© 2018 by Irene Hannon
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-1260-0
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Praise for the Hope Harbor Novels
“Award-winning Hannon steps away from romantic suspense in this inspiring tale. As her characters come closer together despite their fears, they find that their lives are growing rich again in ways they thought were lost forever.”
—Booklist on Hope Harbor
“Gorgeously rendered romance.”
—RT Book Reviews on Hope Harbor
“Fan favorite Irene Hannon brings a whole new cast of characters to life in a charming Oregon seaside village. Emotional and heartwarming, this story invites readers to come home to Hope Harbor.”
—Christian Retailing on Hope Harbor
“What a beautiful romance! Hannon has a true gift for creating real-life characters readers can connect with.”
—RT Book Reviews on Sea Rose Lane
“Summer romance doesn’t get much better than this.”
—Examiner.com on Sea Rose Lane
“Will surely be a favorite for Hannon’s faithful fans.”
—Publishers Weekly on Sandpiper Cove
“A beautiful love story, yet it is also such a gorgeous picture of acceptance, learning to trust, and becoming a new creation.”
—RT Book Reviews on Sandpiper Cove
“Reminds readers of the power of faith and love to transform lives and lead to a future beyond what most people could imagine for themselves.”
—Booklist on Sandpiper Cove
In loving memory of my wonderful mother,
Dorothy Hannon,
who had a deep affection for lighthouses.
Although you’ve been gone more than a year, the light of your love continues to shine in my heart, guiding and blessing my days.
As it always will . . . until we meet again.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Praise for the Hope Harbor Novels
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
Epilogue
Sneak Peek into the Next Hope Harbor Novel
Author’s Note
About the Author
Books by Irene Hannon
Back Ads
Back Cover
1
He’d inherited a lighthouse?
Ben Garrison stared at the dark-haired attorney, inhaled a lungful of the tangy, salt-laced air drifting in through the open window, and wiped a hand down his face.
No way.
Skip wouldn’t do that to him.
It must be jet lag playing tricks on him. After all the flights he’d taken through multiple time zones to reach the Oregon coast, he was definitely in zombie land. And frequent changes in air pressure could mess with a person’s ears, distort words.
At least he hoped that was the explanation.
Otherwise, this say-goodbye-and-take-a-few-weeks-to-decompress trip was going to turn into one gigantic headache.
Gripping his mug of coffee, he gave the view from the window a sweep. Usually the peaceful scene of bobbing boats in Hope Harbor’s protected marina had a calming effect.
Not today.
Bracing, he refocused on the man across from him. “Tell me you didn’t say lighthouse.”
“Sorry.” Eric Nash folded his hands on the round conference table and gave him a commiserating grimace. “I wish I could.”
Ben closed his eyes and stifled a groan.
“I take it you weren’t aware of this . . . unique . . . asset in your grandfather’s estate.”
“No.” Ben took a long slug of his coffee, willing the caffeine to kick in.
Nada.
Too bad this brew wasn’t as potent as the stuff they chugged in the forward operating base hospitals where he’d spent his days for the past seven years. He could have used a high-octane boost about now.
“It’s the one on Pelican Point.” The man motioned toward the north. “You might remember it from your visits. Your grandfather said the two of you used to walk up there in the evening.”
An image of the fifty-foot-high weather-beaten lighthouse dating back to 1872 flashed through his mind—and despite the ache beginning to pulse in his temples, the corners of his lips rose.
Yeah, he remembered those walks. They’d been a nightly ritual during the summer visits of his youth. Fair skies or foul, they’d trekked from Skip’s small house in town up the winding, rocky path to the lighthouse after dinner. The view was amazing, and the stories Skip had told about shipwrecks and danger and the steady beacon of light that guided frightened sailors home on stormy nights had stirred his youthful imagination.
But his grandfather hadn’t owned the place.
And in the almost two decades since his last summer-break stay at age sixteen, Ben couldn’t recall Skip ever mentioning it. Nor had the subject come up during any of his whirlwind visits through the years.
So what was going on?
“I have clear memories of the lighthouse—but how did he end up owning it?” Ben held tight to the ceramic mug, letting the warmth seep into his fingers.
“After it was deactivated and decommissioned by the Coast Guard three years ago, the government offered it to Hope Harbor. But the cost of restoring and maintaining the property was too high and the town declined. In the end, it was put up for auction.”
Ben knew where this was heading. Skip had loved that lighthouse—and all it symbolized. Light in the darkness. Guidance through turbulent waters. Salvation for the floundering. Hope for lost souls.
“I’m assuming my grandfather offered the highest bid.”
“He offered the only bid. It’s been his baby for the past two years. The price was reasonable—as lighthouses go—and from what I gathered, restoring it was a labor of love. However, it was also a money suck. I’m afraid there isn’t much of an estate left, other than his house and personal possessions.”
“I didn’t expect a lot, even without the lighthouse expenses.” No one who spent his life mining the sea for Dungeness crabs got rich—except the big operators. And if the cost of restoring and maintaining the structure was too high for a town, it was surprising Skip had anything left at all.
Other than the lighthouse.
An albatross that now belonged to him.
The throbbing in his temples intensified, giving
