“It does in my book.”
“Does that mean you’re willing to start over?”
“Yes.”
“In that case . . .” He extended his hand. “Ben Garrison.”
Not Dr. Ben Garrison. Not Major Ben Garrison. Just Ben Garrison.
Nice.
She took his hand and found her fingers enfolded in a firm, steady grip. “Marci Weber.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. The cat’s fine, by the way. I called her owner, who lives down the road. It wasn’t a bad cut. Not close to being worthy of a trip to the vet.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“It was kind of you to try and help her, though—and it fits with how Ned described you. He told me you were born with the healing gene.”
“Sometimes that can be more of a curse than a blessing.” A flicker of pain darted across his features, gone so fast Marci wondered if she’d imagined it. “Wednesday was one of those times—and I have the scar to prove it.” He tapped his forearm.
She winced. “Annabelle can be prickly if she gets spooked or annoyed.”
“She’s not the only one.”
Marci squinted and tipped her head. “Is that a dig?”
“I was referring to myself, but if the shoe fits . . .” His eyes began to twinkle.
Whoa.
The man had breathtaking baby blues.
“Sad to say, it does.” She did her best to maintain a conversational tone, but her response came out a bit breathy. “I do have a few stereotypical characteristics of redheads. On the positive side, my temper dies as fast as it flares.”
“Good to know. Being friends with Skip is also a check in your plus column. He was an exceptional judge of character.”
“He had many fine qualities—as you communicated so well in your comments at the end of the service. There wasn’t a spare tissue in the house.”
“Thanks. I wanted to give him a memorable send-off, and I had a lot of hours in the air to work on the eulogy.”
“Jim Gleason said you came straight from the Middle East. That’s a long haul for a short trip. How much leave did they give you?”
“Unlimited. I was a week away from mustering out, and they expedited the paperwork.”
So he was ex-army now.
For some reason that pleased her.
“At least you don’t have to rush back. How long do you plan to stay?”
“Until I wrap up Skip’s affairs.”
“I assume that includes dealing with the lighthouse.”
“Unfortunately, yes—and that glitch could slow things down. I understand there isn’t much of a market for lighthouses. Even Hope Harbor doesn’t want it.”
“I know, and it’s a shame. The light is such a town landmark. But maintenance costs are high, and that’s a hard sell in this tough economy.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“It would be terrific if you could find a buyer who would finish the restoration job Ned started.” As far as she could see, that was the best possible outcome at this stage.
“I can try. Well . . .” He glanced around at the dwindling crowd, then at his watch. “I need to move on to the final goodbye.”
Marci frowned. “I thought we did that in church.”
“That was the public farewell. This is the private one. Skip wanted his ashes buried at sea. He made arrangements with the man who bought the Suzy Q—his crab boat—to provide the transportation. It was a condition of the sale. In fifteen minutes the captain will be waiting for me at the wharf, and I want to walk rather than drive.”
The sentimental streak that had earned her the Weepy Weber nickname in grade school reared its head, and Marci mashed her lips together. She was not going to get emotional again. She’d already spent half the service blubbering, and her tissues were gone. “A perfect resting place for a man who loved the sea as much as Ned did.” Somehow she managed to get the comment out without a quiver.
“I agree. Some of my happiest hours were spent with him on the deck of the Q, and his love of the ocean was infectious.” Ben swallowed, the corners of his mouth flexing up a hair. “I better get going. I don’t want to keep the captain waiting. I’m glad we had a chance to mend our fences today.”
“Me too. Is, uh, anyone going with you on the boat?” Ned had always said Ben was his only family, but surely the man standing in front of her had a relative or two on his mother’s side. Someone . . . anyone . . . who could have met him here and offered some moral support.
Yet he’d been the solitary occupant of the front pew at the service.
Meaning if he did have any other family, they hadn’t bothered to come.
How sad was that?
“No. Just me and the captain.”
“You know . . . I was getting ready to leave myself. Would you like some company on your walk?” The question spilled out before she could corral it.
He narrowed his eyes . . . and her stomach clenched.
Would she never learn to curb her impetuous streak?
“Sorry.” She flashed him a grin. “I tend to rush in where angels fear to tread. It’s a bad habit of mine. I walked over from my office on Dockside Drive, and I’m going that direction anyway, but I totally understand why you’d want to be alone.”
As Eric and his wife stopped to say goodbye, she dug a card out of her purse. As soon as he refocused on her, she held it out. “If you have a few spare minutes later today or tomorrow, I’d love to talk with you more about Ned. I’m working on a feature about him for the next issue, and having a few quotes from you would give it a more personal touch.”
He took the card and slipped it in his pocket. “I’ll be happy to call you.” A few seconds of silence ticked by, his expression unreadable. “Listen . . . if you’d like to walk with me to the wharf, that’s fine.”
She bit her lip.
Was he trying to alleviate her embarrassment for putting him on the spot, or did he want her company?
He spoke as if he’d read her mind. “I’ve been by myself most
