Marion cleared her throat, hurried to help Jenna clean up the mess. After throwing the shards in the trash can, she broke the awful silence. “You remember my daughter, Jenna, don’t you, Nate?”
He gave her an intense appraisal, as if trying to find her in his memory bank. “Sure,” he said after several uncomfortable moments. “You were just a kid when I…left.”
You mean when you ran away rather than face what your father had done. “I was thirteen,” she said. “Not so much a kid. Old enough.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He picked up his fork, cut into the pastry and then let it sit there. After a moment he looked at Marion and said, “So have you stayed in Finnegan Cove all this time?”
“I never thought of leaving,” she replied. “This is my home. And I bought this shop with the money…” She paused, looked down at the counter. “With the money I got after Joe died. Anyway, this is a nice business. My daughter helps out. We get along just fine.”
He nodded, acknowledged the full cup of coffee Jenna placed in front of him. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.” He took a sip. “You know, I think about what happened a lot. I’m sorry for what you went through.”
“Forget it, Nate,” Marion said. “It’s in the past.”
Forget it? Jenna rested her hip against the counter and said, “What are you doing here, Nate? I heard you were on the West Coast somewhere. Why have you come back?”
He stared up at her with those blue eyes that used to make her adolescent knees weak. “It’s kind of strange, I guess, me being here again. And my reason for being here will seem even stranger.”
She waited, raised her eyebrows in question.
“The old lighthouse,” he said. “I’m thinking about making an offer on it.”
Jenna’s heart tripped. She clutched the lapels of her blouse with trembling fingers.
He spoke matter-of-factly, as if his admission wouldn’t cut her to her core. “I’m taking a look at it this morning.”
“But you don’t live in Sutter’s Point,” she said, her voice harsh and defensive. “The man who’s interested in the lighthouse is from Sutter’s Point.”
“Oh. You must be talking about my brother, Mike. I think he’s made some inquiries about the lighthouse in the past few days.” Nate gave a half smile. “I see word still travels fast around here.”
Jenna closed her eyes. She couldn’t look at the handsome face she used to dream about years ago. The face so like his father’s.
The son of the man who had killed her dad was planning to buy the lighthouse.
CHAPTER THREE
N OW THAT HE’D HAD time to really look at Marion, Nate decided she’d hardly aged. Her hair, shorter than he remembered, was still a mass of chestnut-brown curls. Her figure was fuller, but obviously not altered drastically by working in a bakery. And her doe-brown eyes, which he remembered from across a crowded courtroom, still sent regret coursing through him. Almost as much as her daughter’s did.
He never would have recognized Jenna. He’d barely paid the slightest attention to the shy young teenager until tragedy had brought them together for a few weeks of judicial agony. She looked 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