Rocky Coast Romance. Mia RossЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter Two

      Cooper stopped at the end of a dirt lane, putting the car in Park as Bree took out her camera and stood up for an unobstructed view. When she let out a dreamy sigh, he leaned back in his seat and smiled. Mission accomplished.

      “This is amazing,” she breathed.

      A driveway crisscrossed with ruts led out to the rocky point topped by the lighthouse. The breeze coming off the water came and went, whipping her ponytail around one second and dying off the next. Waves crashed against the outcropping of unforgiving rocks, which had taken down several ships before the warning beacon was finally built.

      Seagulls circled overhead, calling out to each other as they glided through the air. Cooper watched Bree expertly single out one that appeared to be zooming in on something under the surf. Rapidly snapping frame after frame, she followed the bird as it dropped down and came out with a fish.

      “It’s pretty,” she said, as if the description had just occurred to her. “In a salty-around-the-edges kind of way, y’know?”

      “Yeah, I think so, too.”

      “You almost expect to see the ghost of some old sea captain standing on the balcony, staring out to sea, looking for the ship he lost years ago.”

      The fanciful image surprised him, mostly because with just a few words, she’d painted a picture in his mind he wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon. She had a real gift, he thought with a smile. He wondered if she knew how incredible she was. It was, he corrected himself quickly, relieved that he’d had the good sense not to be thinking out loud.

      Craning her neck, she surveyed the area hopefully and then sighed. “You’re kidding. There’s nothing else out here.”

      He’d come to terms with her less-than-flattering perspective of his home, so this time Cooper chuckled as he put the car in Drive and turned onto the lane. “The keeper’s widow, Mavis Freeman, runs a B and B for special guests. Very exclusive, like the finest hotels.”

      He flashed Bree a grin and was pleased to hear her laugh. He congratulated himself on prying some levity out of the very intense young woman who’d landed in his town.

      “Mavis doesn’t warm up to strangers right away,” he warned as they left the car and climbed a few stone steps worn down by decades of wind-driven sand. There was no doorbell or knocker, so he pulled the rope on the brass ship’s bell next to the bright red door. “Just be patient with her.”

      Bree seemed so taken with the place, he wasn’t sure she’d heard him. He was about to caution her again when the door swung inward on creaky iron hinges.

      Mavis squinted up at him. “Who’s there?”

      “Where are your glasses?” Cooper demanded. “You know you’re supposed to wear them all the time.”

      “Don’t need ’em when I’m crocheting.” Her cranky response told him she might have started out crocheting but had ended up napping. “You’ve got no business giving me orders, Cooper Landry. You’re not the mayor on my island.”

      “Don’t need to be,” he assured her smoothly, ignoring the fact that technically the property was connected to the mainland. “You have everything under control out here.”

      “Got that right.” Turning to Bree, Mavis gave her a puzzled once-over. “You must be that troublemaking reporter who’s gonna be staying here.”

      “Yes, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Bree sounded almost humble, and he wondered where the politeness had come from all of a sudden. “Thanks so much for letting me camp out here. I promise not to get in the way of your very important work.”

      “Work?”

      “The light.” Bree waved toward the rotating signal. “Without the keepers here at Holiday Harbor, ships would break up on the rocks while they’re coming into port. It’s a huge responsibility.”

      Her earlier sarcasm was nowhere to be heard, and Cooper wondered if she’d taken his advice to heart or was deftly buttering up her hostess.

      At any rate, Mavis stood a little taller and straightened the moth-eaten gray sweater she wore on even the warmest days. “Well, now, it’s not often us keepers get that kind of respect. Folks generally take us for granted, figuring the light just runs on its own.”

      “Not me,” Bree assured her warmly. “I’ve been all over the world, but I’ve never seen anything like this. I’d love to hear the history of this place, if you have time.”

      “Honey, I got nothing but time. You come right on in.” She opened the door wide and let Bree through. Cooper she stopped with a gnarled hand on his chest. “You done good this time, Mr. Mayor. The judge’ll be hearing from me, you can count on that.”

      “Granddad’s been gone awhile now,” he reminded her gently.

      “I still talk to him up in Heaven,” she retorted. “He hears me just fine.”

      She meant well, and despite his lingering sadness, Cooper managed to smile. “I’m sure he enjoys that. And I appreciate you putting in a good word for me.”

      “Don’t you be going all soft on us, though.” She pointed a crooked finger at him in warning. “This town’s in trouble, and it needs strength, not coddling.”

      “Yes, ma’am. Speaking of strength, how’s that new retaining wall holding up?”

      “Like a champ. Those boys you sent did good work. They ate me out of gingerbread, though.”

      “That’s because you make the best in the state.”

      “First place at the fair, seven years running,” she boasted. “I’ve got some fresh if you think Miss Farrell would like some.”

      Cooper knew that was the height of hostess etiquette for the bristly woman, and he nodded. “I think she’d love it.”

      “Fine. Now be a good boy and help me find my glasses.”

      As they entered the dim front hallway, Cooper heard Bree’s sharp gasp from up ahead. “Um, a little help here?”

      She was flattened up against the wall, staring down at a black potbellied pig the size of a small beagle. He sat in front of her, tail scraping across the well-worn oak planks in a friendly greeting. Judging by the horrified look on her face, she didn’t think much of her welcoming committee.

      “Oh, that’s just Reggie sayin’ hello to you,” Mavis told her. “He loves it when folks come by. Honestly,” she added with a soft cackle, “he likes people better’n I do.”

      “Where on earth did you get a pig?” Bree asked, eyeing him cautiously.

      “When my Henry died, God rest him.” Closing her eyes, Mavis held a hand over her heart and looked down. After a respectful moment she lifted her head and continued. “I wasn’t real fond of living by myself. Pastor Allen thought I’d do better if I had some company, so I went to the shelter over in Oakbridge, figuring to get a dog or a cat.” Crouching down, she scratched Reggie behind his ears while he grunted in appreciation. “This little guy waddled over and sat down in front of me, and I knew he was the critter for me. He’s housebroken and