Return of the Wild Son

Jenna gave her a sharp glance. “Do you really want to go there, Mom? Because if we discuss the subject of who’s living in the past, I’ll point out that you haven’t had a date since Daddy died twenty years ago.” She immediately regretted she’d said it when she saw the familiar veil of sadness creep over her mother’s eyes. Jenna stopped working and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Marion shrugged. “Don’t apologize. You’re right. I just don’t want to see you follow the path I’ve taken. You’re only thirty-three. You can still make a life outside of this bakery. You’ve made a good start by taking nursing classes at the college, but you’ve got to get over this… thing you have about the lighthouse.”

Jenna stepped back. “I won’t rest until it’s torn down and something positive stands in its place. Something that serves Daddy’s memory.”

Jenna shoved a baking sheet into the oven. “And I am making a life, Mom. I’m going to graduate soon. I’ll have my nursing degree. And I have George. Once I see a beautiful green park in place of that lighthouse, my life will be just about perfect!”

Marion sighed. Jenna walked by her, picked up a waxed bag and stuffed a half-dozen chocolate-covered doughnuts into it.

“Who are those for?” her mother asked.

“Who else? Bill Hastings.” Jenna rattled the bag in the air. “If I can’t reach him with gentle persuasion, I know he’ll accept a bribe.”

“What are you going to do if he does tell you who the interested party is? Are you going to accost the guy?”

Jenna closed the sack and set it aside. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll make a friend of him. I’ll tell him if he tears down the lighthouse, I’ll suggest my plan for something in its place and he can name it the Joseph Malloy—John Doe Park.”

T WO HOURS LATER , Jenna entered the reception area of the mayor’s office and nodded to Bill Hastings’s secretary.

“Morning, Jenna,” Lucinda said.

“Hi. Is he in?”

The secretary gave a furtive look over her shoulder. “Well, yeah, I think so. But maybe I should check.”

Jenna caught a glimpse of Bill skirting his desk. He’d just grabbed the bottom of the blind on his office door window and started to yank it down when Jenna said, “Never mind. I see him.”

She strode into his office. “Hello, Bill.”

“Did Marion tell you? I wanted her to break the news, smooth over the situation.”

“She told me. No smoothing it over, though.”

He raised a hand. “Now, Jenna, don’t fly off the handle.”

“Who’s the buyer, Bill?”

He shook his nearly bald head. “I don’t know. The Realtor called to tell me someone was looking at the place. That’s all I heard.”

“Don’t sell it to him. You know I’m planning to buy it.”

Bill walked around his desk and squeezed his plump frame between the arms of his chair. “Be reasonable, Jenna. What are you going to do? Have bake sales and car washes to come up with the down payment?”

“I’ve got a committee behind me. We’re slowly getting the money together. We’ve only had a little over six months. We need more time.”

Bill had the decency to look repentant. “I’m not waiting on your committee. But if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t think we’d get any other interest. Don’t jump to conclusions, however. This is just a first step. The guy will probably back out.”

“I don’t like the way this whole listing has been handled,” Jenna said. “You never called a meeting of citizens to discuss putting the lighthouse up for sale.”

“No, but I didn’t have to. It’s up to my discretion if I feel the entire town needs to be consulted on an issue. And I believed we could handle this decision among council members.” He stared at her. “Check the town’s policies manual, Jenna.”

“The lighthouse belongs to everybody, Bill. You had no right—”

He held up one finger. “Correction. The U.S. Coast Guard sold the station to the town council in 1969. The five council members at the time were listed as co-owners. They were given a legal deed and power of attorney to maintain or sell the property as long as it’s in the best interest of the citizens of Finnegan Cove. And each time an election was held and new council members took over, the deed was passed down.”

He clasped his hands on top of his desk. “As town leaders, we can decide the future of the light station, Jenna, and that’s what we’re doing, with the best interest of the town in mind.”

She set the bag of doughnuts on his desk and saw his gaze connect with Cove Bakery’s trademark steaming cup of coffee. “I’ve brought doughnuts.”

“That was mighty nice of you, Jenna.”

“You stop the sale of the lighthouse and I’ll bring you a half dozen every morning for the next six months.”

He stared longingly at the sack. “As much as I’d like the doughnuts, and you know I’m a big fan of your mama’s baking, the matter’s out of my hands. The council has voted.” He gave her a placating smile. “Besides, all you and your rabble-rousers want to do is tear the place down. The Michigan Beacon Society would be all over my butt if I let you do that. They want every lighthouse in the state saved if possible.”

Jenna fumed. He was so missing the point. “It’s a decaying old building, Bill. It’s unsafe. No one’s allowed inside. I want to tear it down and reopen Lighthouse Park. Put in a playground, picnic areas, make it even better than it was before…”

“Jenna, we both know why you want that building gone,” Bill said sympathetically, “and I can understand. I liked Joe.”

“Forget about my father. That’s my issue, but the Lighthouse Park Committee has a broader goal than just eliminating a tragic eyesore from our shoreline.”

Bill shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t know why you didn’t just set a match to the lighthouse long ago.”

“Great idea, Bill. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. But everyone would know exactly who torched the place, and I’d end up rotting away in prison just like Harley Shelton. The difference is, he deserves what he got!” She snatched up the bag of pastries. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“You’re not taking the doughnuts, are you?”

She stared down at the bag. “You didn’t give me any information.”

“There isn’t any to give yet. The potential buyer probably won’t even show up. And if he does…”

Lucinda stuck her head in the office. “Excuse me. Bill?”

“What is it, Lucinda?”

“Mark Blayne is on the phone from Sutter’s Point Realty.” She cast a sideways look at Jenna. “The fella who’s interested in the lighthouse is coming to town this morning.”

Jenna leaned over the desk. “Won’t even show up, huh?”

Lucinda backed up a few steps. “Believe it or not, the original call came from somebody in Sutter’s Point.”

Bill beamed. “Hot diggety. This guy lives close. He’s got to know about the shape that building’s in. This is starting out to be a great day.” He glanced at Jenna and affected an expression of chagrin. “Sorry, Jenna. But it’s the wheels of progress, you know. If there’s a chance to get the lighthouse off this town’s back, I’m going to take it.”

She wanted to strangle him. Instead, she slammed the bag of doughnuts back onto his desk. It made her feel somewhat better to picture his arteries clogged with hundreds of grams of fat. And she decided to find out just exactly who from Sutter’s Point was buying the lighthouse out from under her.

J ENNA WAS BACK AT THE bakery by nine o’clock, mechanically refilling coffee cups. “Who could this buyer be?” she asked her mother.

Marion gave her a long-suffering look and began arranging clean mugs behind the counter. “He’s just looking, Jenna. We don’t know that he’s going to buy it. So why is it so important that you know his name?”

“Because maybe he’s a nice old man who just wants to do something for the community. Maybe I can talk him into donating the lighthouse back to us.”

Marion stared at her. “That wouldn’t make any sense. No one spends eighty thousand dollars on a lark—at least no one from around here. It’s more likely this guy bought it as an investment, and turning it over to you and your committee would be a ridiculous decision.”

“Then maybe he’s a developer interested in putting something new on that property. He might even like my idea for beautification.”

“Jenna, you have to stop concocting these ideas. If you really want to tackle a tough problem, think about what will happen if the place sells and we have to tell your grandmother.” Marion sighed. “I’m not sure this town is equipped to handle a rebellion at the seniors home.”

“She’ll be devastated,” Jenna agreed. “But no more than if she discovered my plans for the building.”

Marion nodded toward the front window of the shop. “Who’s that man across the street? He’s just standing there…Maybe he’s lost?”

N ATE STOPPED on the sidewalk and looked across at the grassy area that separated the two sides of Main Street. New businesses had popped up, but much about Finnegan Cove was familiar. The park benches were freshly painted. The flowers were just beginning to bloom. The brick buildings were solid and clean, their roofs in good repair. It wasn’t the sun-washed glitz of Southern California; here there was a sense of reverence for what had come before. For permanence.

Nate didn’t want to be here. He hadn’t thought about returning to this place since he’d headed his old pickup out of town two weeks after his father’s trial and pointed west. Even when he came to Michigan to visit his father, he never considered stopping in Finnegan Cove. There’d been no reason to. Those who’d once befriended the Sheltons had ended up condemning them, along with the ones who’d paid little regard to a struggling fisherman and his two sons.

Before the cancer took her, his mother had had friends. Everyone liked Cheryl Shelton. She’d been sweet and friendly and always offered a helping hand to anyone who needed it. When she died, each of the three Shelton men felt the loss deeply.

Nate looked at his watch. Nine-thirty. He had a half hour before he had to meet Mike at the lighthouse. He headed toward the red-and-white-striped awning over a wooden sign advertising a bakery across the street where there’d once been a dentist’s office. He was nervous about seeing Mike again. Even before their mother died, Nate and Mike hadn’t seen eye to eye on much. Probably caffeine was the last thing Nate needed before facing his brother, but what the heck.

T HE TALL MAN IN JEANS and a light jacket Marion had pointed out was approaching the shop. The sun glinted off his dark-blond hair. His bronzed complexion told Jenna he wasn’t from around Finnegan Cove. No one on Lake Michigan had the hint of a tan in April. This guy had to be a transplant from someplace exotic and sunny. Cool and confident—that’s what he was, with the emphasis on cool. Residents of Finnegan Cove were solid, dependable, but definitely not cool.

He came inside and looked around. The last customers had left several minutes ago. The sandwich crowd wouldn’t be in for lunch for some time.

“Are you open?” the man asked, coming up to the counter.

“Until two,” Marion said.

He sat on a bar stool. Something about the man’s voice seemed familiar. Jenna studied him closely. He looked familiar, too, as if he was someone she ought to know. But that was impossible. How would she know a guy whose jeans even looked expensive—as if custom-made to fit his long, lean legs? He wore a shirt with a button-down collar. Guys in Finnegan Cove wore Wranglers from Wal-Mart, and T-shirts advertising the local bait-and-tackle hut. She couldn’t look away. The stranger was intriguing, and not just because they didn’t see many strangers before tourist season.

“I’ll have a cup of coffee,” he said, and pointed to the chrome cake tray covered with a plastic dome. “And that raspberry Danish.”

Marion slid the pastry onto a plate and set it in front of him. She stood a moment, her eyes intent on his face. Then she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

Jenna rushed over from the coffee machine. “Mom, are you all right?”

Marion’s eyes widened. Her lips twitched, as if she didn’t know whether to smile or frown. “After all these years…”

The man stared hard at her mother, then sat back on the stool. “My God. Marion Malloy?”

She exhaled a long breath and said simply, “Nate.”

Jenna dropped the cup she’d been about to fill with coffee. It broke into a dozen pieces. He tore his gaze from Marion’s face to look at her, and the past came back in a nightmarish rush. He was Nate Shelton—older, more filled out, without the wiry toughness of youth, and with a few wrinkles around his unforgettable blue eyes.

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 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 he taught you.” Nate extended his left arm, flexed his muscles. No atrophy there. What brawn he had might come from a gym membership, but he was still capable of manual labor.

Mike scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot. “Yeah, but I never thought it took with you. You seemed to prefer a pen to a drill.”

Nate smiled. “Still do.”

“To really modernize, make the place comfortable and restore some charm, you’ve got to be looking at twenty thousand.”

Nate nodded. The project was doable, if their dad wanted to tackle it. “I don’t see any Condemned signs.”

“No. There’s access to all the rooms except the tower. But I’d say the only things living here for a lot of years have been birds and insects.”

Friday night, after he’d had time to contemplate his father’s phone call, Nate had done an Internet search on the Finnegan Cove, Michigan, lighthouse and been rewarded with a picture of the place. The photo had been taken ten years ago, and even then it was showing signs of significant decay. That had been the point of the photograph. A concerned lighthouse enthusiast had chosen the Finnegan Cove Light to illustrate the desperate need to restore the old buildings.

“So, you think the old man’s off his rocker?”

Nate scrubbed his hand over his nape. If he was, then Nate wasn’t too far behind him. “I gotta admit,” he said, “I couldn’t imagine why he’d want to come back here.” For some reason, certainly not because he thought his brother was interested, Nate added, “I just had a sample of the way folks feel about us coming back to this town.”