feeling she was going to need a lot more than luck to convince Ben to walk away from someone who was ready to take an unwanted lighthouse off his hands for a sum no one else might be willing to top.

  “Greg! I know you’re in there! Answer the door!”

  As the banging on the front door intensified, Greg muttered a few choice words.

  He was not in the mood for a visit from his big brother.

  But if Dan had made the long drive down from Florence over eighty-plus miles of winding coast road, he wasn’t going to leave without doing whatever he’d come to do.

  “Keep your shirt on! I’m coming.”

  The banging ceased as he struggled up from the recliner where he spent most of his days—but knowing Dan, it would resume within sixty seconds if he didn’t unlatch the door.

  And he wouldn’t put it past his overbearing brother to call the police and claim it was an emergency if his noisy summons went ignored.

  Once he was steady, Greg clumped to the door and flipped the lock. “I thought you were going to knock the door down.”

  “My next step if you continued to ignore me.”

  “I wasn’t ignoring you. I just don’t move as fast as I used to. What are you doing here, anyway?” He narrowed his eyes. “Did Rachel call you?”

  “No. I’m here because you don’t answer my texts or return my calls.” Dan gave him a slow, disapproving survey. “You’re a mess.”

  “It’s great to see you too.”

  “I didn’t come down here to exchange niceties. And I don’t intend to tiptoe around your delicate sensibilities, like Rachel does.” He shouldered past him into the house.

  “I can see that.”

  Dan stopped in the middle of the room and did a slow 360. “At least you haven’t trashed the place. I was half expecting to see piles of pizza boxes and junk food containers in addition to these.” With his toe, he toppled a small pyramid of empty beer cans beside the recliner.

  “Rachel is a neat freak.”

  “So the pristine condition of the house is her doing.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And how do you contribute to this household?”

  Heat flooded his cheeks. “That’s none of your business.”

  “You’re my brother. Rachel is my sister-in-law. If there’s trouble in your lives, it’s my business.”

  “Who said there was any trouble?”

  Dan snorted. “Look at you. When did you last shave? Or comb your hair? Or do your PT? Your mobility isn’t going to improve if you don’t put some effort into it. And what’s with all the booze?”

  “I’m not answering any of those questions.”

  “Then you’re going to be enjoying my handsome face for the next two days.” He dropped onto the couch and folded his arms. “My duffel bag is in the car.”

  Based on the set of his jaw, his brother was serious.

  Blast.

  “Why aren’t you at the firehouse?” He didn’t try to hide his annoyance.

  “I finished my rotation. I have two days off. Start talking.”

  “I don’t have anything to say.”

  “Fine. I’ll talk to Rachel. Where is she?”

  “Work—and I don’t want you talking to my wife.”

  “Why not?”

  Three reasons: she was fed up with him, she liked Dan, and his brother could get anyone to spill their guts if he turned on the charm.

  “This is between you and me.”

  “Nope. In marriage, two become one—remember?”

  Greg hesitated. Rachel would be home from work in less than two hours. If he didn’t talk, Dan would follow through on his threat and pick her brain.

  “Fine.” He walked back to his chair in as normal a gait as he could manage and sat. “I’ll answer your questions. Three days ago, yesterday, this morning, and I acquired a taste for beer in the army.”

  “That’s a start, anyway.” His brother unfolded his arms. “So what’s with the radio silence from your end? You don’t return my calls, and I could count on two hands the words in the few texts you’ve deigned to answer.”

  “I don’t have anything to say. My life isn’t exactly brimming with news or excitement.”

  “There could be . . . if you got out of this house once in a while.”

  “I do.”

  “When’s the last time you ate at a restaurant with your wife or poked around at Lou’s shop or had a taco at Charley’s?”

  “I’ve done all that since I’ve been back.”

  “How often?”

  He clamped his teeth together and glared at his brother.

  “That’s what I thought. You know, hiding in a dark house with all the shades drawn isn’t
healthy.”

  “I’m not hiding.”

  “You could have fooled me. Some fresh air and physical activity wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “I get out.”

  “Where? To the lighthouse?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I called one day, and Rachel said you’d gone up there alone. Again. She sounded worried.”

  No surprise there. Rachel had been worried since the day the IED had shattered his leg—and ruined their life—eight months ago.

  But it wasn’t going to ruin her life much longer, if he continued to ignore the ultimatum she’d issued.

  And that might be the best outcome—for her.

  “Rachel worries too much.” He gave a dismissive wave, all the while fighting back a rush of panic at the very real possibility that she might disappear from his life.

  “No, she doesn’t. The woman you married has a sunny disposition and a glass-half-full outlook—or she used to. If she’s worrying, there’s a reason.” His brother leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “You need to get your act together, Greg. Dad and Mom would tell you the same thing if they were still here.”

  “Well, they’re not. And I’m sick of being lectured. I don’t need you giving me grief too.”

  “Too?” Dan’s eyebrows rose. “Who else is rattling your cage?”

  Whoops.

  Bad slip.

  “No one.”

  Dan inspected him with that X-ray vision unique to big brothers. “Given how you’ve been Mr. Antisocial since you came back to Hope Harbor, I’m guessing Rachel finally decided to play hardball.”

  He could deny it—but if Dan hung around until Rachel got home, he’d pick up on the tension between them and know he’d nailed the situation.

  “You sound like you’re happy about that.”

  “I’m not sad, if that’s what it takes to bring you to your senses.”

  “I don’t respond well to intimidation.”

  “It’s not intimidation if someone has your best interests at heart. That’s called love.” He leaned closer. “And Rachel loves you every bit as much as you love her.”

  As his brother’s quiet comment hung in the air between them, Greg dipped his chin, clasped his hands together, and watched his knuckles turn white. “I’m not certain that’s true anymore.”

  “She wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

  “She might not be for long.”

  “Sounds to me like that’s up to you.”

  Exactly what Rachel had said.

  “I’m not the same man she married.”

  “True—but you could be even better. Positive change can come out of bad experiences. It’s a choice.”

  “It’s tough finding anything positive in losing a leg.”

  “Could be you’re not trying hard enough—and are too fixated on anger and bitterness to appreciate the blessing of a woman whose world has also been rocked but who’s stuck around and tried to shake some sense into you.” He stood.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home. Now that I know Rachel is putting on the pressure, my work here is done. But a piece of advice. Don’t let her do all the heavy lifting. Make an effort. I bet that’s all it would take to smooth off some of the rough edges in your relationship. You could start by shaving.”

  “I like this look.”

  “Trust me—it doesn’t suit you. Clean-cut all-American is more your style.”

  “Thanks for the fashion advice.”

  Dan gave him a crooked grin, crossed the room, and squeezed his shoulder. “That’s what big brothers are for. Call if you need anything.”

  “Yeah. Listen . . . you want to hang around for dinner?” After his brother’s long drive, he ought to at least offer to feed him.

  “No. I don’t want to intrude on your evening together.”

  “Rachel wouldn’t mind.”

  “She might—if you gave her a reason to be glad I decided not to stay.” Dan arched an eyebrow.

  A surge of heat swept up Greg’s neck.

  Dan winked and sauntered to the door. “Hold that thought.”

  “Listen . . .” Greg tried to will away the flush. “Thanks for coming down.”

  “No sweat.” Dan paused, hand on the knob. “But it’s not a relaxing road trip. So answer my calls—and try responding to my texts with more than three words.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Tell Rachel I said hi—and hang on to her. She’s a keeper.”

  Dan exited, closing the door behind him.

  For a long while after his brother left, Greg remained in his chair, head tipped back, gaze locked onto the blank ceiling.

  He couldn’t argue with a thing Dan had said—especially his last comment.

  Rachel was a keeper.

  He’d known that the day they met.

  But should he keep her? Was it fair to saddle such a young woman with a disabled husband? Didn’t she deserve more than he could offer?

  I still love you, Greg. You—not your leg.

  As her declaration from last week echoed in his mind, he closed his eyes. Swallowed.

  Hard as it was to believe after all the garbage he’d heaped on her for eight long, painful months, that must be true. Otherwise, she’d have left long ago.

  Dan was right.

  He needed to start appreciating the blessing Rachel had been in his life and cull back some of the orneriness.

  If he didn’t, she might follow through on her threat.

  And he wasn’t strong enough to let her go yet . . . if ever.

  Meaning he needed to get his act together and begin rebuilding his life—and behaving like the husband he’d promised to be on their wedding day.

  But how was he supposed to do that? The career he’d expected to have was toast, and he had no clue how to provide for his wife’s material—or emotional—needs.

  He could make a few changes in his behavior to ease her worry, though . . . and hope inspiration struck about how to tackle the rest of his issues before she got totally fed up and walked out the door without a backward glance.

  6

  Seated on the soaring headland, his back against the weather-beaten wall of Pelican Point light, Ben tried to ignore the vibrating cell against his hip.

  Why ruin the ambiance of this peaceful scene with conversation? Far better to enjoy the view of the distant horizon, where indigo sea met cornflower blue sky, and watch gulls float lazily on a capricious wind current above the jagged sea stacks offshore.

  But after all his army and medical training, he wasn’t wired to blow off a summons.

  Heaving a sigh, he pulled the cell out of his pocket and skimmed the screen.

  Marci.

  Why would she be calling him?

  As his pulse picked up, he frowned.

  Not good.

  In light of all the sparks that had pinged between them nine days ago on the Suzy Q, further contact with the Herald editor wouldn’t be wise. Even if he was in the market for romance, getting too friendly with a woman in Hope Harbor would be foolish. As soon as he settled Skip’s estate, he was out of here.

  Yet before the phone completed its fourth buzz and rolled to voicemail, his finger pressed the talk button.

  He scowled at the errant digit. Did it have a mind of its own, or what?

  “Hello?” Marci’s voice was whisper soft on the other end of the line as he held the cell at arm’s length.

  What in blazes had compelled him to answer?

  “Is anyone there?” Her tone was less certain now.

  Talk to the woman, Garrison. Don’t compound your first mistake by being rude.

  Resigned, he put the phone to his ear. “Hi, Marci. Sorry for the delay. I was, uh, distracted for a minute.” Definitely not a lie.

  “No problem. I’m just glad I caught you. I stopped by Ned’s house to drop off copies of his columns, but you weren’t there. I was afraid to leave them on the porch in case the fog rolled i
n. They could get soggy.” She sounded a tad breathless.

  Strange.

  “I appreciate you following up. Despite all the cleaning-out I’ve been doing at Skip’s, I haven’t come across his articles. If you’re going to be at your office in an hour or so, I’d be happy to swing by and pick them up.” A gull swooped low with a loud caw and landed a few feet away from him.

  “I hear seagulls. Are you at the wharf?”

  “No. Up at the lighthouse. I had some errands to do and stopped by to enjoy the view.”

  “That’s a coincidence. I ran home after I went to your place, and I’m still here. If you don’t mind sharing the view for a few minutes, I could stop by and give you the articles.”

  Alone with Marci at a rugged lighthouse in a spectacular—and romantic—setting?

  That could be dangerous.

  But hard as he tried, he couldn’t come up with one valid reason for refusing.

  “That works.” He hoisted himself to his feet. Better to face this standing up. “I’ll be here for another ten minutes or so.” Setting a time limit might help keep their exchange focused and businesslike.

  He hoped.

  “Look for me in three.”

  The line went dead.

  While Ben slid his phone back into its holster, another gull fluttered down to join the one sitting on a rock a few feet away. They nestled close together, watching him.

  “Sorry, guys. No handouts today.”

  The lack of food didn’t appear to bother the duo. They seemed content to sit and wait, like theatergoers anticipating the next act of a show.

  As long as they didn’t act like typical seagulls and make a nuisance of themselves, he didn’t care how long they hung around.

  The faint sound of an approaching car registered, and he turned his back on the cozy couple.

  Fifteen seconds later, as a royal-blue Civic came into sight around the final curve in the road, his lips tipped up. Emerald green raincoat, blue-blue car.

  The lady did like her color.

  She parked next to Skip’s pickup on the gravel turnaround at the end of the road, hopped out of her car, and strode toward him, a manila envelope in hand.

  Unlike her dress-up attire at the memorial service, today she wore jeans and a gauzy top crisscrossed with green ribbons.