The Chesapeake Bride Read online

  The day Bruce Logan walked into Cass’s English lit class sophomore year at Penn State, she knew he was the guy for her. He was tall and lean and had that rugged look about him that always turned Cass’s head. He was on an ROTC scholarship, so Cass knew he’d owe the military a year of service for every year of college. Back then, it hadn’t seemed like a bad idea. They were married the day after graduation, and the plan was for Cass to get her architect’s degree, after which she’d work for her father while Bruce served out his obligations. She’d save as much money as she could so that when his required term of service was completed, they would be able to buy a house and start a family. Unfortunately, neither of them could foresee that Bruce would fall totally in love with the military. When his time was up, when he should have been preparing to leave, he was volunteering for another tour of combat—and after that, another. It hadn’t taken Cass long to realize that the plans they’d made were never going to happen.

  “I’m sorry,” Bruce had told her. “I love you, Cassie, I do. But what I’m finding out about myself is that I was meant to be a career soldier. It’s who I am. I’ll go wherever they send me and I’ll stay as long as they tell me to stay, do whatever I’m told. I know it’s not what we planned, but I think all my life I’ve been looking for something bigger than myself, and this is it.”

  Why that something hadn’t been the love they’d shared and the life they’d planned together, Cass would never know. But clearly, where he needed the challenge of the next deployment, she needed the stability of a home. Cass didn’t judge him, but she couldn’t live that life. She suggested the divorce, and he had quickly—a little too quickly, she’d thought—agreed.

  Their parting had been bittersweet, but she’d let him go and set about making a life for herself. She’d been unsure where she’d land until she set foot on Cannonball Island that first time. Something here had spoken to her in a way she couldn’t define, but she knew she was meant to be here, meant to be the one to help set the island on a new course, just as Bruce knew where he belonged.

  This was her path now, and she was determined to follow to see where it might lead.

  A ping from her phone reminded her she’d reserved a bike for a late-morning ride. She went back inside and turned off her computer. It was a beautiful sunny day in a perfect little bay town, and she was determined to get out to enjoy it. She changed into bike shorts and a matching tank, tied on her sneakers, tucked her short blond hair behind her ears, and, after grabbing her room key and sunglasses from the desk, set out for the kiosk behind the inn. She picked up the bike she’d reserved and the required helmet, along with a bottle of water from the cooler. Soon she was pedaling leisurely along the inn’s long winding driveway toward Charles Street, the main road that ran from the highway through St. Dennis and straight out to the bridge that separated the town from Cannonball Island.

  At the end of the driveway, she paused. A ride through the side streets of the town or to the island? She weighed the choices. She’d just gone on a walking tour of the oldest section of St. Dennis’s historic district two days ago, so clearly, the island was the way to go today. She’d get a better workout if she rode all the way around and came full circle back to the bridge. It would give her a chance to once again look over the available home sites so she could finally decide where she wanted to build her own house, because she was determined that one of the houses would be hers. By the time she’d circumvented the entire island, she’d probably have polished off the single bottle of water she’d brought with her, so she could stop at the general store and buy another.

  If she happened to run into her friend Ruby, that would be a plus. Of course, it was just as likely she’d run into Ruby’s great-grandson Owen Parker, who was tall, dark, ruggedly handsome, and oh so easy on the eyes. Not that she was the least bit interested.

  Cass had Owen Parker figured out the first time she met him. Too good-looking for his own good had been her first thought, but something else about him made it hard to look away. His artist sister had been exhibiting some of her paintings at the art center in St. Dennis, and on a whim, Cass had decided to go. It had taken just one conversation with Owen to know he was also charming and funny, a man with many interests and a scattered background. This scattering of places and things had set off her alarms. It seemed that over the past few years, he hadn’t stayed long in any one place. Cass wasn’t about to give a second look to any guy who followed a wandering star. She’d been there and done that. The ink was barely dry on her divorce papers.

  Still, she couldn’t deny that the last time she’d met someone who drew her eyes the way Owen did was the day she’d met her ex. And look how that had turned out, she’d cautioned herself. Best to ignore the man even while she fell in love with the island.

  She pedaled along the road that ran the entire way around the island in a loop, the bay on one side, the dunes and wetlands on the other. Where the marshes had receded, small houses battered by time, wind, and water, abandoned by the families that had built them, stood facing the bay. Deiter Construction had bought every one of them. Cass still couldn’t decide which of the sites to purchase for herself. She had it narrowed down to three possibilities. Today she’d ride past all three.

  The first was on the eastern side of the island, and with that destination in mind, she pedaled a little faster. Two lots past the oldest chapel on the island—itself long since abandoned by its congregation—she came to a stop. Straddling the bike seat, she scanned the site from one red-painted lot marker to the others.

  Two hundred years ago, the ancestors of Tom Mullan had built this small house from the scrub pine they found on the island and some oak that a relative had smuggled to them by boat from the mainland. It had three of the smallest bedrooms Cass had ever seen and a great room that boasted a brick fireplace. The Mullan place had been the first structure on the island Cass had entered, and she’d immediately been struck by the possibilities of what could be done there. For that reason, and because the property had a clear view straight across the bay four seasons of the year, Cass had developed a liking for the location.

  She put the kickstand down and moved her sunglasses to the top of her head as she walked the driveway that had been created by innumerable cars parking on the same spot of grass over the years. A pair of red-winged blackbirds watched her warily from reeds that grew on a nearby dune. It was so quiet she could hear their wings beating when they took off. She reached the walk in front of the house and studied the structure.

  The design was so charming, so elegant in its simplicity, the windows small but well placed, the door set back just a bit under a little arched overhang. As an architect, she appreciated all its lines and curves. She hated the idea of this house being a teardown, but really, it was so small, it was just enough for one person.

  The thought was like a thunderclap inside her head. It was so simple, it was genius.

  Why couldn’t they renovate a few of these little houses—the ones that were salvageable—and sell them to singles who wanted a private getaway spot all their own?

  Mentally she walked through the interior once again. Kitchen, living room, dining room, mostly one space. A fireplace. Three tiny bedrooms, but two could be combined into one to give a decent-size room, closet, and bath. The other bedroom could be a study, or an artist’s studio, or a guest room. The hall bath could be expanded through a small addition to the back of the house. They’d have to gut the inside, but that was okay, certainly better than taking the entire house down, and they’d reuse all the old materials they could.

  Window boxes on those front windows, she thought as she walked around to the back, and out here, a patio big enough to entertain if that’s what the owner felt like doing. A cobbled walk, maybe, and a place out front for a few chairs where one could watch the bay.

  She felt like patting herself on the back. She was already planning what she’d tell the marketing people to stress in their ads.

  Maybe just a handful of thes
e little places, just enough to give those who were interested in such things the feeling of a community. The area from St. Dennis to Rock Hall offered so much in the way of activities and cultural events that one would be hard-pressed not to find a dozen fun things to do on the weekends. Not everyone has children or a significant other. How nice to have a place that understands the needs of singles.

  Would it be best to sprinkle such places throughout the island, or to build a sort of colony? She’d have to think about that and study the houses they’d already purchased to see if others would be suitable.

  She was still writing ad copy in her head when she heard the pounding of feet on the macadam. She looked to her right just as the runner passed her bike, gradually slowed, then stopped.

  “Hey, Cass.” Owen Parker stood at the foot of the driveway in running shorts, sunglasses, and that was about all. The shirt he’d apparently been wearing when he first set out hung around his neck. He was breathing hard, and sweat dripped down his face as well as his bare chest.

  It was tough to look away from such manly beauty, but she forced herself to ignore the gloriousity that was Owen Parker. There be folly.

  “Hey, Owen. Nice day for a run.” She affected a neutral tone and strolled casually to the road.

  “It was when I first started out, but since the clouds have moved out, man, it’s hot. Almost as hot as yesterday, and yesterday was a beast. I didn’t even get my full run in. At least today, I got one full loop around the island.” He used the shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. She tried to ignore that one slow stream that slid down his chest to the waistband of his shorts. It took all her willpower not to reach out and run her finger along its path.

  He swiped at it and it disappeared.

  Cass cleared her throat. “It has warmed up. Still nice, though.”

  “Yeah, my mom always said a hot day on the island was better than any other day anywhere else.” He shrugged. “Of course, she moved to Arizona first chance she got, so I guess we should take that with a grain of salt.” He glanced up the driveway to the house. “I heard you bought the place. Your dad’s company, that is. This place and a bunch of others.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Knocking ’em all down?” She could see his eyes narrowing even behind the dark lenses of his glasses.

  “That hasn’t been decided yet.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Oh? I’d heard that was the plan.”

  “There is no final plan.” She slid her glasses from the top of her head to her face.

  “You still thinking about building a place for yourself?”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Alec mentioned it over dinner one night last week. You know he’s engaged to my sister, right?”

  She nodded.

  “So the question was . . .”

  “A nosy one. I heard you. I’m not sure what I want to do.” She stared at him for a moment.

  “Sorry. I guess Alec got it wrong. I was under the impression you liked it here.”

  “I do like it here. It’s peaceful.” She turned and looked back at the old Mullan house. “I like that my designs for the homes are all touched by the history of the island. It’s a place where you can hear yourself think and you can . . . Well, you get the idea.”

  “I do. Lived here a good part of my life.”

  “But not recently.”

  “No. Not recently.”

  “Why’s that? If you love it here so much, why have you been just about everywhere in the world but here?” Turnabout was fair play, she decided. He asked a personal question, wasn’t she entitled to do the same?

  “I guess, for a long time, there wasn’t much to keep me here. Now Jared’s got this gig going, and I’ll have work to keep me busy.” Owen smiled. “I do love a good dive.”

  “Are you a professional diver?”

  “Yeah, but I only take on jobs I want to do. All dives aren’t created equal.” He looked to the bay. “I love to dive here because I can’t resist the opportunity to see what the bay’s been hiding from me all my life. Besides, it’s home. But I’ve enjoyed warm-water dives, too—Florida, Mexico, the coast of South America, parts of the Mediterranean. But I always come back to the island.” He swabbed the back of his neck with the shirt. “In between dives, I do other things.”

  “I seem to recall you telling me that. Bush pilot. Fisherman. Ranch hand. Did I miss anything?”

  “That’ll do. I guess the diving we’re going to be doing here has thrown a monkey wrench into your plans. I’ll do what I can to keep things moving so we don’t delay you too much.”

  “What are you talking about?” she snapped.

  “You know, the ship . . .” He stared at her.

  “What ship?”

  “The ship over in . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, hell. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” She felt like grabbing him by the neck and shaking it out of him.

  “The Maryland Historical Society suspects there’s a sunken ship in the mouth of the Waring and they’ve put a hold on the permits until we figure out what’s down there and if—”

  “Who is we?”

  “The salvage company they called in to explore the site. Chandler and Associates. Well, actually, I’ve been hired to do some of the diving, and—”

  “The salvage company . . . you mean Chandler? Jared’s company?”

  Owen nodded. “Well, his family’s company, but yeah, I’m going to be working with him.”

  “I met him at the inn. He never mentioned any of this.” Cass felt bewildered.

  “Does he know you work for Deiter Construction?”

  “We never really got into that. It was just a conversation in the lobby. Dan Sinclair introduced us and we just had a brief conversation. He said he was here to dive on a wreck in the bay. He never said anything about the river. About our dock.”

  “Probably because he didn’t realize it was something you should know about.”

  “How long is this going to take? Why can’t we begin construction while you’re diving? Why weren’t we notified?”

  Owen held up one hand and counted off on his fingers to answer her questions. “One, no way of knowing right now because it hasn’t been determined what’s down there. Two, if the ship is where it’s believed to be, the dock you wanted to build at the mouth of the river will have to be relocated. You’re going to have to find another place somewhere around the island where the water is deep enough so the dredging will be kept to a minimum because there are oyster farms in the bay. You’re going to have to locate them and steer clear.” He held up the third finger. “I imagine the state has already sent a letter.”

  “To my father? Oh, crap.” Brian Deiter was not going to take this well. He hated delays, and if he received a letter out of the blue telling him his newest project was being put on hold, he wouldn’t care if the Titanic was found at the bottom of the Waring River. “I’m going to have to call him and tell him. What’s this ship they think is there?”

  “Ruby thinks it’s a pre–Revolutionary War merchant ship.”

  “Oh, crap. That’ll hold things up forever.” She was in hot water and she knew it. Her father had already sunk a lot of money into this project. She cringed at the thought of the phone call she was going to have to make.

  “Maybe it won’t be too bad,” Owen said as if trying to soften the news. “Maybe it’s something that can be dealt with quickly.”

  “What are the chances of that? A Revolutionary-era merchant ship,” she repeated aloud. “Swell. I guess I better make that call.”

  “Hey, sorry for giving you a bad day.”

  She nodded absently and turned away as she took her phone from her pocket and speed-dialed her father’s number, her heart in her throat. She walked up the driveway to the house, no longer thinking about the plans she’d drawn up for its revival. It pained her to realize the renovations here might be further in the future than she’d pl
anned.

  And her father might pull the plug on the entire project if he got his back up, and that would be a disaster. She had put so much of herself into the planning, plus it could tarnish her personal reputation, damage her credibility. Everyone in the company knew this was her baby. She was starting to wish she’d held off making the call when her father picked up.

  “How’s my favorite girl?” He sounded as if he was in a good mood. Cass’s heart sank, knowing she was about to ruin it.

  “Dad, I’m sorry to have to make this call, but—”

  “Cassie, you all right? Something happen there?” His voice went full-on concerned dad.

  “Oh, no, no. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine. You sound upset.”

  “I am upset. I just got some news that . . .” Oh, why beat around the bush? Might as well put it out there. Cass took a deep breath. “Dad, you’re going to be getting a letter from the Maryland Historical Society. They’re going to be putting a temporary halt to the dock on the island. They think there’s—”

  “What?” Cass could see her father rising from his chair, his face turning red as he loomed over his desk. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She explained the best she could with the few facts she had.

  “How long is this going to go on? What kind of delay are we talking about here? If I can’t offer a dock to the potential buyers who want to be able to come and go on their boats, I got a problem. The dock has to be convenient to the houses. No one’s going to walk clear around the island to get to their damned boat.”

  “You’re assuming there’s a place to build a dock on the bay side, Dad. That hasn’t been established yet. I’ll find out what I can, and I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something. I wanted to get to you before you heard from the state.”

  “There was a letter from the state somewhere,” he mumbled. Cass could hear him rustling papers on his desk. “Must have misplaced it somehow. Tell me again why moving the dock has stopped the entire project. Why can’t we just move the dock and get on with it?”