“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Tell Rachel I said hi—and hang on to her. She’s a keeper.”
Dan exited, closing the door behind him.
For a long while after his brother left, Greg remained in his chair, head tipped back, gaze locked onto the blank ceiling.
He couldn’t argue with a thing Dan had said—especially his last comment.
Rachel was a keeper.
He’d known that the day they met.
But should he keep her? Was it fair to saddle such a young woman with a disabled husband? Didn’t she deserve more than he could offer?
I still love you, Greg. You—not your leg.
As her declaration from last week echoed in his mind, he closed his eyes. Swallowed.
Hard as it was to believe after all the garbage he’d heaped on her for eight long, painful months, that must be true. Otherwise, she’d have left long ago.
Dan was right.
He needed to start appreciating the blessing Rachel had been in his life and cull back some of the orneriness.
If he didn’t, she might follow through on her threat.
And he wasn’t strong enough to let her go yet . . . if ever.
Meaning he needed to get his act together and begin rebuilding his life—and behaving like the husband he’d promised to be on their wedding day.
But how was he supposed to do that? The career he’d expected to have was toast, and he had no clue how to provide for his wife’s material—or emotional—needs.
He could make a few changes in his behavior to ease her worry, though . . . and hope inspiration struck about how to tackle the rest of his issues before she got totally fed up and walked out the door without a backward glance.
6
Seated on the soaring headland, his back against the weather-beaten wall of Pelican Point light, Ben tried to ignore the vibrating cell against his hip.
Why ruin the ambiance of this peaceful scene with conversation? Far better to enjoy the view of the distant horizon, where indigo sea met cornflower blue sky, and watch gulls float lazily on a capricious wind current above the jagged sea stacks offshore.
But after all his army and medical training, he wasn’t wired to blow off a summons.
Heaving a sigh, he pulled the cell out of his pocket and skimmed the screen.
Marci.
Why would she be calling him?
As his pulse picked up, he frowned.
Not good.
In light of all the sparks that had pinged between them nine days ago on the Suzy Q, further contact with the Herald editor wouldn’t be wise. Even if he was in the market for romance, getting too friendly with a woman in Hope Harbor would be foolish. As soon as he settled Skip’s estate, he was out of here.
Yet before the phone completed its fourth buzz and rolled to voicemail, his finger pressed the talk button.
He scowled at the errant digit. Did it have a mind of its own, or what?
“Hello?” Marci’s voice was whisper soft on the other end of the line as he held the cell at arm’s length.
What in blazes had compelled him to answer?
“Is anyone there?” Her tone was less certain now.
Talk to the woman, Garrison. Don’t compound your first mistake by being rude.
Resigned, he put the phone to his ear. “Hi, Marci. Sorry for the delay. I was, uh, distracted for a minute.” Definitely not a lie.
“No problem. I’m just glad I caught you. I stopped by Ned’s house to drop off copies of his columns, but you weren’t there. I was afraid to leave them on the porch in case the fog rolled in. They could get soggy.” She sounded a tad breathless.
Strange.
“I appreciate you following up. Despite all the cleaning-out I’ve been doing at Skip’s, I haven’t come across his articles. If you’re going to be at your office in an hour or so, I’d be happy to swing by and pick them up.” A gull swooped low with a loud caw and landed a few feet away from him.
“I hear seagulls. Are you at the wharf?”
“No. Up at the lighthouse. I had some errands to do and stopped by to enjoy the view.”
“That’s a coincidence. I ran home after I went to your place, and I’m still here. If you don’t mind sharing the view for a few minutes, I could stop by and give you the articles.”
Alone with Marci at a rugged lighthouse in a spectacular—and romantic—setting?
That could be dangerous.
But hard as he tried, he couldn’t come up with one valid reason for refusing.
“That works.” He hoisted himself to his feet. Better to face this standing up. “I’ll be here for another ten minutes or so.” Setting a time limit might help keep their exchange focused and businesslike.
He hoped.
“Look for me in three.”
The line went dead.
While Ben slid his phone back into its holster, another gull fluttered down to join the one sitting on a rock a few feet away. They nestled close together, watching him.
“Sorry, guys. No handouts today.”
The lack of food didn’t appear to bother the duo. They seemed content to sit and wait, like theatergoers anticipating the next act of a show.
As long as they didn’t act like typical seagulls and make a nuisance of themselves, he didn’t care how long they hung around.
The faint sound of an approaching car registered, and he turned his back on the cozy couple.
Fifteen seconds later, as a royal-blue Civic came into sight around the final curve in the road, his lips tipped up. Emerald green raincoat, blue-blue car.
The lady did like her color.
She parked next to Skip’s pickup on the gravel turnaround at the end of the road, hopped out of her car, and strode toward him, a manila envelope in hand.
Unlike her dress-up attire at the memorial service, today she wore jeans and a gauzy top crisscrossed with green ribbons.
It was kind of retro—but it suited her.
It suited him too.
Can it, Garrison. Keep your mind on business.
Check.
Still . . . he could appreciate Marci Weber’s charms without succumbing to them.
At least he was pretty certain he could.
She stopped a few feet away
