Spending time with Kate was not a good idea.

With each encounter, her appeal grew. And that was scary. At least the ride home was short, Craig thought, as he drove his car through the pouring rain.

“It’s the next street on the right. Lighthouse Lane.”

Kate directed him to a small clapboard cottage tucked into the tiny dead-end street.

“Thanks for the lift. I really appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure.” The rain continued to beat against the car, the water isolating them from the outside world.

As he looked at her, he suddenly had the urge to touch her hair. To smooth away the shadows under her eyes. To assure her she didn’t have to face her problems alone.

Where that urge came from, he had no idea. All he knew was that it threatened to shatter the control he’d mastered as a rescue swimmer. He needed that control. Nothing—and no one—had ever managed to shake it as quickly as Kate. Worse, she’d done it without even trying….

IRENE HANNON

who writes both romance and romantic suspense, is the author of more than twenty-five novels. Her books have been honored with both the coveted RITA® Award from Romance Writers of America (the “Oscar” of romantic fiction) and the Reviewers’ Choice Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine. More than 1 million copies of her novels have been sold worldwide.

A former corporate communications executive with a Fortune 500 company, Irene now writes full-time. In her spare time, she enjoys singing, long walks, cooking, gardening and spending time with family. She and her husband make their home in Missouri.

For more information about her and her books, Irene invites you to visit her Web site at www.irenehannon.com.

Tides of Hope
Irene Hannon

Blessed are those who mourn,

for they shall be comforted.

—Matthew 5:4

To my mother, Dorothy Hannon—

With loving memories of a very special bird’s nest

that always graces my Christmas tree…

and The Good Life

With special thanks to the following individuals

for their generous assistance:

BMC Terrill J. Malvesti, United States

Coast Guard; Julie & Karsten Reinemo,

Topspin Sportfishing Charters;

Erika Mooney, The ’Sconset Trust;

Michael Galvin, Nantucket Chamber of Commerce.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Discussion Questions

Chapter One

“Sorry to interrupt, sir. But I’ve got a hot one for you.”

Swiveling his desk chair away from the foggy view of Nantucket Harbor, Lieutenant Craig Cole looked up from the boat-hours report he’d just started reading and gave his executive petty officer his full attention. “What’s up?”

“A complaint, sir. From the owner of one of the local charter fishing operations, who isn’t too happy about a safety citation we issued this afternoon. The captain asked to speak with you, but you were at that special Conservation Commission meeting. I’m not making any headway, so now that you’re back I thought you might want to take over.”

The subtle twitch of his aide’s lips put Craig on alert. Boatswain’s Mate First Class Ben Barlow had been stationed on Nantucket for two years, and he’d been an invaluable—if slightly irreverent—source of information since Craig’s arrival four weeks ago, guiding him through several rocky passages. Another one seemed to be looming on the horizon.

“Okay, Barlow. What’s the story?”

The man walked into the office and handed over a copy of the citation. “It’s pretty straightforward. Expired flares.”

Craig scanned the document. The vessel was an older boat, a thirty-one-foot Wellcraft Suncruiser named the Lucy Sue. Although it was equipped with a sufficient number of flares, they were out-of-date. The inspection had been done by the station’s newest—and youngest—crew member, but Craig considered the man to be dependable and conscientious.

“This looks in order. What’s the problem?”

His aide’s lip twitch gave way to a grin. “The captain says we’re being hard-nosed. The flares are only a month out-of-date, and she says everyone knows they’re good for at least six months longer than the expiration date. However, she claims she did intend to replace them before resuming operation this season.”

She. Craig checked the name on the citation. Katherine MacDonald. Was the captain’s gender the source of Barlow’s amusement?

Lowering the sheet of paper, Craig appraised his aide. “I don’t care what she says. This is a clear violation of regulations.”

“I explained that to her, sir. But she isn’t backing down.” The man tried to stifle his grin. Failed.

Craig’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know this woman?”

“No, sir. But I know Chief Medart had a lot of respect for her.”

From what he’d heard about his predecessor, Senior Chief Sandra Medart was a solid officer. He’d found no evidence of a lax operation during his brief tenure, though it was more laid-back than he was accustomed to, after his past three years at headquarters in Washington, where protocol and procedures reigned supreme.

“Are you suggesting that Chief Medart let personal feelings influence her enforcement of the law, Barlow?”

“No, sir.” The man’s reply was prompt. “But Captain MacDonald has lived on the island her whole life, and she’s been doing fishing charters for at least a dozen years. I believe she’s descended from an old island whaling family. Her roots here are deep.”

“That doesn’t exempt her from the law.”

“No, sir. She’s waiting in my office, sir.” The man inclined his head toward the door.

Listening to an unjustified tirade hadn’t been part of Craig’s Friday afternoon agenda on this last day of March, but he’d expected some backlash once Nantucketers got wind of the beefed-up inspection program he’d implemented earlier in the week. And PR was part of the job in a command post—especially this one, as Admiral Paul Gleason had reminded him when he’d called to tell Craig his request for reassignment had been granted. This would be his first test, Craig supposed—smoothing ruffled feathers without backing down from his firm position on safety-regulation enforcement.

“Send her in.”

“Yes, sir.” His aide retreated as far as the door. “One word of warning, sir. She has red hair. And a temper to go with it.” Making no attempt to hide his grin, he closed the door behind him.

At the petty officer’s parting remark, Craig took a moment to ready himself for the coming exchange. He’d dealt with plenty of distraught people during his career. Handling a small-time charter-fishing boat captain should be a piece of cake—red hair notwithstanding. He’d diffuse her anger by remaining calm, cool and sympathetic, he decided. And he’d do his best to keep the encounter as nonconfrontational and pleasant as possible.

But thirty seconds later, when Katherine MacDonald stormed across his office to his desk, planted her hands on her hips and pinned him with a glare, his hopes of a cordial discussion disintegrated. For a woman so small—Craig estimated her height at no more than five foot three—she projected as intimidating a presence as any of the hard-as-nails instructors he’d encountered during his Coast Guard career.

As he rose under the scrutiny of her turbulent, flashing green eyes, a memory of the worst squall he’d ever encountered suddenly flashed through his mind. It had happened back in his early days as a rescue swimmer, when he’d been stationed in Alaska. A small cargo vessel out of Kodiak had lost propulsion and drifted onto the rocks at Cape Trinity, forcing the three crewmen to ditch into the icy, churning sea. As Craig had waited, legs dangling over the edge of the Jayhawk, for the thumbs-up from the flight mechanic to drop into the roiling swells, he’d known the dicey, dangerous mission would be forever etched in his memory.

For some disconcerting reason, he felt the same way about this encounter with Katherine MacDonald.

Nevertheless, he did his best to summon up a smile, determined to try and salvage the situation. “Ms. MacDonald, won’t you have a seat?” He gestured to one of the chairs across from his desk.

“I prefer to stand. This won’t take long.”

Her curt reply, along with the bristling rage radiating across the expanse of desk between them, left him little maneuvering room. He’d planned to lead off with some small talk designed to soothe her ire, but it was obvious the woman across from him was in no mood for chitchat. Better to plunge in and get this over with.

“I understand you have a concern about the safety citation that was issued this afternoon.” He kept his tone polite and conversational.

The color rose on her cheeks, drawing his attention to the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. The wind and sun could have produced those creases, Craig knew, but the faint smudges of fatigue under the sweep of her lower lashes suggested that outdoor living might not be their only source.

Yanking the crumpled citation out of the pocket of her slicker, she tossed it on his desk, a few tendrils of fiery hair escaping from the clip at her nape to quiver around her face. “This is ridiculous.”

Despite his best effort to remain conciliatory, a note of defensiveness crept into Craig’s voice. “I don’t think so. Your flares are expired.”

“They last longer than the expiration date. You know that as well as I do. And I was going to replace them before the season opened anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. MacDonald. But safety regulations are in place for a reason. And I don’t take them lightly.”

“Neither do I.” Her color deepened as she glowered at him. “Look. You’re new here. Fresh out of Washington, from what I hear. This is real life, Lieutenant, where rules aren’t quite as cut and dried. I’ve spent most of my thirty-eight years on this island. A lot of it on the water. I’ve operated a charter fishing business for fourteen of those years. I don’t take chances with the sea, and I would never put anyone who steps onto my boat in danger.”

She fisted her hands on her hips, her lips tightening. “Furthermore, I have never been cited for any safety violations, and the Lucy Sue has always had a VSC decal from the Coast Guard. I was only taking her for a quick run when that wet-behind-the-ears Coastie pulled alongside for a surprise inspection. And instead of listening to reason, he gave me that.” She jabbed a finger at the document on Craig’s desk. “He even inspected my life jackets. One by one! Under your orders, I presume.”

A hot flush rose on Craig’s neck. He didn’t appreciate this woman’s belligerent attitude, nor her insulting tone. He didn’t deserve to be taken to task for doing his job. If previous station commanders had overlooked expired equipment, that was their problem.

“I’m not sure why you’re so upset, Ms. MacDonald. All you have to do is buy a few new flares and the problem goes away. They’re not expensive.”

“It’s not the cost. It’s the principle. And for your information, the problem doesn’t go away. A black mark like this on my record will hurt my business. Charter fishing is my livelihood, Lieutenant. This is a very competitive market, and potential customers do check safety ratings.” She put her fingertips on his desk and leaned forward, narrowing the gap between their faces to a mere fifteen inches, undaunted by his distinct height advantage as she tipped her chin up to lock gazes with him. “I want mine fixed.”

Craig might not agree with her stance, but he had to admire her spunk. “What did you have in mind, Ms. MacDonald?”

Her resolute expression hardened. “Here’s the deal. I’ll get the stupid flares sooner rather than later, even though we both know the ones I have are perfectly fine right now. But I want this citation—” she swatted at the crumpled sheet without breaking eye contact “—wiped off my record.”

Expunging a legitimate safety citation wasn’t common protocol. And the challenge sparking in the charter captain’s green irises told Craig she knew that.

His first inclination was to refuse her request. The rule book would back him up one hundred percent.

But at close range, what he saw in her eyes made him hesitate. Determination, certainly, and strong will. Plus a good measure of anger and impatience. But it was the deep-seated worry and the echo of profound sadness in their depths that held him back. This was a woman who had endured more than her share of sorrow, who’d been knocked down, pushed to the limits and was fighting to hold on. To survive.

A lot of people might not pick all that up, Craig supposed. Perhaps most people wouldn’t. But it was clear to him. Every bit of it. Because he knew how hard it was to forge ahead despite the harsh blows life dealt. He’d been there. Was still there.

As the silence between them lengthened, a sudden flicker of uncertainty crept into Katherine MacDonald’s eyes. Then, abruptly, she backed off several feet. Thrusting her hands into the pockets of her slicker, she sent him a wary look.

Interesting, Craig mused. This feisty woman didn’t mind in-your-face confrontations to protect her business. But let someone get too close on a personal level and her strategy was to beat a hasty retreat.

Tipping up her chin, she made a valiant attempt to recapture her earlier bravado. But her challenge came off more distraught than defiant. “Well? Do we have a deal?”

“Let me think about it.”

She blinked. Sucked in a breath. Blew it out. “Okay. Your people know where to find me. In the meantime, I’ll get the flares.”

Turning on her heel, she exited without another word.

For a full minute, Craig remained standing behind his desk, trying to figure out what had just happened. He felt the same as he always had after emerging from a perilous rescue mission. Nerve endings tingling. Pulse pounding. Lungs pumping.

In his rescue-swimmer days, however, it hadn’t taken long for the adrenaline rush to subside. But that wasn’t happening today. Instead, he was swamped by an odd mix of emotions that left him feeling unsettled, off balance—and irritated. He never let emotion affect him on the job. As a rescue swimmer, there’d been no room for it. Succumbing to even a few seconds of debilitating fear could have meant the difference between life and death for himself or the victims he’d been sent to save. Nor had it had a place during his tenure as controller of a search and rescue command center, where deployment decisions were based on the pure facts and figures of the Mayday. And it had been easy to keep emotion in check in Washington. Shuffling papers had engendered little more than mind-numbing boredom.

As for emotion in his personal life, he’d kept that carefully tucked away these past three years, as well, leaving his days dull—but livable.

That had all changed in the past ten minutes. Emotion could be Katherine MacDonald’s middle name, Craig concluded. Hers hadn’t just run high; they’d exploded. Even now, in her absence, the room continued to vibrate with them. He doubted the word dull was in her vocabulary—or in anyone’s who came into contact with her.

A discreet knock sounded on the door, and when Craig responded, Barlow stepped inside, his grin still in place. “Checking on survivors, sir.”

Ignoring his aide’s comment, Craig picked up the pristine copy of the safety citation he’d scanned earlier and handed it over, leaving the crumpled version untouched on his desk. “See that this is held for a couple of days before we file it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The amusement in the man’s voice wasn’t lost on Craig, and he felt warmth once again steal up his neck. Fixing the executive petty officer with a steely look, Craig folded his arms across his chest. “Is there a problem?”

To Barlow’s credit, his demeanor instantly grew more serious. That was why Craig tolerated the man’s slight impertinence. Not only did he balance it with a likable manner and razor-sharp skills, he knew where to draw the line.

“No, sir.”

His aide beat a hasty retreat, and Craig walked to the window to survey the harbor. It was far emptier than it would be in a couple of months, but a fair number of boats were in residence—including Katherine MacDonald’s. Strange. Half an hour ago, he hadn’t known the woman existed. Yet in the course of one brief conversation, she’d managed to awaken emotions in him that were best left undisturbed.

As for his plans for a nice, relaxing weekend—they, too, had been disrupted. Also thanks to one certain red-haired fishing boat captain.

“Mommy, Mommy, Mrs. Shaw and me baked cookies! Chocolate chip!”

As Kate bent to hug her daughter, she glanced over the four-year-old’s shoulder toward the stocky, gray-haired woman behind her. “I bet that was fun, honey. It sounds like you had a good afternoon.”

The woman gave a reassuring nod. “Maddie and I had a fine afternoon.”

Some of the tension in Kate’s shoulders eased. But it would take a lot longer for the rest of it to dissipate, thanks to her unpleasant encounter less than an hour ago with a certain lieutenant.

“You seem stressed, my dear.” The older woman gave Kate a discerning perusal. “Why don’t you have a cup of tea before you head home?”

A whisper of a smile tugged at her lips. “I ought to go next door to The Devon Rose if I want tea instead of taking advantage of your hospitality.”

“That would be more elegant, no question about it. Heather serves a wonderful proper British tea.” Then Edith winked. “But I guarantee she won’t offer you home-baked chocolate chip cookies. As for taking advantage…that’s nonsense. We’re neighbors, for goodness’ sake. You’ve listened to me vent plenty of times. I’m happy to return the favor.”

“Is it that obvious I need to?”

“In a word…yes. Problems with the Lucy Sue?”

“Minor compared to my problems with Lieutenant Craig Cole.”

“You met the invisible man?” Interest sparked in the older woman’s eyes.

“Who’s the invisible man?”

Her daughter’s question reminded Kate how little the youngster missed—and of the need for prudence in her presence when discussing grown-up topics.

“It’s kind of a joke, honey. No one has seen very much of the new commander at the Coast Guard station, so people call him the invisible man.”

“Maybe he’s busy.”

“I expect that’s the reason.”

“Maddie, why don’t you finish building your castle in the sunroom while your mommy and I have some tea?” Edith interjected. “After we’re done, you can tell us a story about the people who live there.”

“Okay.”

As Maddie skipped off, Kate shook her head. “Talk about little pitchers.”

“She doesn’t miss much, that’s for sure.”

“No more problems today?”

“Not a one. She’s fine, Kate. Come on, let’s have that tea.”

“Could we make it coffee instead?”

Edith grinned. “Heather still hasn’t converted you, I see.”

“It’s a lost cause.”

“She’s made inroads with me. But I still like my coffee, too. You’re on.” Edith led the way toward her early American-style kitchen, pulling two mugs from pegs on the wall.

“Where’s Chester?” Kate took a seat at the familiar hickory table that had hosted more than its share of gab sessions and propped her chin in her palm.

“In the garden, finishing up the renovations on the guest cottage.” She shook her head as she bustled about the homey room. “I’m not convinced it will be ready to rent out this season, though. My good husband has been futzing around with it for months, and the tourists will be descending before we know it.”

“And life will get even busier.” Kate sighed and selected a cookie from the plate on the table.

After pulling a pitcher of cream from the refrigerator, Edith turned a keen eye toward her Lighthouse Lane neighbor. “Do I detect a hint of discouragement in that comment?”

Forcing her lips into a smile, Kate shrugged. “Maybe.”

“That’s not like you. You’ve always kept a positive attitude despite problems that would have made most people cave long ago.”

“You and Chester can take a lot of credit for that. If you hadn’t agreed to watch Maddie while I work, and if Chester hadn’t stepped in as my first mate, I doubt I’d have made it.”

“Yes, you would. You’re a survivor, Kate MacDonald. But even the best of us can get discouraged on a bad day. And yours sounds like a doozy.” She dropped her volume. “Starting with Maddie’s asthma attack at four in the morning.”

“It wasn’t a great beginning,” Kate conceded, angling her head toward the window-rimmed room Chester had added to the back of the kitchen. Maddie was busy with her blocks and oblivious to the adult conversation, the panic-filled attack in the wee hours of the morning, the tears, the nebulizer treatment already a distant memory.

Kate wished the same was true for her. But after each episode, the agony of watching her daughter struggle for air and the feeling of desperate helplessness that twisted her stomach into knots stayed with her. Sometimes guilt was thrown in for good measure, too. Like now.

Setting aside the uneaten cookie, Kate massaged her forehead with her fingertips. “The thing is, I know the triggers for her attacks. I should have taken her ski mask yesterday when we went grocery shopping. She breathed too much cold air.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Kate. It was a beautiful day until that front decided to drop in unannounced.”

“Nantucket weather is unpredictable. I should have been prepared.”

Edith filled both mugs from the coffeemaker on the counter and took a seat at a right angle to her guest. “Only one person who walked on this earth was perfect, Kate. And He doesn’t expect anyone to repeat that feat. He just expects us to try our best. And you always do that. This morning’s asthma episode is history. Let’s move on to what happened today.”

On stressful days like this, Kate was grateful for Edith’s practical, no-nonsense approach. It always helped her regain perspective. Taking a fortifying sip of the hot brew, she told her neighbor about the citation.

“That’s a technicality.” Edith waved a hand in dismissal. “You replace the flares every year. Besides, they last longer than that.”

“That’s what I told the by-the-book lieutenant, who instituted the beefed-up inspection program. I paid him a visit to express my…displeasure.”

Edith quirked an eyebrow. “How did that go?”

As the scene replayed in Kate’s mind, she frowned and ran a finger around the rim of her mug. Warmth seeped into the tip—and up the back of her neck. “Not very well. I suppose I might have been a bit…vocal…in my opinions.”

Grinning, Edith took a sip of coffee. “I wish I’d been a fly on the wall.”

The heat on Kate’s neck rose to her cheek. The bane of redheads, she lamented. “Anyway, in the end I agreed to replace them right away if he erased the citation from my record. He said he’d think about it.”

“Hmm. That’s interesting.” Edith stirred her coffee, her expression speculative. “What do you think convinced your by-the-book commander to consider overlooking the violation?”

It wasn’t anything she’d said, that was for sure, Kate acknowledged. Whatever diplomacy skills she possessed had deserted her during their meeting. By the time she’d faced off with him across the desk and delivered her ultimatum, she’d expected him to refuse based on her attitude alone.

But then, out of the blue, his cobalt eyes had softened a fraction—telling her he’d seen far more than she’d wanted to reveal. Thrown by his ability to so easily breach the defenses around her heart, she’d backed off and escaped as fast as she could.

Still, if whatever he’d detected convinced him to cut her some slack, maybe it had been worth that brief exposure. Their paths weren’t likely to cross very often once this was resolved. In fact, she’d do her best to ensure they didn’t. No way did she want to risk experiencing that unsettling feeling of vulnerability again.

Realizing that Edith was waiting for a response, Kate cleared her throat. “I don’t know why he eased off. I guess he had some second thoughts.”

“Hmm.” Edith tipped her head, and Kate shifted under her scrutiny, uncertain how to interpret the gleam in the woman’s eye. “So what does the invisible man look like?”

Although she’d been too angry to pay much attention to his appearance, Kate had no problem summoning up an image of him. And handsome was the word that popped into her mind. Lean and toned, with broad shoulders and a powerful chest, he had a take-charge manner and a commanding bearing that radiated strength and competence.

“I didn’t focus on his looks, Edith.”

“Oh, come now. You must have noticed the basics. Height, hair color, age.”

“Six one or two, I’d guess. Dark blond hair. Fortyish.”

“Attractive?”

She shrugged and tried for nonchalance. “I suppose some women might think so.”

“Are you one of them?”

Kate didn’t like the twinkle in her neighbor’s eye. Much to her dismay, for the past few months Edith had been introducing the subject of romance with increasing frequency. As usual, Kate discouraged her.

“He’s not my type, Edith. And I’m not in the market anyway.” She swallowed and looked down into the black depths of her coffee. “There was only one man for me.”

The older woman reached out and covered Kate’s hand with her own, all traces of humor vanishing from her voice. “Mac was one of a kind, Kate. No question about that. But he wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life alone if another man came along who was worthy of your love.”

“No one could ever take his place, Edith. Besides, my life is crazy enough without adding romance to the mix.” Gesturing toward the sunroom, she rose. “Let’s go check on Maddie’s castle, okay?” Without waiting for a response, she picked up her mug and moved away from the table.

But a few minutes later, as she and Edith listened to the youngster’s imaginative story about the castle she’d constructed from her blocks, the most annoying thing happened.

Every time Maddie mentioned Prince Charming, an image of Lieutenant Craig Cole came to mind.

Chapter Two

By Sunday afternoon, Nantucket was living up to her nickname—The Gray Lady. But the dismal weather couldn’t dampen Kate’s upbeat mood. Thanks to Chester’s magic touch with all things mechanical, the Lucy Sue’s sometimes-temperamental engine was purring along as her bow cut a wide swath through the choppy seas off Great Point. And despite another asthma attack in the middle of the night, Maddie had awakened with no ill effects.

Her skin tingling from the salt spray, Kate took a deep, cleansing breath of the bracing air. Nothing could be more relaxing than this, she concluded. And today was the perfect chance to enjoy it. Although she’d be making this trip twice daily with a boatful of amateur anglers once the season kicked off, their need for constant attention would leave her little opportunity to relish the grand view of the majestic whitewashed lighthouse and the long expanse of pristine beach backed by endless sky.

Today the outline of the tall, stately column was blurred by the gray mantle draped over the island, but the bright white light that flashed every five seconds made the tower easy to locate. In a world where very little could be counted on, Kate took comfort in that steady, consistent beacon. And she appreciated it most on days like this, when Nantucket’s three lighthouses had the chance to do the job for which they were designed—guiding lost souls safely home.

In truth, Kate didn’t mind the dreary weather. The view might be prettier on sunny summer days, when the heavens were deep blue and the sea sparkled as if it had been strewn with diamonds, but she felt a kinship with this wild, windswept speck of land no matter its wardrobe. Isolated by twenty-six miles of sea from the mainland, Nantucket was a place that bred strength, where self-reliance was a way of life and only the hardy survived.

Unlike summer people and day-trippers, who came to sample the unique rhythm of the island but whose lives pulsed to a beat far removed from these shores, the lives of year-rounders were inexorably linked to the cadence of the sea. It had been that way back in the bustling whaling days, and it was no different now. Only ten thousand people could claim the title of Nantucketer, and Kate was proud to be one of them.

Just as Mac had been.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, Kate blinked and checked her watch. Time to head back and pick up Maddie from Edith’s. She didn’t want to take advantage of her neighbor’s generosity—or grow maudlin thinking about the man who’d filled her days with sunshine and whose loss had left an aching void in her heart.

As Kate swung the wheel to port and pointed the Lucy Sue back toward the harbor, she scanned the undulating sea, relishing the solitude. In two months, this prime fishing ground would be dotted with crafts of all sizes. Today she had the spot to herself.

Or did she?

A bobbing orange speck in the distance caught her eye, and she eased back on the throttle, squinting through the mist. It could be debris, she supposed. But she’d pulled more than her share of too-confident swimmers out of these waters and had learned long ago never to overestimate people’s common sense.

Without taking her gaze off the spot where the orange speck kept disappearing among the swells, she felt for the binoculars secured within reaching distance of the helm. Fitting them to her eyes, she planted her feet in a wide, steadying stance and focused on the object.

In general, the seven-by-thirty magnification was sufficient for her needs. But today it couldn’t overcome the obscuring combination of distance, mist and the rocking motion of the boat. All she could tell with any certainty was that the object was about fifty yards offshore and moving on a steady, purposeful course parallel to the beach.

Meaning it was alive.

And it wasn’t a seal or a fish. Fluorescent orange wasn’t in the marine life palette of Nantucket.

That left only one possibility.

It was human.

Shaking her head, Kate huffed out a breath. What kind of idiot would go for a dip off Great Point? These were dangerous swimming waters any time of year, let alone in early April, when the threat of hypothermia amplified the peril.

It was obvious the swimmer churning through the swells didn’t understand the risks—or didn’t consider them to be a problem. She didn’t know which was worse. The former smacked of stupidity, the latter of arrogance. In either case, someone needed to pound some sense into the guy’s head. And it was a guy. She was sure of that, even if the conclusion reeked of stereotypical sexism.

Compressing her lips into a grim line, Kate swung the Lucy Sue hard to starboard, shifted into full throttle and headed straight for the bobbing orange speck. Disgust and annoyance vied for top billing on her emotional chart, with impatience and frustration not far behind. Whoever she found cavorting in the heaving gray swells was about to get an earful.

One, two, three, four, five, breathe. One, two, three, four, five, breathe. One, two, three, four, five, breathe.

Encased in his neoprene wet suit, Craig cut through the swells with powerful, even strokes, propelling himself forward with strong, steady kicks of his flippers, oblivious to the forty-two-degree water. After all the missions he’d swum in the Arctic, this was a bathtub. The chop was distracting, and the riptide had been a tad annoying, but neither had disrupted his bilateral breathing rhythm. After fifteen minutes of steady swimming, he wasn’t even winded.

As he sliced through the water, Craig counted each stroke as a victory over the intimidating marine conditions—and over his emotions. It had taken him two years to put so much as a toe in the ocean after the accident. He’d hated the sea with the same intensity he’d once loved it, his anger almost palpable. If it had been an enemy he could have gotten his hands around, he’d have choked the life out of it. Not the most Christian impulse, he knew, but that was how he’d felt.

Those potent feelings had prompted his request for a transfer from field duty to Washington. Hoping his fury and grief would ebb in a new environment, he’d planned to complete his twenty years of military service behind a desk, as far removed from his previous life as possible. And retirement wasn’t far in the future. Because he’d enlisted right out of college, he’d be able to wrap up his Coast Guard career as a relatively young man. Only three more years to go.

To his relief, the time and distance provided by three years of desk duty had eased his sorrow and mitigated his rage—to some degree. But much to his surprise, as his hate had begun to recede, his love of the sea had resurfaced. He’d fought it fiercely, overwhelmed by guilt, unable to understand how he could yearn to return to the very thing that had robbed his life of joy.

Until Paul Gleason had helped him make an uneasy peace with his conflicting feelings.

The admiral had come upon him one night last fall, seated in his windowless office in Washington behind tall stacks of reports awaiting his review. Craig had been trying all week to make some headway on them, but by Friday he’d done little more than riffle through a few.

Annoyed by his inability to focus, he’d been determined to stay all night if necessary to deal with the pile of official documents. No way had he wanted them waiting for him on Monday morning. But neither had he relished his self-imposed assignment. Paul’s unexpected appearance at his office door at the end of the day had been a welcome reprieve.

“Looks like you’re planning to burn the proverbial midnight oil.”

At the admiral’s greeting, Craig had summoned up a smile. “If that’s what it takes to empty my in basket.”

“What about Vicki?”

A wave of guilt had washed over him, and Craig had picked up a stack of papers on his desk and tapped them into a neat, precise pile. His personal life might be a mess, but at least he could keep his desk tidy. “The nanny will put her to bed.”

He’d waited for Paul to comment, to add another layer of guilt to the load he already carried over his lackluster approach to fatherhood. And he deserved it, Craig had acknowledged. For all his heroic work on the job, he was no hero when it came to raising his daughter. That, too, had begun to eat at him.

To his relief, Paul had let the subject pass. Instead, the admiral had surveyed the stack of reports and given a low whistle, arching his trademark shaggy white eyebrows. “You could be here till morning.”

“Tell me about it. How have you managed to deal with this kind of stuff day after day for all these years? I’m not even convinced it’s written in English.” In public, he and the admiral—his mentor since their days at Air Station Kodiak well over a decade ago—observed military protocol. Off duty, their relationship had evolved into a comfortable friendship.

A rueful chuckle had rumbled in the older man’s chest. Dropping into the chair across from Craig’s desk, he’d run his hand over his close-cropped white hair. “I’m afraid it comes with the rank. But I must confess there are days I wish I was back in Kodiak. Once the sea grabs hold of you, she never lets go.”

Casting a shrewd eye at the younger officer, the admiral had leaned back in his chair. “By the way…I have some news. I’m retiring the first of the year. Mag and I are going to take up full-time residence in our little cottage in Maine and go sailing every chance we get.”

The announcement shouldn’t have surprised Craig. After thirty-five years of military service, Paul deserved his retirement. Yet the news had left him with mixed feelings.

“I’m happy for you, Paul. And more than a little envious.”

“You’re too young to retire.” Paul had folded his hands over his stomach, its girth a bit wider since their Kodiak days. “Or were you referring to my return to the sea?”

Not much got past the admiral, Craig had acknowledged. Picking up a pen, he’d tapped it against his palm as he’d weighed his response. “There are days lately when this—” he’d swept his hand around the office “—gets on my nerves and I think about the sea. But I asked for this transfer. I shouldn’t complain.”

“You needed an escape then. Maybe you don’t anymore.” Paul had steepled his fingers and given Craig a steady look. “You know, I’ll be here through December. If a request for a transfer came through, I’d be inclined to give it a favorable review.”

Shaking his head, Craig had raked his fingers through his hair. “I shouldn’t even consider it.”

“Why not?”

“After what happened…how could I want to be around the sea?”

The hint of a smile had touched the admiral’s lips. “Love is a strange thing, Craig. Whether for a woman or for the sea. You don’t like everything about her all the time. Sometimes she does things that infuriate you. There are days you’re tempted to walk away. But you never stop loving her. Not if it’s real. That’s how love works.”

Several moments of silence had ticked by while Craig considered the admiral’s comment. “I don’t know, Paul.”

The man had stood and rested a hand on the tall stack of reports. “Well, I do. You don’t belong behind this desk. You never did. You’ve done a great job here, but this isn’t where you should finish your career. Think about it. A change like that could be good for you—and Vicki. She’s only four, Craig. She needs you.”

In the end, after weeks of soul searching, Craig had come to the same conclusion. Although he hadn’t understood his jumbled feelings about the sea, he’d asked for a transfer back to the field. To a station on the other side of the country from Hawaii, hoping a new setting would give him a fresh start with his life—and with his daughter. The opening on Nantucket had fit the bill.

An icy smack in the face from an unruly wave brought Craig abruptly back to the present. Caught unaware, he sucked in a mouthful of water. Coughed. Lost his rhythm.

Anger surged through him, and he swam with renewed energy, arms slashing through the water, attacking the swells. He’d let the sea surprise him, score a point. Bad mistake. One he’d vowed never to let happen again. His last mistake had cost him too—

“Hey! Hey, you!”

At the shouted summons, Craig broke his rhythm again, this time on purpose. Riding the swells, he lifted his head and checked for the source.

The name of the boat rocking on the waves a few yards away clicked into focus first. Lucy Sue.

Meaning the human hurricane couldn’t be far behind.

Taking a deep breath, Craig looked higher. Sure enough, the voice belonged to none other than Katherine MacDonald. And she was in a snit once again, judging by her ruddy color and tense posture as she glared down at him, her wind-tossed red hair whipping about her face.

The full blast of her fury was coming. He knew that. He’d already had a sample of her temper, and the signs were all there. But instead of using the lull before the storm to brace himself, he found his thoughts wandering to Grace O’Malley, the legendary Irish pirate queen. Somehow he had a feeling she’d looked a lot like Katherine MacDonald.

“…recreational swimming area!”

The tail end of her comment interrupted his musings. “What?”

“I said, are you crazy? This is not a recreational swimming area!” She had to yell to be heard above the hum of the engine and the waves slapping against the side of the boat.

“I’m fine,” he called back.

“You can’t be fine! The water’s freezing! And there’s a bad riptide here. You need to get back to shore!” She flicked her hand toward the beach, as if shooing a recalcitrant puppy back from the edge of a busy street.

It was obvious she didn’t recognize him. But why should she? His wet suit, swim cap and goggles left very few identifying features exposed.

As he bobbed on the swells, he considered his options. The path of least resistance would be to remain anonymous, acquiesce and retreat to the beach. That would be the smart thing to do. He’d been about ready to head toward shore anyway.

Instead, prompted by some impulse he couldn’t identify, he lifted his goggles and settled them on top of the orange swim cap. “I can handle this sea, Ms. MacDonald.”

Her reaction as his identity became apparent was reward enough for his rash action. Seeing Katherine MacDonald shocked speechless was, he suspected, a rare treat.

Unfortunately, it was short-lived.

“I don’t believe this! You, of all people, should know better than to swim in seas like this! Alone, no less! And you cited me for a safety violation?”

He’d known she’d come back with a zinger. She hadn’t disappointed him.

“I’m trained to swim in worse conditions than these. And I’m well-equipped.”

She dismissed his explanation with a curt flip of her hand. “That may be true, but no one in their right mind would put themselves into dangerous conditions without cause. Do you have a death wish or something?”

For some reason, her question jolted him. He knew it was an exaggeration, meant to drive home her point, yet it left him feeling uneasy. And no longer interested in prolonging their verbal sparring match.

Pulling his goggles back over his eyes, he prepared to resume his swim.

The red-haired spitfire must have sensed his intent because she called out again. “I can’t in good conscience leave anyone alone in these waters, especially in this weather.”

He checked her out over his shoulder as he treaded water, buoyant on the rising swells. She was still standing by the side of the boat, gripping the rail, watching him.

Ignoring her comment, he resumed his course, swimming parallel to the shore.

Thirty seconds later, he heard the hum of her boat behind him.

Craig kept swimming for two more minutes, the boat pacing him. She wasn’t backing down. No surprise there, he supposed. And he didn’t relish company on his solitary swims. Besides, he’d stayed out as long as he’d planned, and the cold seeping through his neoprene insulation was beginning to get uncomfortable.

Altering his course, he aimed for shore. Let Katherine MacDonald assume she’d won the battle. He knew better. Had she caught him at the beginning of his swim instead of the end, he’d have put up with the audience and she’d have found herself tooling around in the Lucy Sue far longer as she discovered he could be as strong-willed as she was.

That revelation wasn’t going to happen today.

But he had a strong suspicion it was coming.

As the lieutenant changed direction and headed for shore, Kate let out a long, relieved breath. Good. Had he balked, she wasn’t at all confident she’d have won the skirmish. Yet the rule-bound commander didn’t strike her as the kind of man prone to capitulation. So why had he given in?

The answer, she grudgingly acknowledged, was clear.

He’d been ready to call it a day anyway.

Meaning her victory was hollow.

Kate planted her fists on her hips and watched as he surged through the swells with powerful strokes, doing her best to stifle the flicker of admiration fanned to life by his masterful physical control and his command of the water. Just because he was a good swimmer didn’t mean he should be taking chances by venturing into hazardous seas alone. It was folly to feel invincible around the ocean, no matter how strong or well-equipped you were. And a Coast Guard lieutenant should know that. Taking him to task for his irresponsible actions had been more than justified.

The instant he emerged from the water, Kate once more swung the Lucy Sue to port and headed home. And as the boat plowed through the waves, she forced herself to switch gears and focus on the pleasant evening ahead. She and Maddie were planning to indulge in a pizza, followed by a movie of her daughter’s choice. No doubt her current favorite, The Lion King. They’d seen it four times already, but Kate didn’t mind. Cuddling with her daughter under an afghan, a cozy fire burning in the grate, was about the most comforting way she could imagine to spend a chilly evening.

Only one thing would be missing from that picture of contentment, she reflected, the salt from the spray reminding her of the taste of tears. Mac wouldn’t be with them. How he would have loved an evening like that! With him, however, it would have been impromptu, a spontaneous celebration rather than a planned event. He’d had a remarkable gift for turning ordinary days into special occasions, his infectious joie de vivre and go-with-the-flow attitude carrying everyone along with him.

Kate could imagine what tonight would be like if he were here. Instead of pizza, he might suggest chocolate chip waffles. Rather than sitting on the couch, he might drag out their folding chairs, make popcorn and have them all pretend they were at the old hall in ’Sconset that showed family movies in the summer. And he might resurrect their vintage video of The Sound of Music and encourage them all to sing along, his off-key baritone and contagious laugh ringing through the house.

Life with Mac had been one grand adventure, Kate recalled, her lips softening into a melancholy smile. Flexible, agreeable, always upbeat, he was a man who’d lived—and loved—with an abandon that had taken her breath away. Without him, she felt as she had as a child waking up the day after Christmas, the excitement and anticipation of the previous day replaced by a sense that life for the next 364 days would be dull, dull, dull.

Though Kate’s world had been graced by the presence of Dennis “Mac” MacDonald far too briefly, she would always be grateful to him for their days together. And for teaching her by example to embrace life—and not sweat the small stuff. She’d struggled at times with that during the past few years, but at least she kept trying.

The stiff, stuffy lieutenant she’d left on Great Point would do well to learn that lesson, too, Kate thought, her smile fading as her hands tightened on the helm. He seemed focused only on the small stuff. Such pettiness was an unlikable trait to begin with, and even less endearing because it had caused her nothing but problems. The commander’s insistence on following the letter of the law—whether it made sense or not—was maddening.

Calm down, Kate, she counseled herself, easing her grip on the wheel. Getting mad again won’t solve the problem. If anything, your antagonism could make it worse.

And worse might very well be a description of the current situation, given her tirade a few minutes ago, she granted, as she neared the harbor entrance and passed the diminutive Brant Point lighthouse adjacent to the Coast Guard station. Instead of reading him the riot act and following him like a persistent seagull follows a boat, she could have acquiesced to his explanation and headed home.

Yet what she’d told him had been true. She couldn’t, in good conscience, leave anyone alone in the waters off Great Point. Even the disagreeable lieutenant. It was asking for trouble, no matter his skills or equipment. She’d dug in her heels for his own good, whether he appreciated it or not.

Not being the obvious conclusion. And that didn’t bode well for a favorable response to her request—more like demand, she acceded—that he wipe the citation off her record.

The wharf came into sight, and Kate cut back the throttle, trying to recapture her earlier lighthearted mood. But that felt like ancient history now. As in B.C. Before Cole. And she doubted it would return unless the citation issue was resolved in her favor.

An outcome that seemed increasingly remote in light of their back-to-back unpleasant encounters.

With that conclusion, any lingering vestige of good cheer vanished as quickly as the sun in a sudden Nantucket storm.

Do you have a death wish or something?

Katherine MacDonald’s question echoed again in Craig’s mind as he jabbed at the buttons on his microwave. It had been bothering him since she’d voiced it six hours ago, and the refrain was beginning to get on his nerves.

Grabbing a soda out of the fridge, he pulled the tab, easing the pressure in the can with a pop and a fizz. Too bad it wasn’t that easy to release the pressure inside of him, he lamented. Yet he couldn’t lay the full blame for his tension on Ms. MacDonald. Although her blunt question had exacerbated it, in all honesty it had dogged him for three long years.

Exercise, he’d discovered, had proved to be a good temporary release valve. Ocean swimming in particular, especially when conditions were difficult. He’d never stopped to analyze why he sought out risky locations, but he supposed a psychologist delving into motivations might see it as a subconscious challenge to the sea: You took my wife and son. Just try to take me.

And there was some truth to that, he conceded. With every yard gained, with every swell overcome, with every undertow and riptide conquered, the pressure inside him dissipated. Each time he emerged whole and victorious from battling the waves, he felt a satisfying sense of triumph.

But the satisfaction didn’t last long. And one of these days, if he continued to take chances, he’d lose. It was inevitable. In risky conditions, the odds were always stacked in favor of the sea. He knew that as well as the mouthy charter captain did.

And maybe that’s what he wanted, deep inside, Craig was forced to admit. Maybe he wanted the sea to take him, too. To end the pain and loss and guilt forever. To give him the peace that had eluded him since the accident.

Katherine MacDonald might be right.

Maybe he did have a death wish.

The microwave pinged, and he withdrew the bland packaged dinner of sautéed chicken breast, broccoli and rice that had become one of his staples. He knew the drill by heart after three years of this fare: remove the plastic cover and let the meal rest until the steam escaped.

Rest.

The word stuck with him as he slid the disposable container onto the counter in the kitchen of the commander’s quarters—a three-bedroom ranch house a mile from the station. Far enough removed to let the officer in charge find rest from his or her duties.

Unfortunately, the comfortable dwelling had the opposite effect on Craig. Though modest in size, the house felt cavernous and the silent rooms were depressing. Instead of being a haven of rest, it only served to remind him of all he’d lost.

As Craig straddled a stool at the counter and toyed with his meal, the passage from Matthew flashed through his mind: “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.”

The minister had quoted those words at the funeral for his wife, Nicole, and his son, Aaron. But they’d been unable to penetrate his thick, isolating shroud of grief, offering no consolation then…or in the intervening years. All his life, he’d attended services every Sunday. But when tested by fire, he’d felt burned rather than fortified by the God he’d worshipped. Church attendance had become a meaningless gesture that left him feeling more empty and alone than if he hadn’t gone. In time, he’d stopped the painful Sunday routine.

Routine.

Perhaps that was the key, Craig mused, dissecting a piece of broccoli with his fork. In many ways, his faith had become nothing more than a once-a-week visit to church, driven by habit rather than compelling belief. Perhaps if he approached services and prayer with an open heart, seeking God’s will rather than demanding answers and immediate solace, the Lord would provide him with the peace and rest he craved.

It was worth a try, he supposed.

Because he couldn’t keep living with the disheartening sense of hopelessness that plagued his days. Nor could he continue to take chances with his life, raising the stakes with every swimming excursion until at last he lost his gamble with the elements. It wasn’t fair to Vicki. As Paul had reminded him, his daughter needed him. Him. Not the high-priced nannies he’d hired over the past three years, who saw to Vicki’s physical needs but who couldn’t give her the one thing she needed most.

A father’s love.

Pushing aside his picked-over dinner, Craig rested his elbows on the counter and dropped his head into his hands as guilt gnawed at his gut, churning his dinner like an angry ocean agitates seaweed.

It wasn’t Vicki’s fault that she looked just like her mother, sharing the same blue-green eyes and hair the color of sun-ripened wheat. It wasn’t her fault that every time he took her small hand he was reminded of the son he’d lost. And it wasn’t her fault that he’d shut down emotionally to dull the pain, rendering him incapable of giving her the love she deserved—and needed.

As time passed, he’d known he had to make things right. The guilt over his neglect had begun to nag at him day and night, deepening the crushing burden of culpability he already carried. Although Vicki had never been a needy child, demanding attention or special care, she deserved the security of a loving parent. He hoped the move to Nantucket would give him the chance to provide that.

The rightness of his decision had been reinforced the day he’d left Vicki in his mother’s care before heading to the island, with a promise to pick her up in six weeks, once he’d settled in.

As he’d knelt in front of her, prepared to give her a quick hug, she’d stopped him cold with a soft, uncertain question.

“Are you really coming back to get me?”

Jolted, he’d looked at her. Really looked—for the first time in a long while. And what he’d seen had made him want to cry.

Deep in those blue-green eyes had been a sadness and a loneliness as profound as his own. Far too profound for any child that age to know.

His had been caused by senseless deaths that had robbed his world of light and laughter.

But hers had been caused by him. The very man who should have loved her and protected her and made her world secure.

His throat constricting, he’d leaned over and pulled her close. “Yes, Vicki. I’m really coming back. And things will be different on Nantucket. I’m not going to work as much. We’ll spend more time together.”

When he’d released her, she’d stepped back and reached for his mother’s hand, skepticism narrowing her eyes.

Truth be told, he shared her doubts. There was no manual, no rule book, no SOP for rebuilding a daughter’s world and winning her love. He was flying by the seat of his pants, prepared to improvise as he went, as he’d often been called to do in precarious rescue situations.

He’d already decided there would be no more full-time nannies. He would only hand off her care while he was at work. For now, he’d lined up traditional day care, but in time he hoped to find a more personal, in-home arrangement.

He also planned to change his work habits. He’d put in a lot of hours these first few weeks on the job, learning the ropes, but once Vicki came he intended to leave work on time, pick her up at day care, fix dinner and spend the evening with her. And hope he could make up for all the years he’d abdicated his responsibilities.

Rising, Craig deposited his half-eaten dinner in the trash, reminding himself to stock up on some kid-friendly food before he picked her up in two weeks. And he needed to prepare a room for her. A place where she would feel welcome and loved.

He also needed to get over the death wish a certain out-spoken charter-fishing boat captain had forced him to confront.

Craig swiped at a few stray crumbs on the counter, leaving the surface pristine, as he thought back over his encounters with the red-haired dynamo. Although he might not appreciate being on the receiving end of Katherine MacDonald’s fiery temper, he had to give credit where it was due.

She wasn’t easily intimidated. And she said what she thought.

Like it or not.

To his surprise, Craig found his lips curving into a smile as he pictured her on the deck of the Lucy Sue, eyes blazing, cheeks aflame, hair whipped by the wind as she’d glared at him. And while he finished tidying up the kitchen and prepared to call it a day, he found himself looking forward to their next encounter.

Which made no sense at all.

Chapter Three

“I have to run a couple of errands, Barlow. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Ben looked up from his desk and grinned at the commander, who was standing in the doorway. “No problem. I’ve got it covered.”

“There’s not much to cover. It’s a pretty quiet Monday.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts. Once the day-trippers and summer people arrive, you won’t have a minute to call your own. You won’t believe some of the calls we get. Last year, some guy forgot to install his drain plug and ended up sinking his boat.”

A smile tugged at Craig’s lips. “I can’t wait.”

“Trust me. You can.”

His smile lingering, Craig took advantage of the springlike weather and headed down Easton Street on foot. From what he’d gleaned about his predecessor, Sandra Medart had had a high profile on the island. Most Nantucketers had known her on sight, and both locals and crew had liked and respected her. She’d initiated a popular boating safety program, attended all community events and maintained an open-door policy, encouraging anyone with marine-based concerns to come directly to her. According to Barlow, she’d excelled at the PR aspect of the job.

To date, he’d done little to emulate her example. Now that he had his sea legs, however, he figured it was time to show his face in the community. And a walk through town wouldn’t be a bad place to start.

Turning onto South Beach Street, it took him mere minutes to reach the heart of the historic town, with its cobblestone streets and labyrinth of tiny lanes. He knew his dark blue slacks and matching shirt, with the twin silver bars on the collar that signaled his rank, would identify him at a glance as the new commander, and as he strolled around he drew more than a few curious looks. Only year-rounders populated the quiet town center on this early April Monday, and when he nodded and smiled in response to their discreet perusal, several approached to welcome him.

Forty-five minutes later, after grabbing a paper at The Hub and stopping at a few other spots Barlow had identified as local hangouts, he headed down Main Street toward the harbor. After three short blocks, the cobblestones of the town’s primary thoroughfare merged with Straight Wharf, where many of the commercial boats were docked.

The Lucy Sue among them.

Pausing at the entrance to the wharf, Craig debated his next move. As he’d left the station, he’d tucked the original copy of Katherine MacDonald’s citation in his pocket. But the matter didn’t require his personal attention; he could send one of his crew members later to handle the resolution of such a minor violation.

Except it wasn’t minor to Ms. MacDonald. She’d made that very clear. And as long as he was in the area, he supposed he ought to stop by and see if he could smooth things out—all in the interest of good PR, of course. Why else would he put himself in the path of the human hurricane?

A few reasons popped to mind, but he quickly squelched them. Despite appealing green eyes that flashed with life and passion, despite the intriguing juxtaposition of a delicate physical appearance with a strong character, despite vibrant hair that sparked with every movement, only a masochist would want to deal with her temper.

He was here on business. Period.

His decision made, Craig strode past the shuttered souvenir shops. Within minutes he found the Lucy Sue, gently rocking in her slip on the wharf. There was no sign of the red-haired skipper—or anyone else. No surprise there, he supposed, considering most owners wintered their boats on the mainland. Those who didn’t spent little time aboard in the off season.

What did surprise him was the flutter of disappointment in the pit of his stomach. Where in the world had that come from? Last night he’d found himself looking forward to their next encounter, and today he was seeking her out. Logic told him he should be going out of his way to avoid another exchange with the argumentative captain.

But for some reason he wasn’t.

Rather than try to analyze his odd reaction, he propped his fists on his hips and surveyed the boat at close range. He knew from the citation that the Lucy Sue was an older model, but he hadn’t realized how old. She had to have been built twenty or twenty-five years ago, he estimated. Yet she was well maintained. He saw no evidence of barnacles below the water line, nor any indication of oxidation topside, suggesting the fiberglass hull was polished and waxed on a regular basis. The deck was stain-free, and the teak trim had been varnished rather than allowed to weather to whitish-gray. The finish looked fresh, too, free of obvious chips or scuffs. It was clear a lot of elbow grease had gone into keeping the boat in tip-top condition.

While everything he could see was cosmetic, Craig knew that anyone who took such meticulous care of the appearance of a boat was likely to be as diligent about mechanical maintenance—and safety. In light of the number of charter slips, he also concluded that Ms. MacDonald hadn’t been exaggerating about the competition. Two good reasons why the flare citation had upset her.

And based on the traces of worry and sorrow he’d glimpsed in her eyes as she’d squared off with him across his desk on Friday, the last thing she needed in her life was more stress.

Craig couldn’t erase the events that had led to that emotional confrontation. But if she’d followed through and replaced the flares, as she’d promised, disposing of the citation in his pocket was going to be his top priority this afternoon.

What was the Coast Guard commander doing at the Lucy Sue?

Kate’s step faltered as she turned a corner on Straight Wharf and caught sight of the tall officer standing beside her boat. The last thing she wanted was another skirmish with the line-toeing lieutenant.

For a few heartbeats she considered retreating. His back was to her, giving her a good view of his broad shoulders as he looked over the Lucy Sue. She could disappear before he noticed her.

But running from problems didn’t solve them. If he’d decided to let the citation stand, she might as well get the bad news now rather than later. And his presence suggested the news was bad rather than good. Why else would he come in person, except to turn the tables and wield his authority by scuttling her request? After the way she’d treated him in their previous encounters, she couldn’t blame him if he took advantage of the opportunity to put her in her place.

Her shoulders slumped a fraction, and she shifted the bag she was toting from one arm to the other. Then she forced her feet to carry her forward, her sport shoes noiseless on the wharf. She stopped a few feet away from the grim reaper and drew a fortifying breath.

“Planning to do another inspection, Lieutenant?” She’d intended to keep her tone neutral, but a touch of defiance crept in.

He swung toward her, his features etched with surprise. And some other emotion she couldn’t identify.

“That wasn’t on my agenda.”

“Following up on the one already done, then.”

“Yes. I was in town anyway and thought I’d drop by.”

“I got the flares.” She edged passed him on the finger pier, juggling the bag as she prepared to board.

“Let me hold that for you.” He took the sack from her before she could protest, glancing at the package of spark plugs on top. “Engine problems?”

Rather than give him a direct answer, she swung into the boat and reached for the bag. “I’m always prepared.”

“You do your own maintenance?”

“Most of it. My neighbor helps me on the trickier things. And speaking of being prepared, let me show you the new flares.” She ducked into the cabin, retrieved the flares and rejoined him thirty seconds later on the wharf. “As you’ll see, I’m covered for the new season.” She handed them over, annoyed once again at the defensive note that had crept into her voice. For the life of her she couldn’t manage a pleasant tone with this man.

The lieutenant took the flares in silence, scanned the expiration dates and handed them back. “Everything seems to be in order.”

Tipping his head, he folded his arms across his chest. His powerful, well-developed chest, Kate couldn’t help noticing, her gaze dropping in the direction of the name tag on his shirt pocket.

“So what happens next?” She forced her chin back up, toward eyes as blue as the ocean on a sunny Nantucket summer day. Tensing, she braced for bad news.

He reached into the pocket of his slacks and withdrew the original citation, which had been folded into neat, precise squares. Watching her, he tore it into small pieces, disposing of them in a trash can a few steps away.

Her eyes widened. “Does that mean…are you going to expunge it from my record?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Your request was reasonable. Even if you weren’t.” He gave her an assessing look, a touch of amusement sparking in his irises. “Do you always overreact when you’re angry?”

It was a fair, but incendiary, question, and she stiffened. “I’ve been told I don’t suffer fools gladly.”

He cocked one eyebrow but remained silent.

You idiot! Kate chided herself, hot color stealing onto her cheeks. The man has just done you a huge favor, and you insult him instead of thanking him? How ungracious is that?

Swallowing past her embarrassment, Kate shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “Look, can we start over?”

“That might not be a bad idea.”

“Okay. Good. The thing is, I appreciate your consideration. I’m sure you noticed the Lucy Sue is an older model. It’s not as jazzy as most of the other charter boats, nor does it have all the bells and whistles. A clean safety record is a selling point I can use in my advertising to help me compete. Without it…” She shook her head and shrugged.

“My executive petty officer tells me you’ve been at this a while, Ms. MacDonald.”

The wind whipped a lock of hair across her cheek, and she tucked it behind her ear. “Yes. My father-in-law started the business. He retired and passed it on to me and my husband when we married. But I’ve been fishing my whole life.” She moistened her lips as she considered whether to extend an olive branch, then decided it couldn’t hurt. “By the way, my friends call me Kate.”

She noted the flicker of surprise in his eyes, as well as the twitch that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “As in Kiss Me, Kate?”

At the mention of the Cole Porter musical based on Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew, Kate grimaced. “I suppose that’s a fair question in light of our relationship to date. And I apologize for my bad temper. You hit me on a rough couple of days. Believe it or not, despite my red hair I usually stay on a pretty even keel.”

The skeptical tilt of his head brought a rueful smile to her lips.

“I don’t blame you for doubting that claim. But it’s true, Lieutenant.”

He returned her smile. “The name is Craig. And I suppose I’ll find out the truth for myself if our paths cross again.”

“I expect they will on occasion. It’s not a very big island. Unless you continue to be the invisible man.”

A puzzled frown creased his brow. “The what?”

Grinning, she shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her jeans. “The invisible man. That’s what the locals are calling you. You’ve hardly shown your face in public.”

“I’ve been busy getting up to speed at the station. But I’ll be more visible in the community in the future.”

“I’m sure everyone will look forward to that.”

He shot her a speculative glance, as if he was tempted to ask whether she looked forward to it, too. Instead, he smiled and edged back. “In the meantime, a pile of paperwork awaits me.”

“Thank you again for your help with the citation.”

“It was my pleasure, Kate. Take care.” With a wave, he headed toward Main Street.

She watched him leave, liking the sound of her name on his lips, waiting until he disappeared before boarding the Lucy Sue to tackle her chores.

But long after he was gone, she kept replaying their conversation in her mind. For once, it had not only been civil, but enjoyable. And he’d proved to be more flexible than she’d anticipated, bending the rules for her despite the way she’d treated him. In his place, she doubted she would have been so forgiving—or generous.

As she stored her supplies below, Kate was forced to concede that her initial assessment of the commander as a stuffy, rigid, rule follower might have been a little too hasty—and a little too harsh. Still, one cordial exchange wasn’t enough to convince her she’d been entirely wrong about his character. Before she revised her opinion, she’d have to see a whole lot more of him.

And much to her surprise, despite their rocky start and her earlier resolve to avoid him as much as possible, she found that prospect quite appealing.

“I smell cinnamon! Oh, goodie!”

Breaking free of Kate’s grasp, Maddie headed straight for the plate of cinnamon toast waiting for her on the hickory table in Edith’s cozy kitchen, her eyes bright with pleasure.

“I gave her breakfast already, Edith. You didn’t have to do that.” Kate entered her neighbor’s back door at a more sedate pace, stopping two steps into the room.

“I wanted to. I like doing things for people I care about. Have some coffee.”

“I can’t. I’m already running late.”

“You can be at the high school in five minutes. I’ll pour you a cup to go.” Edith retrieved an insulated mug with a lid from the cabinet and lifted the pot from the coffeemaker. “Besides, I wanted to tell you about an interesting experience I had last night.”

The woman’s studied casualness put Kate on alert. “What happened?”

“I met your lieutenant at the market.” She added cream to Kate’s coffee with a quick tip of the pitcher. “I must admit, his manner wasn’t at all what I anticipated based on your description. He was charming.”

Kate’s neck grew warm. “I’ve revised my opinion a bit.”

“Since when?”

“Since he erased the citation from my record yesterday.”

“Did he, now? How interesting.” The older woman secured the lid on the mug and grinned at Kate. “Must have been your charm.”

Kate made a face at her. “Very funny.” Checking her watch, she hoisted her purse higher on her shoulder and changed the subject. “I’ve got to run, Edith. It sets a very bad example when the teachers are tardy. Call me if you have any problems with Maddie.”

“I’ve got the nebulizer routine down if we need it. Don’t worry.”

A shadow of distress tightened Kate’s features. “It’s hard not to.”

“You know what Mac would have said.”

“Yes.” The whisper of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “‘Don’t look for trouble.’” She leaned over and hugged the gray-haired woman, who was more like family than mere neighbor or friend. “I’m sorry I’ve had to call on you so often this school year. I can’t remember ever being asked to sub this much. But the extra money’s been a godsend.”

Edith waved the comment aside. “I don’t mind in the least. Maddie’s a charmer. And speaking of charmers—the lieutenant fits that definition in my book.”

Once Edith sank her teeth into a topic, she was as hard to shake loose as the island’s notorious deer ticks, Kate reflected. “Like I said, he’s not as bad as I first thought.” She reached for the doorknob.

“He doesn’t think you’re too bad, either, despite your show of temper.”

Kate swung back. “He talked about me?”

“Only after I happened to mention we were neighbors.”

Edith’s innocent expression didn’t fool Kate. There was no happen to about it. When the Lighthouse Lane matron was on a mission, she could be as single-minded as a Nantucket whaler of old in hot pursuit of his quarry. Kate clutched her purse strap as her pulse accelerated. “You didn’t tell him what I said about him, did you?”

“Of course not.” Edith sniffed and gave her an indignant look. “That was between the two of us. I merely mentioned I’d known you for years and that you were a wonderful person—and a hard worker. He said he’d been impressed by your determination and complimented the Lucy Sue. Called her a fine boat, and said you’d taken great care of her.”

“What else did you two talk about?”

“Nothing.” The corners of Edith’s mouth turned down in disgust. “His cell phone rang just as the conversation was getting interesting. Some emergency at the station.”

Expelling a relieved breath, Kate once more hitched her purse into position. “I’ll be back around three-thirty.”

“Bye, Mommy.” Maddie waved and took another huge bite of cinnamon toast.

Smiling, Kate moved beside her daughter to place a quick peck on her cheek. “Be good for Mrs. Shaw, okay?”

“Okay.”

“See you later, Edith.” With a wave, Kate let herself out.

For the next five minutes, as she navigated the maze of narrow streets that led to the school, Kate considered Edith’s chance encounter with the lieutenant. Thank goodness his cell phone had interrupted their conversation, or Edith would have told the commander her neighbor’s life story. The embellished version, Kate suspected.

As it was, Edith had only managed to get in a brief complimentary remark. To which the lieutenant has responded that he’d admired Kate’s determination.

Determination. That was a generous way to describe her approach in their first two altercations, she supposed, considering hostility and rudeness might be more accurate. She should be grateful for his diplomacy.

Yet she found herself wishing he’d been able to find some other quality to admire. Intelligence, strength, vivaciousness, competence…it would have been nice if he’d noticed one of those attributes.

Shaking her head, Kate chided herself for her silly waste of brain power. The lieutenant had wiped her record clean. That was the important thing. It shouldn’t matter what he thought about her.

Yet, much to her annoyance, it did.

Chapter Four

“Well, my stars, look who’s here!”

At Edith’s whispered comment, Kate followed her line of sight as they walked down the church aisle on Sunday.

Seated in a pew halfway down on the left was none other than Lieutenant Craig Cole. She could only see his back, but there was no mistaking that dark blond hair or those broad shoulders.

Grabbing her neighbor’s arm, Kate indicated a pew beside her. “This is fine.”

The older woman kept moving, dragging Kate along with her. “We never sit this far back.”

“Edith.” Kate hissed the name, and the older woman paused. “Maddie and I are going to sit here today.”

After a brief hesitation, Edith shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She tucked her arm through Chester’s. “We’ll see you afterward.”

She headed straight for the pew behind the commander.

“Mommy, how come we aren’t sitting with Mr. and Mrs. Shaw?”

Maddie’s childish, high-pitched voice carried throughout the house of worship, and Kate shushed her, dipping her head as she ushered her daughter into the pew. Though she kept her face averted, she couldn’t hide her red hair. If the lieutenant turned around, he’d spot her immediately.

“I thought it might be nice to sit somewhere different today.” She pitched her voice low, hoping her daughter would take the hint.

No such luck. Maddie’s version of whispering was to lean close while speaking in a normal tone. “But I can’t see the front. We’re too far back.”

In general, Kate didn’t believe bribery should be used to control a child’s behavior. Today she made an exception.

“Maddie, honey, it’s just for this one week. And if you’re very good and stay very quiet, I’ll take you to Downyflake afterward.”

The promise of a visit to the well-loved doughnut establishment did the trick. There wasn’t a peep out of Maddie for the rest of the service. She folded her hands in her lap, sang along with the hymns she knew and kept her attention fixed on the sanctuary. She was the picture of piousness.

In contrast, Kate fidgeted throughout the entire service. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, trying to find a comfortable position. She wandered off the melody of a familiar hymn, arching the eyebrows of a few nearby congregants. She couldn’t concentrate on Reverend Kaizer’s sermon.

All thanks to a certain Coast Guard commander sitting a dozen rows away.

It was ridiculous.

But there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

In the end, she stopped trying to ignore him and allowed herself a few discreet peeks in his direction. He’d ditched his uniform, she noted. Dressed in civilian clothes, he projected a far different aura than when on the job. Less authoritarian. Less severe. More human—and approachable. And the man had good taste. His dark gray slacks, white shirt and charcoal tweed jacket conveyed a quiet, casual elegance that suited his lean, muscular frame.

As the organ struck up the final hymn, Kate helped Maddie on with her coat. Thank goodness they’d driven themselves to church instead of hitching a ride with Edith and Chester, as usual. That meant they could escape quickly.

The instant the last note of the final hymn died away, she hustled Maddie out the door and toward the car, exchanging greetings with members of the congregation without slowing her pace. Only after they pulled out of their parking place and were on their way toward the south end of town did her respiration return to normal.

They were safe.

Safe.

What an odd choice of words, Kate thought, as she swung into the last parking space in Downyflake’s lot and she and Maddie joined the long line that spilled out the front door. Why didn’t she feel safe around the new commander? And why had she felt the need to escape from him?

It had nothing to do with his position of authority, that much she knew. While she’d been upset by the citation, she’d felt angry, not threatened. Nor had she felt in the least intimidated—or unsafe—when she’d marched over to his office and laid into him about it or when she’d rebuked him for taking chances off Great Point. The unsafe feeling was more…personal…than that.

And it didn’t take her long to pinpoint its origins: the moment in his office when he’d looked into her eyes and tapped into her private sorrows and deepest insecurities. While he might not know what they were, he knew they were there.

Unsettling as that had been, Kate wasn’t concerned about the commander using that insight against her. She sensed he had too much integrity and honor for that. So the mere fact he’d breached her defenses, albeit disconcerting, wasn’t what made her feel vulnerable.

Then what did?

The line inched forward as she pondered that question. And when the answer came, it took her breath away.

She felt unsafe—and in need of escape—because, for the first time since she’d lost Mac, she was attracted to a man.

“Mommy, you’re hurting my hand!”

At Maddie’s protest, Kate immediately loosened her grip and bent to give the youngster a hug. “I’m sorry, honey. We’re almost to the counter.” Her words came out choppy as she struggled to slow her staccato pulse. “What kind of doughnut are you going to get?”

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