A Place for Redemption

Journalist Bree Farrell heads to the village of Holiday Harbor to salvage her career. And walks straight into the arms of handsome young mayor Cooper Landry. Cooper’s fighting to keep his sleepy Maine community from the clutches of big-city developers. And Bree knows it’s a major scoop. But the longer she’s in town, the more she’s won over by the quirky townsfolk—and the charming Cooper. Will Bree ever follow her heart instead of a story and make Holiday Harbor her permanent byline?

Holiday Harbor: Where love is just around the bend

Sammy planted a sloppy kiss on Cooper’s cheek. Then he trotted away.

Cooper sat down on a nearby bench and took out his phone. While he scrolled through for the right number, Bree dropped into a chair shaped like an overturned tortoiseshell, and he could feel those penetrating eyes on him.

Without looking up, he asked, “What?”

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” He glanced over to find her beaming at him. “You, Mayor Landry, are a very nice man.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

He’d gotten accustomed to her firm way of speaking, so the softness in her tone caught him off guard. She was a full arm’s length away, but the warmth in her eyes reached the vulnerable part of him that had shut down. He couldn’t fathom how Bree had done that so quickly, but he couldn’t deny she’d found her way there.

This was dangerous territory for him.

MIA ROSS

loves great stories. She enjoys reading about fascinating people, long-ago times and exotic places. But only for a little while, because her reality is pretty sweet. Married to her college sweetheart, she’s the proud mom of two amazing kids, whose schedules keep her hopping. Busy as she is, she can’t imagine trading her life for anyone else’s—and she has a pretty good imagination. You can visit her online at www.miaross.com.

Rocky Coast Romance
Mia Ross

www.millsandboon.co.uk

What is seen is temporary,

but what is unseen is eternal.

—2 Corinthians 4:18

For Misty

Acknowledgments

To the very talented folks who help me make my books everything they can be: Elaine Spencer, Melissa Endlich, Rachel Burkot and the dedicated staff at Love Inspired Books.

More thanks to the gang at Seekerville (www.seekerville.net). Whether I’m looking for advice or just some cheerleaders, you never let me down.

My wonderful—and very patient—friends and family surround me with support and encouragement every single day. Without you, this book would still just be an idea floating around in my head.

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

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

“Comin’ in to Hahliday Hahbah!”

The driver’s announcement cut through her sound-canceling headphones, and Bree Farrell glanced up from the movie playing on her tablet computer. Outside the grimy window she saw a whole lot of nothing. Then the bus lumbered over a hill, and on the other side was a town.

Surrounded by endless miles of ocean, Holiday Harbor looked like it was barely clinging to the rugged Maine coastline. Off in the distance a rotating beacon drew her eye to a lighthouse that looked as if it had sprouted from the rocky cliff it was perched on.

All very nice poetic descriptions, she thought, opening her notes file to capture her observations before they vanished. A born and bred city girl, she wasn’t crazy about this edge-of-the-world assignment her prospective editor had given her. But a long string of missteps and bad choices had drained her savings account and left her with a less than stellar reputation.

And no options. If she couldn’t wrangle a permanent byline at Kaleidoscope, she’d have to dust off her waitressing skills and move back in with her mom. Determined to avoid such drastic measures, she knew she had to make this article shine.

When the bus pulled into the center of town, she stayed in her seat, waiting for the other passengers to collect small bags from the overhead bins. While they gathered their things, she took the opportunity to jot down descriptions of them. Since it was just after noon on a Thursday, she assumed they were all here for the Fourth of July weekend. There were three Italian suit types, a few in jeans and sneakers and a dreamy young couple wearing bride and groom T-shirts.

Glancing out the window again, she decided that while it wouldn’t be her first choice for a honeymoon destination, Holiday Harbor did have a certain quiet charm about it. Far from the crowded streets of Richmond, Virginia, she’d probably feel like the clichéd fish out of water. A jolt of nerves shot up her back, and she took a deep breath to regain her composure.

She’d made some careless mistakes in her past, but she was a pro. This was her chance to prove it to everyone who’d written her off as flaky and difficult to work with.

And to herself.

Stepping onto the cracked sidewalk, she caught the unmistakable scent of salt water and fish, laced with the pungent diesel that powered the small fleet of fishing boats chugging to and from a busy set of docks. Another interesting tidbit, and she scribbled it down with her stylus.

“You must be Bree Farrell.”

The mellow voice startled her, and she clutched her tablet close to her chest. Her parents had stopped fighting long enough to buy it for her as a birthday gift, and nobody was taking her prized possession from her without a serious fight. In her next breath she realized how stupid her reaction was. Even in the worst places she’d visited, thieves didn’t stroll over and address you by name.

Looking up, she found herself staring at the collar of a dark blue polo shirt. When her eyes moved up a little farther, she got the surprise of her life.

Someone had planted a movie star in her path. With eyes the color of a clear sky and an easygoing smile, the stranger who’d come to greet her would weaken the knees of any female over ten and still breathing. He had broad shoulders and a lean, athletic physique to die for. Dressed in nicely pressed chinos and deck shoes, he looked like he was headed out for a sail.

When she realized he was waiting for her to respond, she jerked herself back to the moment. “Must I?”

Chuckling, he offered a hand. “Cooper Landry. Welcome to Holiday Harbor.”

“Landry.” They’d never met, she was certain of that. But the name rang a bell, and she asked, “Are you related to Mayor George Landry?”

His eyes darkened, and his welcoming smile faltered before righting itself. “Actually, I’m the mayor now.”

Bree was usually pretty good at gauging someone’s age, but with his windblown good looks, this guy could be anywhere from twenty-five to forty. While she mulled that over, she noted that the logo on his shirt wasn’t a name brand but a sketch of a sailboat, with the words Holiday Harbor floating like waves beneath it. Promoting the village on that solid chest of his, she thought with a grin. Nice touch.

“Aren’t you a little young to be a mayor?”

“I’m thirty, but thanks for the compliment.”

Only a couple of years older than her, she thought with a frown. “Isn’t that a lot of responsibility for someone your age?”

“I guess it is.” He shrugged as if it hadn’t occurred to him until she brought it up. “Granddad passed away a few months ago, and the town asked me to complete the rest of his term.”

“I’m so sorry,” she stammered. Again she’d waded into deep water before thinking things through. “My research must be a little out of date.”

“Not your fault, but thanks.”

After a moment he added another, more personal smile. It was the kind of gesture that lit up his eyes and made her feel like he was honestly glad to see her. Lately she hadn’t gotten that kind of reaction from too many people, and it made her feel slightly more at ease.

Trying to make conversation, she said, “I’m not used to being met by the mayor when I’m on assignment somewhere. That was nice of you.”

“It only seemed right. I’m the one who asked Kaleidoscope to send someone to do a story here.”

His comment piqued her curiosity. “Really? The magazine is pretty new, and online besides. What made you think of it?”

“Your editor, Nick McHenry, grew up here, and we go way back. He thought we’d make a great addition to the Americana series he’s running this summer.” The driver set Bree’s two bags in front of her, and her host handed him five dollars. “Thanks, Ed. Are you and your wife gonna make it up here for the Fourth?”

The older man’s face broke into a delighted grin. “We wouldn’t miss it. We’ve got the grandkids right now, and they can’t wait.”

“If you’ve got time, stop by my place for some barbecue. After you eat, you can get ringside seats for the fireworks. Red Granger’s in charge of them again, and he promised they’d be even better than last year’s.”

Respect flooded Ed’s expression, and Bree figured he didn’t often get invitations to visit a town leader at his home. “We’ll do that. Thanks.”

“Great! We’ll see you then.”

They shook hands to seal the deal, and Ed closed the cargo doors before climbing aboard.

As the bus chugged away, Cooper eyed Bree’s scant luggage in disbelief. “Is this it?”

“Yeah.” She slung her beat-up messenger bag across her chest. “Reporters travel light.” She didn’t add that the pilot’s case and small duffel held the extent of her wardrobe.

“We keep traffic out of the center of town to leave room to walk for pedestrians, so I had to park down the street.” Without asking, he shouldered her duffel and lifted her suitcase. “I apologize for the hike.”

Bree almost told him she could manage her own bags, but something stopped her. It might come across as rude, and she didn’t want to insult him by refusing his hospitality. Her last termination notice flashed into her mind like a recurring nightmare.

Talented but headstrong. Impossible to work with.

Not this time, she vowed. This time she’d choke down her instincts and be a team player. Even if it killed her.

“No problem,” she said lightly. “It’ll give me a feel for the town.”

They started walking, and he asked, “Have you eaten, Miss Farrell?”

Knowing this could be her last chance at her dream career, she’d only managed to choke down half a ham and cheese sandwich while waiting for the bus. Unwilling to admit how nervous she was about this assignment, she replied, “I had lunch at the airport in Rockland while I was waiting for the bus, so I’m fine. And it’s Bree.”

“Then I’m Cooper. I’m sort of named after the founder of this place. He was from a long line of barrel makers.”

“Interesting.” That sounded lame, so she added what she hoped was a pleasant smile and started checking out her surroundings.

Main Street was lined with old buildings, some made of brick, others of the weathered clapboards Maine was famous for. The shops’ front doors and display windows were shaded by identical light blue awnings, and flowers of every color overflowed from window boxes and hanging pots. In the center of town was a gazebo surrounded by a small park where several kids were kicking a soccer ball around.

Everywhere she looked she saw American flags and bunting, obviously set out for Monday’s Fourth of July festivities. She could have thrown a rock the length of the business district, but it did occupy both sides of the street. It included a diner, a small café and something she’d assumed had all but gone extinct.

“A real bookstore,” she commented. “I can’t remember the last time I saw one of those.”

“They carry lots of things, even some antique books. My mother owns it, and she has a huge collection. If you want, I can set up a tour for you.”

“That would be awesome,” she blurted, then realized she sounded like a teenager with a crush. Acting unprofessionally had caused her more trouble than even her vivid imagination could have invented. Getting a firmer grip on her dignity, she amended, “If I have time.”

Across the street was a store called There’s No Place Like Gnome, which apparently sold nothing but garden statues so ugly they were cute. It was totally unexpected, and Bree made a quick note of it. Unique features like that would be great for her story. An award-winning reporter himself, Nick McHenry was notoriously tough to impress, and she was desperate to earn his confidence. To do that, she’d have to knock this article out of the park.

“I see six vacant storefronts.” She paused in the middle of the sidewalk for a better look. Their display windows were clean but dark, and while the For Rent signs were subtly posted in lower corners, you couldn’t miss them. “Is the economy especially bad here?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Fish and seafood stocks are declining, taking the towns that rely on that industry right along with them. That’s why you’re here. We need to bring in more tourists, to help fill the gap.”

It sounded like a solid plan, but she knew better than anyone that things didn’t always work out the way you wanted them to. “And if they don’t come?”

Worry clouded his expression, and he grimaced. “There’s another option, but I don’t like to think about it.”

“But you have,” she pressed. “I can tell.”

“We all have,” he admitted with a sigh. “There’s a developer who wants to come in and build a golf community outside of town. We just can’t agree whether to say yes or no.”

This would be news to Nick, she was certain of it. If she did some digging and asked the right questions around town, maybe she could parlay the development issue into another article. Or even a series of them. Having scraped her savings account down to the bone, the influx of cash would be a refreshing change.

For now she put aside her own interests and went the sympathetic route. It wasn’t hard, since to even mention it to a stranger, the potential construction project must be weighing heavily on his mind. “That must make mayoring kind of hard, especially since you didn’t run for the office.”

Cooper eyed her with something she hadn’t seen much of the past year: respect. “Off the record?”

Bree held up her hands to show him she wasn’t recording or taking notes of any kind. “Of course.”

“You’re very perceptive, and you’re right. I didn’t want the job, and it’s turning out to be a lot tougher than I thought it’d be. But I love this place, and I’m doing my best to keep things on track until we elect someone else in the fall. My personal situation has nothing to do with why you’re here, so let’s just focus on the town. Okay?”

He was so upbeat, even in the face of what must be a huge problem, she couldn’t help smiling. Some people honestly believed that positive thinking led to positive outcomes, and she wasn’t going to be the one to burst this handsome optimist’s bubble. “Okay.”

His assessment couldn’t have been more wrong, but she opted to keep that opinion to herself. The state of Holiday Harbor’s town government had everything to do with its problems—and the potential solutions to them. If she’d learned anything during her varied assignments, it was that there were several facets to every story. Her job was to uncover as many of them as possible and give her readers all the angles.

They continued walking, and beyond the modest business district, Victorian-style homes rose up behind white picket fences. Their porch roofs were accented in crisp white gingerbread, their yards filled with neatly trimmed hedges and flower gardens. It was like stepping into a living, breathing Norman Rockwell painting. Even though she was seeing it for herself, Bree couldn’t quite believe a place like this still existed.

In front of one hung a brass sign that read Landry House—1820. During her research, she’d learned that was the year Maine had attained statehood, which meant the Landrys had been here a very long time. The yellow house had a cheerful presence, with tall windows and a wing on either side to balance out the porch running along the front. Well-tended flower beds led to two rows of petunias that bordered the wide walkway leading to the porch.

Large and inviting, it was nothing like the apartments Bree had grown up in. Always seeking new experiences, her restless parents had moved from one city to the next, so she’d never been in one place more than a year. Being so deeply rooted didn’t appeal to her, but obviously it worked for Cooper’s family.

“On the record now?” she asked.

There was that grin again. This time she caught a faint dimple in one cheek that gave him a little boy look she hadn’t noticed before. “Sure.”

“Tell me about Holiday Harbor.” She discreetly hit the record button on her phone. The video would be of the inside of her pocket, but the sound should be good enough for her to take notes from later.

“Back in 1816, my ancestor William Landry—”

He paused for a proud grin, and she smiled. “The cooper.”

“That’s the one. Anyway, he started up the coast with four wagons and a hand-drawn map from a blacksmith in Concord, Massachusetts. He claimed there was untouched land up here, sitting right on the ocean, where a man could farm or fish, or both. His brother and new wife joined them, along with a few other families. On Christmas Day, they ended up here.”

“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.”

Chapter Two

Cooper stopped at the end of a dirt lane, putting the car in Park as Bree took out her camera and stood up for an unobstructed view. When she let out a dreamy sigh, he leaned back in his seat and smiled. Mission accomplished.

“This is amazing,” she breathed.

A driveway crisscrossed with ruts led out to the rocky point topped by the lighthouse. The breeze coming off the water came and went, whipping her ponytail around one second and dying off the next. Waves crashed against the outcropping of unforgiving rocks, which had taken down several ships before the warning beacon was finally built.

Seagulls circled overhead, calling out to each other as they glided through the air. Cooper watched Bree expertly single out one that appeared to be zooming in on something under the surf. Rapidly snapping frame after frame, she followed the bird as it dropped down and came out with a fish.

“It’s pretty,” she said, as if the description had just occurred to her. “In a salty-around-the-edges kind of way, y’know?”

“Yeah, I think so, too.”

“You almost expect to see the ghost of some old sea captain standing on the balcony, staring out to sea, looking for the ship he lost years ago.”

The fanciful image surprised him, mostly because with just a few words, she’d painted a picture in his mind he wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon. She had a real gift, he thought with a smile. He wondered if she knew how incredible she was. It was, he corrected himself quickly, relieved that he’d had the good sense not to be thinking out loud.

Craning her neck, she surveyed the area hopefully and then sighed. “You’re kidding. There’s nothing else out here.”

He’d come to terms with her less-than-flattering perspective of his home, so this time Cooper chuckled as he put the car in Drive and turned onto the lane. “The keeper’s widow, Mavis Freeman, runs a B and B for special guests. Very exclusive, like the finest hotels.”

He flashed Bree a grin and was pleased to hear her laugh. He congratulated himself on prying some levity out of the very intense young woman who’d landed in his town.

“Mavis doesn’t warm up to strangers right away,” he warned as they left the car and climbed a few stone steps worn down by decades of wind-driven sand. There was no doorbell or knocker, so he pulled the rope on the brass ship’s bell next to the bright red door. “Just be patient with her.”

Bree seemed so taken with the place, he wasn’t sure she’d heard him. He was about to caution her again when the door swung inward on creaky iron hinges.

Mavis squinted up at him. “Who’s there?”

“Where are your glasses?” Cooper demanded. “You know you’re supposed to wear them all the time.”

“Don’t need ’em when I’m crocheting.” Her cranky response told him she might have started out crocheting but had ended up napping. “You’ve got no business giving me orders, Cooper Landry. You’re not the mayor on my island.”

“Don’t need to be,” he assured her smoothly, ignoring the fact that technically the property was connected to the mainland. “You have everything under control out here.”

“Got that right.” Turning to Bree, Mavis gave her a puzzled once-over. “You must be that troublemaking reporter who’s gonna be staying here.”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Bree sounded almost humble, and he wondered where the politeness had come from all of a sudden. “Thanks so much for letting me camp out here. I promise not to get in the way of your very important work.”

“Work?”

“The light.” Bree waved toward the rotating signal. “Without the keepers here at Holiday Harbor, ships would break up on the rocks while they’re coming into port. It’s a huge responsibility.”

Her earlier sarcasm was nowhere to be heard, and Cooper wondered if she’d taken his advice to heart or was deftly buttering up her hostess.

At any rate, Mavis stood a little taller and straightened the moth-eaten gray sweater she wore on even the warmest days. “Well, now, it’s not often us keepers get that kind of respect. Folks generally take us for granted, figuring the light just runs on its own.”

“Not me,” Bree assured her warmly. “I’ve been all over the world, but I’ve never seen anything like this. I’d love to hear the history of this place, if you have time.”

“Honey, I got nothing but time. You come right on in.” She opened the door wide and let Bree through. Cooper she stopped with a gnarled hand on his chest. “You done good this time, Mr. Mayor. The judge’ll be hearing from me, you can count on that.”

“Granddad’s been gone awhile now,” he reminded her gently.

“I still talk to him up in Heaven,” she retorted. “He hears me just fine.”

She meant well, and despite his lingering sadness, Cooper managed to smile. “I’m sure he enjoys that. And I appreciate you putting in a good word for me.”

“Don’t you be going all soft on us, though.” She pointed a crooked finger at him in warning. “This town’s in trouble, and it needs strength, not coddling.”

“Yes, ma’am. Speaking of strength, how’s that new retaining wall holding up?”

“Like a champ. Those boys you sent did good work. They ate me out of gingerbread, though.”

“That’s because you make the best in the state.”

“First place at the fair, seven years running,” she boasted. “I’ve got some fresh if you think Miss Farrell would like some.”

Cooper knew that was the height of hostess etiquette for the bristly woman, and he nodded. “I think she’d love it.”

“Fine. Now be a good boy and help me find my glasses.”

As they entered the dim front hallway, Cooper heard Bree’s sharp gasp from up ahead. “Um, a little help here?”

She was flattened up against the wall, staring down at a black potbellied pig the size of a small beagle. He sat in front of her, tail scraping across the well-worn oak planks in a friendly greeting. Judging by the horrified look on her face, she didn’t think much of her welcoming committee.

“Oh, that’s just Reggie sayin’ hello to you,” Mavis told her. “He loves it when folks come by. Honestly,” she added with a soft cackle, “he likes people better’n I do.”

“Where on earth did you get a pig?” Bree asked, eyeing him cautiously.

“When my Henry died, God rest him.” Closing her eyes, Mavis held a hand over her heart and looked down. After a respectful moment she lifted her head and continued. “I wasn’t real fond of living by myself. Pastor Allen thought I’d do better if I had some company, so I went to the shelter over in Oakbridge, figuring to get a dog or a cat.” Crouching down, she scratched Reggie behind his ears while he grunted in appreciation. “This little guy waddled over and sat down in front of me, and I knew he was the critter for me. He’s housebroken and smart as a whip.”

Clearly the skeptical journalist wasn’t convinced. “Really?”

Mavis gave her a you’ll-see grin. “Reggie?” The little porker rose to all fours, wagging his tail eagerly. “Snack time.”

Delight flashed in his black eyes, and he trotted over to a set of open bookshelves. Grasping a plastic container in his teeth, he dragged it out but left it untouched, looking to Mavis for directions. She held up two fingers. “You can have two.”

Grumbling his approval, he reached in with his snout and removed one piece of jerky, letting it fall on the floor before going after another. When he had them, he placed the container neatly back on its shelf and swooped up his reward before retreating into the parlor.

“Wow,” Bree said, shaking her head. “That’s really something.”

Mavis’s craggy face wrinkled into a proud smile. “That little guy’s smarter’n most people I know. He’s not much to look at, but then neither am I, and he don’t seem to mind. You two go sit down. I’ll put the teakettle on and slice up some gingerbread.”

As she passed by him, Cooper stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Giving her the glasses he’d found dangling from a hook on the coat stand, he said, “You might want these.”

“No, but I’ll take them all the same.” Slipping them on, she looked him over from head to toe with a critical expression. “You need a woman, Cooper Landry. Eating too much of his own cooking makes a man skinny.”

“You sound like Mom, right before she stuffs me full of pot roast.”

“That’s just plain nonsense,” Mavis scoffed. “We’re not a thing alike, and you know it.”

He did, but no visit to the lighthouse was complete without a little good-natured sparring. Nose in the air, Mavis strolled through to the kitchen, and Bree glanced over at him, amusement sparkling in her eyes. She didn’t say anything, but it didn’t take much to figure out what was going through that quick mind of hers.

“I know she’s a little eccentric,” he murmured as they walked into the sitting room, “but she’s harmless, I promise.”

Stretched out on the flagstone hearth, Reggie had obviously inhaled his first treat and was enthusiastically attacking the other.

Bree settled on the edge of an antique chair that had seen better days. She lifted one curious brow, the way she had when David Birdsall had pedaled down Main Street in his costume. “I have one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Is the whole town like this?”

“Well,” Cooper stalled, searching for a way to skirt around the truth without lying. It was a survival skill he’d perfected during his courtroom career. But these days it just wasn’t for him, so he shrugged. “I guess so.”

Laughing, she added a note to her tablet. “Amazing.”

Cooper wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, or if the comment was intended to be an insult or a compliment.

Maybe bringing in a stranger to write about Holiday Harbor wasn’t such a good idea after all.

* * *

Bree was about as far from a tea and cookies kind of person as you could get, but Mavis’s snack was a whole lot tastier than the dry half sandwich she’d choked down at the airport earlier. While they munched and chatted, she made a mental picture of her surroundings, from the rugged landscape framed in the bay window to the parlor itself.

Everything from the oval carpet to the carved mahogany furniture was faded and worn. Even the curtains flapping alongside each of the four windows had a tired look to them, as if they could hardly stand up to one more ocean breeze.

Having lived all her life in the bustle of modern cities, Bree preferred glass and steel skyscrapers to raggedy old buildings in the middle of nowhere. Still she had to admit this one held a unique appeal. Maybe it was the setting, perched on the spit of land that made up one edge of the harbor. Maybe it was the well-salted local legends Mavis had been relaying for the past hour. Then again, Bree thought as she stifled a yawn, she was so tired from her early flight and long bus ride that anything that wasn’t moving looked good to her right now.

Tomorrow morning she’d come to her senses and see this place for what it actually was: a decrepit old tower with a spinning light on top.

At a rare lull in the conversation, Cooper stood. “I hate to do this, ladies, but I’d better get going. I’ve got a real estate closing at three, and I need to go over my notes.”

From her chair upholstered in threadbare needlepoint, Mavis pointed up at him. “You tell your mother I’m still expecting her for bridge on Saturday. I’m not pairing up with any amateur against the Marlowes. They cheat if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Turning to Bree, he added, “Your stuff’s still in my car. I’ll bring it in for you.”

Despite her insistence on doing things for herself, this chivalry thing was starting to grow on her, and she was just tired enough to take him up on his offer. Then her brain kicked into gear, reminding her that depending on others to help you gave them a chance to let you down.

Determined not to make that disastrous mistake again, she forced herself to her feet. “I can get it.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“It is for me.” For Mavis’s benefit, Bree used a sugary voice. But to be sure he didn’t misunderstand, she gave him the very stern look she trained on anyone with the gall to make her life difficult. Which was most people, she realized suddenly. That probably explained why she’d perfected that look.

Pushing the uncomfortable revelation aside, she followed him through the kitchen and down the stone steps.

“Something wrong?” he asked as he handed her bags out to her.

“No. Why?”

Turning, he leaned back against the fender and crossed his arms. “That was about the biggest sigh I’ve ever heard. Look, I know this place isn’t what you’re used to, but under the circumstances, it’s the best I could do.”

“Oh, it’s not that.” A curious dragonfly chose that moment to hover in front of her. Shooing it away, she decided to come clean with the man who’d been so nice to her. “I’ve got some things to sort out, I guess, and that makes me pensive.”

“Professional things or personal things?”

It was absolutely none of his business, and she almost told him so. But his somber expression made it clear he wasn’t being nosy, but was actually concerned about her. A complete stranger who’d barreled into town and hijacked his day. It was hard to believe, but here, on the edge of nowhere, she’d come across a truly nice guy. It had been so long since the last one, she’d almost forgotten what they were like.

Shrugging, she admitted, “A little of both.”

“And that makes you sigh.” When she nodded, he said, “A word of advice?”

“Sure.”

After he swung into the driver’s seat, he continued, “If you want folks around here to open up to you, don’t use words like ‘pensive.’ It makes you sound like a poet.”

Nick had told her pretty much the same thing while critiquing her portfolio, and she couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Meantime, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. I can tell you how the lighthouse got its name.”

Bree was fairly certain she’d have that tidbit after another round of tea and gingerbread with Mavis, and she almost said as much. But something made her stop.

It had been a long time since someone had been as kind to her as Cooper had. He was sweet and easy on the eyes, and she wouldn’t mind spending the evening with him. She could get some vivid details for her story while enjoying the evening with a handsome man. Where was the harm in that? “That would be great. But I have to warn you, I didn’t bring my cocktail dress and high heels.”

“That’s good, ’cause I was thinking we’d meet the boats at the dock to pick our lobsters, then walk up to The Crow’s Nest for dinner.”

She’d spent plenty of time in harbor cities all along the East Coast, and she’d eaten tons of fresh seafood. Never had she chosen her own meal, and she doubted any of her dates had even considered asking her to. Apparently Cooper took her slow response for hesitation.

“Unless you’d rather not,” he added quickly. “We can order at the restaurant instead.”

“Actually I’d like to see the wharf up close. Would the crews mind if I take pictures?”

“Mind?” Laughing, he started the engine. “They’ll be falling all over themselves to see who can impress you the most.”

When she heard herself laugh, it almost surprised her. With her life crashing down around her ears, she hadn’t done much of that recently, and it felt good. “That sounds like fun.”

“How about if I pick you up just before five? They’ll all be coming in around then, and you can meet them. You’ll find enough characters down there for a whole string of articles.”

“That sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

As he drove away, she watched him with honest appreciation. That he’d devised another way to help with her work touched her in a totally unexpected way. Despite what he knew about her sketchy judgment, Cooper was treating her like a pro. Her confidence was still in tatters, but the respect he was showing her made her think she just might be able to turn the page and start a new chapter in her career.

She certainly hoped so. Because all through college and the past few years, she’d put every ounce of talent and energy she had into her journalism.

Since first learning to write, she’d loved nothing more than spinning stories. As she got older, she discovered she had a knack for describing things she saw and heard, and that people seemed to like talking to her. A well-placed question or two usually got them started, and all she had to do was listen. That, her father informed her, was a valuable skill, and he’d mentored her with great enthusiasm for her growing ability. As she’d progressed from local papers to national coverage of truly important issues, his pride in her had increased. He’d taken her recent fall from grace almost as hard as she had.

For his sake—and her own—she was determined to wrestle her career back on to its upward track. Without it, she was nothing.

Pessimism had gotten to be a nasty habit with her, and she consciously pushed the defeatist thought aside. She’d promised to call her mother when she got settled, so she pulled out her cell phone to check the signal. It wasn’t great, but good enough for a quick call, so she thumbed the speed dial for the number.

When her mother answered, Bree put on a smile she hoped would reach through the connection. “Hey there. I’m set at the hotel, so this is me calling you like I promised.”

“Thank you, sweetie. I know it’s silly, but I appreciate you calling.”

“No problem.” Bree craned her neck for a look at the mirrored light rotating overhead. “You should see this place, Mom. It’s an old lighthouse a stone’s throw from the water. Very Wuthering Heights.”

“It sounds wonderful.” An art teacher at a small college in Connecticut, her very creative mother admired anything with character. “Send me some pictures if you have time.”

“Hang on.” Strolling a few yards away, Bree snapped a photo with her phone and texted it over. It took longer than usual, but it managed to get through. “How’s that for service?”

“Oh, it’s beautiful! Think of how many ships have sailed past it on their way into the harbor. All the sailors and crewmen, just imagine the stories they could tell.”

“I’ll be finding out later on.” Bree shared her plans for interviewing the fishermen. “It should be good background for the article.”

“You like it there, don’t you? I can hear it in your voice.”

“It’s fine.” The mayor was especially fine, but she wasn’t going there. Mom would get all kinds of romantic notions from that, and Bree didn’t need the aggravation of having to fend them off. Completely focused on resurrecting her career, she had no time for distractions, however attractive they might be.

“I have to be honest,” she continued, “I didn’t think much of the town ’til I saw the lighthouse. You’d love Mavis Freeman. She’s been running things since her husband died three years ago, but they still call her the keeper’s widow. The house is full of antiques, including her, and I’m convinced she’s memorized the history of every ship that ever went by.”

“You’ve got a love of the sea running through your blood. I’m not sure you remember, but one of my ancestors was a sea captain. Seamus O’Connell was his name.”

“I researched him. He was a pirate, and when the British finally caught him, they hanged him.”

“That may be true, but he still loved the sea. I’m sure that’s where you get it from.”

Thankfully, a beep alerted Bree that she had another call. When she checked the ID, her heart tripped over itself with the alarming combination of excitement and dread that had become all too familiar lately. “My editor’s trying to reach me, Mom. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“I’ll be here!”

Bree said goodbye and switched over to the other call. “Hello, Nick. What can I do for you?”

“Just making sure you got up there in one piece.”

Her intuition was sizzling, which meant there was more to this call than a simple check-in. Not long ago she’d have confronted him directly, but these days she was playing things a little closer to the vest. If she’d done that before, she’d still be working at her dream job in Boston.

She wasn’t thrilled about being flung so far down the ladder, and hopefully being more reserved would keep her from tumbling out of the business altogether. “My connecting flight was delayed, and the bus took a while, but I got here around noon.”

“Good. How’s everyone treating you?”

“Very well, thanks.” While she could tell he was fishing, she had no idea what he was angling for. “Is there anything in particular you want me to include in my article?”

“Lots of local color, anything unique that catches your eye. You’re not from there, so you should be able to pick up on things that’ll appeal to visitors. I want you to paint a great picture of Holiday Harbor so our readers can’t wait to book a ticket up there.”

After getting a few more similarly vague instructions, it dawned on Bree that her questions were too subtle. Despite her vow to be more reserved, she broke down and went the direct route. “What am I really doing here? I mean, it’s quaint and charming and all, but ‘sleepy little town’ is an understatement. The best article in the world won’t change that, and I can’t see why you’d pay me to come all this way to write about this place.”

“Cooper didn’t tell you?”

“Only that you grew up here.”

Nick chuckled. “Yes, I graduated a couple years after Cooper. He tutored me for a while, and without him I never would’ve gotten accepted at New York University. Anyway, when he asked me if Kaleidscope could do the town a favor, I was happy to help. We do have a national audience these days, you know.”

Nick had a reputation for being tightfisted, and she’d picked up on something totally unlike him. “So they’re not paying you to promote Holiday Harbor?”

“Nope.”

Nick had hired her to do a story that wouldn’t financially benefit his business? To her, that was a foreign concept. “That’s generous of you.”

“Hey, we do what we can, y’know?”

Actually, she didn’t know. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met someone she honestly admired, but it seemed her prospective new boss fell into that category. She heard a smothering sound, then Nick’s voice came back full volume. “There’s a problem with tomorrow’s layout, so I have to run. Do a stellar job on this, Bree. There’s a lot of good people counting on you.”

The line went dead, and Bree shut her own phone off. Tapping it against her chin, she gazed out at the water, lulled by the rhythm of the waves crashing on the rocks. The sun played over the spray, forming minirainbows here and there in the mist. With the weathered lighthouse as a backdrop, it was a remarkable sight.

In spite of her earlier skepticism, Bree reflected on the possibility that her mother could be right. Maybe the old pirate’s love of the ocean was getting to her after all.

Chapter Three

On his way back out to the lighthouse later that afternoon, Cooper congratulated himself on a successful residential closing. Granddad had always handled those, so Cooper hadn’t done one in a while. Fortunately the two real estate agents knew their stuff, and all he’d had to do was dot the i’s and cross the t’s for his client. Before long another young family would be calling Holiday Harbor home. It was a great way to end what had become an interesting day.

Bree Farrell fascinated him. At a young age he’d learned to read people, mostly by shutting up and listening to them talk. During long days on the water Granddad had taught him to watch the fish closely, reading their movements to predict where they were headed. You could do the same with people, he’d explained, interpreting their body language as well as their words to get a clear picture of how they actually felt. That skill came in handy when their behavior contradicted what they were saying.

Based on what he’d seen so far, Bree was fighting a bigger battle than she was admitting to. Despite her bravado, he saw the uncertainty in her dark eyes, muting the spark of intelligence that managed to snap through frequently enough to intrigue him. Fortunately she’d be leaving soon. All he had to do was get through the Fourth, and she’d be on her way back to Richmond.

It was better that way, he knew. He’d once gotten in way too deep with a woman committed to her career, and her rejection of his marriage proposal still stung. He had no intention of making the same mistake again.

As he pulled in at the lighthouse, he shoved those old regrets to the back of his mind. Someday, when he finally had time to get back into the dating scene, it would be with someone down-to-earth who loved the ocean as much as he did.

When he got to the end of the drive, he was surprised to find Bree waiting for him on the front stoop. He was even more surprised to see her scratching Reggie behind his ears, while the little pig grunted in delight.

“That’s not something you see every day,” Cooper teased as he stepped down.

Eyes twinkling with humor, she pointed a threatening finger at him. “If you tell a single soul I like this little oinker, I’ll sue you for defamation of character.”

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“You’re a lawyer. Don’t you lie for a living?”

He knew she was joking, but her accusation brought up more memories he’d rather leave buried in the past. Reminding himself she had no way of knowing that, he took a deep breath and let it go. “Never to pretty ladies sitting on porches. Besides, it’s not your fault. Reggie’s a shameless flirt.”

“He sure is.”

Chucking him under the chin, she made kissing noises but stopped short of actually delivering one. Obviously smitten, the pig closed his eyes and gave her his version of a smile, wagging his tail for good measure. It was one of the cutest things Cooper had ever seen. He’d take a picture, but he suspected Bree would toss his phone in the water to destroy the evidence. Still it was oddly comforting to know there was a soft heart under all that bluster. Recalling his earlier musings about the pretty reporter, he firmly put the brakes on that train of thought. She was here to do a job, and that was it. With a sharp mind and a tongue to match, she was the kind of woman who could drive a man crazy with no effort at all.

“The crews should be coming in about now,” he said. “Are you ready to go?”

“Definitely.”

As she shouldered her camera bag and stood up, the breeze ruffled through the long curls she’d left loose around her shoulders. She was dressed head to toe in black like a pint-size burglar, and he couldn’t help grinning. While full-on black might be appropriate for life in Richmond, here she’d stand out like a sore thumb.

Apparently he was staring a little too intently, because she frowned and glanced down at her trousers. “Am I covered in pig hair or something?”

“No. Why?”

“Usually when people grin like that, they’re making fun.”

She didn’t say “of me,” but Cooper easily filled in the blank. Seeing the hesitance in her eyes, he wouldn’t even think of suggesting she change her clothes. So she’d stand out. So what? With her striking looks and fearless demeanor, he had the feeling she’d turn heads no matter what she was wearing.

“Not me,” he assured her. “I’m looking forward to spending the evening with you, so I smiled. I promise not to do it again.”

A grateful smile brightened her features, transforming them with the pixie look he’d glimpsed earlier when she’d briefly let down her guard. It made her seem much younger, and he could envision her as a fresh-faced journalist, eager to take on the world before it turned against her. What had she been like back then? he wondered.

Realizing he’d ventured into dangerous territory, he pushed the emotion aside and smiled as he motioned her toward the car. “After you.”

“Why did you put the top and doors back on?” she asked when he opened the passenger side for her.

“Earlier today I got the feeling you didn’t appreciate the open-air look.”

“You didn’t have to do this for me. I’m not that picky.”

Did anyone ever go out of their way for her? Cooper wondered as he started the engine. His guess would be no, which explained her fierce independent streak. Being a lifelong New Englander, he’d always admired self-reliance. But for some reason thinking that Bree had no choice other than to fend for herself really bothered him.

Shrugging it off, he headed for the wharf. “I talked to some of the captains, and they’re thrilled that you’re coming down.”

“I wish you hadn’t done that. I prefer to do candid interviews.”

“Trust me,” Cooper told her with a chuckle. “These guys have been out on the water for twelve hours. You’re better off giving them a chance to clean up a little before you meet them.”

After a moment she admitted, “Okay. That makes sense.”

While they chatted about nothing in particular, Cooper’s opinion of her continued to improve. Her queries were thoughtful and out of the box, and she asked things most visitors didn’t consider important. Were the crews local or from elsewhere? Full-time or day laborers? Were the docks maintained by the town or the county? How many women worked on the crews?

With each question she asked him, his confidence in her abilities grew. Many in town—himself included—had questioned the wisdom of promoting Holiday Harbor to random outsiders. Their debate had revolved around the best way to accomplish their goals without being viewed as a joke or a tourist trap.

Cooper was now convinced that Bree was perfect for the job. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she had something to prove, not only to her editor, but to herself. He sensed that she’d do whatever it took to write an exceptional article and show Nick she could handle any challenge he wanted to throw at her.

Cooper was only too glad to help her do it.

When they arrived at the busy waterfront, every boat, from two-man skiff to commercial lobster boat, was tied up in port. Judging by the relative cleanliness of the crews, the captains had passed Cooper’s message along over their radios and ordered everyone to clean up before coming ashore. They wouldn’t pass muster for a night at the Metropolitan Opera, but they’d all made an effort to spiff up after their long, grueling day.

As he and Bree made their way down the ramp, she pulled a steno pad and pen out of the front pocket of her camera bag.

Cooper chuckled. “Going old school, huh?”

“Some people don’t trust technology.” Casting a glance down the dock, she smiled. “I’m guessing these guys will feel more comfortable with me if I take notes the old-fashioned way.”

When they reached the landing, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Hang on a minute.”

She opened her mouth to say something just as one of the veteran crewmen announced, “Off with your hats, fellas.”

They all removed their caps, lowering their heads as he continued. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for a beautiful day free of breakdowns and injuries. We pray the catch in our holds brings us a good price so we can afford to keep working the sea we love. In Your name we pray. Amen.”

Cooper echoed the sentiment and caught Bree’s look of surprise from the corner of his eye. “Something wrong?”

“No, I just didn’t expect to hear a sermon on the dock.”

“Their jobs are incredibly dangerous,” he explained patiently. “It’s important for them to know they’re not alone out there on the water.”

Still looking perplexed, she let the subject drop, and he stepped back to give her the spotlight. While she introduced herself to the fishermen, he marveled again at her ability to make people feel at ease. Everyone but him, it seemed. Unfortunately he still hadn’t figured out why.

“So tell me,” Bree addressed the oldest captain, a sixty-something old salt fondly referred to as Cap’n Jack. “What’s the biggest threat to your business these days?”

“Them over there.” Nodding toward a chartered fishing yacht, he scowled. “These rich guys plow into our fishing lanes and scare off half the catch. They just want to come back with something to stuff and mount over the fireplace in their den. But this is how we make our living and take care of our families.”

She cocked her head as if considering her response, but Cooper wouldn’t be surprised to learn she had most of her questions memorized. “They spend money here in town, though, at the hotels and restaurants. If they stop coming, how would you replace it?”

“Dunno.” His leathery face cracked into a scowl he aimed in Cooper’s direction. “Ask our new mayor.”

“You don’t approve of the job Mayor Landry’s doing?”

“No, missy, I don’t. Nothing against Cooper, o’course,” he added in a grudging half apology. “It’s just I don’t see the need to change things that’ve been workin’ the way they are for generations.”

There was some grumbled agreement, and Cooper carefully kept his expression neutral. All these men liked him well enough, but to them he was still wet behind the ears and in need of seasoning. The fact that Granddad was gone had no bearing on their opinions. They wanted the judge, and barring that, they wanted the town to continue running the way he’d done it for the past twenty years. Period, end of story.

“Aw, lay off, Jack,” one of his crew members chided. “Cooper ain’t like most college boys. He’s done his time out on the water.”

Bree turned to Cooper with undisguised astonishment. “You worked a fishing boat?”

“My uncle was a lobsterman. I worked with him in the summers when I got old enough.”

“Tough job,” she commented, then turned back to the crews. “I lived in Boston for a while, so I’ve got real respect for how hard you all work.”

“Boston.” One of the younger hands spat into the water. “Their winter’s got nothin’ on ours. In the spring we gotta chop a path through the ice just to get to the fish.”

Grinning, Bree jotted a note on her pad. While the others chimed in with their own tales, the interview devolved into general boasting. Then she did the worst thing possible.

“Can I get some pictures of you guys?”

Shouting agreement, they pushed and shoved to be in front. Finally Jack hollered for them all to knock it off and waded into the mix to sort them by height. While they got organized, Bree glanced over at Cooper and gave him a little wink, which told him she knew exactly what she was doing. Who’d have thought their very intense visitor had a playful streak? Cooper mused with a grin. She had these rough-and-tumble men right where she wanted them, playing up to her, falling all over themselves to give her unusual personal details for her article.

And photos? What man didn’t want a pretty woman taking his picture, telling him it just might wind up on the internet?

“Grab that camera, lawyer boy!” Jack called out. “We want a picture with the little lady.”

Shaking his head, Cooper grinned and took the 35mm from her. Then he waited while they did rock-paper-scissors to decide who got to stand next to her. As he focused in, he marveled at how quickly she’d gotten them all eating out of the palm of her hand.

If she was like this with men in general, he pitied the one who actually fell in love with her someday. The poor guy wouldn’t stand a chance.

* * *

Once she and Cooper had chosen their lobsters, Bree followed him up the metal gangplank, away from the commercial docks humming with activity. It was pretty warm, and the smell of fresh fish and seaweed permeated the salt-laden breeze.

Oh, her mother would love that one, she thought, scribbling it down. It was poetic and earthy at the same time, just like Mom. With seagulls circling overhead, the bustling port looked busy enough to support five towns.

Until she noticed the other side.

The far end of the U-shaped dock was completely empty. No boats, no people, even the access gate had been welded shut. Some of the wooden deck boards were missing, and algae covered the lower areas of everything that remained.

“How long has it been that way?” she asked, motioning toward the abandoned section.

“Five years, give or take. It got to be so expensive to maintain, the town council voted to close it down and save the money.”

It looked lonely and unwanted, tangible proof of the decline Cooper had described to her earlier. Now she understood his eagerness to entice tourists into the area. He didn’t want the rest of his hometown to end up like this.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his brow wrinkling with concern.

She’d been in lots of places that had seen better days, but she’d always managed to keep her professional distance. For some reason this old fishing village was different, and she’d need to put in more effort to remain objective. “Fine. Just hungry.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re here.”

Angling her away from the depressing scene, he motioned her ahead of him through a glass door etched with the Holiday Harbor logo and The Crow’s Nest beneath it in flowing script.

“Nice touch, using the same artwork.” Noting the familiar design from his shirt, she tapped it on her way through. “Visitors pick up on things like that.”

“That’s the general idea. Hi, Frances.”

“Cooper. I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.”

“Neither did I. Do you have a table on the deck?”

“For you? Always,” she gushed, giving Bree a suspicious once-over. “And who is this?”

“I’m sorry. Bree Farrell, Frances Cook. Bree came up from Richmond to do an article on Holiday Harbor.”

“Cooper!” a man yelled, hurrying over to clap him on the shoulder. Tie askew, he was wearing a button-down and suit jacket with a Vote for Derek! button done up in red, white and blue. Turning to Bree, he offered his hand. “Derek Timms. Cooper and I grew up here and then went to Yale Law together. Since he’s practicing here, I just opened my own firm in Oakbridge. I don’t know how this goofball does it, but he always manages to show up with the prettiest girl in the place.”

“She’s not my date, you moron. She’s a reporter.” He flipped the outrageous button with his finger. “And she can’t vote for you, so just can the speech.”

“What are you running for?” Bree asked.

“Mayor.” When she flashed Cooper a baffled look, Derek laughed. “Cooper may be allergic to power, but I’m not. We see things the same way, so except for the fact that I’m a much better dresser, the town probably won’t even notice the difference.”

Cooper chuckled in apparent agreement. “Just as long as you keep those greedy developers outta here, I’ll be happy.”

After a quick salute, Derek said, “Otter can’t make it for golf next Friday, so we’ve got a spot. Whattya say?”

“Otter?” Bree echoed with a grin. “Is he a really good swimmer or something?”

“Or something,” Cooper answered with a grin of his own before focusing on his friend. “Where are you guys playing?”

“Deer Run, the new club over in Oakbridge. Longest course within a hundred miles. You can try out that fancy new driver your mom got you for your birthday.”

The two men began discussing various aspects of the new course, leaving Bree at the mercy of Frances. Wonderful.

“A real-live reporter, all the way up here. How about that?” the young woman commented through a frigid smile. “What do you think of our little town?”

“I haven’t seen much, but the people I’ve met so far are fantastic.” She added a little bite to her tone to let her know she might be able to fool a nice guy like Cooper, but Bree had her number.

“Sorry about that,” Cooper apologized to Bree as Derek headed back to his table. “But it’s impossible to get a tee time at that new club.”

For the hostess’s benefit, Bree smiled. “No problem.”

Frances escorted them to a secluded table on the deck overlooking the bay. Because he was pulling out Bree’s chair, he didn’t notice the longing look Frances tossed back over her shoulder as she left. Bree could hardly blame her. Even in Richmond Cooper would be considered quite the catch. With so little competition up here, he must look like a prince.

Once they were settled, he crossed his arms on the table. “The crews really warmed up to you, didn’t they?”

Taking a sip of her water, she replied, “They were awesome. And very entertaining. It’s easy to see how much they love this place.”

He cocked his head with a knowing look. “But you don’t share their opinion.”

She didn’t, but Bree wisely refrained from admitting it outright. “I just got here, so I haven’t formed an opinion yet.”

“How ’bout a gut feel? I won’t hold you to it or anything, just curious.”

She’d learned the hard way not to voice her impressions, first or otherwise. But his genuine kindness had put some of those usual fears to rest, and she instinctively knew she could trust him. “I love the lighthouse. It’s really beautiful out there.”

Judging by his bright grin, she’d hit one of his favorite buttons. “Yeah, it is. Kaleidoscope has over a million readers nationwide, and I’m hoping we can get enough coverage that people will start to recognize the name and want to come check things out.”

“That’s my goal, too.” She’d meant every word, but his wary look made her think he didn’t believe her. “Did I say something wrong?”

He hesitated, clearly debating whether to start something with her. They didn’t know each other well, and she wondered just how much backbone this small-town mayor had under that neatly pressed blue oxford shirt.

Leaning in, his eyes darkened to a murky color that warned her a storm was coming. “Let’s get one thing straight right now. I know you’re here to rescue your career from the trash heap. I also know this is the last spot on earth you want to be. So let’s not pretend you came because Holiday Harbor fascinates you and you’re thrilled with this assignment.”

Narrowing her eyes, she angled closer just to show him she wasn’t intimidated. She seldom went toe-to-toe with such a worthy opponent, and she relished the opportunity. “Fair enough. Since we’re being so honest, tell me why you really came back to a town so small, you need a magnifying glass to find it on a map.”

A waitress headed their way, and they both eased back to create a more sociable appearance. She took their appetizer order, casting several admiring looks at Cooper before strolling back inside.

“Sickening,” Bree groused. “Does every woman within five miles have a thing for you?”

“Actually the older ones prefer my Uncle Joe.”

He said it with a completely straight face, and she had to laugh. “You must have killed in the courtroom. I’m usually good at reading people, and I couldn’t tell you were joking.”

“I wasn’t.” Taking a sip of water, he set it down and began. “Anyway, like I told you earlier, after Yale I worked at a big firm in New York. Lots of cases, high-profile clients, all the trimmings.”

Not all of it had been good, she deduced from his shifting expressions. Watching him tell it was even better than digging it up online. “And you dated—let me guess—an actress.”

“A model.” His mouth quirked into a cute half grin. “I was almost engaged to Felicia.”

“The Felicia?” When he nodded, she clapped quietly. “Very nice. But you said ‘almost.’ What happened?”

“I had a major court case that went on forever. Long story short, we won, and my client was thrilled with the result.” He paused, waiting until the waitress set down their crab cakes and informed them their lobsters would be out shortly. Once she was gone, he continued. “Then the moron told me I’d had a little help winning the case.”

Bree leaned in. “From the judge?”

Cooper shook his head. “From my client. Apparently, he didn’t tell me everything, just what he felt I needed to know to get him acquitted.”

“He lied to you?”

“Withheld key facts,” Cooper corrected her with a grimace. “Since it was a complex financial issue, the details might not have mattered to the jury, but they mattered to me. I’d faced that kind of thing a few times before, but this time I couldn’t rationalize it away. The next day I quit my job and asked Felicia to come back here and marry me.”

Bree made a show of looking around. “Not exactly nirvana for models.”

“No, but I thought she loved me and wanted to be my wife.” Another grimace. “Turned out she loved New York more.”

A few choice words came to mind, but Bree kept them to herself. He’d loved the woman enough to marry her after all. It wouldn’t make him feel any better if Bree insulted the self-centered twit, even if she totally deserved it.

“Now it’s your turn,” Cooper said, popping half a crab cake into his mouth. “Should I be worried about some jealous boyfriend coming to beat me up for taking you out to dinner?”

“You might,” she said in between bites. “If I had one.”

“You’re kidding.” When she shook her head, he stared at her like she’d just beamed in from another galaxy. “How does that happen to someone as pretty as you?”

Since the man had been engaged to one of People magazine’s Most Beautiful Women, and had a very dry wit besides, Bree wasn’t sure she should take him seriously. But his stunned demeanor never changed, and she decided he was playing it straight this time.

“I’m too busy,” she said simply. When he cocked his head in disbelief, she figured that since he’d been up front with her, she owed him the truth. “Even if I wasn’t, my parents’ messy divorce convinced me that constant traveling and marriage don’t mix.”

Cooper absorbed it with a somber expression. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I was in college when they finally split, and to be honest, it was a relief. My dad was an AP correspondent, and we moved around a lot. When he was on assignment, they fought about him being away too much. When he was home, they fought about him being underfoot. Not the best model for happily ever after.”

“I guess not.” After a sip of water, he asked, “Which one of them came up with your unique name?”

Bree groaned. “My mother. She’s a hopeless romantic, and her favorite movie is Sabrina. You know, the one where the two rich brothers fall in love with the butler’s daughter who used to be a plain Jane and—poof!—turns into Audrey Hepburn?”

Grinning, Cooper forked up a cherry tomato from his salad. “Sounds familiar.”

“As if that wasn’t mortifying enough, she saddled me with Constance for a middle name. It’s a tribute to some aunt she adored, but really, who uses names like that anymore?”

He laughed, and even though it was at her expense, she couldn’t help joining in. There was something about him that made her feel at ease, as if he’d pushed some invisible “relax” button inside her that no one else had ever found. While they devoured their lobsters, they chatted comfortably about nothing in particular. Before long, it felt as if they’d known each other for years instead of only a few hours.

For dessert they ordered a humongous slice of Boston cream pie and two forks. It was like a scene from some gushy romantic movie, but Bree was having such a great time, she decided to ignore the sappiness and just enjoy the evening.

They’d nearly finished off their pie when he said, “I almost forgot to tell you how the lighthouse got its name.”

Actually Mavis already had, but Bree decided to let him have his moment. “That’s right. Go ahead.”

“After a dozen ships or so broke up on those rocks, the townsfolk got together and built the tower. They called it Last Chance because it was the captains’ last chance to correct their course before running aground.”

“Neat story,” she murmured, scribbling it down even though she’d recorded Mavis telling it earlier. Normally she wouldn’t humor a source this way, but Cooper had been so great with her, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“So, that’s it.” Setting down his dessert fork, he checked his watch. “I guess I should get you back, then.”

It had been a long, exhausting day, and she was definitely ready to hit the sack. But when she opened her mouth to agree, she heard herself say, “If you’ve got time, I wouldn’t mind hearing some more about the summer-long regatta.”

What? Where had that come from? Betrayed by her suddenly unpredictable emotions, Bree forced herself to smile as if she hadn’t completely lost her mind.

Fortunately Cooper either didn’t notice her momentary lapse of sanity or he was so accustomed to odd characters it didn’t bother him. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you think people who aren’t from around here would find interesting. Quirky,” she clarified, pulling her steno pad over to take notes. “Like what kind of costume does Reggie wear?”

Threading his fingers together on the table, Cooper grinned. “He’s always Teddy Roosevelt. Even wears little glasses and a forest ranger’s hat.”

“Who does Mavis go as?”

“Mavis. She doesn’t think much of dressing up herself, but she’s got no reservations about decking out Reggie. She says he enjoys pretending to be someone else once in a while.”

Laughing, Bree jotted that down and set up her phone to record. If this first nugget was any indication, she was in for some Holiday Harbor gold.

Chapter Four

Cooper had neglected to tell Bree the tan hatchback he’d borrowed for her was a standard. Shifting wasn’t her favorite thing to do at seven in the morning, and she ground her teeth along with the transmission. She vaguely recalled learning the basic concepts in high school, but stalled it several times before getting the hang of the clutch and shifter. Mavis paused in her laundry hanging to watch, and while Bree couldn’t hear anything, in the side mirror she saw the woman laughing at her.

Ignoring her, Bree finally slid the little car into gear, working the pedals to keep it running while she gradually built up speed. It was fortunate she didn’t have to use the highway, she thought as she drove up over the ridge and headed for town. She would’ve gotten a ticket for impeding traffic.

On Main Street the sleepy village had already come to life. Cars and pickups were lined up in the diagonal parking spots, and she had to park a good distance from the business district. Glancing toward the docks, she noticed those lots were full up, and the fleet of fishing vessels was gone. Every pier post was occupied by a seagull, snoozing while they waited for the boats to come back and toss out something for them to eat.

Since there wouldn’t be much activity down there for a while, Bree set her sights on what was going on in town. Cooper’s law office was closed, but she was surprised to find the neighboring door wide open. Brown paper covered the huge display windows, but classical music was playing inside. Taking a shot, she strolled in, hoping to find someone interesting to talk to.

The ceilings had to be fourteen feet high, and judging by the built-in shelving that ringed the open space, the building had once been a general store. The hardwood floors and trim had been recently sanded, with several patches of different stains scattered here and there. An archway led into a dark hallway at the back, and a carved door marked Private obviously led upstairs to offices or an apartment. It was pretty rough now, but it didn’t take much imagination to see how it would look when everything was restored to its former character-filled glory.

“Hello?” Bree’s voice echoed through the cavernous room, and she heard footsteps in the hallway.

When the shop’s owner appeared, Bree almost swallowed her tongue. The gorgeous blonde dressed for a casual day at the country club could be only one person. “Whoa,” she breathed. “You’re Julia Stanton.”

Irritation flashed through the woman’s blue eyes before she masked it with a smile. “Yes. May I help you?”

What a coup this was. The daughter of Ambassador Frederick Stanton had disappeared from public life nearly a year ago, and the various media had tried to locate her, without success. Neglecting her recent vow to be more circumspect about things, Bree blurted out, “What are you doing here?”

“Renovating my building. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for someone to talk to. People get up and going pretty early around here.”

“We like to make the most of the day.” She eyed Bree’s steno pad like it was a pit viper. “I don’t speak to reporters.”

“Sorry.” Bree shoved the pad into her bag and offered her hand. “Bree Farrell. I’m doing a story on Holiday Harbor for Kaleidoscope magazine.”

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