“It’s a fluke I wasn’t at the house. I’m almost always there. Thanks for persisting.” He held out his hand.
She gave him a blank look—as if she’d forgotten why she’d tracked him down.
He leaned toward her and tapped the envelope.
“Oh. Sorry.” Her cheeks pinkened, and she passed it over. “I, uh, think you’ll be impressed. He was quite a writer. A number of the stories relate to this lighthouse.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
The two seagulls hopped off their rock and waddled closer.
“Friends of yours?” She nodded toward them.
“Hardly. They showed up a few minutes ago. I think they’re hoping for a handout.”
The first bird nudged his feathered companion, and the other gull gave a laugh-like cackle.
Marci’s brow puckered. “Those two remind me of the gulls I saw earlier at the wharf.”
“Yeah?” He gave them a dubious once-over. “They all look alike to me.”
“That sound was kind of unique, though.” After giving the birds one last wary perusal, she dug around in her shoulder bag and pulled out a folded white square of fabric, ziplocked into a plastic sandwich bag. “I owe you this too.”
“You didn’t have to bother. I have plenty of handkerchiefs.” He took the tidy packet she extended.
“I always return borrowed goods. So . . .” She shifted her weight. Like she was nervous. “I ran into Brent Davis, the city manager, an hour ago at Charley’s. He mentioned you’ve had an offer on the lighthouse.”
Wow.
News must travel super-fast in small towns.
Faster even than gossip at a forward operating base hospital.
His stomach clenched, and he took a steadying breath.
Don’t go there, Garrison. The lighthouse situation has nothing to do with your army career—and that incident is history.
“Yes.” Remarkable how calm and controlled he sounded despite the sudden surge of gut-churning memories. “The Hope Harbor grapevine must be major league. I only got the call yesterday afternoon.”
“I understand the buyer plans to tear down the lighthouse.”
Her tone was conversational, but the sudden tautness in her posture put him on alert.
“My contact didn’t say that, but based on how the buyer intends to use the site, I assume he does.”
“Ned would be devastated.”
He already knew that—but what choice did he have? No one else had come forward with an offer.
“I know Skip loved the light—and I’m sorry there isn’t a better option. But look at it.” He waved a hand toward the battered tower. “If someone doesn’t invest a sizable amount of time and money in it soon, the walls are going to crumble. And no one else wants it.”
“They might.”
“It’s been on the market for more than four months and there hasn’t been a single nibble, according to the real estate agent.”
“It wasn’t an emergency until now.”
He squinted at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I doubt anyone in Hope Harbor expected the light to be torn down. Now that we’re faced with that reality, the town might rally behind the cause and come up with a way to buy it.”
“From what I understand, they didn’t want it for free when the government offered it to them three years ago.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How much is this person paying you for it, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“More than Skip paid.” As he gave her the number, she winced. “And that doesn’t take into account the cost of restoration and upkeep.”
“But . . . but what about Ned’s legacy? Don’t you care about preserving that?”
“It’s hardly a legacy. He only owned the light for two years.”
From somewhere on the rocks below the point, a seal belched.
“My sentiments exactly.” Marci dipped her chin in agreement as her mouth flattened into a taut line. “Ned cared about the light long before he bought it.”
She was right. The title might have been in Skip’s possession for a mere twenty-four months, but he’d loved that lighthouse his whole life.
Ben tried to ignore the latest prick on his conscience—one of dozens since he’d agreed to mull over the offer.
“And it is a legacy.” Fire ignited in Marci’s green irises as she continued without giving him a chance to respond. “He wanted to preserve this little piece of Hope Harbor history. That’s why he bought it rather than let it fall into the hands of an outsider. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish his dream, but I know this. He would never, ever have sold it to anyone who planned to tear it down.”
Man, this woman knew how to lay on the guilt.
He planted his fists on his hips and locked gazes with her. “Why do you care so much, anyway? You’re a newcomer. You have no history here.” Certainly no evening hikes to this spot with a beloved grandfather.
She bristled, sparks pinging off her as she straightened to her full five-foot-fourish height. “I might be new, but I love this town—from Charley’s taco stand to Sweet Dreams’s cinnamon rolls to the one-for-all mentality of the people who live here. We may not have the kind of funds your buyer has, but what this town lacks in money it more than makes up for in spirit and hope and a can-do attitude. And we stand together when the chips are down.”
“You don’t have to defend Hope Harbor to me. I have fond memories of this place.”
“Not fond enough to find a way to save the lighthouse.”
“That’s not fair. Skip would have—”
“Wanted you to at least try to save it.”
Good grief.
This woman had a runaway mouth.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do! I often come up here in the evening, like Ned used to, and we spent many a night sitting on that rock watching the sun go down.” She waved a hand toward the perch the two seagulls had abandoned. “I got to know him well. In fact, he lit such a fire in me for lighthouses in general and this lighthouse in particular that I logged quite a few
