Love on the Cape: an On the Cape novel, Cape Van Buren Read online

  Love on the Cape

  an On the Cape novel, Cape Van Buren

  MK Meredith

  Contents

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by MK Meredith. All rights reserved,

  including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  MK Meredith

  P.O. Box 650363

  Sterling, VA 20165

  Visit my website at www.mkmeredith.com.

  Edited by KR Nadelson and Jessica Snyder

  Cover design by Amanda Walker

  Cover art from iStock and Adobe

  ISBN: 978-0-9990854-0-0

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition June 2017

  Praise for MK Meredith

  "Love on the Cape is the kind of romance I love best--sexy, deeply emotional, rooted in characters who have had real lives and real traumas, and find love and healing in each other's arms, all beautifully crafted by a writer with brilliant instincts. Don't miss this one."

  ~ Barbara O'Neal, seven time RITA award winning author of How to Bake a Perfect Life.

  “I can’t recommend LOVE ON THE CAPE highly enough! This heart-tugging romance struck all the right notes and left me with warm, fuzzy feels! The mega-talented MK Meredith is now on my official 1-click author list and I hope to see her feature more books set on this gorgeous cape!”

  ~ EpicRomanceReviews

  “A must read! I devoured this book. MK Meredith outdid herself again!”

  ~ Booksnuggle

  To Jessica Snyder.

  Your friendship and generous nature

  are such beautiful gifts.

  Thank you for really seeing me

  and loving me anyway.

  Chapter 1

  Larkin Sinclair slid her hand down the inside of the well to the second row of bricks until the small handprint settled home under her fingertips. She promised for the thousandth time that she’d start living again. Soon. Though it seemed like an impossibility when a part of her was gone forever.

  She skimmed the outline to the pinky finger that faded the closer she got to the end, then to the palm where it was deepest by the thumb. Today, she needed to feel the familiar indentation of her son’s palm. She focused on the memory of his small hand with the tight and often sticky grip of his fingers wrapped around one of her own.

  The sensation lingered, so she closed her hand to keep it from slipping away. He was with her at the Cape, a peninsula of richly-wooded earth wrapped in a great rocky shore along the coast of Maine. The Atlantic to the east and the town of Cape Van Buren to the west. It called to both her heart and her vocation. The property was a conservationist’s dream, and she’d been taking notes since the first day she stepped on the enriched soil.

  If not for her work with Conservation Law Foundation, the idea of getting out of bed each morning was daunting at best, impossible at worst. But she’d loved the job since her first day over a decade ago. She’d worked her way up through hard work, a lot of heart, and a passion for the environment.

  He would have been seven today, her sweet boy, Archer. If the universe was less cruel and reality not quite so brutal.

  But at the Cape, it was as if he embraced her with the rich, isolated earth, and spoke on the gentle July breeze that sighed through the tops of the trees. When she concentrated very hard, his laughter played out on the wind chimes hanging throughout the woods.

  The tinkling, playful melody reached her ears, and the corners of her lips pulled up as if they had a mind of their own. There was a measure of relief in the action, a reminder that she hadn’t forgotten how. She gripped the locket hanging just above her heart and rubbed the square shape between her thumb and forefinger. One side held a photo of her and Archer from the day he was born; the other side held a photo of the two of them her dear friend Maxine had taken in front of the well the last time she’d seen him. She released her breath on a long, slow sigh.

  “Can I help you?”

  The deep, masculine voice shot prickles of adrenaline to the surface of her skin, and she jerked so hard the chain around her neck snapped, sending her necklace flying.

  “No!” She cried out, lunging toward the opening of the well and grabbing at the air.

  Two strong arms wrapped around her waist, halting her forward momentum. “Hold on now…I’ve got you.”

  “No. Let me go.” She shoved at his hands in a panic then leaned over the well with tears stinging her eyes. A small glint of light reflected from the side a few feet below the rim and relief swept through her in a fierce rush. Her locket had landed precariously close to the edge of a narrow, ragged stone, the broken chain swinging back and forth over the side.

  No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

  She stretched her arm as far as physics and anatomy allowed but she couldn’t reach the necklace. Staring at it in abject horror, she prayed it wouldn’t drop. “Please don’t fall, please don’t fall.” She blew out a breath against the burning in her chest and tried again.

  “Lady, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

  Larkin jerked her head up.

  The words were spoken in low, measured beats by a tall man with dark wavy hair and a few day’s growth on his jaw that left him looking like a lumberjack, though the half-buttoned dress shirt and low-slung slacks tried to suggest otherwise.

  “I don’t care. It’s my locket.” She leaned over the edge, working as hard to reach the necklace as she was at maintaining some measure of composure. “I have to get it.”

  “Okay, okay. Christ. The last thing I need is some crazy lady falling into the well.”

  He pulled her from the rim. She didn’t care what the guy thought as long as she got her locket back. He stepped to her side, filling the space next to her, and she shifted away just a bit so she could breathe.

  Glancing over the edge, he shook his head. “It’s too far.”

  “Then I’ll just have to get it myself.”

  “Lady—” He grabbed her shoulder.

  With a jerk, she pulled away. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  If the guy wasn’t going to help, then he needed to get the hell out of her way. Where in the world was Maxine? She glanced at the house then back to the well.

  “Okay, okay. Just wait a second.”

  She pressed against the warm skin where the necklace had hung. He might not understand, but she couldn’t lose it. “I have to get it.” She looked for a long branch with a flat end. Anything that might hold the locket so she could pull it up.

  “Was it your mother’s or something?”

  “It was from my son and it can’t be replaced.” The words dragged against her vocal cords like sandpaper. Archer had given her the necklace on the last Mother’
s Day they’d spent together.

  The large man blew out a heavy breath. The kind of sigh that vocalized an unwilling acceptance, and she glanced at him, hoping the sound meant what she thought it might.

  “Fine. Let me have a look.”

  Relief rushed through her and she stepped aside. Grumbling under his breath, he cleared the few buttons on his shirt then shrugged it off his broad shoulders. She coughed into her hand with wide, watering eyes. Nothing on her to-do list from that morning mentioned anything about a bare, well-muscled chest. And the sight of him made her question why not.

  He patted her on the back. At least she imagined that was his intent, but each thump almost sent her flying face-first into the ground. She spread her feet wide to gain more balance and, waving him off, swallowed a few times to get her breathing under control again.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine. What are you doing?”

  He glanced down at the shirt then shoved it into her outstretched hand. “This is a five-hundred-dollar Armani. I’m not about to destroy it on a pile of old stones.”

  The fabric was warm and the scent of his cologne wafted up around her head as he turned toward the well. He walked the perimeter and tested the integrity of each stone with a nudge. “I might be able to get it. But promise me you’re not going to go all kamikaze if I can’t.”

  She held her breath and nodded, though he was the crazy one if he thought for a second she was leaving without it.

  Spreading his legs wide, he braced his hip against the edge and leaned over. With one hand holding the top row of stones, he stretched his other toward the necklace, muscles striating down his back with the effort and disappearing below his waistband.

  “Hold on to me.” He barked the order and she moved without thinking.

  But as she reached for him, her mind went blank on where exactly she should anchor him down. She grabbed his hips, but his slacks were slick, so she grabbed his waist, but the heat of his skin shot through her in a shockwave and she let go.

  “Hold on! Goddamnit.”

  “Sorry.” She gave herself a shake then wrapped her arms low around his waist and used her body weight to balance him. His surprising heat, his rich, masculine scent. She tried hard to block her senses.

  “Shit.” His curse echoed from the well.

  “Did you get it?”

  “Not yet. The damn stones are cutting into my side.” Frustration made his words curt and more than a little accusatory.

  Regardless of how scratched up he might get, she needed that necklace.

  His grunts, interlaced with a few choice swear words, replaced any further conversation. “Almost…just a little farther…a little farther.” He shifted forward, and she dropped her hips lower to counterweight the movement, freaking out a little bit as his feet lifted from the ground.

  “I got it,” he shouted.

  “Oh God.” She pulled back on him, desperate to get his feet and her necklace safely on solid ground once again.

  He straightened and dangled her locket from his fingers.

  Gratitude hit her with a swift punch of relief and she launched at him, almost knocking him back off his feet.

  “Thank you. Thank you. I was so scared.” With her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, she kissed his cheek and squeezed hard, then kissed his cheek once again. Only this time, the rough scruff of his facial hair registered under her lips, and his crisp and spicy scent filled the senses she’d worked so hard to shut down.

  She froze then carefully untangled herself from his embrace.

  He stared at her with a bemused expression and slowly reached out one more time to give her the necklace.

  If the ground would open up and swallow her whole, she’d be forever grateful, but of course it didn’t. She’d never been that lucky. Gingerly, she took the chain from him. “I’m sorry for losing my mind for a second. But it means so much to me.”

  Now that her panic had dissipated, she wasn’t sure where to look. His broad shoulders and massive chest were very bare and very—whoa. So she looked everywhere but at him, until she finally pulled herself together enough to settle on the chiseled features of his ruggedly handsome face. Her heart thrummed as she stared into dark eyes hooded by equally dark brows, and she paused. It was a feeling she recalled, but almost like an echo of the past rather than a physical certainty.

  “Who are you?” She knew the owner of the property quite well, and this sexy knight-in-wrinkly-armor was most certainly not Maxine Van Buren—her surrogate grandmother and one of Archer’s favorite people. Truth be told, she was probably a favorite throughout the whole town of Cape Van Buren from North Cove to South Cove, from the Town Square to the tip of the Cape. Maxine got around.

  Larkin handed him his shirt but immediately jerked it back. Along the outer edges of his ribs on one side was a line of nasty gashes. “Oh, no.” She slung the shirt over her shoulder then reached for him, gently pressing around the perimeter of the wound and hating that she was the cause of it.

  He winced, and she met his gaze.

  “I’m so sorry. Is Maxine here? She has a first aid kit in the main floor restroom. Janice is always cutting herself with her sheers, or poking herself on the rose bush thorns.” She draped his shirt neatly over one arm then grabbed his hand, silently chastising herself for babbling. Janice was Maxine’s best friend and a master gardener, but Larkin had no idea if this guy even knew who Maxine was, much less anyone else.

  He resisted. “You know my grandmother?”

  She made the mistake of glancing back at him only to see that the look on his face had softened in a way that left her fidgety. She gave a mental shake like she used to do with the eight ball anytime the answer displayed didn’t make sense. What in the hell was wrong with her? Too many restless nights and not enough human interaction, apparently.

  Conversations with Maxine rushed through her brain. She’d known of a grandson, the CEO of Van Buren Enterprises, a big-time developer in New York City. Her friend had spoken fondly of him, but always with a touch of melancholy. She’d say she missed the sweet little boy who’d followed her around like a shadow.

  This man standing before her was anything but a little boy. A whistle wanted to accompany the thought, but she flashed a polite smile instead.

  Ryker, if she remembered correctly, Ryker Van Buren. He’d left right after high school, never having stepped foot on the estate again—or in town for that matter. Well, until today, so it seemed.

  “You must be Maxine’s grandson. I’m Larkin Sinclair, a friend of your grandmother’s.” She pulled on his hand again. “Come on. I want to help get you cleaned up. It’s the least I can do.”

  Recognition swept over his face, further easing the hard lines around his eyes and mouth, but he still resisted. “Ryker,” he said in way of introduction. Then he raised a brow. “Larkin, what kind of name is that?”

  “What kind of name is Ryker?”

  “Touché.” He nodded. “Larkin Sinclair. I remember…you had a little boy. Archer. Grandmother talks about you all the time.”

  This time it wasn’t the deep timbre of his voice but the sorrow it held and the use of the past tense that stopped her. She’d had a little boy? No. She would always have a little boy—in her heart, her memories. His existence had changed hers the moment he’d been laid upon her chest. He was an extension of herself, an addition that made her better in every way. Now it was as if she’d lost a limb and suffered from phantom pain because she still felt him in her heart, but the knowledge that he was no longer physically here left her with a constant ache.

  She turned back with a slight dip of her chin. “Yes, my son’s name is Archer.”

  If he wasn’t going to go with her to Maxine’s house, she’d at least do what she could with the first aid kit in her glove box. She pinned him with a look. “Stay right there.”

  Within a few seconds, she returned, carrying bacterial ointment, gauze, and tape. “You don’t seem to want to go up to the house. But at least let me
take care of the worst of this until you’re able to see the doctor.”

  He laughed, but it was more of a “yeah right” than anything else, and it left her a bit off-kilter as the deep, rough sound skittered along her spine. He lifted his hand toward her then stopped and slid it into his front pocket as she gently absorbed as much of the blood as she could with the gauze, doing her best not to touch his bare skin again. He leaned away, but she ignored him and finished her task.

  “You really don’t need to do this,” he said gruffly.

  “Are you always so stubborn when someone wants to help you?”

  This time, he ignored her. “Archer…he loved puzzles. Made a few for Grandmother if I remember correctly.”

  She paused as an image of her son teaching Maxine and the North Cove Mavens how to assemble one of his latest creations brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. She blinked through them while loading three large, fresh squares of gauze with ointment. “Yes, Maxine would go on and on about how he was the puzzle master. We even have a cat named Puzzle.”

  She smiled at him. “He loved your grandmother very much.” Sweeping her hand out to the grounds around them, she added, “He loved the Cape. We came to visit every month.”

  Their visits often overlapped with the North Cove Mavens’ monthly meetings-four ladies who lived north of the Cape and sparred good-naturedly over superiority with the South Cove Madams. Something about two sisters who had lived on opposite sides of the town and the one boy who had captured both their hearts. The feud’s history was as old as the town itself.

  Ryker reached out his hand, and this time left it there.