Meet Me at the Beach (Seashell Bay) (3 page)

Pretty empty threat, since the old man had washed his hands of Aiden years ago.

After that charming little scene, he’d retreated to the spare bedroom while Bram grilled up some steaks and vegetables. And when Aiden saw the gruesome state of the bathroom, he’d dug out some aging cleaning supplies and did some scrubbing. Yeah, he was a guy, but even he had his limits.

Given how grimly the evening had started, the Lobster Pot had to be an improvement.

“So, Darts Night,” he said. “All I remember is a bunch of old guys three-quarters in the bag and barely able to hit the board.”

Bram shook his head. “Not anymore. You’d be surprised at how cutthroat it can be. And don’t think you can stroll in and wipe everybody out, Mr. Big Shot Athlete. I bet I could take you.”

“We’ll see,” Aiden said, giving his brother a friendly punch on the shoulder. As competitive as he was, he’d always found darts pretty boring.

They shoved each other a couple of times, like idiot kids, before heading inside. Instead of the scuffed pine floor and battered tables and chairs that Aiden remembered from his childhood, he saw an English-style pub, warmly lit by the glow of imitation gas lamps, with a padded oak bar that stretched along one side of the room. There were nooks with comfortable chairs and a couple of love seats, as well as some booths and a few larger groupings of tables in the middle of the room. Framed posters of London decorated the walls. There was a pool table and a shuffleboard table, and three dartboards hung from the wall opposite the door. The boards were already in play, and the action was lively.

Then his gaze went to the big flatscreen TV that was silently carrying the game between the Phillies and the Mets. It took a minute to choke down that bitter pill before he could drag his attention back to the crowded room.

Surprisingly, about half the people were his age or younger. The bar was obviously no longer a second home for ornery old lobstermen who could only agree on two things—the price of bait was too high and the price of lobster was too low.

His brother jerked his head in the direction of the bar. “Let’s say hi to Laura.”

Aiden wove through the crowd, greeting people he hadn’t seen in years. Some seemed genuinely happy that Seashell Bay’s
celebrity
—as one young woman called him, batting her eyes—had come home. That label made
his skin crawl, as did the fact that he had to repeatedly deflect questions about his absence from baseball.

When he and Bram finally reached the bar, a short, curvy woman with long blond hair ducked out from behind it to greet Aiden with a wide grin. Laura Vickers wore dark jeans and a red T-shirt with a black graphic of a lobster brandishing a beer glass in his crusher claw.

“Well, all hail our baseball hero.” Laura grabbed Aiden in a fierce hug. “Welcome home, prodigal son.”

Aiden returned the hug with genuine enthusiasm. “I have to say I’m surprised to see you here, Laura. You always had your sights set on Boston.”

“Oh, we can’t all be stars, Aiden. When Cal Merrifield decided to sell, I gambled on the potential for a makeover and stayed.” She gazed around the pub with evident pride. “And I think I’ve done pretty damn well with the place.”

“It looks terrific, Laura. You always wanted to own a restaurant, and I’m really glad you’re able to make a go of it.”

“How about a beer?” she asked.

“A Corona would be great, thanks.”

A tall guy with a buzz cut who looked vaguely familiar ambled up to them, slinging a possessive arm around Laura’s shoulders. “Hey, Aiden.” He stuck out his hand. “Remember me? Brett Clayton? I’m Laura’s boyfriend.”

“Sure. Hi, Brett.” Aiden shook his hand. Clayton had been a couple of years behind him in school.

It didn’t take long for Brett to point out most of the people in the bar and remind him of the complex web of relationships that made up life on the island. People were still inspecting Aiden with more than casual interest. Some
nodded in friendly fashion when they caught his eye, but others definitely looked wary.

Just how upset were people with the Flynns these days anyway?

When Brett took a call on his cell, Aiden turned back to the bar. Laura finished serving a customer and came over.

“Ready for another?” she asked.

“Better not. I’m the designated driver,” Aiden glanced over at his brother. Bram was laughing it up with some friends at the pool table.

Laura followed Aiden’s gaze. “You need to be, with that one.”

When Aiden shot her a startled glance, she winced. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m glad you did.”

From what he’d seen so far, Laura was probably right. Bram’s drinking had gotten worse.

She began stacking dirty glasses into the sink under the bar. “Dare I ask how it went with your dad?”

“The usual.” He leaned a forearm on the leather bumper. “Is Bram in here a lot?”

“More than he should be, but not as much as some.”

“Thanks for that incisive analysis,” he said drily.

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a grin. “So tell me if I’m being too nosy, but how are the negotiations going between your family and the development company, anyway? I’m assuming that’s why you’re here instead of playing baseball in Philadelphia. Are you in sync with your dad and Bram?”

She obviously hadn’t heard that he’d been released from his contract. “Maybe, but I want to know what people on
the island think about the development. Bram said a lot of folks are in favor, but the Doyles are leading the charge against it.”

Laura looked grim. “It’s a mess, that’s what it is. A lot of islanders are dead set against it, but times aren’t great right now because the crappy lobster price hurts everybody. More and more people are saying the development would bring money and jobs to the island, and I guess it would.”

Aiden put his bottle down on a cardboard coaster shaped like a lobster. “Are you in favor of it?”

“Honestly, I’m still on the fence. Business has been pretty decent here, but I’m worried about young people leaving the island if there aren’t some more opportunities.”

“Yo, Laura,” some drunk yelled from down the bar. “Another round down here, sweet thing.”

“You mind your manners, Boone Cleary, or I’ll call your wife and tell her you’re acting like an asshat again,” Laura yelled back.

That set off a round of laughs. Laura flashed Aiden an apologetic smile. “I’d better take care of business.”

He nodded. “And I’d better go mingle.”

“Aiden, wait a second.” Laura leaned over the bar again. “I meant what I said about people being tense. A lot of folks aren’t happy with the Flynns.”

“Enough to be worried about it?”

“Just be aware that not everyone is going to be friendly.”

He managed a smile. “Well, they can’t be any worse than my own father, right?”

She left, and Aiden started through the crowd toward Bram. A few people stopped him to chat, and a woman he didn’t know asked for his opinion on the development.
He managed to deflect the question, and she let him. They were having a vague chat about changes to the island when Aiden heard raised voices behind him.

He turned and saw Bram in what looked like a full-blown argument with Miss Annie Letellier. Bram was looming over the elderly, gray-haired lady, his face an angry scowl. The line of empty beer bottles along the edge of the pool table told Aiden his brother was probably blitzed.

Aiden practically leaped across the space between them and grabbed his brother’s arm, pulling him back. “Jesus, Bram, what the hell are you doing?”

Bleary-eyed, his brother tried to jerk out of Aiden’s grip. “I’m just talking to Miss Annie.” He glared past Aiden’s shoulder. “Hell, she was stabbing her finger into my chest and yelling, not me. She’s the one you should be holding back.”

Aiden turned to face the five-foot-zero, one-hundred-pounds-dripping-wet dynamo who had more or less run Seashell Bay for as long as he could remember. Annie Letellier was an eighty-three-year-old member by marriage of the Doyle clan. And Lily’s grandmother.

“Good evening, Miss Annie,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you looking so well.”

In khaki pants and a starched blue shirt, Miss Annie propped her hands on her hips and tilted her head back to glare up at him. “Don’t you try to sweet-talk me, Aiden Flynn. Your brother is acting like a pure horse’s ass.”

Bram made a garbled sound of protest that Aiden silenced with a sharp elbow.

“I’m sorry,” Aiden said politely. “You know better than anyone that Bram was pretty much born that way.”

There were a few snickers from the peanut gallery, and Miss Annie let out a delicate snort. “You’ve got that right, son.”

Aiden knew Miss Annie was actually fond of Bram. She’d often babysat both brothers when they were snotty little runts, despite their father’s objections about a Doyle looking after his sons. Aiden’s mother had ignored his protests, because Miss Annie was her dear friend. Like most of the women in the Flynn and Doyle families, they steered clear of the feud that was carried on by the
damn fool men
.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, trying to defuse the tension.

Miss Annie’s gaze coasted over the crowd that watched with undisguised anticipation. Then her eagle-eyed gaze snapped back to him. “I’ll not be drinking with any Flynn until I get my answer.”

What the hell? When had Miss Annie started playing Hatfields and McCoys? “What answer would that be, ma’am?”

She jabbed a gnarly finger at Aiden. “I asked that brother of yours why your father was spreading rumors about the car ferry. That’s when you barged in on us.”

“They’re not rumors,” Bram interjected hotly.

Aiden glared at his brother. “Shut. Up.” Then he turned back to Miss Annie. “Exactly what rumors?”

“Sean’s been claiming that the developer won’t buy his land unless the town builds a car ferry dock. And he says if the Doyles convince people to vote against it, there’ll be no development at all.”

“Well, I think that’s the case. If the town won’t build the dock, the developer isn’t interested in going ahead
with the project.” Aiden glanced over his shoulder at Bram. “Don’t people know that already?”

When the onlookers started jabbering at once, Aiden had his answer.

Miss Annie sidestepped him to resume her rant at Bram. “It’s pure blackmail, if you ask me. Why are you and your father in bed with those greedy mainlanders? Shame on you, Bram Flynn!”

Bram loomed over the old woman, looking furious. “You can’t talk to me like that, Miss Annie. Not even you!”

Swallowing a curse, Aiden figured he’d better pull Bram out of the bar before Miss Annie started whacking him upside the head. He grabbed his brother’s arm again just as the door opened and the deputy sheriff strode in. Deputy Micah Lancaster, Aiden’s sworn rival in high school and just what he didn’t need right now.

When his idiot brother tried to push him out of the way so he could continue arguing with Miss Annie, Aiden grabbed him by the shoulders to manhandle him out the door. But then a slender, feminine figure popped out of the crowd and gently eased Miss Annie away from Bram.

Sweet Mother of God, it was Lily Doyle, up close and personal.

The tumult around him faded as Aiden drank her in, starting at her pretty, gold-painted toenails showcased by matching sparkly flip-flops, and then traveling all the way up to her gorgeous face. She was wearing a denim skirt short enough to show off a fair amount of spectacular leg and a slim-fitting, sleeveless, white polo shirt that showcased her tan. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her emerald eyes sparkled with amusement. Her Irish-fair complexion seemed devoid
of makeup, and he could see the freckles tossed lightly across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Yeah, he remembered kissing those freckles, and that luscious mouth too. Lily was the embodiment of a sweet, all-American girl—a girl who was as smart as a whip and a lobster boat captain who held her own in a rugged man’s world. Not to mention she was also the island’s reigning darts champion, which definitely meant something in Seashell Bay.

She was one hell of a sexy package, and she rocked Aiden right back on his heels. A quizzical look pulled Lily’s eyebrows together and made him realize he was gaping at her.

Dork.

He shook himself free. “Good to see you, Lily. I hope you’re going to help me get these two wildcats under control.” He glanced around the rowdy bar. “Along with the rest of the knuckleheads in this place.”

Her lush lips—oh, yeah, he definitely remembered those lips—parted in an easy smile. Lily had always had a way about her, a low-key charm that could defuse just about any situation. He’d take care of Bram, but he had to hope she’d exercise her personal magic to pull Miss Annie off the ledge.

Lily flashed a knowing look around. “Granny, I think we can trust Micah to take care of the others. As for you,” she said, keeping a gentle grip on her grandmother, “why don’t you go on over to the bar and catch up with Laura? I know she’s got a bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream back there with your name on it.”

Miss Annie’s wrinkled lips flattened into a grim line. “I’m not done with these two boys yet. This is serious, Lily.”

“I’ll take care of it,” her granddaughter replied softly. “I promise.”

It seemed to Aiden that the two of them held an unspoken debate. The tiny, old lady and the tall, vibrant young woman could not have looked more different. But then you looked at their eyes and saw the connection, one that spoke of a heritage deeper than the cold North Atlantic. Both pairs of eyes were vividly green, bright with the determination and the strong will that had been a hallmark of the women in Lily’s family for decades.

Aiden shot a quick glance around the bar. Things seemed to be settling, thanks to Micah’s law-and-order intervention. He’d clearly told people to calm the hell down and get back to enjoying their evening, and since he was a hulking, mean-looking dude in uniform, everyone seemed pretty much down with the plan. Unfortunately, Micah was now staring at Aiden with an expression bordering on loathing, which didn’t bode well. He and Micah Lancaster had never seen eye to eye, and Aiden guessed that the passing of fourteen years hadn’t altered the other man’s ill will.