Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove) Page 7

  “That both of you have a love and a need to tackle a new project, to keep your hands busy while your hearts heal. Doing the one thing you connect with best can bring you closer to finding your way there. I know it. If Logan had shut off his head for more than a minute and let his heart see for him, he’d have seen the same.” Emotion was thick in Fergus’s voice, the brogue serving to make it all the more poignant. “I know where ye are, lass. I’ve been there myself. And Logan, puir lad, has been there more than once, for all his young years. His project is taking care of the town . . . and keeping his commitment to maintaining Pelican Point as best he can. For you, the project would be yet another old beacon, a crumbling tower, in dire need of your wise and caring hand. In return, it will let ye pour all of the confusion, the grief, the questions yer having into her as you work your way through it and out the other side. As it happens, we’ve got ourselves a tower in need of some attention. Seems to me we’d all come out ahead on that equation.”

  Alex didn’t know quite what to say. He’d caught her completely off guard with his deeply insightful wisdom. She wasn’t sure how deep his knowledge went into her recent past, beyond knowing that her father had died. Not that she’d kept it a secret in any way, but she hadn’t announced she was the only MacFarland left, either. She wasn’t sure what digging Fergus had done, because nothing about her father’s death was on their business website. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to pay tribute to him, to the work he’d devoted his entire life to, but how did one share that without appearing to be working the tragedy for the purposes of commerce? In point of fact, she hadn’t even looked at the site, much less updated it, since the accident. She hadn’t been sure there’d be a business left to tend to.

  The accident had made the local papers, at home in Michigan and in British Columbia, where it had happened. She supposed something about it would probably come up on an Internet search. She’d never looked, and never would.

  “I-I don’t know what to say. I—thank you. For all the kind words, the wisdom, the advice. For trying, making the effort. I know your heart was in the right place.” That was clearly true, and she was glad she’d made the stop on her way out of Blueberry Cove. It didn’t help her figure out what she would, or should, do next, but it did help her put the loss of this job in a more comfortable perspective. And maybe more, once she’d had time to give his words some proper thought.

  “I hope you don’t mind my speaking my thoughts. But I needed ye to understand that it wasn’t just a random thing, my ringing you up. And while my nephew might be willing to toss it off as the whim of an interfering auld man, I’m no’ so willing to let him.” The more emotion he allowed in, the deeper his brogue became.

  “Mr. McRae, I’m grateful. More than you know,” she said, meaning every word. “Your confidence in me is . . . well . . . humbling and inspiring. But I have to respect Chief—Logan’s—decision in this.”

  Fergus gave her arm a final little pat, then surprised her with a quick wink and a right devilish grin. “You might, lassie, but I don’t. If he’s going to treat me as a meddling nuisance, well then . . . a nuisance I shall become.”

  “Oh, Mr. McCrae, please—”

  “It’s Fergus to you, lass. And I’ll only ask ye this. Do you want the job?”

  She thought about . . . well, everything. She hadn’t walked out to the tower before leaving, but she’d taken a good long gaze at what she could see from the drive before heading out. It wasn’t exceedingly tall as towers went, no more than forty feet. The jutting rocks and position on the point had naturally provided a goodly percentage of the necessary height for the focal point of the beacon. The squarish shape was actually uniquely charming in design, with framed-out windows on the side she could see that she assumed were repeated on the front and far side, as well. They would bring light into what would otherwise be a dank, dark interior, keeping the occupants from experiencing the same suffocating feeling that many towers had, though requiring significantly more upkeep. The black lantern housing and gallery at the top completed its day mark and, even from a distance, it wasn’t hard to imagine the damage the weather had inflicted on the structure over the years of neglect.

  A little research would tell her everything she needed to know about the light station, both the tower and the outbuildings. She’d have typically done that and much more before meeting whoever was in charge of its maintenance, much less accepting any contract offer. But none of that had mattered. Timing and distance were all the selling points she’d needed.

  Her reasons for wanting to see the tower hadn’t been about cataloguing any of those particulars, either. She’d wanted to see it, up close and personal, for a far more basic reason. She’d wanted to feel the yearning, the excitement, the finger-twitching, soul-stirring need to dig in, to fix, to restore.

  She’d be lying if she said those were the things she’d felt when she’d looked up at the lantern gallery. Fear, trepidation, stomach-clenching nausea . . . those were the emotions that swirled inside her. For the first time, she’d wondered if perhaps Logan’s decision hadn’t been the wisest one.

  What if it wasn’t just a matter of if she wanted the job? Staring at it, hands trembling as they gripped the steering wheel, she’d been forced to wonder if the greater concern was would she have been able to actually do the job, even if she were hired?

  Not only was it moderate in height as lighthouses went, the location was in as protected a place as she was likely to find. All lighthouses were exposed to the elements as part of their inherent function, but for many, that meant being positioned in fairly dire and challenging locations, from the tips of long rocky seawalls, to the ends of ice-encrusted bridges, or located out in the water, accessible only by boat and only then with extreme caution.

  Pelican Point, however, was situated on an easily accessible promontory, the entire light station located on the same open stretch, all in close proximity, with the tower accessible on foot. The cottage and tower sat in the open clearing on the promontory itself, with the main house behind them, backed by forest that all but hugged the rocky point from just above the shoreline. If she was going to face her worst fears, and have any hope of conquering them, of getting the answers she needed . . . Pelican Point would be the safest, easiest place to do it.

  Then there was its owner. Logan McCrae. What would it have been like, working with him? All but living with him while she did? Even if the keeper’s cottage could be made serviceable, it was all the same property. How would it be working with someone . . . and wanting him? At least in the physical sense. Needless distraction? Or possibly a much needed diversion while tackling all the many things she had to work through?

  “Yes,” she heard herself say. “I do. I want it.”

  “Then let’s see what we can do about that.”

  “Mr. Mc—Fergus, I don’t want to stir things up or cause problems.”

  “Och, darlin’ what’s the point of drawing breath if not to stir things up every once in a while? And trust me, the Cove will be thrilled to see action being taken, so there are no obstacles there. We’ve only to persuade one man. I’ve a good feeling, if you’ll let me talk to him, the tide will turn.”

  Alex felt the tide in her stomach pitch, but worked to maintain an even, confident smile and tamp down the panic. It was one thing to work through her issues on some rural, rustic site, reporting back to those in charge of the place as the job unfolded. The thought of doing the job under the close, watchful eye of the owner—an owner who’d made it clear that, left to him, she wouldn’t be there—not to mention carrying the hopes of an entire town on her back as well . . . maybe she wouldn’t think about that until she had to.

  “Why don’t you head on down to Delia’s and grab a bite. It’s down Harbor Street, right across from the docks. Winter is coming and you’ll do well to put a few pounds on that mite of a frame of yours or the wind will pluck you right off that tower.”

  She felt her face go stone white and the bottom of
what stomach she did have drop right out.

  Fergus’s expression was immediately stricken. He ducked under the bar, and came straight to her, took both her arms. “Och, but I’m a right bloody fool, I am. Should be whipped for speaking before thinking. An expression is all it was. I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  Alex shook her head. “I know. I know you didn’t.” She took hold of his arms, intending to step back, show she was fine, only she held on to those thick forearms for another moment, until she could be certain that was the truth. It took a moment longer to forcibly switch gears away from the past, away from visions of watching her father falling from the lantern gallery rail to the rocks below. She knew better than to close her eyes, so she focused on the first thing she could find.

  Her gaze latched on the beautifully hand-carved, wood sign hanging behind the bar, which matched the one perched atop the small building, each featuring the name of the place. “Why did you pick puffins?” she blurted out, desperate to get back to the here and now and not caring if she sounded a bit manic. “Why not Rusty Pelican? Wouldn’t that make more sense? Blueberry Cove is on Pelican Bay. Puffins are cute, like penguins, right?”

  She felt the tension ease from his arms. The concern was still there in his eyes, though the corners crinkled up a bit as he spoke. “Well, the pelican has more than gotten his due now, hasn’t he?” Fergus patted her arms, then tucked one through his and walked her over to the door, where several framed photos lined the walls. “Actually, I hail from County Kerry, in Ireland, along the coast. Grew up with a view of Puffin Island and the Skelligs, both home to that fine feathered friend.” He motioned to the top two photos, which had engraved brass plates on the frames, announcing the names of their Irish locations.

  “My first summer here, naught much reminded me of my homeland, until I saw the puffins had come to roost out on Sandpiper Island. It was as if they’d come all the way here to wish me well.” He motioned to the bottom two photos. One of Pelican Point with the lighthouse in the background, and the other was labeled Sandpiper Island. The latter showed puffins lining the rocks. He lifted a shoulder, and Alex saw there was a bit of mist mixed in with the twinkle. “So, it was simply the natural thing to do.”

  She wanted to tip her head, lean on his shoulder. It also seemed the natural thing to do. And the ache that came with the need, the longing to do the very same thing again with her own father, tightened like a fist around her heart. But for once, she was able to keep her focus outward and simply be thankful for the contact, for the comfort. She squeezed Fergus’s arm and gave in for a moment, briefly touching her head to his shoulder, then slowly sliding her arm free. “That’s a lovely story. Thank you for sharing it with me. And these photos are beautiful. Did you take them?”

  “I did, aye.”

  “They’re really well done. You should consider making prints and selling them, unless that’s something you already do.”

  “Oh, it’s a hobby, is all it is. When I see something that moves me, I like to keep it with me, and photographs allow for that, even when the memories here begin to fade.” He tapped his temple. “I give them as gifts when the subject matter calls for it, but I wouldna’ ask money for them.” He shot her a wink. “Would take all the soul out of it. Not to mention the fun.”

  Alex smiled and felt the pressure in her chest ease. Fergus had a rather infectious joy in him. No matter what happened with the tower, she was glad she’d come by and met him. After all the events of the past year, legal and personal, she’d been resistant to deal with new people, with anyone really, just wanting to hole up inside herself, insulate herself from everything and everyone.

  But Fergus was easy to talk to and had found his way past her usual barriers without even trying. As had his nephew, although in a very different way. She even found herself wondering why Fergus had left Ireland for Maine, surprised at how much she’d really like to talk with him. She wanted to hear more about his story, but didn’t feel it was her place to ask. Especially as she was leaving, not staying. “I think it’s a lovely tribute. All of it. The name, the photos. Makes the place here as unique and charming as its owner.”

  Fergus let out a laugh at that, the mist clearing from his eyes as he slipped a beefy arm about her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “You’re a charming one yourself, Miss MacFarland. Of course, a good Irish name doesn’t hurt your case with me any, either. You’ll have to tell me about your people someday, and where they hail from.” He patted her arm, and smiled so sincerely, she covered his hand and squeezed back. “Blueberry Cove will be happy to add you to its hardy little clan.”

  “Fergus, your passion for your adopted home and the people here, your nephew, all of it, is equally charming, but I don’t feel right, ganging up. Maybe we should respect your nephew’s wishes.”

  “I’ll strike this bargain with you. All I ask is that you spend the day introducing yourself to the Cove. I’ll speak with Logan, and then you come back to the Puffin this evening after the sun has set. You’ll get a sense of the people, as well as the plot, as they say. And we’ll see what we see.” Eyes twinkling quite merrily, he smiled. “Do we have ourselves an agreement?”

  Her smile deepened. “You make it hard to decline.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “Okay.” She lifted a hand before he danced a jig or something. “But here’s my only stipulation. If he’s not receptive, then that’s where it ends. I don’t want to be held up as part of some organized town lynch mob or anything. He was very kind to me yesterday when I—well, when I had a bad day. This morning as well. I don’t want to repay that kindness with confrontation.”

  “Understood.”

  Alex eyed him a bit warily. She didn’t know Fergus that well, or at all, really, but given his determination to change his nephew’s mind, she wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t apply the same wiles to her, if push came to shove. “Okay.” She put her hand out. “Then we have an agreement.”

  He took her hand by the fingertips and bowed his stout frame with surprising grace over her hand. He pressed a fast, polite kiss to the back of her knuckles. Then winked at her as he straightened. “Never shake a hand, when you can kiss one.”

  “Why is it I have a sneaking suspicion I just struck a bargain with the devil?” She said the words with a pretty spot-on imitation of her great-grandfather’s brogue, perfected by her grandfather and father after him, even though both had been born on American soil. Her efforts earned a hoot of laughter from Fergus.

  “I’m no saint, lass,” he assured her, grinning. “But I could be your guardian angel. And we all need one of those from time to time.”

  Chapter 5

  Now, Mrs. Darby—Eleanor—we’ll get it taken care of. I’ll send Randall over. He’ll get it out of—no, I’m sure you don’t need to spray it with—Mrs. Darby? No spraying! We don’t want to antagonize—yes, yes, I realize he started it. Just . . . now listen to me. Leave the raccoon alone and I’ll get Randall right over to take care of it for you. I’m sure it’s more afraid of you than you are of it at the moment.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. Lord knows, I am. He hung up and buzzed his desk sergeant.

  “Yes, Chief?”

  “Don’t put Mrs. Darby through to me again. Today, anyway. Even if she bullies you. You can take her, Sergeant. You’re armed.”

  “I’m not sure bullets would work on her, sir. Maybe a wooden stake and some garlic?”

  Logan choked on a bark of laughter. “Just get Animal Control over there ASAP, will you? Get Randy if you can. Tell him to take the critter cage with him.”

  “For the raccoon, sir?”

  Logan shook his head, but couldn’t keep the smile from spreading. “I believe that’s the only one we have the right size for, yes.”

  “I’m on it.” Sergeant Benson clicked off.

  Logan pulled the stack of files across his desk, wishing not for the first time that there was less paperwork in police work, and was debating a third refi
ll for his coffee mug, when Fergus strolled in.

  Logan immediately hit the intercom buzzer. “Barb?”

  “I’ve got Darby back on line two. Your pick. Sir.”

  “Never mind.” He clicked off the intercom and grumbled, “I’ll take Door Number Two.”

  “I might be a wee bit ahead of you in years, boy-o, but I’m no’ deaf as yet.”

  Logan put his empty coffee mug back on the desk, wishing he’d been a bit faster on the draw. Given the gleam in his uncle’s eye, a healthy dose of caffeine was only the beginning of what he needed. “Please take a seat,” he said to the already comfortably seated Fergus. “Let me clear my schedule.”

  “Auld Missus Darby let that raccoon get in? Figured it would happen at some point.” Fergus shook his head. “Ye know she’s feedin’ the damn thing, doncha?”

  “She’s not feeding—” Logan broke off and frowned as Fergus held his gaze, lips twitching, seeing the truth in his uncle’s eyes. “She’s feeding it? What the—why would she do that? She hates the damn thing. And how would you know?” Logan’s expression went slack. “Please tell me you’re not—” He immediately lifted a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Not a single detail.”

  “No, I’m not. I might be an old fool, but not that big a one.” Fergus visibly shuddered at the thought. “A man would have to be blind, deaf, and—it doesn’t bear thinking. I know she’s feedin’ the damn thing because Owen was in the other night for a short brew and mentioned she’d asked if the cat food she gets from him would be dangerous for small wildlife animals.”

  “She threatened to spray it with furniture polish. She’s probably trying to poison it, not nourish it.”

  “Well, all I’ll be sayin’ on the matter is I’ve seen the size dish she keeps on her back stoop. If it’s a cat she’s feedin’, remind me to steer clear of the docks behind her place in the wee hours. Thing’d be the size of a cougar by now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got one of them, too.”