Love on the Cape E-Book

MK Meredith

• Herausgeber: MK Meredith
• Serie: Cape Van Buren
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 336

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Living in the past is easy… 

But it’s a slippery slope. 

Larkin Sinclair has made the hardest promise to keep of all…restart her life and find happiness.

But hard turned to impossible when plans for the Cape would strip every last ounce of will she had left to move on. And she feared the worst. Why exactly was the decidedly growly Ryker Van Buren determined to ruin the only place that connected her to her little boy? 

Ryker had a vision and a mission. It was time for his childhood home to finally pay a long overdue debt and what better way to secure his future than by selling off his past? Until he locks eyes with the passionate conservationist who fights him at every turn for the rights to his legacy. He can’t keep his hands off her, but worse, he can’t get her off his land or out of his dreams.  

Is there something deeper going on? 

A moment of spark and their lives may never be the same.

But, it isn’t going to be easy. The past has a way of ruining everything…especially the future.

"Love on the Cape is the kind of romance I love best--sexy, deeply emotional, rooted in characters who... find love and healing...all beautifully crafted by a writer with brilliant instincts." ~ Barbara O'Neal, seven-time RITA award-winning author of How to Bake a Perfect Life. 

Love on the Cape, an On the Cape novel, Cape Van Buren book 1 by USA Today bestselling author MK Meredith is full of depth and surprises and deals with loss in a beautifully sensitive way. Read as a series or standalone.

One-click this sexy contemporary second chance romance now!

Leseprobe

Love on the Cape

an On the Cape novel, Cape Van Buren

MK Meredith

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by MK Meredith. All rights reserved,

including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

MK Meredith

P.O. Box 1724

Ashburn, VA 20146

Visit my website at www.mkmeredith.com.

Edited by KR Nadelson and Jessica Snyder

Cover design by Kari March Designs

ISBN: 978-0-9990854-0-0

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition June 2017

Praise for Love on the Cape

“Love on the Cape is the kind of romance I love best—sexy, deeply emotional, rooted in characters who have had real lives and real traumas, and find love and healing in each other's arms, all beautifully crafted by a writer with brilliant instincts.  Don't miss this one.”  

~ Barbara O'Neal, seven-time RITA Award Winning Author of How to Bake a Perfect Life.

“I can’t recommend Love on the Cape highly enough! This heart-tugging romance struck all the right notes and left me with warm, fuzzy feels! The mega-talented MK Meredith is now on my official 1-click author list and I hope to see her feature more books set on this gorgeous cape!”

~ EpicRomanceReviews

“A must read! I devoured this book. MK Meredith outdid herself again!”

~ BookSnuggle

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by MK Meredith

Introduction

Hello!

I am so thrilled to share my happy ever afters with you, and I hope you love this book! If you haven’t yet, enjoy your introduction to the wonderful town of Cape Van Buren with One Jingle or TwoFREE on all retailers. Once you fall in love with Alora and Nate (they’re irresistible, LOL!), you won’t want to leave.

Which makes me so excited to also offer you the opportunity to meet Blayne and Jamie! Just sign up to my mailing list at the end of this book, and I’ll send Honor on the Cape to your email for download to your favorite reading device!

BTW . . . all of my series are inter-connected.

Hugs, loves, & peanut butter!

MK

To Jessica Snyder.

Your friendship and generous nature

are such beautiful gifts.

Thank you for really seeing me

and loving me anyway.

Chapter 1

Larkin Sinclair slid her hand down the inside of the well to the second row of bricks until the small handprint settled home under her fingertips. She promised for the thousandth time that she’d start living again. Soon. Though it seemed like an impossibility when a part of her was gone forever.

She skimmed the outline to the pinky finger that faded the closer she got to the end, then to the palm where it was deepest by the thumb. Today, she needed to feel the familiar indentation of her son’s palm. She focused on the memory of his small hand with the tight and often sticky grip of his fingers wrapped around one of her own.

The sensation lingered, so she closed her hand to keep it from slipping away. He was with her at the Cape, a peninsula of richly-wooded earth wrapped in a great rocky shore along the coast of Maine. The Atlantic to the east and the town of Cape Van Buren to the west. It called to both her heart and her vocation. The property was a conservationist’s dream, and she’d been taking notes since the first day she stepped on the enriched soil.

If not for her work with Conservation Law Foundation, the idea of getting out of bed each morning was daunting at best, impossible at worst. But she’d loved the job since her first day over a decade ago. She’d worked her way up through hard work, a lot of heart, and a passion for the environment.

He would have been seven today, her sweet boy, Archer. If the universe was less cruel and reality not quite so brutal.

But at the Cape, it was as if he embraced her with the rich, isolated earth, and spoke on the gentle July breeze that sighed through the tops of the trees. When she concentrated very hard, his laughter played out on the wind chimes hanging throughout the woods.

The tinkling, playful melody reached her ears, and the corners of her lips pulled up as if they had a mind of their own. There was a measure of relief in the action, a reminder that she hadn’t forgotten how. She gripped the locket hanging just above her heart and rubbed the square shape between her thumb and forefinger. One side held a photo of her and Archer from the day he was born; the other side held a photo of the two of them her dear friend Maxine had taken in front of the well the last time she’d seen him. She released her breath on a long, slow sigh.

“Can I help you?”

The deep, masculine voice shot prickles of adrenaline to the surface of her skin, and she jerked so hard the chain around her neck snapped, sending her necklace flying.

“No!” She cried out, lunging toward the opening of the well and grabbing at the air.

Two strong arms wrapped around her waist, halting her forward momentum. “Hold on now…I’ve got you.”

“No. Let me go.” She shoved at his hands in a panic then leaned over the well with tears stinging her eyes. A small glint of light reflected from the side a few feet below the rim and relief swept through her in a fierce rush. Her locket had landed precariously close to the edge of a narrow, ragged stone, the broken chain swinging back and forth over the side.

No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

She stretched her arm as far as physics and anatomy allowed but she couldn’t reach the necklace. Staring at it in abject horror, she prayed it wouldn’t drop. “Please don’t fall, please don’t fall.” She blew out a breath against the burning in her chest and tried again.

“Lady, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Larkin jerked her head up.

The words were spoken in low, measured beats by a tall man with dark wavy hair and a few day’s growth on his jaw that left him looking like a lumberjack, though the half-buttoned dress shirt and low-slung slacks tried to suggest otherwise.

“I don’t care. It’s my locket.” She leaned over the edge, working as hard to reach the necklace as she was at maintaining some measure of composure. “I have to get it.”

“Okay, okay. Christ. The last thing I need is some crazy lady falling into the well.”

He pulled her from the rim. She didn’t care what the guy thought as long as she got her locket back. He stepped to her side, filling the space next to her, and she shifted away just a bit so she could breathe.

Glancing over the edge, he shook his head. “It’s too far.”

“Then I’ll just have to get it myself.”

“Lady—” He grabbed her shoulder.

With a jerk, she pulled away. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

If the guy wasn’t going to help, then he needed to get the hell out of her way. Where in the world was Maxine? She glanced at the house then back to the well.

“Okay, okay. Just wait a second.”

She pressed against the warm skin where the necklace had hung. He might not understand, but she couldn’t lose it. “I have to get it.” She looked for a long branch with a flat end. Anything that might hold the locket so she could pull it up.

“Was it your mother’s or something?”

“It was from my son and it can’t be replaced.” The words dragged against her vocal cords like sandpaper. Archer had given her the necklace on the last Mother’s Day they’d spent together.

The large man blew out a heavy breath. The kind of sigh that vocalized an unwilling acceptance, and she glanced at him, hoping the sound meant what she thought it might.

“Fine. Let me have a look.”

Relief rushed through her and she stepped aside. Grumbling under his breath, he cleared the few buttons on his shirt then shrugged it off his broad shoulders. She coughed into her hand with wide, watering eyes. Nothing on her to-do list from that morning mentioned anything about a bare, well-muscled chest. And the sight of him made her question why not.

He patted her on the back. At least she imagined that was his intent, but each thump almost sent her flying face-first into the ground. She spread her feet wide to gain more balance and, waving him off, swallowed a few times to get her breathing under control again.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. What are you doing?”

He glanced down at the shirt then shoved it into her outstretched hand. “This is a five-hundred-dollar Armani. I’m not about to destroy it on a pile of old stones.”

The fabric was warm and the scent of his cologne wafted up around her head as he turned toward the well. He walked the perimeter and tested the integrity of each stone with a nudge. “I might be able to get it. But promise me you’re not going to go all kamikaze if I can’t.”

She held her breath and nodded, though he was the crazy one if he thought for a second she was leaving without it.

Spreading his legs wide, he braced his hip against the edge and leaned over. With one hand holding the top row of stones, he stretched his other toward the necklace, muscles striating down his back with the effort and disappearing below his waistband.

“Hold on to me.” He barked the order and she moved without thinking.

But as she reached for him, her mind went blank on where exactly she should anchor him down. She grabbed his hips, but his slacks were slick, so she grabbed his waist, but the heat of his skin shot through her in a shockwave and she let go.

“Hold on! Goddamnit.”

“Sorry.” She gave herself a shake then wrapped her arms low around his waist and used her body weight to balance him. His surprising heat, his rich, masculine scent. She tried hard to block her senses.

“Shit.” His curse echoed from the well.

“Did you get it?”

“Not yet. The damn stones are cutting into my side.” Frustration made his words curt and more than a little accusatory.

Regardless of how scratched up he might get, she needed that necklace.

His grunts, interlaced with a few choice swear words, replaced any further conversation. “Almost…just a little farther…a little farther.” He shifted forward, and she dropped her hips lower to counterweight the movement, freaking out a little bit as his feet lifted from the ground.

“I got it,” he shouted.

“Oh God.” She pulled back on him, desperate to get his feet and her necklace safely on solid ground once again.

He straightened and dangled her locket from his fingers.

Gratitude hit her with a swift punch of relief and she launched at him, almost knocking him back off his feet.

“Thank you. Thank you. I was so scared.” With her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, she kissed his cheek and squeezed hard, then kissed his cheek once again. Only this time, the rough scruff of his facial hair registered under her lips, and his crisp and spicy scent filled the senses she’d worked so hard to shut down.

She froze then carefully untangled herself from his embrace.

He stared at her with a bemused expression and slowly reached out one more time to give her the necklace.

If the ground would open up and swallow her whole, she’d be forever grateful, but of course it didn’t. She’d never been that lucky. Gingerly, she took the chain from him. “I’m sorry for losing my mind for a second. But it means so much to me.”

Now that her panic had dissipated, she wasn’t sure where to look. His broad shoulders and massive chest were very bare and very—whoa. So she looked everywhere but at him, until she finally pulled herself together enough to settle on the chiseled features of his ruggedly handsome face. Her heart thrummed as she stared into dark eyes hooded by equally dark brows, and she paused. It was a feeling she recalled, but almost like an echo of the past rather than a physical certainty.

“Who are you?” She knew the owner of the property quite well, and this sexy knight-in-wrinkly-armor was most certainly not Maxine Van Buren—her surrogate grandmother and one of Archer’s favorite people. Truth be told, she was probably a favorite throughout the whole town of Cape Van Buren from North Cove to South Cove, from the Town Square to the tip of the Cape. Maxine got around.

Larkin handed him his shirt but immediately jerked it back. Along the outer edges of his ribs on one side was a line of nasty gashes. “Oh, no.” She slung the shirt over her shoulder then reached for him, gently pressing around the perimeter of the wound and hating that she was the cause of it.

He winced, and she met his gaze.

“I’m so sorry. Is Maxine here? She has a first aid kit in the main floor restroom. Janice is always cutting herself with her sheers, or poking herself on the rose bush thorns.” She draped his shirt neatly over one arm then grabbed his hand, silently chastising herself for babbling. Janice was Maxine’s best friend and a master gardener, but Larkin had no idea if this guy even knew who Maxine was, much less anyone else.

He resisted. “You know my grandmother?”

She made the mistake of glancing back at him only to see that the look on his face had softened in a way that left her fidgety. She gave a mental shake like she used to do with the eight ball anytime the answer displayed didn’t make sense. What in the hell was wrong with her? Too many restless nights and not enough human interaction, apparently.

Conversations with Maxine rushed through her brain. She’d known of a grandson, the CEO of Van Buren Enterprises, a big-time developer in New York City. Her friend had spoken fondly of him, but always with a touch of melancholy. She’d say she missed the sweet little boy who’d followed her around like a shadow.

This man standing before her was anything but a little boy. A whistle wanted to accompany the thought, but she flashed a polite smile instead.

Ryker, if she remembered correctly, Ryker Van Buren. He’d left right after high school, never having stepped foot on the estate again—or in town for that matter. Well, until today, so it seemed.

“You must be Maxine’s grandson. I’m Larkin Sinclair, a friend of your grandmother’s.” She pulled on his hand again. “Come on. I want to help get you cleaned up. It’s the least I can do.”

Recognition swept over his face, further easing the hard lines around his eyes and mouth, but he still resisted. “Ryker,” he said in way of introduction. Then he raised a brow. “Larkin, what kind of name is that?”

“What kind of name is Ryker?”

“Touché.” He nodded. “Larkin Sinclair. I remember…you had a little boy. Archer. Grandmother talks about you all the time.”

This time it wasn’t the deep timbre of his voice but the sorrow it held and the use of the past tense that stopped her. She’d had a little boy? No. She would always have a little boy—in her heart, her memories. His existence had changed hers the moment he’d been laid upon her chest. He was an extension of herself, an addition that made her better in every way. Now it was as if she’d lost a limb and suffered from phantom pain because she still felt him in her heart, but the knowledge that he was no longer physically here left her with a constant ache.

She turned back with a slight dip of her chin. “Yes, my son’s name is Archer.”

If he wasn’t going to go with her to Maxine’s house, she’d at least do what she could with the first aid kit in her glove box. She pinned him with a look. “Stay right there.”

Within a few seconds, she returned, carrying bacterial ointment, gauze, and tape. “You don’t seem to want to go up to the house. But at least let me take care of the worst of this until you’re able to see the doctor.”

He laughed, but it was more of a “yeah right” than anything else, and it left her a bit off-kilter as the deep, rough sound skittered along her spine. He lifted his hand toward her then stopped and slid it into his front pocket as she gently absorbed as much of the blood as she could with the gauze, doing her best not to touch his bare skin again. He leaned away, but she ignored him and finished her task.

“You really don’t need to do this,” he said gruffly.

“Are you always so stubborn when someone wants to help you?”

This time, he ignored her. “Archer…he loved puzzles. Made a few for Grandmother if I remember correctly.”

She paused as an image of her son teaching Maxine and the North Cove Mavens how to assemble one of his latest creations brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. She blinked through them while loading three large, fresh squares of gauze with ointment. “Yes, Maxine would go on and on about how he was the puzzle master. We even have a cat named Puzzle.”

She smiled at him. “He loved your grandmother very much.” Sweeping her hand out to the grounds around them, she added, “He loved the Cape. We came to visit every month.”

Their visits often overlapped with the North Cove Mavens’ monthly meetings-four ladies who lived north of the Cape and sparred good-naturedly over superiority with the South Cove Madams. Something about two sisters who had lived on opposite sides of the town and the one boy who had captured both their hearts. The feud’s history was as old as the town itself.

Ryker reached out his hand, and this time left it there.

She stared at it, the urge to take it leaving her more than a little confused.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He chuckled wryly.

Slipping her hand into his much larger and warmer one, she couldn’t pull her eyes away from how completely it engulfed hers. He was the first man she’d touched in two years. His palm was rough and solid, and she wanted to hold it longer, to press her palm more tightly against it. But instead, she opened her fingers and slid from his grip, hoping he didn’t notice the slight tremble in her fingers as she turned to press the bandage carefully in place.

“Am I making you nervous?” he asked with a questioning look.

“You saved my locket.” Her words didn’t make any more sense to her than they would to him. Something about the man left her wanting in a way she’d been afraid she’d forgotten.

His bark of laughter echoed off the trees, and if the look on his face was any indication, the action surprised him as much as it had her. “You don’t have much of a poker face, do you?”

“I’ve never been one to play games.”

He grinned—if you could call it that—in approval. It was as if his lips couldn’t remember how, so only one side was successful. “Only puzzles?”

She sighed, letting the building tension slide down her back. “Definitely puzzles.” She finished taping him up. Giving his muscular shoulder an awkward pat, she stepped back.

Ryker pushed to his feet then ran his thick fingers along the rim of the well, and she couldn’t look away. “You’re welcome here whenever you want. At least until I sell it. Since Grandmother moved out—”

Larkin snapped her head up, and a low buzzing drowned out the rest of his words. Sell it? What was he talking about? “Maxine moved out? Where? Why?”

He stepped in front of her again and pinned her with his gaze. “She didn’t tell you?”

Moving back just a bit, needing a little room to breathe, she furrowed her brow. “No. I was here last month, but she never said a word.” She thought hard about their last visit. “Maxine had mentioned wanting to be in town because she liked the idea of walking everywhere, but I had no idea she was serious.”

“She wants to downsize and live it up while she’s still young, and Van Buren Square is where all the action is, apparently.” He chuckled with an indulgent shake of his head. “Her words.”

“So, you are the new owner? I thought you didn’t even like it here.”

“I grew up here.” His eyes shuttered and he turned back toward the house. “This is my home.” His voice caught on “home” and something passed over his hard features, almost as if the word had a bad taste to it.

She wanted to push for more but the tense set of his shoulders stopped her.

What was she going to do? She’d visited the well and puttered about the property as often as she’d wanted over the past two years. Anytime she needed to feel close to her son. No pressure, no problem.

But not anymore. And maybe never again. Her chest tightened painfully and she locked her eyes on the well. He couldn’t sell the Cape.

Blinking back tears, she stepped away. “Okay, then. Nice to meet you, and thanks for saving my locket.” Pulling in a breath of salty ocean air against the tightness in her chest, she looked past the well to the expanse of rich green grass and colorful gardens, then farther still to the lighthouse that stood tall and sure at the water’s edge.

She walked toward her car parked a ways down the gravel driveway, resisting the urge to run.

“No problem. I’ll see you soon.”

She paused. “Why?”

This time he didn’t chuckle but merely raised a brow. “Why? You sure know how to make a man feel wanted, Ms. Sinclair.”

Her brain struggled to keep up against her rising panic but insulting the owner was no way to ensure her entry to the Cape or to try to get him to change his mind. “I’m so sorry. I just meant—”

“I’ll see you again because, like I said, you’re welcome here as long as the Cape is still mine. I’m glad you didn’t lose your locket.”

Her world was crashing down around her, and he was smiling and waving goodbye like they were new friends. She opened her car door, forcing words from her mouth. “Thank you.”

He was selling the Cape.

He may have saved her locket but her connection to Archer might be lost forever.

Larkin pushed through the doors of the Flat Iron Coffeehouse, a swanky coffee shop on the south side of Cape Van Buren. A cross between urban chic and preppy tech, it greeted her with the welcoming aroma of beans and brew while the overhead music encouraged her to sit down and settle in. Though settled was the last thing she felt.

Every nerve ending was exposed and raw with worry.

She needed answers to prove the last few hours were nothing more than a horrible misunderstanding. A quick call to her dad had helped center her a bit, as it always did. Her dad had been her rock and greatest fan since she’d taken her first breath, and the feeling was mutual.

She was close to both her parents. They were always there for her but never intrusive. Though she believed the reason they gave her so much space was because all they had to do was ask around town to check in. Growing up in Cape Van Buren her whole life meant there were no secrets. It was often annoying but mostly a comfort.

Though nothing was comfortable now. And it wouldn’t be until she had some answers.

She scanned the room for Maxine, finding her waving from a cozy table toward the back of the shop. She was a silver fox with her straight, chic hair slightly longer in the front than the back, dressed in a sophisticated sleeveless jumpsuit of vibrant purple. No black for her friend. Maxine always said there was no reason to wear it if she wasn’t dead. Larkin admired the woman’s zest for life.

Especially since she didn’t feel much of anything these days.

Ryker’s crooked attempt at a grin popped into her mind but she ruthlessly shoved it away. Her interaction with him had sparked the most sensations she’d experienced in a long time, but much of that was surely due to the fact he might take away her only reason for waking up each morning.

Maxine studied her as she approached then pushed up from the table with a worried look on her face. Pulling her in, she wrapped her in a tight embrace.

“Larkin, what’s wrong?”

The sensation of being held was scarce these days, so Larkin embraced her tight, eking out the comfort. “Please tell me the sale isn’t final.”

Maxine sighed then gestured for Larkin to join her at the table. The older woman sipped from her cup as their server set a café au lait between them. “I ordered for you.”

“Thank you.” Larkin sat down then wrapped her chilled fingers around the warm porcelain, sporting a silver stripe around the rim.

Maxine spoke softly. “It’s final, my dear.”

Larkin sputtered, “But…what about the well? About how special the land is? Not just to me, but the environment? The plants and animals there will be destroyed.”

How many times had she encouraged her friend to have the land studied for conservation? It was a very special piece of property that provided a unique habitat for a handful of threatened species of plants and animals. She’d spotted it upon her very first visit. As a wildlife conservation expert, she had a trained eye and a passion for preservation. And Cape Van Buren was as good as it got.

“If I’m turning the Cape over to anyone, it’s family. You must understand. Your parents would move heaven and hell for you, as you would have for Archer.” She pressed her lips together. “In any case, Ryker would never kick you off the property, no matter what he might have told you.” She sent a questioning look that spoke of all the trouble he’d be in if he had. “He didn’t, did he?”

The fact that she asked increased Larkin’s worry. “No, no. He was actually quite pleasant and even saved my locket from ending up at the bottom of the well.”

“No one has ever accused my grandson of being pleasant. Brooding maybe, or detached, but never pleasant.”

Larkin looked at her friend and swallowed hard. “He said he’s selling it.”

Maxine stiffened. “He was probably just being ornery, but either way, the Cape belongs to him now.” The corners of her mouth rose a fraction in a forced half-smile. “Whatever he decides, I’m sure he’ll do right by it.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” Larkin traced the geometric shape along the border of her place mat with her finger. “Why didn’t you tell me you were selling? I would have made an offer.”

Maxine’s fingers fluttered on the table as if she didn’t know what to do with them until they found their way around her cup once again. “He’s my grandson, my dear.” She ditched the cup and reached across the table, grabbing Larkin’s hands. “And you are like a granddaughter to me. You’ve been a loyal, loving, and beautiful friend. But Ryker had a difficult childhood that chased him from his home. I needed to give him a chance to find his way back.”

“You’ve said he had it rough, but—”

“I wish it had simply been rough. And I’m afraid I’d failed him. But now I have a chance to make up for it. I have to do something.” She leaned back. “I hope he won’t take the Cape from you, but I couldn’t keep it from him.”

“How could you have failed him? All you’ve ever said is how you wished you could spend more time together, how you wished he’d come home more often. Instead, you went to him every time.”

“I did. The memories were too much for him here, but me putting the Cape up for sale has done what my cajoling never could.” She emptied her cup then smiled. “It brought him home.”

There was no mistaking the love in her friend’s eyes or the flicker of hope. Hope that Larkin didn’t share.

“Which reminds me, if you happen to see him before I do, tell him I’ll be by to go through the attic. The Cape may be his, but no one’s messing with my moonshine.”

“I will.” The legends of Maxine’s moonshine and the trouble she’d gotten into time and again were well known around these parts. But Larkin didn’t blame her. The stuff went down easy and hit like a cannon. People would line up cash in hand—which was the problem. Making it wasn’t necessarily illegal but selling it was.

The change in subject ended any chance that it was all a terrible misunderstanding, leaving her with only one other option.

If Ryker was bent on selling the Cape then she’d have to be the first to put in an offer.

Chapter 2

“What don’t you understand about the word ‘more?’” Ryker grated out, tired from a restless night of haunting dreams starring a green-eyed beauty hanging precariously from the stones of a bottomless well. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reach her, and the echoes of his father’s mocking laughter still rung in his ears.

Ryker was the kind of boss that often worked alongside his men, and he was itching to feel the burn of hard physical labor. The apparent lack of understanding and delays in breaking ground was more than frustrating—it was unacceptable.

“But, sir, we understood that Mr. Brennan explained to you the dangers of—”

Ryker struck fast. “Mr. Brennan isn’t cutting your paycheck, now is he?” His attorney and best friend, Mitch Brennan, had indeed gone over the risks. But they were Ryker’s to take.

His men fell silent, then all four heads turned as someone rounded the massive fountain in the center of the drive.

Who the hell was here now? If this kept up, he’d have to lock the gate at the main entrance. Since it opened right up to the town of Cape Van Buren, everyone took it as a damned invitation.

It was a helluva lot different from his life in New York where no one even made it to his front door without an invitation.

Stepping past the round, plaid-covered belly of Charlie Jones, his lead contractor, Ryker froze and swore under his breath. Larkin’s halo of blond hair reflected the sun, stray wisps floating about in the early morning sea breeze.

He absently rubbed his side as she crossed the driveway and marched toward the well with purpose, her long, flowing skirt whipping about her long, sexy legs. She carried her willowy frame with such confidence the men’s discussion fell by the wayside. Charlie’s ginger bearded chin dropped to his chest, and Ryker would have found it funny if he hadn’t been staring right along with him.

Clearing his throat, he handed over the large map. “Excuse me a moment, gentlemen.”

He walked slowly toward the well, drinking her in with interest. A sense of déjà vu washed over him as she bent over the well, but this time she dropped a penny. Her lips moved in a whisper that he couldn’t quite catch. Something about wishes. Too bad wishes rarely came true.

“Please don’t drop your necklace again,” he called out.

With her hand over her brow to shield out the sun, she squinted at him with a smile. A small dimple appeared just below the left corner of her mouth and he had to force himself to meet her eyes instead of studying it further. Damn it. Brilliant green eyes, reflecting her emotions like the sun on waves, nearly knocked the wind out of him, and he had to shake it off.

“Making a wish?”

“As often as I can.” She ran her fingers along the uneven rim of the well and looked out across the lawn. “Archer always hung half his little body over the side like you did yesterday in order to watch his penny splash and disappear to the very bottom. He’d say only then could wishes be made. Scared the crap out of me more than once.” She met his gaze with a bittersweet sigh.

“I can imagine.” Though he’d never have children of his own. His past was something he was determined to keep locked away where it belonged—the fear and sadness born from those dark years along with it. Having a family, letting someone in that close, would surely open the gates. His childhood was an ugly legacy that would end with him. But he could still understand her fear.

She studied him, chewing her bottom lip.

His eyes kept dipping to her mouth in search of the damn dimple, and it took more effort than it should have to maintain eye contact.

“So, how are you?” she asked.

He sighed at the question, trying to be patient, but he paid the men waiting for him by the hour, and she was more of a distraction than they needed today. He couldn’t imagine she came out all this way for small talk.

“Very busy.” He indicated the men a few yards behind him.

“Of course.” She laughed in a soft tone, the kind meant to hide embarrassment but which often simply magnified it.

“Why are you here?” On the Cape and in my dreams? The question popped into his head before he could shut it out, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Maxine wanted me to tell you she’d be by to go through the attic. You have to help her.”

“And you came all the way out here to tell me that?” There was no doubt in his mind that his grandmother sent her so he couldn’t say no. Maxine could manipulate the skin off a snake and onto her shoes if she wanted to—she was that good.

Larkin stared into his eyes, and for a brief second he wished he had a penny to throw in the well for insight into her thoughts.

“I had a bit of a rough day yesterday. A visit to the Cape kind of makes it all better.”

He snorted. “Yeah…not for me.”

She stepped toward him. “How can you say that? It’s—”

With a narrowed look, he raised a hand to stop her, steeling himself against the emotion in her voice. “You and Maxine were good friends. Don’t tell me she never told you how bad things used to be here.”

Larkin pressed her lips together as a blush rushed across her chest at the reference to his father’s abuse. “No, she did. I’m sorry. It’s just very hard to reconcile the hard life of the little boy who lived here with…” She waved her hand at him. “I forgot.”

He winced, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wish I could.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” She grabbed his forearm gently.

The soft slide of her hand demanded his attention, reminding him of yesterday when they’d been on his skin, tending to his scrapes, and he glanced down at his arm. Dark, heated thoughts furrowed his brows. She was a gorgeous woman, there was no arguing that, but she was a complication.

One who knew too much pain and not enough pleasure, and it was something he could see no matter how high she lifted her chin or how straight she held her back. A constant reminder that she was not a woman to be toyed with. She’d already had a ton of shit handed her way; she certainly didn’t need any of his own personal brand. His pockets were full of it.

An uncomfortable awareness crept into her eyes, and she slowly dropped her hand to her side. He wished she hadn’t—which didn’t sit well with him at all.

With a step back, he motioned to her face. “What’s going on here?”

Confused, she studied the front of her shirt. “I don’t know what you mean. I—”

“It’s like an immediate sunburn.”

Mortification joined the blush that now reached her hairline. Sucking in a breath, she waved her hand like a fan and rubbed the spot he’d almost touched with her other. “Never mind. I’m just warm.”

He glanced at the sweater she had tied at her waist. “Then why are you wearing a sweater? It’s summer.”

Ignoring him, she pointed over his shoulder. “What are you doing with those men?”

Ryker studied her a beat. She hadn’t been happy with the news of him selling the Cape, but better she accept it now. “Those men are land surveyors.”

“What are they doing? Are you planning an addition? Because I have a serious offer I’d like you to consider.” Tension radiated from her, tightening his own muscles, and he forced himself to relax.

“Of sorts.” He could barely imagine what she had in mind. With the husky timbre of her voice, when she said the word offer, it sounded more like an indecent proposal. One he’d like to take her up on but knew he couldn’t. With a wink he hoped would ease the heaviness around them, he asked, “An offer? What do you have in mind?”

“Oh…” She released a nervous laugh. “Will you go for a walk with me?” She shifted from one foot to the other. “I know you’re busy, but this is important.”

He shook his head. “Ms. Sinclair—”

“Larkin,” she corrected.

Against all logic, he loved the way her name felt as it rolled off his tongue. “Larkin. I really must get back.”

With steely determination, she pinned him with her gaze and pulled in a breath. “Since you’re selling the Cape, I’d like to make an offer.”

He couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d suggested paying him one hundred thousand dollars to sleep with her—Indecent Proposal-style. He cleared his throat. Twice.

“Miss Sinclair.”

“Larkin.”

He dipped his chin. “Larkin. You can’t possibly—”

He followed her gaze back to the Victorian with its navy-and-gold trim. It was almost a gothic look with the eggplant siding, but somehow softer, and perfectly suited to the moody, rocky shores and wooded lands of the Cape. It would make an ideal community building.

He stepped between her and the house until she met his gaze. Low and gentle, he said, “I’m developing the property, Larkin. You couldn’t possibly match that kind of profit.”

Her mouth dropped open, then closed, and opened again as she processed his words. “Developing the Cape? You mean with houses?”

“Exactly.” He hated the look of panic on her lovely features, but she needed to understand the finality of his plans. “This place has brought me nothing but pain. It’s about time it gives me something positive, something to make up for the hell of living here all those years. It’s been in the works since last fall.”

The one thing his past had given him was a very pragmatic look on life, a keen ability to act on cold hard logic, and an immunity toward emotion. Usually.

“But, Ryker.” She cleared her throat. “Mr. Van Buren, surely you can see it wasn’t the Cape but the circumstances. Please don’t do this.”