WITH one foot, Jamie dragged a nearby chair closer, then raised her right leg and rested it on the seat. Who knew that a few hours of bike riding could cause such pain in her thighs and her back? It had never occurred to her that a twenty-mile ride was something she’d have to work up to.
Add that to the pain across her shoulders from hours of signing books and the morning spent hunching over the bike—not to mention the sunburn—and she had an urge to dive headfirst into the bottle of wine that a smiling server had just retrieved from a cooler placed on the table.
“Mr. Sinclair said he’d be delayed a few minutes, but he thought you might enjoy a glass of something,” the cheery young girl had chirped. “Would you like me to pour a glass for you? Or would you prefer beer?”
Jamie hesitated. “Which is coldest?”
“The beer. Definitely.”
“I’ll go with the beer.”
“Great choice.” The server opened the cooler, peered in, then asked, “Summer brew or regular?”
“What’s the difference?”
“The summer is specially brewed and is only available for a limited time,” she explained. “Made with scents and flavors of summer. This early one has hints of strawberry and rose hips.”
“In a beer?”
The young woman nodded. “It’s MadMac Brews’ seasonal specialty.” She held up a bottle with a pretty label that promised “the subtle taste of early summer.” “MadMac is a local brewery.”
“Lucy Sinclair’s husband’s company?” Jamie tried to recall what Dan had said.
“Right.”
“I’ll try that.”
“I think you’ll enjoy it.” The server opened the bottle and poured into a frosted glass that had been inside the cooler, then handed the glass to Jamie. “Cheers.”
“Thanks.” Jamie took a first thirsty icy-cold sip. “Oh, it’s . . . different. But good.”
“Glad you like it.” The server reached into the cooler and brought out a plate holding crackers, several different cheeses, and some fruit. She removed the plastic wrap that had been pulled tautly across the plate. “Mr. Sinclair said he might be a while, but he wanted you to be comfortable.”
“Please tell Mr. Sinclair, if you see him, that I am.” Jamie returned the smile. “And that I said thank you.”
“Will do. Enjoy.” The young woman returned the wine to the cooler, closed the top, and disappeared through the French doors.
Jamie sipped the cold beer and, within moments, felt the tension begin to leave her neck and shoulders. She sampled several of the cheeses and thought about the man who’d pulled this together for her on the spur of the moment. I guess it’s true what they say, she mused. It’s good to be the boss. The little bit of food went a long way to revive her. Even her sunburn didn’t seem to hurt quite as much.
It had been such an odd day, she reflected. The morning’s excursion aside, the book signing had made her head spin. She’d signed books for large numbers of readers in the past, but since this signing was in this place, at a time she was seeking, each face took on an air of possibility. She’d tried to weed out the locals from the tourists by asking where people were from, had even made check marks next to their names on the newsletter list, but it had done no good. There’d been no one who “felt” familiar, whose touch or voice reached something in her core. And much to her disappointment, no one had commented on her resemblance to anyone else, no “Hey, Annie, doesn’t J.L. remind you of Cousin Lynne?” There’d been no tug of recognition, no instinctual bonding, no ping, no zing. So much for blood recognizing blood. If her birth mother, or someone related to her, had been in the room, Jamie’s instincts had failed her miserably.
It had been nice of Grace to encourage the guests at the inn to attend and to talk Jamie up to all her friends, which, from their showing that afternoon, appeared to be legion. Jamie had heard snips of Grace’s conversations throughout the day: Grace had sung the praises of Jamie’s latest book and chatted about what a “lovely young woman” Jamie was, as if the success of the signing lay upon Grace’s shoulders alone.
And there was that one conversation between Grace and a friend that Jamie had overheard and found encouraging.
“Hey, Gracie,” her friend had called to her. “I ran into Ray at the drugstore yesterday, and he tells me you’re trying to archive all the back issues of the Gazette.”
“Ray’s right. I am,” Grace had replied.
“I told Ray, long as the Gazette’s been around, it’s going to take you until judgment day to go through all that mess.”
“You think so, do you, now?” Grace’s back went ramrod-straight. “I admit I’ve had a setback, but I will get all those back issues organized if it’s the last damned thing I do. You know that nothing has happened in St. Dennis in the past hundred years that wasn’t reported in the Gazette.”
“We always said if you didn’t see it in the St. Dennis Gazette, it didn’t happen. Who got married, who died, who was born,” Nita said.
“Who went on vacation, who went to college, who joined the military,” Eleanor from the flower shop had added in passing. “Nita’s right. If it happened in St. Dennis, you read about it in the Gazette.”
“Well, you wouldn’t know that from the sorry state of affairs that office is in. I really wanted to go through the boxes and put every issue in order, going back to the very first.”
Nita had nodded sympathetically. “You’ll get it done, Gracie. We all know how you are when you get your mind set on something. And you know that any one of us would be happy to help.”
“You all have your own things to do,” Grace had said, “but I do appreciate the offer.”
“I’m here if you need me,” Nita had promised.
Hours later, the words still rang in Jamie’s ears. If it happened in St. Dennis, you read about it in the Gazette.
That was exactly what Jamie had been counting on.
“So how are we doing?” Dan stepped onto the rooftop balcony.
“I feel so much better. Thank you so much for all this.”
“Great. The chef was in a good mood, and it’s early for the dinner crowd, so he had a little time to throw something together for us.” He took the seat next to her. “I see you went for the beer.”
“It’s wonderful.”
Dan reached into the cooler, pulled out a beer for himself, and popped the lid. He took a long sip, then set the bottle on the table. He looked at Jamie and said, “Why don’t you stand up so I can put some of this aloe on the backs of your legs.” He held up a bottle with a nozzle on top.
“It’s a spray,” she said.
“Of course it’s a spray. Only a sadistic son of a gun would touch that burn.”
Jamie stood and turned her back to him.
“Pull your skirt up just a bit so I don’t get this stuff on your dress.”
She did as she was told, then felt the cool, light touch of the gentle spray on the backs of her calves.
“It feels really good. Thanks, Dan.” She sighed with the relief of having the burn subside.
“If your legs aren’t too sore from pedaling so that you can stand for a few minutes, it’ll dry.”
She felt his fingertips, like a soft breeze, on the back of her neck as he pushed her hair to one side. “Maybe a little bit on this strip of burn back here,” he said.
The heat left her skin as the cooling spray went to work. “So much better,” she told him.
“That’s the idea. You really did a number on yourself today.” He put the lid back on the spray bottle. “Now, while you’re waiting for it to dry, take a look out over that way.” He pointed off to the right where a group of sailboats gathered. “The race is about to start.”
The small, colorful crafts maneuvered into place along a line Jamie could not see. A man in a bright yellow jacket stood on the bow of a larger boat off to one side. Moments later, he raised a red-and-white flag, then dropped it suddenly.
“And the forty-second St. Dennis Sunfish race—twelve-to-fifteen-year-olds—is on.” Dan craned his neck to watch. He pointed to a yellow craft with a bright blue-and-white-striped sail. “That’s my son, D.J.”
“His first race?”
“No. He’s been sailing since he was seven. He’s really good, instinctual at the sail. Better than I was at that age. He’s more like Ford when it comes to knowing the wind.”
“I’m surprised you’re not down there cheering him on.”
“I can cheer him on just as well from here, maybe better, since this is a better vantage point. Besides, when you’re out on the bay, you can’t hear much from the shore. He knows I’m watching.” Dan rested his forearms on the rail that surrounded the secluded balcony.
“How far is the race?” Jamie asked.
“Just out to the island off to the right there and once around, then back to the starting point.” Dan pointed to a small outcropping that rose above the bay. “There, see? You’ve got three boats already on their way around the island. They’ll come out the other side in a minute or two, then sail back to the starting line. If the wind holds, it should be over in less than five minutes.”
“How’s your son doing?” Jamie scanned the scene for a glimpse of the yellow boat.
“Respectably. This isn’t a race he expected to win. He’s just using it to gain experience for the longer races as the summer progresses. He said it’s sort of like running surveillance against the competition. He’ll sail in the end of the summer regatta with Ford, who is a beast on the water, and by then D.J. will have a book on everyone else.”
“Clever boy.”
“You betcha. I expect he and Ford will be pretty unbeatable. They make a good team.”
“Does that bother you? That your son sails with your brother and not you?”
“Not a bit. That’s Ford’s thing. It was never mine. He always had more time to spend doing stuff like that.”
“Competitively, yes. By the time he was old enough to get into it, I was already part-time with my dad, running the inn.”
“Did you wish you could have done that, too?”
“Not really. Sailing was never my thing. It’s cool that D.J. likes it, and Ford gets a kick out of racing with him. That’s enough for me. I like to see my family happy.” He took another sip of beer, then said, “That brings me to my daughter.”
“Look, I’m sorry if I stepped on your toes. I appreciate that it’s tough to be a single parent—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate the way you are with Diana. You treat her as if she’s someone special, someone special to you.”
“She is. I am very fond of her. She’s smart, and she’s funny, and she’s great company.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Of course I know all those things about her, but you’ve helped me see her in a different way. She always says that I treat her like a six-year-old, and she’s right. Because in my mind, I wanted her to remain that little girl who depended on me for everything, the girl who thought I hung the moon.”
“I think she still believes that. But she could use a little more space.” Jamie paused. “If you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I don’t mind.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for helping me see her as you see her.”
“You’re welcome.” Jamie had to remind herself that her plan had been to remain friends with him, nothing more. She was wondering if her plan had been revised without her realizing it when his phone rang.
“Yes. Sure. Come on up.” He ended the call and turned to Jamie. “Dinner is on the way.”
“I thought that”—she pointed to the cheese and fruit piled high on the serving plate—“was dinner.”
“That was just the warm-up. The chef got some rockfish in this morning that he promised would knock our socks off.” He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the late-afternoon sun’s glare and gazed out at the water. She could tell the second he spotted his son’s boat. “You go, buddy,” Dan said. “Fifth place is not too shabby, considering he’s one of the youngest out there.”
“How old is he?”
“He’ll be thirteen in a few months.”
Jamie watched the colorful boats gather loosely around the finish line, then moments later, start to drift apart. Soon the majority of them were headed to the dock.
A knock on the door announced dinner, and Dan turned to chat with the servers, who set the table for them, leaving covered dishes and plates.
“Thanks, guys,” Dan said as the two young men left the balcony. He pulled out Jamie’s chair and guided her to it. “Let’s see what we have here.” He uncovered Jamie’s plate first, then his own. “Roasted fingerling potatoes, and looks like the carrots were roasted as well. Hope it’s to your liking.”
“Are you kidding?” Jamie’s mouth was watering. “What’s not to like?” She took a bite of the fish and grinned. “Perfection. It’s delicious.”
“A specialty of the Chesapeake,” he told her. “Rockfish is the official state fish of Maryland.”
“I don’t think I’ve had it before.”
“You did if you ever ate striped bass.”
“It’s delicious by any name,” she said.
They ate for a few minutes before Dan’s phone rang again.
“Excuse me,” he said before getting up from the table and stepping to the side. “I did. Way to go, buddy. You did a great job. Fifth place against that field is a win . . . Sure. Go ahead. Just be back by ten. And congrats, D.J.”
“Your son?” Jamie asked when Dan was reseated.
He nodded. “He wants to go into town for pizza with a few of his buddies—and probably a few of the young girls hanging around the dock.”
“At twelve going on thirteen?”
“Earlier than that. Diana had boys calling her in fifth grade.”
“Diana is an exceptionally pretty girl. Can you blame them?” Jamie polished off the last of the vegetables on her plate.
“Hell, yes. She’s my daughter. I don’t want guys noticing how pretty she is.”
Jamie laughed. “Sorry, but I don’t think you have any control over that.”
“Sad but true. Fortunately, all the kids she’s friendly with seem like good kids—I know peer pressure is probably the most influential factor in a kid’s behavior, so I guess we’re lucky there.” He took a long swig of beer.
“Diana’s not dating yet?”
“No. God, no.” He ran a hand over his face.
Jamie laughed. “Dan, you know it’s inevitable. A lot of girls are dating at her age.”
“Sorry. Don’t want to think about it.”
“Avoidance on the part of the parent has never kept a kid from growing up. At least not as far as I know.”
“It’s happening too fast. I’m not ready to deal with boys and . . . and everything that goes along with that.” He took another drink. “I never thought I’d have to deal with the whole boy/girl thing. I thought her mother . . .” His voice trailed away.
“How long has it been?”
“Eight years. Diana was just eight when Doreen died, D.J. was four. As hard as it was on me, it was ten times harder on them, losing her. My mom stepped in on a lot of levels, but of course . . .” He tapped the sides of his glass with his hands.
“. . . it isn’t the same.” Jamie finished the sentence for him.
“No, it isn’t the same. There’s a lot to be said for single parents who can effectively play the role of both parents. I’m afraid I didn’t make a very good mom.” He smiled wryly. “As a dad, I’m pretty good, though.”
“I’m sure you’ve done just fine.”
“Anyway, I guess the bottom line is everyone’s kids grow up and no one is ever completely ready for that to happen.” He shrugged and speared a piece of fish with his fork. “But enough about me. What did you think of Cannonball Island?”
“A little peculiar, frankly. So close to St. Dennis, yet it seems so different. All the boarded-up buildings and the dilapidated boats just sitting around. Everything there looks like it hasn’t been maintained. Like the houses all need a good paint job. As does just about everything else on the island.”
“Cannonballers are a breed apart. Always have been. They’ve always been water men—good times and bad—and live essentially the same way their parents and grandparents lived. I think they don’t bother with painting and that sort of thing because they see their homes as shelters, nothing more.”
“Well, they’re not very friendly to strangers.” Jamie thought of the woman she’d waved to who’d ignored her.
“Not friendly at all,” Dan agreed. “They’re a tightly knit group, and they want to keep it that way. They don’t like to consort with the town people because they don’t want their kids to start thinking things might be better in St. Dennis. Their kids come here for school, but most of them don’t participate in outside activities, sports and such. They keep to themselves, but there are fewer and fewer of them every year.”
“Oh, I did speak with the woman in the general store when I stopped for water.”
“Older woman? Like about a hundred years old? Face lined like a road map?” Dan finished his meal and placed his fork on the plate.
“Yes.”
“Miz Carter. She is, by the way, one hundred years old.”
“You’re kidding.” Jamie paused. “She looked old but not that old. And she had her wits about her, that’s for sure.”
“She doesn’t miss a beat.” Dan grinned. “Say, are you interested in dessert?”
“I could not eat another bite.” Jamie pushed her chair back and turned it so she was facing him. “Miz Carter said something peculiar about your mother. She said, ‘Gracie’s got the eye.’ What do you suppose she meant?”
“She meant that my mother has a reputation among the locals as having a sort of sixth sense about things.” He shrugged. “The kids used to tease me about it a lot when we were in grade school, but I never really paid much attention to it.”
“How do you suppose that got started?”
“I think it was probably because of Alice.”
“Alice?” The name sounded familiar. Had Grace mentioned someone named Alice?
“There used to be a woman in town named Alice Ridgeway. She was a lot older than my mom, and she was said to be a . . . well, a witch. The rumor was that a lot of the younger girls went to her to learn how to do spells, that sort of thing. Most people didn’t take it seriously.”
“And your mother was supposedly one of the young girls.”
He nodded. “Mom and a bunch of others. The rumor surfaces every ten or twenty years. I heard about it when I was a kid but not much since then. Alice lived in the house that Vanessa and her husband live in now. Grady—that’s Ness’s husband—said she found a lot of big musty journals when she moved into the house, and she gave them all to my mother.”
“That’s intriguing. Did you ever see them?”
“Alice’s journals?” He shook his head. “If Mom has them, she’s kept them out of sight.”
“Did you ever ask her?”
“Did I ever ask my mother if she’s a witch?”
“Well, not that, but if she has a sixth sense.”
“I never had to ask her outright. She does.” He sighed. “There are things that my mother knows that . . . I don’t know how she knows them. She’s been like that as long as I can remember.”
“You mean she can see into the future? Predict things, like a psychic?”
“Not so much see the future as much as know things. It’s like she can sense when something is going to happen, or she can know things about people. It’s really hard to explain.”
“Interesting.” Jamie wondering what, if anything, Grace had sensed from her.
“It made for an interesting childhood.”
“She knew what you were doing all the time?” Jamie teased.
“She always seemed to be able to read Lucy and me better than Ford, for some reason.” He grew thoughtful.
“Did she pass this ability on to any of you?”
Dan shook his head. “No, but lately, I’ve seen little things in Diana that make me wonder if she inherited a touch of whatever it is her grandmother has.”
“You said she went to this witch to learn how to do spells. Ever see any evidence of that?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe. My mother can be hard to read sometimes. It’s tough to know what she’s thinking.”
“But you didn’t inherit her sight or whatever it is?”
“Not a bit.”
“So then you don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Not a clue.” He appeared amused.
Jamie leaned toward him and put her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer and, before she could talk herself out of it, kissing him full on the mouth. It was, she realized, something she’d been wanting to do all night. For just a second, Dan seemed too surprised to react. But he recovered nicely—and
quickly. His hand held the side of her face gently, and when she thought to pull away, he eased her back into the kiss. Jamie felt it all slip away, the pain of finding out the truth of her birth, the conflict, the stress of the search. For a few seconds, she felt she was where she belonged. The thought startled her, making her pull away and open her eyes and look into the face of the man who unexpectedly had just shaken her world.
“I did not see that coming,” he said. “Best surprise ever.”
Jamie wanted to tell him that she wasn’t sure what had prompted her to do that, she hadn’t planned it, but his phone rang and she let it go. Maybe he’d misunderstand and think she was sorry, and sorry was the last thing she felt. A little confused, maybe, but not sorry.
“I forgot. Look, have their bags taken to their room and have Chris seat them in the dining room. Tell them I’ll be right there. And send someone up to the crow’s nest with a cart.” Dan disconnected the call but kept the phone in his hand.
“Are you always on call?” she asked.
“Inevitable, I guess, when you live where you work.”
“I take it you need to go.”
Dan nodded. “We have guests checking in for their annual two weeks. They’ve been coming as a family for as long as I can remember. My dad always had them for dinner the first night, and I’ve continued the tradition.”
“You’re going to eat another dinner after that?” She nodded to their dinner plates.
“I’ll just sit and chat for a while. They’re really nice people and they’ve been loyal to the inn.” He pushed his chair out from the table. “I’m sorry. I hate to bail on you.”
“It’s fine. I actually think I’d like to get to bed early. I’m really tired.”
“Long, early bike ride, long afternoon. I expect you would be.” He handed her the spray bottle of aloe. “You might need this later, and maybe again tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
“I wasn’t ready for the night to end,” he confessed.
“It’s okay. Go, be the innkeeper.” Jamie smiled and stood.
“Thanks for understanding.”
“Of course.” She walked with him to the doorway, then paused to look over her shoulder at the comfy chairs and the remains of their delicious dinner. “So this is the crow’s nest?”
Dan smiled. “That’s what we used to call it when we were kids. The name stuck. It’s about the only place in the inn that I keep private, just for me.” He took her hand and led her into the hallway.
“Now I have to wonder how many ladies have shared that private table with you,” Jamie teased.
Dan hit the down button on the freight elevator. “Actually,” he told her, “you’re the first.”