Summer Reads Box Set: Volume 1 Read online

  He laughed. "No Aunt Sally. No Cousin Mary. And, regretfully, no girlfriend."

  Kate had to bite back the incredulous really that threatened to push past her lips. She settled for "Interesting. So what do you want?"

  "I'm looking for someone."

  "Aren't we all?"

  "You're very quick."

  He was quick, too, and it had been awhile since she'd flirted with a man. Not that she was flirting; she was just being friendly. "So, who are you looking for?'

  He hesitated, and it was the small pause that made Kate tense. That and the way his gaze settled on her face. It had been eight years since someone had come looking for her. It wasn't likely this man was here for that reason, though. What were the odds? A million to one.

  "A woman," he said slowly.

  Kate licked her lips, trying not to turn away from the long, deep look he was giving her.

  "I think I've found her," he added.

  So much for odds.

  "It's you, isn't it? Kate McKenna?" He smiled with satisfaction. "The oldest sister in the fearsome foursome that raced around the world in a sailboat. I recognize you from the photographs."

  "Who wants to know?"

  "Tyler Jamison." He stuck out his hand.

  Kate gave his hand a brief shake. "What do you want?"

  "A story."

  "You're a reporter?" She had to admit she was surprised. She'd once been able to spot a reporter from a block away. She'd gotten complacent. That would have to change right now. "I can't imagine why you'd be looking for me. That race was a long time ago."

  "Eight years. That would make you twenty-eight, right?"

  Kate walked over to the door and turned the sign to Closed. If only she'd done it five minutes earlier, she would have missed this man. Not that he wouldn't have come back in the morning. He had a look of stubborn persistence about him. She suspected that he was a man who usually got what he wanted.

  "I'd like to do a follow-up story on what's become of one of the most interesting sailing crews in ocean-racing history," Tyler continued. "It would tie in nicely with the upcoming sailboat races."

  "I don't race anymore, but I'm sure I can find you some interesting racers to talk to. Take Morgan Hunt, for instance. He raced in the Sydney to Hobart last year and could tell you tales that would curl your toes."

  "I'll keep that in mind. But I'd like to start with you and your sisters. Your father, too."

  Duncan McKenna would love the publicity, adore being in the spotlight, but Lord only knew what he'd say once his tongue got going, especially if his tongue had been loosened by a few pints of beer, which would no doubt be the case.

  “My father loves to talk about the past," Kate said, "but just like those fishermen whose stories of catches grow bigger by the year, so do my father's stories about that race. You can't believe a thing he says."

  "What about you? You'd tell me the real story, wouldn't you?"

  "Sure." She gave him what she hoped was a casual shrug. "Let's see. We sailed forever, it seemed. Some days were windy; some were hot. The wind ran fast, then slow. One week turned into the next with more of the same. The food was terrible. The seas were treacherous. The stars were always fantastic. That's about it."

  "Short and succinct. Surely you can do better than that, Miss McKenna. A woman who appreciates books should be able to tell a better story."

  "I sell books; I don't write them. Besides, there were a dozen news stories about the race in the weeks that followed our return. Everything that needed to be said was said. If you're interested, I'm sure you could find them on the Internet or in the library." She paused. "Do you write for a sailing magazine?"

  "I'm a freelancer. I go where the story takes me."

  Kate frowned. This was great. Just great. Another man who went with the wind. Why did they always stir up trouble in her life? "Well, there's no story here. We're all very boring. I run this bookstore, not exactly a hotbed of commerce, as you can see." She swept her hand around the room, forcing him to look at the cozy chairs by the window, the neatly stacked shelves of mysteries, fiction, fantasy, romance, children's books and, of course, the ever-popular books on seafaring.

  Although she was trying to downplay the bookstore, she couldn't stop the sense of pride that ran through her as she looked around the room that she had decorated, remembering the care she'd taken with the children's corner now brightened by posters and stuffed animals. She'd turned the bookstore into a home away from home, a place of delicious escape. It hadn't been easy to build a business from nothing. But somehow she'd done it.

  "It's nice," Tyler said. "From sailboat racer to bookstore owner. Sounds like an interesting journey. Tell me more."

  She'd walked right into that one. "It's not interesting at all. Trust me."

  "You're avoiding my questions. Why?"

  "I'm not avoiding anything," she said with a laugh that even to her own ears sounded nervous. "It's like this—I was barely out of my awkward teenage years during that trip. I'm an adult now. I don't particularly want to rehash that time in my life. It was no big deal."

  "It was a huge deal. Most people who win ocean races are seasoned sailors, sponsored by big corporations, sailing million-dollar boats. But the McKenna family beat them all. I can't understand why you don't want to talk about it. It must have been the biggest and best thing that ever happened to you."

  "We had fifteen minutes of fame a long time ago. And our race was different. It wasn't filled with racing syndicates but with amateur sailors who had a passion for sailing and a longing for adventure. The racing world has changed. No one cares what happened to us."

  "I do."

  "Why?" Something about him didn't ring true. He seemed too confident, too purposeful to be after a fluff story. "Why do you care?"

  "I like to write about adventurers, ordinary people who accomplish extraordinary things. And I'm fascinated by the thought of three girls and their father alone on the ocean, battling not only the other racers but the wind, the icebergs, fifty-foot waves. I've read some accounts of the trip, especially the harrowing details of the terrible storm during the second-to-last leg of the race. I can't imagine what you must have gone through."

  There was a passion in his voice that bespoke a genuine interest, but why now? Why after all these years? Why this man—who had appeared out of nowhere and didn't seem to work for anyone? Why him?

  "You look familiar," she said, studying the sharply drawn lines of his face. "Where have I seen you before?"

  "I just have one of those faces. An average, everyday Joe." He paused. "So, what do you say? Will you talk to me? Or do I need to track down your sisters, Ashley and Caroline?"

  Kate couldn't let him talk to Ashley or Caroline. She couldn't let this go any further. She had to get rid of him. But how?

  "You're stalling," Tyler said. "I can see the wheels turning in your head."

  "Don't be silly. I'm just busy. I have boxes to unpack before tomorrow, so I'm afraid we'll have to do this some other time."

  The phone behind the counter rang, and she reached for it immediately, grateful for the interruption. "Fantasia," she said cheerfully. Her heart sank as she heard a familiar voice on the other end of the line. Will Jenkins ran the Oyster Bar on the waterfront, her father's favorite hangout. "How bad is he?" The answer put her heart into another nosedive. "I'll be right there. Yes, I know. Thanks, Will."

  "Trouble?" Tyler inquired as she hung up the phone.

  "No." She opened the drawer and pulled out her purse and keys. "I have to go. And so do you.”

  "You look upset."

  "I'm fine." She opened the door, the breeze once again sending goose bumps down her arms. There was change in the air. She could feel it all around her.

  "You don't look fine. Is someone hurt?" Tyler waited while she locked the door behind him. "Can I help?"

  Kate told herself not to be taken in by the concern in his eyes. He was a reporter. He just wanted a story. "No one can help. You shou
ld go home. Back to wherever you came from."

  "Thanks, but I think I'll stay a while. With all these sailors in town, I'm sure someone around here will talk to me."

  "Suit yourself."

  Kate hurried to her car, which she kept parked in back of her store. Tyler Jamison was a problem she hadn't anticipated, but right now she had a more pressing matter to deal with. She turned on the ignition and let out the brake. Her small Volkswagen Jetta shook with another gust of wind. Her father always said if you can't own the wind, you have to ride it out. She had a feeling this was going to be one wild ride.

  * * *

  "Get me another beer," Duncan McKenna demanded as he put his fist down on top of the bar. He'd meant to slam it down hard, make the glasses jump, but he was too tired. "There was a time when a man could get a beer around here, Will."

  The bartender finished drying off a glass at the other end of the bar. "You've had your limit, Duncan. You'll get no more from me tonight. You need to go home and sleep it off."

  Sleep it off? He couldn't sleep. Hadn't for years. Oh, he dropped off now and then once the liquor took hold of his mind and gave him a blessed few hours of peace. But that didn't happen often, especially lately...

  "Dammit, Will, I need a drink. I need one bad." He could hear the desperation in his voice, but he couldn't stop it. The need had been building in him all day, growing fiercer with each boat that sailed into the harbor, each dream of a journey, of a race to be sailed and to be won. That had been his world. God, how he missed it, missed the pitch of the waves, the power of the wind, the thrill of the race. Missed the pounding of his heart, the spine-tingling, palm sweating moments when all would be won or all would be lost. What a rush his life had been.

  "I need a drink," he repeated.

  Will walked down the length of the bar and gave him a hard look. "It won't do you no good, Duncan. I called Kate, and she's on her way."

  "Why the hell did you call her?"

  "Because you need a ride. You've been in here all day."

  "I can get myself home." Duncan tried to stand up, but the room spun around, so he sat back down and held on to the edge of the bar for dear life.

  "Sure you can," Will said dryly. "Just sit there. Don't try to leave."

  "I'll do what I want," Duncan snapped. "I've been around the world upside down and backward. I won the goddamn Winston Around-the-World Challenge. No one thought we could do it. But we did, me and my girls." He paused and let out a weary sigh. "We were the best, Will. The very best. My girls got heart, just like their old man. They don't quit. I don't quit. McKennas don't quit."

  "Yeah, yeah, I know."

  And he did know because he'd heard it all before. Will was only a few years younger than Duncan, but he'd been tending bar for more than twenty years. Duncan couldn't understand how a man could be happy staying in one place for so long. Twenty years ago, Will had had hair on his head, a flat stomach, and girls lining up three-deep to flirt with him. Now he was bald, soft in the middle, and married to a librarian. Hell of a life he'd made for himself.

  Will walked away to serve another customer at the end of the bar. Duncan turned his head and saw a woman sitting at a nearby table. As she moved, her hair caught the light, and he lost his breath at the glorious, fiery shade of red. Eleanor, he thought impossibly. His beloved Nora had hair the same color, and deep blue eyes that a man could drown in. He'd gone overboard the first time he'd seen her standing on the docks in a summer dress that showed off her long legs. His gut twisted in pain at the memory. Eleven years she'd been gone, but he still missed her. His heart felt as heavy as a stone. He wanted a drink. He wanted oblivion. He wanted—so many things.

  "Dad?"

  He tried to focus, but he couldn't see clearly. It's the alcohol, he told himself, but when he wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, it came away wet.

  "Are you all right?" Kate asked with concern on her face.

  Kate had the look of Nora in her eyes, but her hair was blond, her skin a golden brown and free of the beautiful freckles that had kissed Nora's nose. Kate's face was stronger, too, her jaw as stubborn as his own. There were other differences as well. Nora's love had never wavered. But Kate's...

  "The boats are coming, Katie girl. There's a wind brewing. You know what that means? You know where we should be?"

  "Not today," Kate replied.

  "You never want to sail anymore. I don't know why." He shook his head, trying to concentrate, but his head felt thick, his brain slow. "What happened to us, Katie?”

  "Let's go home."

  Home? Where was home? He'd had to sell the Moon Dancer. It had almost broken his heart, selling his beloved boat. Now he lived in a small old sailboat. He'd wanted to call the boat Nora, but he couldn't quite bring himself to paint his wife's name on the side. Nora wouldn't have been proud of this boat or of him. Kate wasn't proud of him, either.

  "I'm sorry, Katie. You know how sorry I am?”

  "You're always sorry when you drink." Kate put out her hand to him. "Let's go home."

  "I can't go now. I'm telling Will here about our big race."

  "He's heard it before. I'm sorry, Will," Kate said.

  "It's no problem," Will replied.

  "What are you apologizing for?" Duncan demanded. "I ain't done nothing. And I'm your father. You don't apologize for me." He got to his feet, wanting to remind her that he was bigger and stronger and older than her, but the sudden motion caused him to sway unsteadily. Before he knew it, Kate had a hand on his arm. He wanted to shrug her away. In fact, he would do just that as soon as he caught his breath, got his bearings.

  "Need some help?" a man asked.

  Before Duncan could answer, Kate said, "What are you doing here?"

  "I was thirsty."

  "Can't blame a man for being thirsty, Katie girl," Duncan said, feeling more weary by the second. "I gotta sit down."

  The man grabbed Duncan's other arm as he started to slip out of Kate's grasp.

  "Your car?" he asked.

  "I don't want to go home," Duncan complained. "I want another drink."

  "The alcohol is going to kill you, Dad," Kate told him as she and the man managed to walk him out of the bar and into the parking lot.

  "Better the alcohol than the loneliness," Duncan murmured. Kate pushed him into the front seat of her car. His eyes closed and he drifted away. He was finally able to sleep.

  Kate saw her father slump sideways in his seat. For a moment she felt a surge of panic that he wasn't just sleeping, that something was happening to him, that he was sick or—no, she couldn't think the word, much less say it. Her father was strong as an ox. He wasn't even that old, barely sixty. He was just drunk. A terrible, lousy drunk. A terrible, lousy father for that matter. Why was she worried about losing him when it was so apparent that she'd lost him a long time ago?

  "You'll need help getting him out of the car," Tyler said, interrupting her thoughts.

  She'd almost forgotten he was standing there. "You've gotten yourself quite a headline, haven't you? 'Victorious sailor turns into worthless drunk.'"

  "Is that how you think of your father?"

  "No, but it's probably what you'll say.”

  "How do you know what I'll say?"

  "I've been interviewed before, had my words twisted."

  "Is that where your resistance comes from?" he asked with a thoughtful expression on his face. "I'm not interested in embarrassing you, Miss McKenna. I just want an interesting story. Fame, success, adventure—those are things that change people's lives forever. Most people never experience even one of those, much less all three, the way you did."

  Kate didn't know what to say. She needed time to think, to figure out the best way to handle this man Maybe if she told him just enough, he would go away. But what would be enough? Would he start digging? And if he did, what would he find?

  "I need to take care of my father," she said. "Maybe tomorrow, if you want to stop by the bookstore, we can talk."


  "Why the change of heart?" He sent her a skeptical look.

  "You don't look like someone who gives up."

  "That's true." Tyler tipped his head toward the car. "Will your father be all right? I could follow you home, help you get him into the house."

  "No, thank you."

  "Where is home, anyway? I don't think you said."

  "I don't think I did." Kate got into her car and shut the door. "I don't know what to do about that man," she muttered, glancing over at her father. Duncan's response was a very unhelpful snort. She'd have to take care of Tyler Jamison herself.

  Tyler stared down the road long after Kate's taillights had disappeared. What had seemed so simple had suddenly taken on new and disturbing dimensions. The first was Kate herself. She wasn't what he'd expected. For some reason, he'd thought tomboy, tough girl, overachiever, but she hadn't looked all that tough in black pants and a clingy T-shirt that matched her light blue eyes. Her blond hair had fallen loosely around her shoulders, and she'd moved with a feminine grace, spoken with a soft voice. She had a great smile, too, he thought, the kind that invited you to come in and stay awhile, the same way her friendly little bookstore invited customers to stop in and browse. Not that she'd been all that friendly when she'd discovered he was a reporter. Despite her casual manner, he'd sensed a wall going up between them with every question that he asked.

  Tyler reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was a magazine cover from eight years ago. Three blond, sunburned girls stood on the deck of a sailboat, holding an enormous silver trophy in their hands, their proud, beaming father in the background. The McKennas had conquered the world's toughest oceans. But were there secrets behind those smiles? Was there another story of their trip, one that hadn't been printed? Tyler suspected the answer to both questions was yes.

  In fact, if one looked closely at the picture, only Duncan looked really happy. The girls appeared shell-shocked. It was the only word he could think of to describe their expressions. Maybe he was reading more than was there. He'd spent most of his life living by the facts and only the facts, but this story was different. This story was personal.