Chapter 5

 

Of all the places where locals were likely to chat him up, Spy Hill’s Red Dory pub had to be number one on the list. It even beat out Chloe’s Diner. Exhausted after a long day, Ry had tried the diner the evening he moved into his house. He’d barely sat down when a pack of self-proclaimed wharf rats swarmed him, gushing that his arrival was the coolest thing to happen to Brides Bay in like, forever, dude.

Mainers sure loved their hockey. But though Ry had put together a pretty impressive career on the ice, he wasn’t exactly a household name like Wayne Gretzky or Sidney Crosby. Plus, he’d never played for the Boston Bruins, the team of choice for most folks in New England. Still, he’d gotten way more attention from the locals than he’d expected, and it wasn’t really his thing.

Even now, he was asking himself why he’d taken a seat in a back corner of the bar, drinking a beer as he waited for the singer to appear and kick off her set.

But he knew the reason—the featured act was Claire Maddox.

He hadn’t seen her since their little trip up the coast, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t crossed his mind more times than was comfortable. She was easy to be around and different in a lot of ways from the women he’d been with over the years. Good different…as in down to earth and low key.

Not that he was with Claire. Their jaunt up to Damariscotta had been a spur of the moment thing, a few hours of fun with no expectation of anything more on his part or hers.

Trying to buy her the bracelet had just been an impulse too, an attempt to do something nice for someone new working for him. Unfortunately, he’d made a stupid and probably sexist assumption that she’d fall all over him with gratitude. After all, that’s what his ex-wife had always done, as had the few steady girlfriends he’d been with since his divorce.

Krista had always expected lavish gifts, generally thinking they were her right. But whenever he brought home something that didn’t measure up to her standards, she’d gone into a funk that could last for days. Often, she hurled accusations that Ry was buying “the good stuff” not for his wife but for the girls he allegedly screwed on road trips. It hadn’t mattered how many times he denied hanging out with groupies, Krista had never believed him.

To say they’d had trust issues was an epic understatement.

After the divorce, he’d paid some attention to how the people in his life reacted to situations like the one in Damariscotta, more out of interest than anything else. Not one had ever been unhappy when he pulled out his credit card in a jewelry store or anywhere else, much less refused his gift.

Not until Claire Maddox.

He’d had a gut feeling from the get-go that Claire didn’t always fly in formation. Hell, she’d even suckered him into agreeing to help her with the music festival. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about how she’d managed that one and still hadn’t come up with a good answer.

Tonight his curiosity about her had led him to the quaint, nautical-themed pub. He’d learned from the local paper that she had a regular singing gig here twice a month. He’d told himself multiple times that it was a dumb idea to come, but that hadn’t stopped him from jumping on his Harley and heading across the Promise Island Bridge into Spy Hill. Sure, he wanted to hear Claire sing. But more than that, he just wanted to see her again.

Not that anything could come of it, of course. Not only did she work for him, they had nothing in common. She was a small town girl and he was…well, not the small town type. If he’d learned anything from his crappy childhood in nowhere Minnesota, it was that.

So he was just dropping in to hear her sing and get out of the house for a couple of hours. After all, Stanley wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He’d just take in one set from the back of the pub, and slip out as soon as it was over.

He glanced around the room, surprised to see how crowded it was. And not so much by groups of loud, young guys like the ones who’d mobbed him at the diner. Except for a few tourists, most of the patrons were older and definitely local. He spotted Claire’s business partner and two other young women quietly drinking their longnecks. If Meg had noticed him, she wasn’t letting on. He also saw his builder, Carter Pierce, laughing with three women and a couple of other big guys who looked like Carter clones.

So far no one other than his waitress had talked to him, which was more than fine by him. It probably wouldn’t last though. Only time and distance from the game would let him gratefully slide into an obscurity he hadn’t known since he was a ten-year-old hockey phenom who had started to attract notice at tournaments outside his little town. It was an obscurity he increasingly hungered for, and one of the main reasons he’d moved to Brides Bay.

With no introduction, Claire came out through a curtain behind the small stage. With her guitar hugging her hip, she headed to a stool that was bathed in a soft yellow spotlight. As she sat, she pulled the guitar up into playing position, resting the body on her slim thigh. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she wore a pale blue T-shirt and skinny black jeans that showcased her sweet curves. Smiling at the applauding crowd, Claire raised the mic stand.

“Wow, what a great crowd. You folks must have been expecting somebody else on stage tonight,” she joked.

“We’re here for you like always, Claire,” shouted a brawny fisherman-type.

“We love you, Claire!” Meg chimed in from her front row table.

Affection for Claire pulsed through the room. She clearly was the town sweetheart.

She flashed a shy, charming smile at the crowd. “Thanks, everyone. Your support is so amazing.”

She did a little tuning check. Ry recognized her mahogany guitar, a good but lower-end Martin.

“This one’s for Julie,” she said, ducking her head as if suddenly shy.

After only a couple of chords, Ry recognized the James Taylor classic, “You’ve Got a Friend.” Claire sang the familiar lyrics in a husky but perfectly pitched voice that gradually filled with captivating emotion—so much so that Ry could only wonder about the source. Was she that talented, or was there some special meaning to that tune? And who was Julie, anyway?

The pure sound of her soulful voice, combined with the intensity that transformed her pretty features, knocked him flat. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and neither could anyone else.

When she strummed the final chord and bowed her head, the applause was warm and went on for a long time, but the rollicking mood that had greeted her appearance had disappeared. When she finally raised her head, she looked straight at Meg, and Ry noticed her partner dabbing at her eyes with a balled-up tissue. Claire looked pretty choked up too. She managed a wobbly smile and asked the crowd to give her a minute or two so she could go to the restroom.

There was definitely a story behind that performance—one he knew better than to pursue. These days, Ry avoided drama as much as possible, even when it involved someone who tugged at him as much as Claire.

After she left the stage and disappeared down a hallway, Carter Pierce and his male companions got up from their table and headed toward Ry. He wasn’t really in the mood to chat, but he figured they’d head back to their seats—and their very attractive dates—as soon as Claire restarted her set.

Carter stuck out a hand. “Hey, man, good to see you here in town.”

Ry laughed as he returned the handshake. “Yeah, don’t get used to it.”

His builder apologized for the interruption and then introduced his younger brothers, Colton and Landon. They were obviously twins, a few years younger than Carter

“My little brothers have been dying to meet you,” Carter said. “I figured you wouldn’t mind since they’re hockey men too.”

Little? Both men were ripped and looked like they could take apart an entire hockey team.

“Both of us played four seasons in the minors,” Colton said as they sat down. “You were always one of our role models, Ry. A tough guy who could score.”

Ry didn’t mind shooting the breeze with guys who knew what the hell they were talking about when it came to hockey. Toiling in the minor leagues for four years was no picnic.

“So where did you guys play?”

“All over the place,” Landon answered, “but we finished up in Binghamton three years ago.”

Ry nodded. “You guys look like you could handle yourselves in the rough going.” There was a whole lot of rough going in the American Hockey League where they’d last played.

Colton grinned. “Landon set an all-time team record for penalty minutes, and I was a close second. I led the league in fights and game misconducts in both my first and second seasons.”

“And I was second both times,” Landon said, jabbing his brother in the shoulder.

“It’s always nice to be in the record books,” Ry said with a chuckle. Enforcers loved to talk about their tough guy stats.

In his first few years in the pros, he’d also racked up a ton of fights and penalty minutes until he’d settled into his game. But he’d never wanted to be known as a tough guy, much less an enforcer. His dad had thought it was great that he was a good fighter, and for some reason so had a lot of the women he’d dated. He’d always found that pretty weird.

“When they were in junior, some newspaper guy nicknamed the boys the Punishing Pierces, and the handle stuck,” Carter added.

Ry had heard a lot worse handles for players. “Ever get up to the NHL at all?”

“Nah, not even once,” Landon said, not sounding at all bitter. “We figured we were lucky enough to make it to the AHL. We weren’t like you, man. You could do it all—skate, score, and fight with the best of them. Colton and me were more or less role players.”

He meant enforcers. Those guys were an honorable breed in a rugged, physical game, so the Pierces had nothing to be ashamed of. They’d made it further up the hockey food chain than over ninety-nine percent of all the players in the world.

“How are you doing, Ry?” Colton asked. “How’s the knee these days? Man, the shitty way they cut you loose there at the end…that must have been rough.”

“I’m adjusting,” Ry said. “Working on rehab every day. First thing I did was set up a gym when I moved into the house. The knee’s okay, although I still have a ways to go till it’s a hundred per cent.”

That was the partial truth. It was what Ry told everyone who asked.

Landon gave a solemn nod. “At least your concussions weren’t all that serious, right?”

“Got a clean bill of health on that score.” Another partial truth.

“I packed it in after my second one,” Landon said. “I was making pretty good money, but it wasn’t worth it if I was going to end up not recognizing my grandkids someday.”

“I decided to quit then too. For the same reason,” added Colton. “We didn’t want to end up in some brain injury study, or even maybe doing something like those players…”

“Who killed themselves,” Carter grimly finished for his brother. “It was good that you got out when you did, Ry.”

He wasn’t going to argue. The Pierces had made their choice, and he respected them for it. But in his case, the game had made the choice for him. He’d wanted to keep playing, risks to his future be damned. But no team had been willing to give him the chance, labeling him as damaged goods. He couldn’t really blame them.

“So there really is life after hockey for you two,” Ry said to lighten the mood.

“Hell, yeah. They’re doing great,” Carter said proudly. “Landon’s a county deputy, on the fast track for a detective shield. Colton bought his own lobster boat. He’s always loved the sea.”

Ry mentally blinked. When it came to dangerous professions, lobster fishing seemed a whole lot riskier than playing hockey—or even racing bikes.

“And we both bought a small stake in big brother’s construction business,” Landon said. “Although that’s probably throwing good money after bad.”

“Asshole,” Carter said as Landon grinned at him.

“For me, it just feels good to put food on people’s tables and be able to stay put in one place. Near family,” Colton said. “And there’s no better place in the world than Brides Bay. You were smart to come here, man.”

“Yeah,” his twin said. “It’s totally great that you picked here to live.”

“Okay guys,” Carter said drily. “Enough hero worship for now. You two should go back and keep the ladies company. I need to talk to Ry for a minute.”

The twins rose and took turns shaking Ry’s hand. As they headed back to their table, he glanced down the hallway that led to the restrooms. He’d spotted Meg slipping back there a few minutes ago and wondered if Claire was okay. She’d been gone awhile.

Since Carter seemed in no hurry to talk, Ry gave him a verbal nudge. “The singer should be back soon.”

Carter’s eyebrows went up. “The singer? Oh, you mean your friend Claire?”

Ry shot him a puzzled glance. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Come on, buddy. I saw you take off with her the other day. Hell, half the town knows you two were heading north on Route 1, probably to Damariscotta. You obviously spent most of the day together before you cruised back to Promise Island.”

Christ, small towns. This was the part he’d always hated.

“And here I thought you were too busy working on the garage to notice us sneak out,” he said sarcastically.

“You didn’t exactly sneak out. Anyway, plenty of folks around here have sharp eyes and tongues ready-made for gossip. For starters, not much gets by Dottie at the dry cleaning counter or Dex at the Sunoco. And once one of those chatterboxes knows something, everybody else in town knows it soon enough.”

“Okay, we went for a drive. What the hell’s the problem with that?”

Carter held up his hands. “Hey, relax. It’s just that Claire is about the nicest person I’ve ever known, and she hasn’t had an easy life. There isn’t a soul in this town that doesn’t care a lot about her. You’re getting a pretty good glimpse of that here tonight. So, let’s just say we feel more than a little protective.”

Ry crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Would there be anything personal in this for you, my friend?”

“Trust me, not in that way. I’ve known Claire since we were toddlers. Going out with her would be like dating my sister. But, yeah, there’s something personal all right.” Carter’s normally genial gaze had turned cool. “It’s not like she needs protection—or would welcome it. But she’s got it anyway. From all of us.”

Ry resisted the impulse to tell his builder to screw off. “Message received. Don’t mess with the town sweetheart. Anything else you want to rag my ass about, or can I go back to drinking my beer in peace?”

Carter shrugged. “I guess I’ll be seeing her around your place, now that you’ve hired her to look after it when you’re gone.”

“She’s supposed to be the best, isn’t she?” His gaze automatically fastened on Claire as she made her way through the tables to the stage. Thankfully, she looked okay.

“Totally. By the way, has she told you she grew up in that old house?”

He snapped his focus back to the builder, not sure if he’d heard him correctly.

Carter nodded a confirmation.

Ry processed that bit of info as he recalled their tour of his house. Now that he thought about it…

“No,” he said, trying not to sound pissed off that she hadn’t told him. It felt a little weird that she’d chosen not to.

Weird and not very trustworthy.

“Yeah, her family lived there a long time,” Carter said. “They had to sell the place when her dad’s lobster business hit the skids. That was just before we started high school. I remember how wrecked she and her sister were about having to move into town, and into a pretty dumpy house too. It was real tough on all of them.”

Despite his irritation, Ry’s sympathy stirred. “That sucks. All that must have happened at least, what, fifteen years ago?”

“Sixteen. She’s the same age as me.” Carter finally noticed that Claire had resumed her seat on stage. “But I don’t think time has changed much for her. Not about the house anyway. She still loves it.”

“Carter, what’s your point?”

The builder rose. “Look, I know you’re going to knock the place down and put up something bigger and better. That’s totally understandable, and I’ll be the first one to put in a bid on the project whenever you’re ready. But I think Claire’s going to be a bit of a mess when finally you pull the trigger.”

That seemed like a stretch. “Claire seems too practical for that kind of nostalgia.”

“Maybe, but I’m not sure she’s given up all hope of someday buying the place herself.”

Shit. “For real?”

“Absolutely. But none of this is my business.”

Ry let out a sarcastic snort. “I think we’re way past that, man. But thanks for the warning, anyway.”

* * *

Claire settled back onto the stool, still feeling embarrassed. She hadn’t expected to choke up after that first song. She probably could have managed to keep it together if she hadn’t glanced at Meg’s table and seen her friend practically bawling. Meg had only met Julie Bell a couple of times. Still, she knew better than anybody how Julie’s death had changed Claire’s life. Meg, for all her outer toughness and strength, was a sweet marshmallow on the inside.

This was the first year Claire hadn’t traveled to Julie’s hometown of Saratoga Springs on the anniversary of the accident. For the past two, she’d driven the six-hundred-mile round trip to lay a bouquet of flowers at the gravesite and spend the evening with Mr. and Mrs. Bell before driving back to Maine the next day. This year though, the annual road trip had become impossible. Meg was staying over at the Hustons’ place, babysitting their two badly behaved Boxers while taking care of three other Promise Island homes at the same time. Claire was pretty much rushed off her feet looking after Derek’s home and several others, plus trying to fit in her handful of art students.

So, this time she’d had to be content with sending flowers and paying tribute with a song that expressed her love and gratitude. Julie had been her first and best friend after she moved to New York, helping her make the rocky transition from small town to big city life.

On top of all that emotion, spotting Ry at the back of the bar had almost made her fall off the stage. Given the way he avoided coming into town, she doubted that it was a coincidence that he just happened to show up at the Dory on the night she was to perform.

She’d been wondering when she’d see him again. After their truly enjoyable day together—aside from that embarrassing moment in Grace’s store—it bothered her not to have heard from him for more than two days. Yet how strange and stupid was that? He was just a client, for God’s sake. Nothing more.

Taking a deep breath, she ordered herself to calm down and focus on the remaining songs in her set. But she couldn’t wait to finish so she could head straight to Ry’s table before he got a chance to disappear. Her hunch was that disappearing was exactly what he had in mind . Still, it was a big step for the Promise Island Hermit to show up tonight.

And she couldn’t help feeling flattered that he’d likely come to see her, although that idea also made her nervous as hell.

Client, remember? Nothing more.

After she closed her set and while the crowd was still applauding, she made her way toward his table. She was so captured by his dark, intent gaze as he watched her approach that she almost tripped over one of the ancient, half-rusted buoys that were a colorful part of the bar’s seafaring décor. She barely managed to catch herself and not fall down on the beer-sticky floor.

Yuck. Real smooth, girl. Oh well, not that it mattered. She was definitely not trying to impress Ry Griffin.

“Ry, this is a surprise,” she said with her friendliest smile. “It’s nice to see you here.”

He pulled out the chair next to him, obviously going for the dark, sexy, and silent routine. It worked, as the annoying flutters in her belly made perfectly clear.

Maisie McCutcheon, one of the waitresses, hurried over and asked if she wanted her usual. Claire said yes.

“I don’t get paid, but drinks are on the house,” she said to Ry, once Maisie hustled off to the bar.

“You should get paid. You’re good. Really good.”

Though he still hadn’t smiled, Claire’s insides glowed from his gruff praise. “Thank you. My voice is okay, but I play guitar like I’m wearing oven mitts.”

Her little joke finally pulled a hint of a smile from his hard mouth. “I doubt people are paying much attention to the guitar when they’re listening to that voice of yours.” His gaze tracked over her again, taking its time. “Or watching such a pretty woman.”

Wow. She was too young for hot flashes, but it felt like she might be having one anyway.

“I could certainly use some guitar lessons.” She mentally winced when her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Know anybody around here who can really play?”

He coughed out a chuckle. “Nope. Absolutely no one.”

“Really? Well, I do. Some mysterious dude who wowed everybody at Derek and Jane’s wedding reception last week. Ring any bells?”

“Oh, him. He wasn’t all that great. Plus, I’ve heard he doesn’t do lessons.”

She rested her arms on the table, still curious to know what he truly thought about his musical talent. And, seriously, how great would it be if she could convince Ry to give her guitar lessons? The guy was a much better guitarist than the two people in town who taught the instrument. He could help her take her playing to a whole new level.

“Really? Why not? I bet he’d be great,” she said, warming to the idea.

He shrugged but didn’t say no.

“We could always barter,” she ventured. “You give me some lessons, I give you some free home checks.” She wracked her brains, trying to think of something else that might tempt him.

He rolled his eyes. “Nice try.” He took a long pull of his beer just as Maisie arrived with a bottle of Shipyard Ale for her.

Argh.

Claire took a quick drink to cover her growing sense of embarrassment. What the heck was wrong with her? It was like being near him scrambled her brains—or at least her common sense. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” she said. Again. “It was a dumb idea anyway. You’ve got better things to do. Besides, you’re helping me out with the festival, which is incredibly generous of you.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I don’t want to do it because I’m not a teacher. Actually, I think I might mess you up more than help you if I tried to give you lessons.” He cracked a slight smile. “You don’t need that.”

She smiled back, grateful that he’d eased the tension. And, strictly speaking, he had yet to give her a definitive no.

“I doubt that anybody could mess up my playing more than it already is.” Then a brilliant idea somehow flashed into her head. “Hey, what if I trained Stanley for you in return for a few lessons? I’d be really happy to do that.”

Ry didn’t say anything, just giving her the dark, sexy, and silent inspection that he did so well.

“That way we could both benefit, right?” she coaxed. “Just a couple of lessons each, and then we could decide if we want to keep going. No big commitment at all.”

“Hmm. Stanley does seem to be locked in a battle of wills with me. And he sure took to you.”

Jackpot. “He obviously senses I’m a whiz with dogs.”

“But I’d really rather just pay you to train Stanley.”

She scrunched up her nose. “I totally understand. I just thought…you know…it could be friends helping friends.”

“Friends helping friends, huh?” The tone of his voice suggested that was something of a foreign concept.

She took a leisurely sip of beer, trying her best to appear casual. “Just easy breezy, you know? No big deal. Just everyday hanging out kind of stuff.”

He studied her for a few seconds, and then shook his head. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

She almost choked. “Really? Thanks, I guess.” No one had ever called her that before. He made it sound kind of cool.

Ry blew out an exasperated breath. “Okay, you win. I guess we can give it a try.”

Again, wow. “That’s awesome. Thank you. I’ll make time whenever you’re available. It’s totally up to you.”

“I guess we could start next week, after I get back from New York.”

That would be in three days. He’d booked her from his departure tomorrow morning until his return on Sunday evening. “Sure. Whenever works for you.”

“It would obviously make sense to train Stanley at my place,” he said slowly, perhaps thinking through the logistics. “But we could do the guitar lesson at yours, if you want. Maybe you’d feel more comfortable there.”

“That sounds perfect.”

Her enthusiasm took a hit a few seconds later when he abruptly shifted forward, his intensity dialing up as he stared at her with eyes narrowed to slits. Now what was wrong?

“Look, Claire, I have to ask you something.”

Oh, oh. “Uh, okay.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that my place had once been your family home?”

It was like a vacuum cleaner hose had just sucked her mouth dry. Fumbling, she reached for her beer. How had he found out?

Carter, of course. Her old friend was always looking out for her, even when she didn’t need it.

“It’s not something I wanted you to be concerned about,” she said. “I thought it might make you uncomfortable.”

He scoffed. “Was that before or after I told you I was going to tear it down?”

Her stomach lurched, but she forced a calm reply. “That wasn’t really a surprise. It’s what people who buy on Promise Island generally do. They want the land and the view, not creaky old houses not even up to code.”

“But you’re not too happy about it, right?”

Well, she wasn’t going to lie. “I’m sure you can understand why not. Wouldn’t it bother you to see the house where you grew up flattened like a pancake?”

“Hell, no. Not one bit. It’s just a house.”

That answer suggested his childhood had been less than happy. But that was definitely none of her business. “You must think I’m completely irrational for caring one way or another about that house after all these years.”

He looked as if he expected her to say something more. But she didn’t know what else could make him understand what the old place meant to her.

And why did it even matter at this point? He could do whatever he wanted with the property, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

She made a show of looking at her watch. “I’d better get back up on stage.” She pushed her chair back and rose. “I’ll see you at the festival committee meeting, right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Claire managed a weak smile and a wave as she made good her escape.