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An Unlikely Father
Cynthia Thomason


Helen Sweeney is driving Ethan insaneFirst she nearly runs him down with her truck, then she's taking potshots at a sailboat with empty beer cans and leading him on a wild-fish chase! She's the craziest–and most interesting–woman he's ever met.What Ethan doesn't know is that Helen has a reason for her behavior. She needs his business savvy to help save her fishing charter company so she can provide a secure future for herself, her father–and the little "Bean," her unborn child. Instead she finds herself falling for him–a definite complication, given her father's mysterious hatred for Ethan's father. And then there's the small matter of Ethan's desire never to have kids…









Helen pressed her foot to the accelerator


She hugged the side of the road and careened around a bend. Then she saw it—a pearl-gray automobile parked half on the asphalt and half against the roadside underbrush.

She jerked the truck to the left as a man holding a cell phone to his ear stepped onto the road. In the instant before she swerved on two wheels away from his vehicle, she noticed the man’s eyes—large, round and filled with terror.

A loud crash followed by the screech of rent metal and the squeal of her own brakes made Helen’s heart thud against her chest. She glanced in the rearview mirror. The man was nowhere to be seen. Had she struck him? She jumped out and ran toward the sedan.

“Hey, mister!” she called. “Where are you?”

“I’m in here.”

Helen walked hesitantly to the gaping hole that had been the driver’s door. She peered into the car’s interior at the tasseled tops of a pair of oxblood loafers and the twin peaks of bent knees encased in perfectly pressed tan chinos. “You okay?”

The knees parted and an ashen face rose from the passenger seat. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again in my life.”


Dear Reader,

To those of you who read Claire and Jack’s story in An Unlikely Match, I’d like to welcome you back to the island community of Heron Point, Florida. To those of you visiting Heron Point for the first time in this book, I hope you will enjoy this quirky little town as much as I enjoyed writing about it.

It’s autumn and change is in the air in Heron Point. The citizens are hopeful about the future, and some of them are falling in love. The leading lady of this story, Helen Sweeney, is not the typical heroine. She’s tough and strong and struggling to make her way in a male-dominated profession. And when faced with the most important decision of her life, whether or not to raise the child growing inside her without its father, she shows a vulnerable, humbling side of her character, as well. I hope you enjoy Helen and Ethan’s journey to a happy ending.

And for those readers who have asked me if Heron Point really exists, take Florida route 24 west until you hit the Gulf. There, among the cedar trees, you’ll find the closest thing to it.

I love to hear from readers. Please visit my Web site, www.cynthiathomason.com, or e-mail me at Cynthoma@aol.com. My address is P.O. Box 550068, Fort Lauderdale, FL 33355.

Sincerely,

Cynthia Thomason




An Unlikely Father

Cynthia Thomason







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to my favorite

hero/fisherman, my husband, Walter,

who was literally my “left-hand man” while

I recuperated from a broken wrist.

All is forgiven, honey, even though

I suffered this injury when you took me fishing.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


AT EIGHT-THIRTY WEDNESDAY morning, Helen Sweeney waited for Maddie Harrison to raise the window shade on the door of Heron Point’s only medical office. As soon as Maddie changed the sign from Closed to Open, Helen got out of her scarred old Chevy Suburban, walked inside and strode to Maddie’s desk. The receptionist looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Helen. What brings you here? Is something wrong with Finn?”

“No, Pop’s all right. It’s me who needs to see Dr. Tucker.”

“Sorry, hon, but the doc’s out of town. Won’t be back for three days. I’m only here for a couple of hours to finish some paperwork.” She searched Helen’s face as if she could come up with a diagnosis by just looking closely. “It’s not like you to get sick, Helen.”

“I’m not sick, Maddie, but I do need to see the doctor.”

“Well, like I said…”

“I know. Three days.” Helen twisted her fingers together, a habit she had when she was nervous, which wasn’t often.

Maddie came around the desk and took Helen’s elbow. “Sit down, dear, before you do something stupid like faint on me.” She led Helen to a chair, forced her onto the wooden seat and sat down next to her. “Tell me, what can I do?”

Even though she knew no one was in the waiting room but her and Maddie, Helen still scanned all four corners of the office. She looked out the windows, stared at the door. She figured she could trust Maddie, and since Doc Tucker was away, she was going to have to. She turned toward the older woman and said, “If I tell you something, you have to abide by patient confidentiality, right? Just like if I told Doc?”

Maddie patted Helen’s clenched hands. “I don’t know about the official rules, Helen, but I do know if you tell me something you want kept a secret, I’ll go to my grave with it.” She smiled. “Now, is that good enough for you?”

Helen nodded, swallowed, then plunged ahead. “Since Doc’s not here, I guess I need one of those things from the drugstore. One of those…” She couldn’t even say the words.

“Do you need a prescription?” Maddie asked. “Because if you do, I can’t give you one without Dr. Tucker’s say-so.”

“No. It’s over the counter. I need a…pregnancy test.”

Maddie fell silent for a moment before uttering a simple, “Oh.”

“I can’t go buy it myself,” Helen said. “Within a half hour, everyone on this island would hear about it.” She stared down at her hands, stilled now by the pressure of Maddie’s comforting hold. “I can hear it now, ‘poor ol’ Helen. Now she’s gone and got herself pregnant. And no husband.’”

Maddie leaned closer. “Do you want me to buy the test for you, hon?”

Helen looked up. Relief washed over her, and finally, the spasms that had gripped her stomach since she’d stepped into the office stopped. “Would you, Maddie?”

She nodded. “You betcha. I don’t suppose anyone in town would waste gossip on me. Five grandchildren is about as close to mothering as I’m ever going to get again.” She stood up. “You answer the phone till I get back. And tell any walk-ins that Doc’ll be back on Saturday.”

Helen agreed, gave Maddie a twenty-dollar bill and watched her go out the door and turn in the direction of Island Pharmacy. And then she paced. Buying the test was only the first round.



MADDIE HANDED THE white plastic bag to Helen. “I put your change in there, along with the test.”

Setting the bag on the desk, Helen knotted the two handles together at least a half-dozen times. Anyone who tried to see inside would have to have X-ray vision or a machete. “Thanks. Did Frank ask you any questions?”

Maddie smirked. “Of course. I swear that pharmacist thinks he’s got the right to know everyone’s business.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That my daughter was coming to town, and she asked me to pick up the test.” Maddie shrugged. “Heck, the way that girl reproduces, it could turn out to be true.”

Helen tucked the sack under her arm. “I appreciate this. You’re a good friend.”

Maddie stared at her as if she wanted to ask something. But she settled for saying, “It’s still quiet. Do you want to talk anymore?”

“No. I’ve got nothing to say, yet. I’ll see what this test shows and then, if…well, I’ll make an appointment with Sam if I need to.”

Maddie put her hand on Helen’s shoulder. “Okay. No need to get yourself upset unnecessarily.”

Helen headed for the door. “Thanks again for buying this.”

Maddie returned to her chair behind the desk. “Good luck, Helen. I don’t know what to wish for. Babies are awful sweet gifts, but in your situation, the responsibilities you’ve already got…”

Helen gave her a weak smile. “I know.” As she walked to her truck she analyzed what her situation was, exactly. She was thirty years old, unmarried and tied down to a job that demanded more from her physically than was expected of most men. She wasn’t complaining. But heck, if this test turned out to be positive, wasn’t fate asking more than she could give? But who said life was fair?

She tossed the sack onto the passenger seat and started the truck. As she rumbled down Island Avenue, she repeatedly stole peeks at the innocent-looking plastic bag rustling in the breeze coming in her open window. Pregnant. It wasn’t possible. Donny used protection. They were careful. She raked her fingers through her hair a couple of times. She didn’t even want to think about how Donny was going to take this news if the test was positive.

Helen could have driven narrow Gulfview Road blindfolded. She’d lived with her father all her life in a two-bedroom cottage next to their private dock that jutted into the Gulf of Mexico. And she’d traveled the two-mile journey into town more times than she’d like to admit. Her world had always been this island, these few acres, these twisting, palm-lined roadways.

Once away from the moderate traffic of midisland, she pressed her foot to the Suburban’s accelerator and mindlessly cruised toward home and the task she had to face when she got there. She hugged the side of the road and careened around a bend, feeling the shocks of the old truck moan in protest as she leaned into the curve. And then she saw it—a pearl-gray automobile parked half on the asphalt and half against the roadside underbrush.

The driver’s door of the sedan opened as Helen approached, and a pair of trouser-clad legs swung from the interior. She jerked the truck to the left as a man holding a cell phone to his ear stepped onto the road. In the instant before she swerved on two wheels away from his vehicle, she noticed the man’s eyes—large, round and filled with terror.

A loud crash, followed by the screech of rent metal and the squeal of her own brakes, made Helen’s heart thud against her chest. She turned her wheel sharply to the right, buried the hood of the Suburban in a thatch of sabal palms and thrust the gearshift into Park. For one brief second she folded her arms over the top of the steering wheel and dropped her head to her wrists. “Oh, shit.”

She glanced in the rearview mirror. The gray sedan was visible, but there was no man standing beside it. Had she struck him? Was he lying in the middle of the road? Did he still have the damn cell phone so she could at least call 911?

She heaved her shoulder against the driver’s panel, mumbling a few obscenities under her breath about the rusty old hinges that required a body slam to open the truck door. She jumped out of the vehicle and ran toward the sedan, which was a hundred yards down the road. Before she reached it, she saw the driver’s side door halfway between the car and her truck. It rocked innocently on the pavement like a delicate wing ripped from the body of a great silver bird.

Without pausing, she sprinted the rest of the way to the car, relieved that she didn’t see a body sprawled on the road. “Hey, mister!” she called. “Where are you?”

“I’m in here.”

Slowing her pace for the first time, Helen walked hesitantly to the gaping hole that had been the driver’s door. She peered into the car’s interior at the tasseled tops of a pair of oxblood loafers and the twin peaks of bent knees encased in perfectly creased tan chinos. “You okay?” she asked.

The knees parted and an ashen face lifted from the passenger seat. Deep brown eyes stared at her with numb shock. After a moment, the man squinted and exhaled a burst of air. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again in my life,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“At least you fell back into the car instead of onto the road,” Helen said. Spotting his cell phone, she picked it up and examined the keypad to see that the battery light was on. “You need an ambulance?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

She reached into the car between his thighs. “Here, give me your hand.”

He did, and she pulled him upright. Once his feet hit the road, he gaped at the mangled mess in the car’s framework that had once connected the driver’s panel to the rest of the vehicle. “The door’s gone,” he said.

Helen pointed down the road. “No, it isn’t. It’s right there.”

He leaned out. “Oh, right. My mistake.”

Deciding the guy wasn’t hurt, Helen held the phone toward him. “You might need to use this.”

He remained motionless while she set the phone in his hand. “I was sort of trying to use it when you dissected the car,” he said.

She wiped her damp palm along the pocket of her shorts. “Yeah, I saw you with the phone. You lost, or something?” Scrutinizing his automobile, which she now noticed was a Lincoln Town Car and would probably cost about a million bucks to fix, she added with a mental wince, “You’re new to Heron Point, right? That would explain why you’d pulled over in such a dangerous place.”

His eyebrows arched in astonishment. “What do you mean, ‘dangerous’?”

“This is a busy road. All the locals know you can’t just park your car on the side like you did.” She shrugged her shoulders with all the bravado she could muster. “Makes you a target for oncoming traffic.”

He stood up, towering over her by several inches. “Oh, sure. A target for any vehicle that barrels around that curve at sixty miles an hour.” He nodded toward the Suburban, which was idling like a tethered dinosaur, smoke hissing from its radiator. “And, by the way, that death trap of yours is the only car that’s come down this busy road in the last ten minutes. I should know. I’ve been waiting to hail the first vehicle that showed up.” He wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead and stared at it on the back of his hand as if he’d never perspired before. “Just my luck, you were driving it.”

Helen tried to recall the details of her pitiful auto insurance policy. She knew she didn’t have coverage on the Suburban. Why would she? That tank could survive anything. And she seemed to recall that her liability coverage had a deductible equal to the payoff of a winning lottery ticket.

Lately, Helen’s meager savings account had suffered some major hits. The future didn’t look much better if that pregnancy test came up positive. Certain that her best course of action was to maintain a tacit innocence, she shoved her hands in her pockets and rocked back on her heels. “So, you had car trouble even before—” she glanced from the Lincoln to the dismembered door “—this happened?”

“Yeah. I rented this thing in Tampa, exactly—” he checked his watch “—one hour and forty-five minutes ago. It ran beautifully for eighty miles and then conked out on your deserted stretch of Heron Point superhighway.”

Helen leaned against the hood of the Lincoln. “Tough break. A car this fancy should get at least a couple hundred miles before breaking down.”

He smiled grimly and looked at the pad of the cell phone. “At least we agree on something. I was just calling Diamond Rental to come pick up this two-ton pile of misery when you decided to make my complaint a bit of an embarrassment. I think the rental company might question the validity of my claim, now.”

He started to dial, but paused and said, “Maybe you ought to get your insurance information. And I suppose we have to report this to the police.”

Oh, great. Just what she needed. It’d probably be Billy Muldoone who’d swoop down upon the scene with his siren blaring and his features cemented into a condescending sneer. He’d write her up faster than the women of Heron Point turned him down for dances at the Lionheart Pub. In the pit of her stomach, Helen sensed a tingling of panic—the second time today. She didn’t like the feeling, though she figured she’d experience it again while she waited for the pregnancy-test results. But right now she needed to calm down so she could plan a course of action for this current disaster.

“Ah, sure,” she said. “I’ll get my insurance card from the truck.” She walked to the Suburban and lifted the hood to make sure none of its parts had been crippled. Thank goodness the steam had cleared and the engine hiccuped with its usual congestive rattle, telling her its internal workings were A-okay.

“Any damage to your vehicle?” the new guy called to her.

She looked over at him. “A busted headlight.” Then she flashed him a little smile, hoping to distract him from following accident protocol to the letter. “Guess you’d better get your insurance information, too. Last time I replaced a headlight in this beast it cost me twenty-five bucks.”

He held up a card between his thumb and index finger. Naturally, he already had his card ready even though he’d probably determined he was the injured party.

Helen scribbled a phone number on a scrap of paper and walked back to him. Ignoring a persistent niggling of guilt, she said, “I forgot my wallet. Here’s my number. How can I reach you?”

He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and held it out to her. “I’m staying at the Heron Point Hotel temporarily,” he said. “You can leave a message if I’m not in.”

She stepped closer to him and reached for the card. When she took it, he wrinkled his nose and jerked his hand back. “What’s that smell?”

Well, great. Barely an hour ago she’d been cleaning the bait well on the Finn Catcher, getting the boat ready for its next charter trip on Friday morning. She hadn’t bothered to change clothes before running into town for a quick visit to the doctor, and now she noticed a few glistening fish scales still stuck to her cargo shorts. Fishy smells didn’t bother her. She’d grown up with them, but that obviously wasn’t the case with this pressed and polished out-of-towner.

She slipped the business card into her waistband. “It’s fish.”

“Fish?” He said the word as if he needed a zoology textbook to figure out what she was talking about.

“This is an island,” she said. “We are surrounded by the little creatures.”

He stared at his hand but at least had the decency to chuckle a little in a self-deprecating way. “Of course.” Then he abruptly changed the subject to one she definitely wasn’t interested in. “I guess I’ll call the police now.”

She pointed a finger at him. “You do that. I’ll wait in my truck.”

She walked away from him, got behind the wheel of the Suburban and backed out of the palm thatch. Then, without so much as a backward glance, she peeled down the road. It was the coward’s way out. Helen knew that just as she knew she wasn’t getting away with anything. Maybe he’d call that number she gave him and have a nice little chat with the old guy who repaired fishing rods in town, but the decoy wasn’t going to get her out of trouble. Everyone in town, and especially the police, knew who drove a rusty old Suburban.

So, it was only a matter of time until she had to face up to what had happened here. Helen frowned at the package on the passenger seat. But first she had to face something a whole lot more important.



APPARENTLY FINISHED WITH his inspection of the damages, the muscle-bound cop leaned against the Town Car and rested his elbow near the retractable sunroof. “So, what did the driver of the other car look like, Mr. Anderson?”

Ethan stared at the police officer who had arrived a few minutes ago heralded by earsplitting sirens and flashing lights. Ethan had considered the entrance a somewhat over-the-top reaction to what he’d called a “minor traffic accident” when he’d phoned in the report. Pad in hand, and his eyes narrowed in that officious scowl police officers seemed to perfect, the cop had sauntered all around Ethan’s car, and its missing door fifty yards away.

“What did she look like?” Ethan repeated.

Officer Muldoone removed his arm from the top of the car and prepared to write. “It was a female, then?”

“Right, yes,” Ethan answered. He held his hand just under his chin. “She was about this tall.”

“About five feet, five inches?”

“Give or take. She was skinny. No, thin. Not too skinny.” Now that Ethan thought about the daredevil driver, he decided she was actually quite pleasantly proportioned. She was slim all over, though her breasts were certainly full enough to satisfy any man’s standards. And ignoring this woman’s better features under that ribbed tank top had been impossible.

“Anything else you remember?” the officer asked. “Hair? Eyes?”

Funny. Ethan remembered both quite well. “She had light blond hair.” He wiggled his fingers around his own head. “Strands of it stuck out every which way, some short over her forehead, some longer, reaching her shoulders.” He felt his skin flush when he realized he must sound like a Manhattan hairdresser. “That’s not important,” he said. “She’s a blonde.”

Muldoone wrote.

“And she had blue eyes,” Ethan added. “I remember that distinctly.”

“Sounds like Helen Sweeney,” the officer said. “Was she driving a noisy old Suburban with rust spots?”

Ethan nodded, experiencing a totally unexpected attack of guilt. The ID had been too easy for the cop. But why should Ethan feel guilty? The car rental agency had specifically informed him that he’d need a police report when they sent a tow for the Lincoln. Heck, he was only doing what he had to do. Besides, the kooky lady could be here defending herself if she hadn’t shot down the road, leaving him in her dust.

“And it was a hit-and-run, you say?” Muldoone asked. “That would be Helen’s MO. She ran down a mailbox last month, and we didn’t know who to blame until a new box showed up at the victim’s house two weeks later with a note of apology. Signed H. S.”

Helen’s MO? The cop was behaving as if this woman had a rap sheet. Ethan scrubbed his hand down his face. “To be completely honest, officer, it wasn’t truly a hit-and-run. Helen, or whoever did this…”

The cop let loose with a sputter of laughter. “Oh, it was Helen.”

“Anyway, Helen did hit my car, but she didn’t immediately run. She stayed quite a while, actually. She made certain I wasn’t hurt.” When he remembered Helen’s initial reaction upon finding him flat on his back in the car, Ethan tried to make her seem more sympathetic to the officer. “In fact, she offered to call an ambulance.”

“Big of her.” Muldoone chose not to write that information down.

“What are you going to do?” Ethan asked.

“I’m going out to the Sweeney place when I leave here. Helen just lives a mile up this road. I’ll issue her a ticket for reckless driving, and she’ll have to face a county judge. He may take her license, this time.”

Wonderful. Here he was, his first day in a new town. He was here to get the residents’ cooperation and to get them to accept that Anderson Enterprises was coming in and would most definitely make an impression. And what had happened? Before he’d been here an hour he’d had a literal run-in with a local and stood to make an enemy of her if she lost her license. Not a very auspicious beginning.

“To be perfectly honest, Officer,” he said, “maybe I shouldn’t have been parked where I was. The car is half on, half off the road.”

Muldoone smiled and flipped the cover over his notebook. “Don’t let her get to you, Mr. Anderson,” he said. “You can be sure Helen will give the judge that little detail. If I were you, I’d stick to your story. If not, you could end up losing your license. Helen has a way of turning the tables.”

The officer headed toward his patrol car. Before he got in, he turned back to Ethan and said, “What are you going to do now, Mr. Anderson? You want me to call headquarters? I’ve got the only patrol car, but I can have my partner come out on the golf cart, pick you up and take you back into town.”

Oh, right. Ethan remembered the head of security for Anderson Enterprises telling him that Heron Point cops rode around on golf carts. As much as he wanted to see that, and as much as he wanted to get out of the heat, Ethan declined the offer. “I’ve got to wait for the tow,” he said. “I could be here as long as two hours. You’re kind of remote on this island.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll probably see you when I’m coming back from the Sweeney place.”

Officer Muldoone got in his car and drove away. Ethan swatted at an aggressive dragonfly, got in the Town Car and turned on the air-conditioning. Most of the cool breeze went out the gaping hole where the door had been, but Ethan didn’t care. He didn’t suppose Diamond Rental was going to say much about the car returning without a full tank of gas.



WHEN SHE HEARD the knock on her door, Helen looked out the front window and swore. “Oh, hell.”

Her father silenced the Sweeney’s fifteen-year-old yellow Lab and wheeled around in his chair. “Who is it, Helen?”

“It’s Muldoone,” she said.

“What in the world does he want?”

“I clipped somebody on Gulfview Road today,” she said. Seeing the worried look on her father’s face, she added, “It was no big thing, Pop. The other guy’s fine. Our truck just got a scratch.”

“And you didn’t tell me this?” Finn asked.

The pounding on the door increased, and Helen turned the knob. “I knew there’d be time enough.” She opened the door. “Hi, Billy. Nice day, isn’t it?”

“Not for you, Helen.” He handed her a ticket. “Reckless driving. Again. You’ll have to make a court appearance on this one. About six weeks from now.”

She took the ticket. “I’m probably busy that day, but I’ll try to squeeze it in. By the way, how’s that guy, the one who got in my way?”

Muldoone sent her a strange look, one that hinted he was amused by her question. “You don’t know who you hit, do you?”

“No.” She hadn’t bothered to look at the business card, which right now sat on the bathroom counter. “Who is he?”

“Ethan Anderson,” Billy said smugly. “Does the name ring a bell?”

It did. Almost as if the bell were clanging against the side of her head with the intention of deafening her. “The guy from Anderson Enterprises.”

“Oh, yeah. And you sure taught him a lesson about Heron Point hospitality. If he doesn’t hightail it back to New York on the next plane, he’ll at least avoid you from now on.”

Could this day get any worse? Now she’d hit the one man people in Heron Point were looking to as a financial savior.

Sticking his head inside the front door, Billy said, “How’s it going, Finn?”

“It’d be better, Billy, if you hadn’t given us that ticket—and that news.”

Helen closed the door a couple of inches. She had to get rid of Billy. She had to go down to the edge of the water and scream as loud as she could where no one would hear her. “Okay, then, boys,” she said. “Enough chitchat.”

Billy stubbornly leaned his two-hundred-pound frame against the jamb, preventing her from shutting him out. “Hey, Helen, you still going out with that folksinger?”

“Sure am. We’re as cozy as a pair of fleas on a dog’s ear.”

He moved a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “You let me know when you break up. You still owe me a date.”

Helen couldn’t remember the debt, but even if it were true, there was no way Billy Muldoone was going to collect. “Right. You’ll be the first person I tell.” She shut the door and collapsed against it.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Finn said. “The ticket you just got or the fact that an Anderson has finally showed up in Heron Point.”

Helen had never understood her father’s resentment of anyone associated with Anderson Enterprises, and she’d grown tired of asking him. Finn would tell her when he was ready. “My money’s on the ticket,” she said. “You’re the only one in town who hasn’t been looking forward to Anderson’s arrival.”

Finn frowned. “You okay? You weren’t hurt in that little mishap, were you?”

“No. I’m just dandy.” She stared down at the ticket in her hand. That, and the bad impression she’d made on Ethan Anderson weren’t the most disturbing pieces of information she’d gotten today. In fact, they weren’t even a close second and third. The absolute winner in the bad-news category was that eight-letter word printed in blue on the plastic wand in her bathroom. It said, pregnant.




CHAPTER TWO


AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK THURSDAY morning Helen parked the Suburban behind the Lionheart Pub and entered the establishment through the back door. She’d been up since seven preparing fishing tackle for her charter trip the next morning, but she’d put off coming into town until she knew Donny would be awake. His last set at the Lionheart didn’t end until nearly two o’clock, and he liked to sleep in after performing late.

Helen hadn’t come to see him play last night. He’d called during his first break to ask where she was. She’d tried to sound cheery, as if nothing was wrong. She’d said she was tired and would see him the next day.

And now that she was going to face him, she didn’t feel any more confident about telling him the news than she had the day before. She’d hoped that a quiet night alone with her thoughts would result in a clear plan for what she was going to do about the pregnancy, but that hadn’t happened, because her decision depended heavily on Donny’s reaction. Now, as she came through the Lionheart’s kitchen, she pondered the two conclusions she’d come to sometime in the middle of a restless night. She would tell Donny today. He was the father. He deserved to be the only other person she confided in. And for now, she would think of her condition in terms of the clinical word pregnancy. She refused to think of herself as having a baby. That was too intimate. Too conscionable. And certainly, until Donny reacted as she hoped he would, too scary.

Vinnie, the Lionheart’s luncheon cook, looked up from a bubbling cauldron of spaghetti sauce as she walked by. “Hey, Helen, it’s kind of early for you to be here.”

“Hi, Vinnie. I could tell what you were cooking all the way over at the Finn Catcher this morning, and had to see for myself if it tasted as good as it smelled.” She took the spoon he offered, dipped it in the pot and slurped a healthy portion. The rich tomato sauce settled in her stomach like a lit firecracker, and reminded her that two cups of coffee and a helping of garlic probably wasn’t a fit breakfast for a pregnant woman. “Yep, just as I thought,” she said. “Delicious.”

He smiled with pride. “Come back for lunch. I’ll make sure you get a big helping.”

She laid her hand over her stomach. “I’ll hold you to that. Is Donny outside?”

“Yeah, hard at work as usual.”

Helen knew what that meant. Donny spent most of his waking hours building his sailboat. Luckily, the vacant lot between the Lionheart and the Heron Point Hotel was large enough to accommodate the twenty-nine-foot hull that he’d lovingly assembled in the three months he’d been on the island.

She went through the public area of the bar without being noticed by the few patrons inside, walked out the front door and looked at the sandwich sign standing under a front window. While she gathered her courage for what had to be done, she silently read the advertisement she knew by heart.

The Lionheart Pub proudly presents the mellow folk styling of Donovan Jax. Six nights a week beginning at nine o’clock.

In the time he’d been here, Donny had seemed to fit in with the varied population of Heron Point. At least folks came to the Lionheart with enough regularity for Helen to believe they liked his singing. The only person who didn’t seem to take to the town’s most recent performer was her father. But getting Finn to admit to liking anything new on the island was always a challenge.

Helen descended the two steps from the porch to the sidewalk and strode around the side of the building. Donny was there, a kerchief around his forehead and his shoulder-length brown hair tied with a bit of twine at his neck. Dust motes rose in the sun as he sanded the bow of Donovan’s Dawn, the vessel he’d promised would take the two of them around Key West and into the eastern Caribbean.

Helen watched him work for a moment. She noticed especially his strong arms, since he was wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cropped off at the shoulders. His muscles flexed with each smooth, practiced swipe of the sandpaper—muscles as finely tuned to this task as they were to playing a guitar. His devilish green eyes narrowed as he studied the results of his labor before his full, sensuous lips rounded and he blew a puff of sawdust into the air.

He looked up, saw her leaning against the building and gave her a cheeky smile. “Hello, cupcake. How long you been standing there?”

She walked toward him. “Long enough to know that I’ll be glad when this thing is finished and I can see if she’ll really float.”

“Oh, she’ll float all right, if I have to swim underneath her holding her up the whole time.” He picked up a rag and brushed wood specks from his damp arms. “I thought you had a charter this morning.”

“Nope. Wish I did.” Any day Helen didn’t have a fishing trip was a day she didn’t make any money. “Got one tomorrow, though.”

“Good. Then you can help me today.”

“Yeah, how?”

He pointed to a stained foam cooler a few feet away. “By tossing me a beer.”

She pulled a bottle from the melting ice and threw it to him.

“Have one for yourself,” he said. “Once you start sanding, you’ll find out how hot that sun is today.”

A beer sounded good. Maybe it would help relax her. Helen reached into the ice again and withdrew a tempting bottle. She wrapped her hand around the cap and started to twist, anticipating the hiss of carbonation that always tantalized her taste buds.

Wait a minute, a voice inside her head cautioned. What are you doing? A woman who’s having a… A woman who’s pregnant isn’t supposed to drink alcohol. Isn’t that what you’ve heard? Isn’t that why you’ve always pitied those poor females in the heat of summer who are sweating for two without benefit of a little cold fermented malt grain?

Slowly, certainly reluctantly, Helen lowered the bottle back into the cooler.

“What’s the matter?” Donny asked. “It’s close enough to noon, even for you.”

She wiped her wet hand along her shorts. “It’s not that. I just changed my mind.”

“Suit yourself.” He held up a roll of sandpaper. “Anyway, if you’re sticking around for a while, you might as well tear off a piece and start to work on the deck rail.”

She walked closer to the boat, but didn’t reach for the sandpaper. “Donny, I have to tell you something.”

He set down the roll and went back to work. “Okay, go ahead.”

She watched him a moment longer, listened to the sound of the rough-grained paper on the already smooth teakwood. For a minute, her skin tingled as if he were abrading her body instead of the sailboat. She rubbed her arms briskly. “Donny?”

He glanced up, squinted, returned his attention to the task. “What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

He stopped sanding. Her heart skipped a beat. For a few torturous seconds, he glared at her over Donovan’s Dawn with extraordinarily wide eyes, and Helen waited for his next words to restart her breathing.

He dropped the paper and planted his elbows on the railing. “What did you say?”

“I just found out yesterday. I took one of those tests. It was positive.”

He shook his head as if denying it would make it so. “That’s impossible.”

“No, only nearly impossible. Anyway, remember Friday night two weeks ago after we… Well, didn’t you say that something didn’t seem right, that maybe there was something wrong with the condom?”

“Oh, hell, that was just talk. Besides, it was after your friend’s engagement party. We were too juiced to know what we were doing.”

She felt the grip of shame in the tightening of her stomach muscles. The reminder of her overindulgence at Claire’s party was still enough to make her cringe in mortification. She was too old to excuse such irresponsible behavior anymore. Getting drunk and stupid was just, well, stupid.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” she said. “I’m pregnant and that’s a fact.”

At least he didn’t argue the indisputable. He simply draped his hands over the side of Donovan’s Dawn and mumbled something. She thought she heard the word damn.

“What are you going to do?” he asked after a moment.

The wording of his question stunned her since it seemed as if he’d completely left himself out of assuming any responsibility. By asking her what she was going to do he was, in effect, telling her to do something.

She fought an escalating anger. Finn always told her she tended to act without thinking, to strike without having a justifiable target. She wasn’t going to do that, this time. She’d just dropped a bomb on Donny’s plans, on their plans together. He had a right to be defensive, confused.

“My first thought was to tell you,” she said calmly. “You’re the father, so obviously you have a stake in what happens with this ba…pregnancy.” She looked into his eyes and spoke with clear intent. “What do you think we should do?”

“Well, hell, I don’t know.” He rubbed his hand along the railing of the sailboat. His touch seemed gentle, caressing, even more than when he made love to her. “We have plans, Helen. When I got the boat done, we were going to take her around the Keys, sail all the way to the Turks and Caicos Islands, just you and me.”

“Plans can change, Donny. Life happens.” She’d never told him that his idea had been impractical from the start, anyway. Maybe deep down she’d hoped they could sail away just the two of them, but she knew it wasn’t going to happen. Maybe some people believed in fantasies, but not Helen Sweeney.

Donny took a long swallow of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The eyes that focused on hers were cold and distant. So were his words. “I don’t know, Helen. I’m forty-two years old. I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of a kid and a mortgage and a college savings account.”

Her eyes burned and Helen cursed her frailty. She wasn’t going to cry. “I know it’s a shock, Donny. It is for me, too. I still can’t believe it. But it’s happened, and we have to…” Her voice hitched. Damn. She couldn’t go on, so she sat on the cooler, dangled her hands between her knees and took a deep breath.

At least a minute passed, the longest minute of Helen’s life, until Donny came around the boat and stood in front of her. When he laid a hand on her shoulder, she brushed at a stubborn tear and looked up at him.

“It’ll be all right, Helen,” he said. “You tell me what you want, and we’ll make it work. If you want to go through with this, have the kid, I’ll stand by you. If you decide on a different course, I’ll be there for that, too.”

Her body went limp with relief. She covered the hand that still curled over her shoulder. “We don’t have to get married,” she said. “It’s enough to know that you’ll be here.”

“Sure. Don’t worry about me. You’ve got more important things to think about. We’ll still sail the boat. It may just take a little longer than we’d planned.” He crouched down in front of her and took her hands. “So, you’re going to have it? That’s what you want?”

Her lips quivered. Stupid hot tears spilled down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. But it was okay. They were tears of gratitude. For the first time, she allowed herself to think of the little seed growing inside her as a human being, not a condition.

Donny smiled. “I guess that’s my answer.” He stood up. “You go on home now. Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

She let him pull her up from the cooler. “I’m fine,” she said. “In fact, I’m better than fine.”

“Atta girl.” He turned her around and nudged her toward the Lionheart. “I know you’ve got a charter in the morning, but are you coming back tonight for the first set, at least?”

She smiled over her shoulder. “I’ll be here.”

She felt the warmth of his gaze as she left him and climbed the steps to the entrance to the bar. Everything was going to be okay. She held that thought all afternoon as she prepared for Friday’s trip into the Gulf. She believed it as she drove back into town that night. Her confidence grew with each breath until she arrived at the Lionheart at nine o’clock and realized that only a few cars sat outside, far fewer than normal. She didn’t really worry until she parked a block away from the pub and walked to the front door. The sandwich sign was no longer sitting by the entrance. That could only mean one thing. The great Donovan Jax was no longer playing at the Lionheart Pub.



“I DON’T KNOW MUCH, Helen,” the owner of the Lionheart said a few minutes later when she sat at the bar, nursing a Coke.

“He just left without any explanation?” she asked.

“Yeah, well, he said there was an emergency. He apologized for leaving me with no entertainment, packed his bags and took off.”

There was an emergency, all right. Someone without a backbone was about to become a father. “I suppose this is pointless to ask, Stan, but did he leave a forwarding address?”

Stan shook his head slowly while wiping his perfectly clean bar. “Sorry, Helen. I think it’s lousy of him to walk out without letting you know.”

She swallowed the rest of her drink and slid the glass across the bar. “Don’t waste your sympathy on me. Donny and I weren’t getting along, anyway. I was about to end it. Probably would have tonight if he hadn’t bolted.”

Stan draped the damp rag over the sink behind the bar. “Maybe he sensed that and left before you broke his heart.”

Helen got down from the stool. “Right. I have to get up early, so I’m calling it a night.” She headed for the door, but stopped and turned around. “One more thing…”

“What’s that?”

“Donovan’s Dawn. I noticed the sailboat is still in the vacant lot. Did Donny say anything about it to you?”

“Yeah, he did. Said he’d send a mover to pick it up as soon as he could. I expect in the next week or so. I can keep a watch out there. You want me to try and get a location where the boat’s going?”

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter now.” She walked out onto the porch and paused in the overhead light. Knowing where Donny went really wasn’t important. Everything had changed in the last few minutes, and once again Helen had to face a grim reality. Planning a future with Donny had been a ridiculous dream, anyway, and was best ended quickly. Now, without Donny’s support, Helen knew she couldn’t raise a kid and keep the Finn Catcher going and take care of Finn. She barely made enough money to keep her family going as it was, and she couldn’t do any more. So this little bean inside her belly was the sacrifice she’d have to make.

She went down the steps, but stopped at the street. So, if this was her decision, why the hell had she ordered a Coke? She could be in the Lionheart right now, tossing back Wild Turkeys like there was no tomorrow. But she’d ordered a damn Coke.

She stared down at her flat stomach before closing her eyes to the image that had been stuck in her mind all afternoon. Little bean. What did it look like after two weeks? She remembered a picture in a high-school biology book. It looked like a lima bean. A tiny round speck, one a person could barely see without a magnifying glass. It had no heart, no brain, no sense that its mother was contemplating…

“Aw, hell.” Helen went back to the door of the Lionheart. She had a bit of time to wait and hope for a damn miracle.

Stan looked up and saw her at the door. “You forget something, Helen?”

“No, I just changed my mind. It wouldn’t hurt to ask the boat mover where the Dawn is going. In the next few days I might think of something Donny left behind. Something important I’d need to contact him about.”

“I’ll keep a watch,” Stan said. “If I find anything out, I’ll let you know.”

Helen didn’t walk to the Suburban. She went into the vacant lot and stared at Donovan’s Dawn. The boat’s teak sides shone in the moonlight, testament to the weeks she and Donny had worked so hard. That had been a ridiculous dream, too, thinking she could take weeks away from Heron Point and sail around with Donny. Helen hadn’t been away from home for more than a couple of days in her life.

She’d been born in Micopee thirty miles away, and from the time her parents had brought her to the little cottage she still shared with Finn, she’d been as much a part of Heron Point as the giant cedar trees, the dozens of pelicans that squatted on all the old pilings, the sea itself. But the Gulf was ruled by the tides, so even the water moved to and from Heron Point more than Helen ever had. Maybe if Finn hadn’t lost the use of his legs, maybe if her mother hadn’t run off, maybe then Helen could have gone to college, made something of herself. But not now. And if she had this baby, not ever.

A cloud covered the moon, and suddenly the Dawn was a great hulking shadow of unfinished business just like Helen’s life. The sailboat stood on her supports, mocking Helen for believing in her, for believing in Donny. Finn was right, after all. Helen didn’t have a lick of sense when it came to men. She fell too fast and didn’t take long enough getting up before letting it happen again.

Well, not anymore. This time it wasn’t just her heart that was stomped on. This time the betrayal left her with a mountain of guilt about what she planned to do and a seriously wounded self-respect she’d never faced before. It wouldn’t be so easy to put the last three months out of her mind. This time it hurt.

Anger coiled inside her until she thought she would explode. Finding no outlet, she clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. She started to walk out of the lot, but when a shiny silver can by her feet caught her eye, she picked it up and rolled it between her hands. An innocent beer can. A weapon, a release. She hurled it at the sailboat. It pinged against the polished surface, hit the ground and rolled to the end of the lot. Tension ebbed from Helen’s shoulders. It felt good to fling her anger at the only tangible reminder left of Donny’s deception. She went to the garbage bin, picked up another can and threw it, too. Then another. Then many more.

She might have continued until the ache in her throat faded and her tears stopped flowing, except she heard men’s voices coming from the street behind her.

“Helen? Is that you?”

She froze. Just what she needed. Jack Hogan, Heron Point’s new chief of police and the man her best friend Claire was going to marry in a few weeks. She spun around and stepped into the shadows. “Hell, no, Jack. It’s not me, but I’ll clean up this mess somebody else left.” And then she saw who he was with and she couldn’t seem to speak another word. Her mouth dried up. Her lungs were incapable of drawing in air.

“That’ll be fair enough,” Jack said. He was still in uniform and she figured that technically he could nail her for vandalism. “Are you okay?”

“Dandy.” She stared at the sky, the dirt beneath her feet, anything but Jack and the man he was with, the town savior she’d nearly decapitated yesterday.

“It looks to me like somebody was picking on an innocent sailboat,” Jack said.

“Yeah, right. Not so innocent when you’re looking at it through my eyes. I see someone’s face very clearly on the side of that boat.”

Jack smiled. “I heard about Donny leaving. Sorry. But like I told Claire, you can do better.”

She huffed her opinion of his conclusion but mentally thanked him for saying it.

He turned his attention to Ethan Anderson. “I’d introduce you to our local fishing guide, Ethan, but I know you two met accidentally yesterday.”

“Yeah, we met,” Helen said. “Ethan sort of got in my way.” She managed to smile a little at the guy who was still dressed like he’d just gotten off the plane, in pressed pants and a blue oxford shirt. “You don’t need to arrest him, though, Jack. I’m not pressing charges, and I think he learned his lesson.”

“That’s generous of you,” Ethan said. He switched a foam takeout box from one hand to the other.

“Dinner?” she asked.

“Dessert.”

“Ethan and I just ate over at the Tail and Claw,” Jack said. “He’s waiting for a rental car to get here from the Tampa airport.”

Ethan looked at his watch. “It’s nearly ten o’clock. I’m only going to give them another few minutes.”

“I guess I’ll go on home, then,” Jack said. “You going to the hotel?”

For some reason, Ethan looked at Helen as if she could contribute something to his answer. “I think I’ll wait out here a little longer,” he said. “Tell Claire hi for me.”

“Will do.” Jack started to walk away. “Oh, by the way, Helen, Claire said if I saw you, I should remind you about Thanksgiving dinner. She’s planning to cook up a feast, and obviously she’s counting on you and Finn to come.”

Thanksgiving? Right now, the holidays were the furthest thing from Helen’s mind. “When is it?”

“Same as always, I suppose,” Jack said. “Fourth Thursday of November.”

“Oh, right. And what’s today?”

Jack chuckled. “The third Thursday. Gives you a week to mark the calendar.”

He said goodbye to Ethan and headed toward his vehicle. And Helen thought how lucky Claire was to have found someone like Jack. Solid. Dependable. And very rare.

After a moment, she turned toward Ethan. “Good luck with getting that rental car delivered. In a way, I feel somewhat responsible for you standing out here waiting for it.”

He smiled. “No offense, Helen, but once the new car arrives, I’m going to stay as far away from that truck of yours as I can.”

“No offense taken.” They stood without talking in the gloomy silence of a battlefield littered with beer cans. Helen figured she ought to start picking up the mess she’d created, but before she took a step, she heard the subtle squeak of the foam restaurant container.

Ethan held it out to her. “Do you like chocolate cake?”



ETHAN DIDN’T VERY often feel as if he walked a thin line between boardroom executive and idiot, but that’s exactly how he felt right now. What was he doing, standing here with a peace offering for a woman who’d been doing her best in the last two days to destroy two perfectly fine modes of transportation?

She peered over the edge of the box. “You’re giving me your dessert?”

He shrugged an indifference he didn’t feel and said, “Seemed like the quickest way to soothe the angry beast. I have to wait out here for my car. You’re here, too, and there are still a few cans in that trash bin.”

Her lips twitched. He hoped it was a hint of a smile and not the beginning of a snarl. And then she said something that in his experience was a predictably female reaction. “I’d do most anything for chocolate.” She stuck her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans and nodded down the street. “Come on. I’m not eating standing up.”

He followed her a block to where her Suburban was parked. She stepped up on the front bumper, turned around and sat on the truck. He noticed a slash of flesh through a slit in the knee of her denims. She patted the hood beside her and said, “There’s room.”

He looked at the seriously faded steel, taking in the gritty remains of road dirt, and, considering her occupation, who knew what else, and stared down at his perfectly pressed beige Dockers. And he remembered that during his tour of Heron Point today he hadn’t seen a business that was essential to a Manhattan male’s lifestyle—a dry-cleaning establishment.

She must have correctly interpreted his reluctance because she sort of smiled again and then gripped the edge of her shirt cuff and wiped a small circle beside her. “Don’t worry, Princeton,” she said. “In all my years in Heron Point, I don’t recall anyone ever catching something from the hood of a truck.”

Princeton? He thought about correcting her and saying he was a Harvard man, but didn’t think that would earn him any points. And that’s what he was here for, after all—to establish a good working relationship with the locals. For some reason, his father, head of Anderson Enterprises, had decided to invest in this quirky Florida island by buying an old, run-down resort, and he’d sent his son to see that the renovations went smoothly.

It helped that Archie Anderson’s chief security officer, Jack Hogan, had been in town a month longer than Ethan and had become something of a superhero to the two thousand people who lived here. In fact, Jack had even decided to stay once he’d fallen for the town’s mayor. But Ethan needed to relate to these people on his own, one at a time, if he had to, and despite the way he and Helen had met, he didn’t mind starting with her first.

He placed the toe of his Italian loafer on the bumper, hoisted himself up to the hood, and admitted to a grudging admiration of the old truck. The metal didn’t even groan when he sat his clean chino-covered posterior on top of it.

He handed the box to Helen. She took out the fork, poked through a quarter inch of creamy icing and brought up a wedge of cake to her mouth. While she chewed, she handed him the utensil. “There’s only one fork,” she managed to say. “I can always light a match and sterilize it between bites.”

Any sympathy he’d begun to feel for this teary-eyed woman who’d dropped a can in front of Jack like a guilty delinquent vanished. Helen Sweeney was about as vulnerable as a barracuda. And just as alien to a Manhattan guy who’d never been closer to a fish than the city aquarium. Unfortunately, what was unfamiliar was almost always fascinating, as well. And Ethan couldn’t take his eyes off Helen’s smart mouth as she chased a trail of frosting with the tip of her tongue.

“Never mind,” he said, taking the fork and cutting a piece of cake for himself. He swallowed, licked the fork and handed it back to her. “See? I can be as daring as the next guy.”

She huffed, dug into the dessert again, and, quite unexpectedly, Ethan found himself wondering what it would be like to share more than a plastic fork with this woman.




CHAPTER THREE


FINN WAS ALREADY in the kitchen at six o’clock the next morning when Helen padded in on bare feet. He looked up at her and frowned. “What time you get in last night?”

“A little before eleven. I had a few janitorial services to perform in town, but I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

He gave her a questioning stare before wheeling to the kitchen table with a quart of milk. “I’ve got your cereal and toast ready. I’ll cut up some fruit.”

“Thanks, but mostly I want coffee.” She responded to a scratching on the screen door and went to let the dog in. The Labrador lumbered into the room, his arthritic back leg stiff as it always was in the mornings. “Did you give Andy his pill?” she asked her father.

“Not yet, but there’s a chunk of liverwurst on the counter.”

Helen stuffed a large pain pill into the meat and molded a sort of liverwurst cocoon around it. Andy walked over to her, opened his mouth and accepted the treat without being coaxed. Helen bent down and kissed the top of his golden head. “That’ll get you through another twenty-four hours, big guy,” she said.

“I’ll fix you some lunch to take with you,” Finn offered.

Helen shook her head. Every time she had a charter, Finn asked her if he could fix her a lunch. And almost every time, she said no. “I can’t eat when I’m out there, Pop. You know that. I’ll eat when I get back.”

“I know what you say, but you should take a sandwich along just in case.”

She poured herself a mug of coffee and sat. “Look, Pop, you know what it’s like. I’m going to rig lines, cut mullet and bait hooks for four hours. It’s not all that conducive to a hearty appetite.”

“No, I guess not. Eat your breakfast.”

She stared at two bars of shredded wheat floating in a sea of milk. Her stomach turned over. Surely she wasn’t going to suffer from morning sickness. Life couldn’t be that cruel. She pushed aside a glass of orange juice in favor of a small bite of cantaloupe. It settled in her digestive tract without much of a revolution and gave her courage to try the cereal. She knew she had to eat. She wouldn’t see food again until after noon.

“How many are going out today?” Finn asked.

“Six. A group of accountants from Tampa.” She saw a glimmer in Finn’s eyes and quickly worked to extinguish it before he attempted a matchmaking scheme. “Never mind. I saw a couple of them last night in the Lionheart. Balding and overweight.”

“You can’t blame me for hoping.” He sipped his own coffee. “I heard, you know.”

Her gaze snapped to his and panic gripped her. Just what had he heard? The really big news nobody knew but her and Donny? “Oh, yeah, heard what?”

“About Donny leaving.”

She relaxed, spooned up another piece of cereal.

“Pet was over last night,” Finn continued. “She told me the rat left the Lionheart without even telling you goodbye.”

The efficiency of Heron Point’s gossip trail didn’t surprise Helen. Claire’s aunt Pet had been Finn’s special companion for six years. She worked in a café in town and heard every bit of news that circulated around the small community. Besides that, she claimed to have psychic abilities, a talent that Helen had witnessed on more than one occasion. Pet probably knew about Donny leaving town before he’d thrown the first pair of socks into a suitcase. “It’s certainly no secret,” she said, adding to herself that she’d better avoid Pet or this pregnancy might register on a psychic radar screen.

“I’m sorry, Helen. I know you fancied yourself having some sort of future with that guy. But I knew he was bad news.”

She concentrated on a slice of toast which she’d already smothered with three layers of jelly. “So you told me—many times.”

“Ha! As if I can tell you anything. But I keep trying, at least. What kind of job is singing, anyway? Fly-by-night if you ask me.”

“With Donny it’s more like fly-by-day, but it doesn’t matter. You won’t catch me extolling his virtues any longer. I’m not sure he ever had any in the first place.”

“So why did he take off?” Finn asked. “Did you and him have a fight?”

She pressed a hand over her stomach, a gesture she’d repeated quite often the last twenty-four hours. “Actually, no. I think Donny was finding Heron Point a little too crowded.”

“Too crowded? What the hell’s wrong with that man? We’ve got room to breathe in this town. This is a paradise for anyone who doesn’t like cramped spaces.”

Helen smirked. “Yeah, well for some men, even the addition of one more person can be intimidating.”

Finn was silent a moment. “I guess I know what he means there. I’ve been thinking about the invasion of the Anderson clan myself. First, Jack Hogan…”

Helen paused, her spoon hanging from her hand. “You still don’t like Jack?”

“I don’t want to, but he’s okay when you get to know him. I guess I’ll have to tolerate him living here.”

“Now that he’s chief of police, I suppose that’s very generous of you. I think he might arrest you if you tried to have him tarred and feathered.”

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “But that other one, the fella that knocked the headlight out of the truck…”

Helen dropped the spoon against the side of her bowl but didn’t bother correcting Finn’s version of the accident. “What about him?”

“He’s an Anderson. That’s a whole different story.”

She leaned forward. “You know, Pop, if you ever hope to get any sympathy from me about this whole secretive thing you’ve got against Anderson Enterprises, you’ve got to give me a little more to go on. I talked to Ethan Anderson awhile last night. He’s not so bad. He’s kind of nice and polite. And cultured. He’s not like the men around here. He cares about more than the arrival of the next beer truck.”

Finn propped his elbows on the table and stared at her over his clasped hands. “You’re not getting any ideas about him, are you? I can’t see my daughter with an Anderson.”

She practically laughed out loud. “Yeah, Pop, I’m just his type. I plan on letting him sweep me off my feet and whisk me out of this town with diamonds on my fingers.”

“Don’t even talk like that, Helen. I know I don’t have much control over what you do, but I’d fight to my last breath to keep you out of the clutches of an Anderson.”

She stood and carried her dishes to the sink. “For heaven’s sake, Pop, will you please tell me what this is about? I can’t even imagine how you know these people.”

He wheeled away from the table. “I suppose I’ll have to tell you if you’ve got your sights set on this fella.”

“I do not have my sights set on him! Nothing could be further from reality than me with Ethan Anderson.”

“Well, good.”

“So you’ll tell me?”

“We’ll see.”

“Fine, but not today. I’ve got a lot on my mind that requires a good bit of thinking. As curious as I am about this little intrigue of yours, I’ve got my own problems to take care of for now. Not to mention six accountants from Tampa.”

Finn looked out the door to the porch. “Here comes Rusty. He’s a good boy. Wish he was more your age.”

“You’re hopeless.” Helen waved out the door to the kid who served as her mate on the charters. “Be right out, Rusty. You can check the rigging on the lines.” She kissed Finn on his forehead. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

“I’m good.”

“Okay, but here’s some advice. If you’re so anxious to matchmake, why don’t you think about working on yourself? Pet’s a fine woman, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed. Quit pushing me.”

“Ditto for me.” Helen scratched Andy behind his ears, grabbed her coffee and her heavy-duty sneakers and headed out the back door.

“Don’t forget to collect from those bean counters ahead of time,” Finn called after her. “They’re obsessed about getting their money’s worth. I don’t want them reneging if they don’t catch anything.”

“Right.” Helen walked toward the Finn Catcher. It was true what she’d told Finn. She had some serious thinking to do. Three or four charters a week barely kept the business in the black. She certainly couldn’t support another mouth on what she currently brought in. And what if she couldn’t keep up the strenuous work demanded of her when she was in the last months of the pregnancy? And what about when the baby was born? What would she do with an infant if she had to spend hours every day out in the Gulf? Leave it with a sixty-eight-year-old man in a wheelchair who nodded off when the wind changed direction?

The only way she could rationalize having this baby was if the charter business suddenly picked up. And that wasn’t likely to happen. Things hadn’t changed in Heron Point since she’d been born, except to maybe get worse.

Unless they were about to change now….

Helen hopped onto the boat deck. She stared out over the Gulf while Rusty chattered about tackle and bait, wind speed, and all the things that should have mattered this morning but suddenly didn’t. Her thoughts were on Ethan Anderson. Everybody in town seemed to think the reopening of Dolphin Run, and Ethan and his father were the answers to Heron Point’s financial problems. But as Helen watched a van pull up in front of the cottage and six men with large-brimmed hats and coolers get out, she wondered if Ethan could be the answer to hers.



ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Helen drove into town and parked near the Wear It Again shop on Island Avenue. The weekend crowd had started to pick up as it did every Friday. Heron Point’s quirky, anything-goes lifestyle, great seafood restaurants and unique shoreline drew visitors to the island in large numbers for a couple of days of kicking back.

Like Helen with her fishing charters, the artists and gallery owners with establishments on Island Avenue made their living from the tourists. While the two-day influx of population often cramped the styles of the permanent residents, everybody recognized that weekenders were the lifeblood of the community.

Helen looked up and down the avenue. As usual for a Friday, sale signs had appeared in shop windows, and merchandise dotted the sidewalks in pleasing displays. One of her own posters advertising Finn Catcher Charters sat in the window of Wear It Again, the vintage clothing store owned by Helen’s friend and Heron Point’s mayor, Claire Betancourt.

Helen stepped inside the shop to the welcoming tinkle of dolphin chimes. Claire’s nine-year-old daughter, Jane, scampered to the door, her bright brown eyes peering out from under the brim of a great straw hat laden with silk flowers. She twirled around in a circle. “Hi, Helen, what do you think?”

Helen put a finger over her mouth and stared pensively. “Positively divine, dahling. You’ve been invited to tea, have you?”

Jane giggled. “No. For pizza. Jack’s taking us later.”

“Even better.” Helen glanced around the shop. “Is your mom here?”

“You bet,” Claire called from the entrance to the dressing rooms. Stylish as always, her honey-blond hair pulled back into a sleek upsweep only her perfectly oval face could flatter, Claire took a hanger from a rack and handed the garment to SueAnn, the clerk who helped out on weekends. “Take this back to the second room, will you? Tell the customer I think it would look great on her.”

SueAnn left and Claire came over to Helen, slid her hand through Helen’s elbow and walked her to a pair of bar stools behind the checkout counter. “What’s up? You want to go for pizza? Jack’s treating, and I happen to know that Pet’s taking dinner to Finn from the café, so you don’t have to fix anything.”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Helen said. “Mostly I’m just here on a fishing expedition.”

“Oh, really?” Claire looked around at the dated garments that filled her racks and shelves. Many of them had once belonged to celebrities. “You suddenly have an urge to splurge on a bit of Hollywood memorabilia?”

Helen laughed and looked down at her faded scoop-neck yellow T-shirt and olive-green cargo shorts. “No, but I’m fishing for information.”

“Oh, well, that’s free—if I have any to give.”

Helen came right to the point. “What do you know about Ethan Anderson?”

Claire’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, Ethan. I know he’s rich, but doesn’t act it. And he’s handsome and can’t help it.”

“He’s not wearing a ring,” Helen said. “So I assume he’s single.”

Claire grinned at Helen. “Thirty-two and never been married. But from what Jack tells me, you know more about him than I do. I understand you gave him a rousing welcome to town the other day.”

Helen smirked. “So, the legend of Helen Sweeney lives on.”

“Absolutely. Especially since Archie Anderson told Jack to watch out for his only son while he’s in Heron Point and keep him out of harm’s way. Poor Jack. Ethan hasn’t made it easy for him to play protector. He arrived in town without telling anyone, and when he’d only been here for a few minutes, his rental car was victimized by a drive-by mangling.”

Only Claire could get away with such blatant teasing. Helen laughed. “It’s not like I was aiming for him.”

“I know that. Sometimes, honey, it just seems like bad luck follows you around.”

That was an understatement. Helen shook her head. “You don’t know the half of it. So why does the golden boy need watching over, anyway? He doesn’t seem like the type to have his own bad-luck shadow.”

Claire waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, and focused her attention on the day’s sales receipts. “Oh, who knows? Jack tells me Archie is paranoid about crackpots taking advantage of his money and power. He thinks half the world is out to get him or a member of his family.” She returned her gaze to Helen. “There’s probably some truth to it.”

Helen sensed there was more to Claire’s simple explanation than she was letting on, but she didn’t probe. “Yeah, potential trouble is everywhere, even in Heron Point, as we learned the hard way.”

Claire glanced at her daughter. As Jane tried on hats, a haunted veil clouded Claire’s eyes. Helen had seen a similar desperate look once before on Claire’s usually placid face. No one in Heron Point would ever forget when Jane was put in danger a month ago. Though, thanks to Jack, there was a happy ending, the incident made everyone in town open their eyes to the possibility of threats, even in their isolated little paradise.

“So, why the interest in Ethan?” Claire said, returning to the more comfortable topic that had brought Helen into the shop. “Of course, I heard about Donny, the creep. Ethan’s not like that. He’s a gentleman….”

Helen held up her hand. “Stop right there. You’re as bad as Pop.”

Claire faked an innocent expression. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m through with men for a while, at least in the way you’re thinking. Finn’s right. I seem to lose all capability for rational thought when I’m around the opposite sex. Besides, I know better than to go after a man who probably dates glamorous New York women who make me look like something they scraped off their boots.”

Claire gave her a scathing look. “I hate when you talk about yourself that way.” She fingered a strand of Helen’s limp hair. “You’re gorgeous, don’t you know that?”

“Right. In a she’s-got-potential kind of way. But relationships aside, I would like to get to know Ethan better, for a purely practical reason.”

Claire smiled. “You need another buddy, Helen?”

“Sure, who doesn’t?” She sighed, knowing she’d have to level with Claire if she planned on enlisting her help. Claire was too smart to con. “Actually, I’d like him to see me as someone other than a fishy-smelling, hell-on-wheels delinquent, if that’s possible.”

“It’s entirely possible. And you think I can help you accomplish this goal?”

Helen rolled her eyes before returning her attention to Claire’s skillfully applied makeup and expertly chosen clothes, elegant yet fitting to a Heron Point environment. Claire had it all, and Helen needed some of it.

“Who else?” she said. “For heaven’s sake, Claire, look at you.” She swept her hands down her sides, encompassing the total ragtag package that was Helen Sweeney. “And then look at me.”

Giving Helen an exasperated look, Claire said, “No problem. I can have you looking so adorable that Ethan—”

“Stop right there,” Helen said, tamping her natural curiosity to hear the rest of Claire’s sentence. “I already told you. I’m not going the adorable route. I couldn’t if I wanted to. This is business.”

Claire sat back and studied her friend. “Okay, but I’ve got to ask, honey. If you’re not interested in romance, then what do you want from Ethan?”

Helen took a deep breath. She’d known Claire would ask this question, especially since hearing that Jack had vowed to keep Ethan safe. Besides that, as mayor of Heron Point, Claire would be concerned for the welfare of the man who could raise the tax base so the town council could purchase another ambulance, a fire truck, make repairs to the roads and better secure the shoreline. But Helen wasn’t about to whine to Claire about her problems. Because of Donny, Helen had reconfirmed her previous belief that most men were louses, and she was often too stupid to avoid them. Now, because of her current unplanned circumstances, it was time to start thinking of Helen Sweeney. She needed to safeguard her own future, and the future of the Lima Bean if she decided to keep it snuggled in her belly.

“I want a mutually beneficial relationship with him,” she said. “I want him to notice me as a serious businesswoman in this town because I intend to approach him about a financial proposition.”

“A business arrangement?”

“Here it is in a nutshell, Claire. I want the charter business Ethan could throw my way once the resort is reopened. And I figure he’s more likely to be agreeable to a business arrangement if he finds me a little more pleasing to his eyes. If you’ve taught me anything, Claire, it’s that a woman who has mastered the traits of…” Helen could hardly say the words since they were so alien to her vocabulary, her way of living. “…of grace, confidence, attractiveness, can accomplish a lot more than one who just bullies her way through life because she knows how to run her mouth. I haven’t cared much about any of that until now. But now it’s important.”

“Why now?”

If you only knew. If I could only tell you, but I can’t, because I don’t know how this story is going to end. “You know the charter business just keeps my head above water,” she said. “Finn and I aren’t getting anywhere. But Ethan and Anderson Enterprises have brought opportunity to Heron Point. Other business owners in town know that and plan to take advantage of it. Why shouldn’t I?”

It was very simple, really. Other women used their wiles to get what they wanted, why not Helen Sweeney? But first she had to find those feminine traits that must be hiding somewhere underneath her coarse exterior. All Helen needed was more business and more money, which would lead to a way out of this horrible moral dilemma she’d found herself in.

Men had tromped on her all her life, and she had the emotional bruises to prove it. Now she had the chance to maybe come out the winner in a relationship. And who would get hurt, anyway? Not Helen, who, for the sake of the Bean, was determined to keep her emotions under control for once and regard Ethan Anderson only as a means to an end. Even if she learned a few tricks from Claire, and managed to grab Ethan’s attention for a while, when the resort was up and running and his work here was done, he would simply dust off his Dockers, get on with his life and forget Helen Sweeney ever existed.

Helen would just have to ignore the fact that Ethan was so darned good-looking, and so, for lack of a better word, nice. She could really fall for a guy who was so unlike any of the men she’d dated in the past. But talk about a worthless fantasy! Helen could never interest Ethan for the long haul. He was a Manhattan penthouse and she was a cottage by the Gulf. He was a Montblanc pen and she was a fishing rod.

So she’d forget his obvious attributes and approach him on a purely rational level. And she’d have what she needed, for once, a way to support her family thanks to a few extra fishermen willing to pay three hundred bucks for a trip into the Gulf. And he’d still have what he’d always had—houses and cars and an enviable New York lifestyle.

Claire’s voice brought her back from where her wishful thinking had taken her. “So, that’s what this is all about? You want Ethan to take you seriously as a businesswoman and send you customers?”

“That’s it. I just need an image improvement course to make it happen.”

“Okay. I don’t have any doubt that we can make Ethan notice you,” Claire said. “Let’s do it.” She stood up and headed to the back room. “It might be fun. Who knows what will come of this?”

As soon as Claire disappeared into the back, the shop door opened. Jack came in, followed by Ethan. And Helen groaned. After all her elaborate scheming here she was, face-to-face with the man again, and she was still plain old Helen, a woman with a serious problem and only one hope of solving it.

Jane ran up to the man who would soon be her stepfather. “Are we still going for pizza, Jack?”

“As long as you’re still picking up the tab, kiddo,” he teased. He looked at Helen. “Why don’t you come with us?”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Of course she will,” Claire said, entering from the back room. “You’ll come too, won’t you, Ethan?”

Helen stared at him, tried to decipher the unreadable look on his face. Her confidence plunged. How was she going to make herself interesting to this man if he couldn’t even stand to sit across from her in a pizza joint?

Just when she was certain that half a piece of chocolate cake was all she would ever get from Ethan Anderson, he hitched one shoulder and said, “Sure, why not?”

It wasn’t a rousing victory, but it was better than nothing.




CHAPTER FOUR


PETULA DEERING’S SEVEN-YEAR-OLD compact car rolled to a stop in front of the weathered cedar cottage at the edge of the Gulf. Pet got out and headed to the front door. “Three times a week,” she mumbled. “For the past six years I’ve parked in the same spot and walked up this sidewalk at least three times a week.” She stared at the old cement slabs under her shoes. “Even the cracks are the same. They’ve gone unpatched for six years.”

Pet had moved to Heron Point to get away from routine. All her life, she avoided the ruts that trapped so many people while life passed them by. She’d even changed husbands three times, burying the last one and sending the first two packing. Yet here she was, crazy about a man who kept her tied to an emotional string, never moving forward, yet never letting go.

But in the last few weeks she’d sensed change in the air in Heron Point, and she’d begun to long for the old excitement in her own life. People in town were enthusiastic again, hopeful, and Pet was feeling it, too. Unfortunately, her biggest challenge was to get Finn Sweeney to accept that change was good, because it was way past time he admitted that he should change his twenty-five-year bachelor status and ask her to marry him. That’s all she wanted, really—a firm commitment from the man she adored—and she would have all the excitement she needed.

As she approached the entrance to the cottage, Andy stood up from his spot in front of the fireplace and ambled to the screen door. He emitted a low-pitched whine of welcome when she came inside and swished his great golden tail in anticipation of her attention. While she patted his head, it occurred to her that too often there was more life in this arthritic old dog than there was in Finn. Well, maybe she could do something about that.

Finn wheeled his chair around from in front of the television and smiled. “Hello, beautiful.”

He always called her by some form of endearment, and she loved that about him. She was fifty-nine years old and certainly no longer beautiful if she ever had been. But she was interesting looking. She kept her platinum hair long and tied with ribbons and leather and fancy clips. She wore ankle-length, flowing garments that masked her middle-age flaws and accentuated her still-positive qualities. She kept her lavender eyes, which Finn said either beguiled or bewitched him, depending on her mood, sparkling with penciled outlines in shades of pink and sapphire.

“Hello, handsome,” she said as she walked between Finn and the television to deposit her enormous tote bag on the sofa. As she passed, he grabbed a fistful of gauzy skirt and pulled her back onto his lap. She landed with a low chortle and nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck. “It’s a good thing you don’t have feeling in these legs or you’d be hollering about my weight.”

“Ha! I’d never complain about that. Besides, I’ve got feeling where I need it, and you are lighting my fire, woman.”

She laughed and stood up. Okay. There were still moments of pure excitement in her life after all. “Hold that thought, old man. I’ve brought your dinner from work. I don’t want you passing out from lack of nutrition.”

She spread the top of her bag and took out a sack from the Green Door Café. “Snapper sandwich, fries and coleslaw,” she said. “It was the special today.”

Finn had already returned his attention to the television. “Damn news,” he said. “Damn Republicans. I miss Walter Cronkite. At least he could deliver the news without depressing the hell out of a person.”

Pet warmed his dinner and brought it out on a tray with a glass of iced tea. He turned off the television and began eating. “So, any news from town today?” he asked.

This was her chance. “Oh, you bet. Since that fella from Anderson Enterprises arrived, everybody’s talking about the reopening of Dolphin Run.”

He grunted, dipped a fry in ketchup. “Bunch of damn fools to get all riled up over an Anderson in town.”

Pet ignored him and pressed on. “Everybody’s making plans,” she said. “The town council’s talking about sprucing up Island Avenue. Larry hired a contractor to give him a quote on fixing up the Green Door’s outside eating area. He wants to expand and add new lighting, maybe some of those outdoor heaters so we can keep the patio open even in the cold months.

“Claire hired a couple of guys to paint the town hall. She’s picked a nice shade of peach. And I saw new porch furniture at the Heron Point Hotel today.” Pet took a sip of her iced tea. “It’s exciting, Finn. Really it is. Change is good, you know. Keeps us young.”

Finn stared at the television as if he hadn’t turned it off, his way of avoiding eye contact with her, she supposed. “Not if it means Archie Anderson is coming to town,” he said. “That kind of change will ruin Heron Point, you mark my words.”

Being a self-proclaimed spiritual person, Pet didn’t rise to anger quickly. She’d found it easy to maintain a calm sense of being in Heron Point. This little town made hibernating bears out of the most aggressive beasts. But she was angry now. She set her tea glass on the floor, crossed her arms over her knees and leaned so close to Finn that he actually jerked back a couple of inches.

And she blasted him. “Finn Sweeney, I am sick of hearing you spew all this negativity about Archie Anderson. For over a month now you’ve berated the man and his company without offering one bit of concrete evidence to support your contempt.” She sat back and let her gaze wander slowly over his features from the top of his head to his shoulders. “There’s a bad aura about you, has been for weeks. You’re under a psychic cloud, while everybody else in Heron Point is standing in the sunshine.”

His face pinched up, so for a moment his bushy gray eyebrows seemed to connect with his moustache and beard. A hairy monster about to explode. “You don’t like it, Petula, there’s the door.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like me to leave you alone to stew in the cauldron of discontent you’re trying to brew up for this town. Well, it’s not going to happen because I’m not going anywhere unless it’s out to Dolphin Run to do a little investigating of my own. I guarantee you I can walk inside that big ol’ place and sense what’s going on as fast as you can snap your fingers.” She snapped her own in front of his face to prove her point. “I’ll find out if there are ghosts around that run-down resort. I don’t need you to tell me.”

His brows drew together in a threatening frown. “You stay away from Dolphin Run.”

“I will not. At least not until I get some answers from you.”

He stared at her, his gray eyes glittering. Just when she thought steam might come out of his ears, he said, “All right then, Petula, what’re the damn questions?”

Now she was getting somewhere. “How do you know Archie Anderson? Why do you hate him? What did a big financier from Manhattan ever do to you, a fisherman from Heron Point? What connection do you have with Dolphin Run? How…”

He held up a hand. “Hold your horses, Pet. You’re making my head spin.” He took a deep breath.

She waited.

He clasped his hands in his lap and stared at them a full minute before speaking so softly she had to strain to hear him. “Forty-seven years ago a boy drowned off the dock at Dolphin Run. And a twenty-one-year-old man tried to save him and nearly lost his own life in the process. And it was all Archie Anderson’s doing.” She gasped. He looked up into her eyes. “And that’s just the half of it,” he said.



THE ENTHUSIASTIC PARTY of five meandered among the Friday-night crowd the two blocks from Wear It Again to the Pepperoni Pit, Heron Point’s only pizza restaurant. Helen lagged behind Jack, Claire and Ethan, and walked with Jane. They kept up a lively discussion about school and boys and Claire’s upcoming wedding to Jack. Tonight especially, Helen enjoyed Jane’s company, maybe because the idea of having a child of her own was not as remote as it always had been.

Plus, there was another advantage to walking behind the other adults. Helen decided right away that she liked the view of Ethan’s back as he moved through the crowd. Having abandoned his neatly pressed pants for a worn pair of jeans and a navy-blue-and-white knit shirt, he looked almost like a local tonight. Traces of Manhattan still defined him, however. His shirt was tucked into the waistband and, in Claire’s shop, Helen had noticed an embroidered emblem over his pocket. That simple knit garment had probably cost as much as Helen spent on clothes in an entire year.

Ethan was shaped nicely, too. Not like the muscle-bound cycle types who showed up in Heron Point on weekends. And not like the wiry, skinny men who lived in town year-round and drank beer and shot pool in the local taverns. No, Ethan was sculpted like a fine work of art, broad across the shoulders, narrow at his hips, rounded at his quite admirable buns. If he made money for Anderson Enterprises by sitting at a computer or attending high-powered meetings, he obviously made time for fitness, as well.

While she stared at him, he turned toward Jack, said something that made them both smile and raked his long fingers through his light brown hair. The style was neat and trim, just long enough for strands at his neck to brush the collar of his shirt. His profile was nice, too. A well-defined nose and chin, a slightly sloped, strong brow. Helen hadn’t been able to study these details the night before when they’d sat in the dark on the hood of her truck eating cake. And the day she’d smashed his car she’d been too nervous to give him more than a quick once-over. But now, in the soft rays of the setting sun, Helen liked what she saw.

She shook her head to keep her thoughts from wandering in a dangerous direction. “Stop it, Sweeney,” she said. “You made a promise to yourself, remember? No more…”

“What did you promise?” Jane asked.

Helen pressed her lips together and reminded herself that she was talking out loud. “Ah, pizza,” she said. “I promised I wouldn’t eat pizza for a while.” She laughed. “I never should have promised that, now should I?”

They were coming to the entrance of the pizza shop, and Jane skipped ahead to her mother. “Heck, no.”

Ethan held the door, and Claire and Jane went inside. Since Heron Point was packed with strangers, Helen didn’t expect to see anyone she knew. The townies usually stayed home on Friday nights, at least during the dinner hour. Which explained her shock when she stepped into the doorway and bumped into Maddie Harrison.

“Helen! I’ve been looking all over for you.” Holding her pizza box in one hand, Dr. Tucker’s receptionist grabbed Helen’s elbow and dragged her away from the door to stand in the middle of the sidewalk.

Helen groaned. What luck. When a woman was keeping a secret of enormous proportions, the last person she wanted to see was the only other human being in town who knew anything about it. She freed her arm from Maddie’s grasp. “Sheesh, Maddie, you’ve got quite a grip for a grandmother.”

“That’s exactly why I have it. Because I am a grandmother. I haven’t lost one of the little scamps yet.” She pierced Helen with a concerned glare. “Why haven’t you made an appointment to come back to the office?”

Helen glanced at the door, which Ethan still held open. Claire had poked her head outside, and both of them were staring at her. “Maddie, now isn’t a good time,” she hissed, jerking her head toward the door. “And smile, will you? With that look on your face, Claire will think you’re telling me I have only two weeks to live.”

Maddie dropped her voice to a whisper. “But I’m worried about you. First you come to me to buy the test. Then I hear you’ve been in a terrible accident.”

“It wasn’t like that…”

“And now, look at you. Pale, washed out. Your hair’s got no shine to it.”

Helen shook her head. “Thanks, Maddie. That’s just what I needed to hear tonight.” She looked at her evenly tanned forearm. “I’m hardly pale. I was on the Gulf for five hours today.”

“Well, never mind. What did you find out?” She leaned in close. “Are you?”

Helen debated telling the truth for about two seconds, and then realized Maddie would find out anyway. “Let me put it this way. You probably should get me in to see Doc Tucker one day next week.”

Maddie’s bright red lips rounded as if she were singing the “Hallelujah Chorus.” “How exciting!” She immediately reined in her outburst. “Of course, that’s only if you’re happy with the news.”

“I don’t know,” Helen said. “I haven’t decided for sure what I’m going to do.”

“Okay, but you should start prenatals just in case. You don’t want to take any chances.”

“Okay, fine.” Helen looked at Ethan, who gestured inside the restaurant. “Go ahead,” she called. “I’ll be right there.” He stepped inside. Helen breathed easier and grasped Maddie’s free hand. “You can’t tell anyone, Maddie. Remember, you promised.”

“I know. I won’t tell. But if you need someone to talk to about this, I’m an expert.”

It was a nice offer, and Helen was glad to get it. Some secrets were too big to carry alone. “I’ll call you on Monday. We’ll set up an appointment.”

Maddie nodded and started to walk away. She’d only taken a couple of steps before she turned back around. “That fella…the one who was standing by the door just now.”

“Yes?”

“Would he be the father?”

“Heavens, no! That’s Ethan Anderson. He just got into town.”

“Too bad. What a nice-looking young man.” She frowned. “Then it must be that scoundrel, Donovan Jax, who I heard left town.”

Helen didn’t confirm or deny the accusation.

Maddie smiled down at Helen’s tummy. “Don’t worry, little one. You’ve got good strong genes on your mama’s side. Gotta go, Helen. Pizza’s getting cold.” She turned and headed down the block, and Helen followed her friends into the Pepperoni Pit.

She found five chairs crammed around a table for four. The only empty seat was next to Ethan. When she saw the coy expression on Claire’s face, Helen knew at once who’d masterminded the seating arrangement. She slid in beside Ethan and bumped her bare leg against his hard, denim-clad thigh. She scooted a couple of inches away. “Sorry.”

He gave her an odd smile and rephrased her statement from the previous evening. “I’ve never heard of anyone catching anything from a pair of jeans.”

A waiter brought a Coke for Jane and a pitcher of beer, which he placed in the middle of the table. Jack picked it up and poured, first into Claire’s glass and then aimed for Helen’s. She placed her hand over the top.

Jack laughed. “Now I know there’s a full moon. You don’t want a beer?”

“No. Not tonight.” When he continued to hold the pitcher above her glass, she knew further explanation was necessary. Helen Sweeney never turned down a beer. “I’m still suffering from the mortification of my behavior at your engagement party.”

“You were just having fun,” Jack said.

Yeah, and look where it got me. “Sometimes, Jack, I have a little too much fun.”

He poured into Ethan’s glass. “Okay. Suit yourself.”

Jane found a friend, borrowed a few quarters and went off to play video games. Jack draped his elbow over the back of his chair and said, “So, Ethan, you talk to Archie today?”

“Sure did. He hasn’t stopped complaining that you’re not working for him anymore.”

“He’s got some good men around him. And I’m here when he decides to come to Heron Point. By the way, do you know when that will be?”

“A couple of weeks. And believe me, he expects miracles before then.”

Helen tucked that bit of information away. The great Archie Anderson was coming to the island to personally check out his new investment. She’d have to remember to tell Finn, or maybe not. Considering Finn’s reaction to any mention of Archie’s name, maybe it would be wiser not to warn him of the arrival at all. She relegated that decision to a later time because Jack’s question had presented the opportunity for her to ask about the resort and plans for its reopening. “What are you going to do with Dolphin Run?” she said to Ethan.

“I’m starting tomorrow with a cleaning crew,” he answered. “Mostly because I’m moving in on Sunday.”

Jack raised his eyebrows in obvious alarm. “What? You’re leaving the hotel? You didn’t tell me that.”

“I don’t tell you a lot of things, Jack,” Ethan said, with what seemed like forced teasing in his voice. “My rental car arrived late last night and I actually drove into Micopee all by myself this morning.” He shot Helen an amused look. “Made it all the way there and back without getting a scratch on the new ride, too.”

“You should have told me about your plans to move, though,” Jack said.

“Seems to me I just did.”

“Great.”

Helen broke the uncomfortable tension between the two men with another question. “All right. You’re having the place cleaned. Then what?”

“I’m meeting with a county engineer tomorrow. He’s going to check out the building, make sure it’s structurally safe.” He looked at Jack again. “While Jack was still on Dad’s payroll, he made certain the building was safe as Fort Knox with all the wires and security codes and hidden cameras. I just have to know that a guest won’t fall through the second-story floorboards once we open up.”

“I’ve never even seen the place,” Helen said, thinking she might wrangle an invitation. She wanted to scope out the old building, see how many rooms it had, how many guests and potential customers for her charter business it could accommodate. “It closed before I was born.”

“You’ll have to stop by then,” Ethan said. “How about tomorrow? You might have to dodge clouds of dust, but I’ll be there most all day.”

That was easy. Helen noticed Claire’s suggestive smile and spoke before her friend accepted the invitation for her—one she unfortunately would have to turn down. “Can’t tomorrow. I’ve got two charters, morning and afternoon.”

“Oh. Too bad.”

“What about Sunday?” Claire said. “You don’t have two charters then, do you?”

“Ah, no. Only one in the morning.”

Ethan took a swallow of beer. “Great. Like I said, I’m moving in, so I should be there. I’ll leave the gate open so you can drive in without busting it down.”

Helen snickered and Jack continued to look worried. “Is that such a good idea, Ethan? Leaving the gate open?”

“It is if you’ve seen Helen drive.”

Even Jack laughed at that, and while the men were distracted, Claire kicked Helen under the table. Come over before you go, she mouthed. Helen figured Claire was arranging her first attempt at a Sweeney makeover.

“You’ll have to come to our place for Thanksgiving, Ethan,” Claire said. “Helen and her father will be there. Helen makes the best cranberry-orange relish.”

It was a good thing the pizza hadn’t arrived yet, or Helen would surely have choked on it. Before she could comment on the blatant lie, Ethan’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and stood up. “That’s Dad now. I’ll take this outside.”

As soon as he’d walked away from the table, Helen speared Claire with an accusatory glare. “What did you tell him that for? I can’t make any kind of stupid relish. I can barely fry an egg.”

Claire grinned. “Relax. I’ll make the relish. You’re the one who wants to impress Ethan with the new you. Why not start by at least pretending you can cook?”

Jack looked from one to the other. “What’s going on here?”

Luckily no explanation was necessary because the waiter arrived with two giant chrome pedestals overflowing with pizza crust. Ethan returned in a couple of minutes and sat down.

“Trouble?” Jack asked.

“No. Everything’s okay, but Archie did say something kind of surprising.”

“Oh? What?”

“Claire had just mentioned Helen and her father coming over for Thanksgiving…”

“And?” Jack prompted.

Ethan looked at Helen. “What’s your father’s name?”

“Finn.”

“I thought so. Dad just asked me if I’d run into a guy named Finn Sweeney. I immediately connected the name with yours, of course. How do you suppose my father has heard of Finn?”

Helen set her slice of pizza on a paper plate. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said. “But lately that has been the million-dollar question.”



ETHAN COULDN’T GET his father’s interest in Finn out of his mind. Even after Jack paid the tab and everybody split up to go their separate ways, Ethan still wondered. He followed Helen out of the restaurant. “Do you need a lift home?” he asked.

“No. I drove my truck.”

“Where’d you park? I’ll walk you.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment for just an instant, and he thought she might dismiss his offer. Maybe walking a woman to her car wasn’t such a priority in Heron Point, but Ethan was from Manhattan. Things were different there. And besides, it was early, and he didn’t mind hanging out with her a little longer. Among other possibilities, maybe they could come up with an answer to the Archie-Finn mystery.

“It’s close by,” she said.

He walked beside her down a narrow alley that ended after a couple of blocks at the Gulf. Her vehicle was parked near the corner, close to Island Avenue where the crowds still lingered. A few couples strolled past them heading for the water. When they reached her truck, Helen stopped, leaned against the hood.

“You feel like going a little farther?” Ethan asked, patting his abdomen. “I wouldn’t mind walking off a little of this pizza.”

She stuck her hands in her pockets, hunched her shoulders.

“It’s too cold, isn’t it?” he said, realizing the temperature had dropped since the sun set.

“It’s fine,” she said, pushing away from the truck. “Let’s go.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a minute until he said, “So what do you think is the connection between our fathers?”

“I wish I knew. I can tell you this much, Finn doesn’t seem to like your dad.”

The bluntness of her answer caught Ethan off guard. Nearly everyone in his circle of acquaintances liked Archie—or at least respected him. “That’s odd,” he said. “Do you know why?”

“Haven’t a clue. But Finn will tell me when he’s ready.”

“When might that be?”

“With Finn, you never know. He keeps stuff inside.”

Ethan frowned. Like father, like daughter. He was just thinking that Helen was about as unreadable as a blank page. Deciding he wouldn’t get any more info from her tonight, he changed the subject. “Tell me about your business. Do you run the charter boat by yourself?”

“Basically. But the law requires that every public charter company has at least one mate on board. It’s a good idea. In a typical trip there’s too much work for one person to handle.”

They reached the shore and Ethan looked out at shimmering waves that rolled from a limitless horizon to wash up on the sand. “How far out do you go?” he asked.

“It depends where the fish are. As far as we need to. At least a mile, sometimes five or six.”

“What do you do with the fish you catch?”

“We operate a catch and release boat. None of the fish we bring in can be mounted as trophies. We let the fishermen haul them on board, we take their picture and then release them. If the fish is a good-eating variety, we’ll sometimes bring it home, clean it and sell it to one of the restaurants in town.”

Ethan wouldn’t know one fish from another, but he did enjoy snapper and grouper when it was offered on a menu. “That sounds like a sporting way of doing things,” he said. “So how do all the taxidermists stay in business?”

“We don’t have one in Heron Point, probably because we’re the only charter company in town and wouldn’t send them any customers. We just don’t think it’s the right thing to do.”

She shivered, hugged her elbows close to her sides and pushed her hands deeper into her pockets. A cool wind blew off the Gulf. The temperature away from the protection of the buildings was at least ten degrees colder than on the avenue. Ethan wished he had a jacket to offer her. She couldn’t know that to a New Yorker, this was like a balmy summer night. He wrapped his hands around her arms, rubbed his palms over her skin. “You’re freezing. We’ll go back.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” she said through chattering teeth.

He was forced to release her as they turned away from the water. They’d nearly cleared the sand when they had to skirt around another couple sharing a passionate kiss. The lovers were oblivious to anyone else on the beach.

Pretending great seriousness, Helen said, “That’s weekenders for you. No shame.”

Ethan laughed, leaned close to her and caught a whiff of something nice, lemony and salty at the same time. Fresh, not bottled. He liked it and thought about putting his arm around her, using the chill wind as an excuse. But instead he said, “I don’t know. Maybe the weekenders have the right idea.”

All at once she seemed to draw away from him, stiffen, becoming a defensive version of the easygoing woman she’d been just a moment ago. Surely she hadn’t taken offense at what he’d said. He didn’t mean anything by it. Not really. She walked more briskly. When they reached her truck she stepped away from him, pulled her keys out of her pocket and said, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll probably see you Sunday, then.”

“I’ll try to make it. I don’t always know how long the charter will take.”

“Okay. I’ll be around if you decide to come over.”

She got in the truck, started the engine and pulled out of the parking space. With a skillful snap of the wheel, she turned the lumbering vehicle around and headed out of town.

Ethan watched until her taillights faded in the distance. Then he made his way back to the hotel. Even after spending a couple of hours with Helen, he realized he didn’t know a whole lot more about her than he had when he’d walked into Claire’s shop earlier. But his interest in her had grown considerably.



HELEN DIDN’T STOP shivering until she turned onto Gulfview Road, and she knew her reaction had nothing to do with the temperature. She was still scolding herself when she pulled into the driveway at her cottage. “Watch yourself, Sweeney,” she said. “The idea is to cement a working relationship with this guy, not to fall for him. You’ve got enough problems without letting your imagination run wild over Ethan Anderson. At least with Donny, you thought there was a chance he might stick around. You know this one won’t.”

She stepped onto the shellrock drive and slammed the truck door. “Sure, he seems like a nice guy,” she said. “But how many times have you fallen for an act like that?” She stomped to the back porch door and yanked it open. Andy peered up at her from the hardwood floor in the kitchen. “Hello, mutt,” she said.

She knelt down beside him and rubbed the thick fur at his neck. “We Sweeneys are a stupid lot, aren’t we, big guy? I keep butting my head against a wall thinking some guy is going to really care about me and what I want, and, with a half-dozen doggie beds around this place, you keep sleeping on the floor. Gluttons for punishment, that’s what we are. Too stupid to learn and too old to start over.”




CHAPTER FIVE


ETHAN KICKED OFF HIS SNEAKERS, sat on the edge of the bed and took his cell phone out of his pocket. He pressed the single number that connected him to his father’s private line in his Manhattan residence.

Archie Anderson answered on the second ring. “Hey, son, I’m glad you called back. I just got some disturbing news from Jack. He says you’re moving into Dolphin Run on Sunday.”

Mentally cursing Jack and the pipeline he always kept open to Archie, Ethan managed to answer in a calm voice, “That’s right. I told you earlier when we talked. I’m having the place cleaned tomorrow and checked for structural problems. If everything looks okay, I’m moving in. Taking charge of the renovations is why I’m here, after all, so it only makes sense for me to live there.”

“Well, sure, but I would have hoped for a little more notice.”

Ethan shook his head, tamped down an angry reaction. “Why? So you can get a team of security men over there first?”




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