nothing like she had as a girl. Jenna Malloy stood at least four inches taller than her mother, with wavy auburn hair to her shoulders. And her eyes, a deep soul-searching green, bored into him with a fierce defiance he couldn’t ignore, or blame her for.
In Hollywood, beauty was often measured by degrees of voluptuousness. Jenna was striking because of her prominent cheekbones and straight, slightly upturned nose. He sensed she had an appealing combination of her father’s determination and her mother’s gentleness.
But it was that defiance he most noticed now. She glared at him and said, “You won’t be welcomed back here.”
“Jenna!” Marion gasped.
Nate had to consciously stop himself from squirming. He stared directly at Jenna and said, “No problem. I’m not staying.”
“Then why are you interested in the lighthouse?”
No evasive tactics from this woman. But Nate was certain this was not the time to bring up his father’s future living arrangements. “I have my reasons,” he said.
She placed both palms flat on the counter in front of him. “That lighthouse is in terrible shape,” she said. “If you’re thinking of buying it out of some romantic impulse, you should know it will probably fall down around your feet.”
Nate reached for his wallet. “Believe me, romance has nothing to do with this.”
Marion wrapped her hand around her daughter’s arm. “Jenna, that’s enough. Nate has every right to buy the station.”
Jenna’s eyes clouded. He thought she might be close to tears. “He has no rights,” she said. “That station is a reminder of one of the worst moments in my life.”
Nate pushed the uneaten raspberry Danish and full coffee mug across the counter. “I’m sorry I bothered you,” he said, sliding a few bills under his plate. “I didn’t know when I came in here that you would be…”
“You thought we would have run years ago, like you did?”
Marion picked up the dishes. “Jenna, please, don’t say anything else. Nate doesn’t deserve this.”
He held up a hand. “It’s all right, Mrs. Malloy. I understand where she’s coming from.” He risked another look at Jenna and discovered her expression had softened, some of the antagonism obviously draining away at her mother’s distress. “I would have hoped that the bitterness could have lessened by now,” he said to her. “I feel sorry that it hasn’t.”
He turned away from the counter and headed toward the door. “I have to meet my brother.”
Marion came from around the counter and followed him. “How is Mike?” she asked. “I haven’t heard anything about him in years.”
Nate shrugged. “I don’t know much more about him than you probably do,” he said. “Mike never contacted us after he left. But I know he’s a contractor and he agreed to meet me to evaluate the light station.” He glanced at Jenna, whose face was now devoid of emotion. She couldn’t care less about Mike or Nate. And he could understand that.
“That’s good, anyway,” Marion said, as if that detail comforted her.
“Yes, I suppose, but some things never really change.”
Nate walked out of the bakery and over to the truck he’d rented. He sat in the driver’s seat for several moments before turning on the engine. He still had to face Mike, and this last encounter had left him shaken. He should have thought about the reaction his announcement could have on the Malloys. But he’d been gone for so long.
N ATE ARRIVED at the lighthouse five minutes early. He parked his black truck next to the burgundy one with Shelton Contracting Services painted on the driver’s door. Mike was doing okay for himself. He was licensed, bonded and considered “no job too big or small.” Nate turned off his engine, took a deep breath and got out.
Since Mike was nowhere in sight, Nate leaned against his hood and stared. He’d seen the lighthouse from this angle as often as he had from the lake. The building was as familiar to him as the small two-bedroom cottage his dad had rented on the outskirts of Finnegan Cove, the house where Nate and Mike had grown up. Nate didn’t care if he ever saw the house again. He’d believed he’d feel the same way about the light station, but he wasn’t so sure now.
When he was young and Lighthouse Park had been meticulously kept, he’d come here on picnics. He came to the woods beside the light when he was a young teenager to do what the older kids did—drink, make out, raise a little hell away from the watchful eyes of parents. And he came to be alone during the difficult period after his mother died, and Mike left, when Harley was becoming the man who would eventually murder someone.
Nate escaped to this very property, ironically—within the hallowed walls of a building originally intended to guide seamen along the coast, and save lives. After Harley was taken away in handcuffs, Nate had never been back. Now, standing in front of the lighthouse that had shaped their lives, looking up at the peeling walls of the tower, he felt only a familiar peace.
A tall, broad-shouldered man came around the side of the building. Nate found himself having to squint to bring the face of his brother into focus. Mike’s back was stiff, as if he’d rather be anywhere else on earth. About ten feet away, he ran his hand over his thick hair, which was a few shades darker than Nate’s.
Nate pushed off the truck’s hood, waiting—for what he didn’t know—his hands in his jeans pockets.
Mike crossed his arms over his chest. “How you doing?” he said.
“Good. You been here long?”
“About ten minutes.” His brother glanced at the tower. “Guess you can tell she’s not in the best of shape.”
So they were getting right down to business. “The keeper’s cottage doesn’t look too horrible,” Nate said. “What about the lighthouse itself? How bad is it?”
“It’s still standing,” Mike stated. “The lock was broken on the back door, so I was able to go inside. At first glance I’d say it’s sound. But cosmetically it’s pretty much a mess. You won’t be able to reach the beacon room without major restoration to the stairs. The entire place needs new windows and doors. The floors are shot. The heating system—forget it. Electrical, well…”
Mike’s litany of problems should have discouraged Nate. Oddly, it didn’t. He was intrigued. “So how much would it take to make it livable?” he asked.
“Just livable? Without fixing everything that needs attention?”
He nodded. “Dad wants to move in a few weeks from now. He can do a lot of the work himself.”
Mike frowned. “Still can’t believe it. But anyway, maybe between five and ten grand, if you’re not picky and you hire cheap help, or do it yourself.” His mouth lifted at the corners, something between a sneer and a grin. Nate couldn’t tell. He didn’t know this man anymore.
“Did you ever learn how to swing a hammer?” Mike asked.
“I guess you forgot. Dad taught me the same carpentry skills
