The Soldier's Sweetheart (19 page)
“Literally the end of the road.”
Bree wondered how those long-ago travelers had felt when they saw this place for the first time. Relieved that their long journey was over? Or regretting that they’d left civilization so far behind?
“Back then it was nothing but wilderness, but he liked it right away. So he got down off his wagon, looked around and said to his wife, ‘This is it, Addie. We’ll call it Holiday Harbor, in honor of our Lord’s birth.’ My family’s been here ever since.”
This was the kind of story people adored, and while Bree recognized she’d have to confirm every last detail except the name of the town, the yarn had a nice ring to it. In keeping with the village’s old-fashioned appearance, she’d call the article “Mayberry on the Sea.” “Nick told me you celebrate some unusual holidays up here.”
“Yeah, we do. Most months there’s a traditional holiday. When there’s not, we find something and make our own festival out of it.”
“So this month it’s the Fourth of July. What’s in August?”
“The seventh is always National Lighthouse Day. We’ll have a picnic in the square, bring in kiddie rides, carnival games, stuff like that. It’ll also be the fourth round of the Holiday Harbor Costume Regatta, which runs from May to September every year.”
Bree had heard lots of odd things, but this was a new one for her. “You mean people sail their boats dressed in costumes?”
“People, pets, whatever. Some folks even dress up their boats.”
That sounded intriguing, and slightly insane. In other words, ideal for her purposes. “Are you competing in the race on the Fourth of July?”
“Of course,” he said, as if that should have been obvious. “My sailboat
Stargazer
won the cup last year.”
It was so cute, the way he gave his boat all the credit. Most guys she knew would brag about their sailing prowess, but not this one. She found his humility a refreshing change.
They seemed to have reached the end of the town history, so she switched tracks. “Sailing attire aside, you don’t strike me as a small-town guy. What’s your story, Mr. Mayor?”
“Yale Law School, fast track to partner at a big firm in New York City. A hundred hours a week, no life. One day I realized I hated what I was doing and decided to come home. I went into business with my grandfather, and took over the law firm when he passed away.”
From his expression, she suspected there was more to the story than he’d confided, but she decided it was best to let him off the hook for now. Early in her career she’d learned that when she pushed for too much too fast, people tended to stop talking. “What kind of law do you practice?”
“All kinds. Real estate, wills, trusts, the occasional court case.”
The last item snagged her attention. “Any juicy trials recently?”
“Not unless you count a neighborly dispute over a horse.”
He was totally deadpan, and she didn’t realize he was pulling her leg until she caught the mischievous gleam in his eyes. It took her a few seconds, then it clicked. “
Neigh-
bor. I get it.”
“Get what?”
The gleam was still there, and she smiled. “You’re really good at that. You must’ve been awesome in front of a judge.”
* * *
Bree’s compliment tweaked a sensitive nerve, taking Cooper back to when he still believed his litigating success was all his own doing. Finding out otherwise had all but destroyed him. To mask his discomfort, he summoned the professional smile that had served him well in courtrooms and boardrooms alike. Pleasant but unreadable, during law school he’d practiced it in front of a mirror until he was satisfied he’d produced just the right effect. It had gotten him through a lot of difficult meetings during his career.
At least this encounter came with a fantastic view. Even without the last name he’d have known the pretty reporter had some Irish in her. The sun picked up strands of red in her curly brown ponytail, while highlighting a generous dusting of freckles across her cheeks. The effect was pixieish, completely at odds with the intelligence crackling in her dark eyes.
During his time in New York, Cooper had dated more than his share of models and actresses, the kind of women most people would consider perfection. But Bree Farrell, with her fair skin and forthright manner, was the most captivating woman he’d met in a long time.
Because that train of thought would only lead him into trouble, he shoved it aside and focused on more practical things. “It’s not a quick trip up here from Virginia. You must be ready for a nap.”
“That would be great,” she agreed with a sigh. “My plane left Richmond early this morning, and it’s been kind of a weird day.”
“How do you mean?”
As if on cue, David Birdsall, dressed in the height of nineteenth-century fashion, pedaled down the street on his tall antique bicycle. Bree gave Cooper a little smile, arching a single eyebrow that clearly said she had all the ammunition she needed to portray Holiday Harbor as a quaint seaside lunatic asylum.
Cooper grinned back. “That’s different. You can’t just jump on one of those things and make it work, you know. It takes practice.”
“Why is he riding it in the first place?”
“Monday’s our Independence Day celebration. He always hauls it out for that.”
“And the outfit?”
To an outsider it must look ridiculous, and Cooper couldn’t help chuckling. “That’s just a bonus.”
“Interesting.”
She’d said that before, and he got the distinct impression she was going out of her way not to aggravate him. Unfortunately her efforts were having the opposite effect, and he cautioned himself to be patient. Cynical and way too smart for her own good, he had the feeling she was going to batter his sleepy little town like a nor’easter.
“There are two weddings in town this weekend, and the inn on Main Street is full up,” he explained. “The Harbor Mansion’s being refurbished and won’t be ready for a couple more weeks.”
She frowned. “So am I camping out somewhere?”
“No need for that. There’s a room at the lighthouse for you. I called in some favors, and you can stay out there for free as long as you’re here. It’s small, but the view’s amazing.”
“I saw it on my way in,” she said hesitantly, “and it’s kind of far away. I was hoping to spend most of my time here in town, talking to people.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I borrowed my mom’s spare car for you and left it at the lighthouse. Nothing fancy, but it runs well and should get you where you need to go.”
“Thanks. I’m sure that’ll be fine.”
Cooper detected a slight strain in her tone. Raised by his single mother, he was no stranger to feminine-speak. He was well aware that when a woman said things were “fine,” it was time to start worrying. Since there was nothing he could do about it, he chose to ignore her comment and forge ahead.
He paused beside a burgundy four-by-four with no top or doors, and she turned to him with a shocked look. “This is yours?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where’s the rest of it?”
Tossing her bags into the back, he laughed. “It’s so nice today, I decided to go open-air. You’ve never ridden in one stripped down like this?”
“I’ve never ridden in one of these, period. A lawyer who drives a four-by-four,” she muttered, climbing into the passenger seat. “Now I’ve seen everything.”
“You haven’t been here that long.” Taking his aviator sunglasses from their clip on the visor, he put them on and started the engine. “You never know what other surprises we’ve got.”
In response she tilted her cute little nose in the air, but he’d witnessed enough courtroom drama to suspect her confident demeanor was mostly an act.
As he pulled away from the curb, he said, “I think you’ll find the folks around here aren’t like other people you’ve met. They’re proud of being unique.”
“Then we should get along well. I’m not like other people I’ve met, either.”
He slanted her a quick glance. “Are you trying to be a pain, or are you just naturally prickly?”
“Yes.”
Pointedly ignoring him, she slipped on a pair of big, Hollywood-style sunglasses. Cooper knew almost nothing about his passenger, but Nick had warned him that her latest bungle had turned Bree into a virtual leper. His old buddy was the only editor—print or online—with the guts to hire her. During their brief conversation, Cooper had noticed plenty of attitude, not to mention a good-sized chip on her shoulder.
Still, he couldn’t imagine what she might have done to warrant the blackballing she’d received. In his very first Sunday school class, he’d learned that everyone deserved to be forgiven if they truly regretted what they’d done. As he got older, his mother had told him more than once that the people who seemed to want it the least needed it the most.
It was possible that the sarcastic young woman beside him was one of those people.
From the corner of his eye he saw Bree slide her tablet from her messenger bag. When she tried to wake the screen, she groaned. “You’ve
got
to be kidding me.”
“That won’t work out here, but there’s internet at the lighthouse, to keep track of the satellite weather reports. You should be able to connect to that.”
She eyed the distant beacon with no enthusiasm at all. “It’s kind of isolated out there. Us city girls are used to working where there’s things going on. There must be a café in town with an open connection.”
“Nope.”
Clearly horrified by the lack of technology in Holiday Harbor, she nudged her glasses down and scowled at him in the rearview mirror. “If you want people to come visit this place, you’ve got to bring it into the twenty-first century.”
“Don’t folks go on vacation to get away from all that?” Focused on the two-lane road that wound its way toward the ocean, he motioned to her tablet. “I mean, most days when I get home, I’m happy to turn it all off and go for a sail.”
“That’s nice for you, but for the rest of us, modern technology makes the world go ’round.”
Prickly
and
hard to please, he thought with a mental groan. Just what he needed. But she was his guest, and her impression of Holiday Harbor would undoubtedly affect the way she depicted the town to her readers. Keeping her happy was in everyone’s best interest. “I’ve got Wi-Fi at my office. You’re welcome to use it instead.”
“I just might take you up on that.”
“Anytime. It’s on Main Street, in the cream-colored building next to the gnome store.”
That got him a short, sarcastic laugh. “Of course it is.”
He’d finally had enough. But when he shot her a glare, it made no impression at all because she was staring in the other direction. He came dangerously close to giving her a piece of his mind, but decided to give her a break. She’d called herself a city girl, and the quaint fishing village must feel as alien to her as the face of the moon. He’d just have to show her how beautiful his hometown was.
For her article, of course. Intriguing as she might be under all that attitude, her personal opinion couldn’t possibly matter less to him.
“Here it is,” he announced as they crested the last rise and descended toward the water’s edge. “Last Chance Lighthouse.”
ISBN: 9781460317297
Copyright © 2013 by Debra Kastner
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