“Can you really not get him to change his mind, Mom?” Piper croaked.
Maureen shook her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” Her mother fell onto the bed beside her, taking her limp hand. For long moments, she was quiet, clearly gearing up for something. “I think part of the reason I didn’t fight Daniel very hard on sending you to Westport is . . . well, I have a lot of guilt for keeping so much of your real father to myself. I was in so much pain for a long time. Bitter, too. And I bottled it all up, neglecting his memory in the process. That wasn’t right of me.” Her eyelids drifted down. “To go to Westport . . . is to meet your father, Piper. He is Westport. There’s so much more history . . . still living in that town than you know. That’s why I couldn’t stay after he died. He was surrounding me . . . and I was just so angry over the unfairness of it all. Not even my parents could get through to me.”
“How long did they stay in Westport after you left?” Hannah asked, referring to the grandparents who visited them on occasion, though the visits had grown few and far between as the sisters got older. When Daniel officially adopted Piper and Hannah, their grandparents hadn’t seemed comfortable with the whole process, and the contact between them and Maureen had faded in degrees, even if they still spoke on holidays and birthdays.
“Not long. They bought the ranch in Utah shortly after. Far from the water.” Maureen looked down at her hands. “The magic had gone out of the town for all of us, I think.”
Piper could understand her mother’s reasoning. Could sympathize with the guilt. But her entire life was being uprooted for a man she didn’t know. Twenty-four years had gone by without a single word about Henry Cross. Her mother couldn’t expect her to jump all over the opportunity now because she’d decided it was time to dump the guilt.
“This isn’t fair,” Piper groaned, falling backward on her bed, upsetting her ecru Millesimo bedsheets. Hannah sprawled out beside her, throwing an arm over Piper’s stomach.
“It’s only three months,” Maureen said, rising and floating from the room. Just before she walked out, she turned back, hand poised on the doorframe. “Word to the wise, Piper. The men in Westport . . . they’re not what you’re used to. They’re unpolished and direct. Capable in a way the men of your acquaintance . . . aren’t.” Her gaze grew distant. “Their job is dangerous and they don’t care how much it scares you, they go back to the sea every time. They’ll always choose it over a woman. And they’d rather die doing what they love than be safe at home.”
The uncharacteristic gravity in Maureen’s tone glued Piper to the bed. “Why are you telling me this?”
Her mother lifted a delicate shoulder. “That danger in a man can be exciting to a woman. Until it’s not anymore. Then it’s shattering. Just keep that in mind if you feel . . . drawn in.”
Maureen seemed like she wanted to say more, but she tapped the doorframe twice and went, leaving the two sisters staring after her.
Piper reached back for a pillow and handed it to Hannah. “Smother me with this. Please. It’s the humane thing to do.”
“I’m coming with you to Westport.”
“No. What about your job? And Sergei?” Piper exhaled. “You have good things happening here, Hanns. I’ll find a way to cope.” She gave Hannah a mock serious face. “They must have sugar daddies in Westport, right?”
“I’m definitely going with you.”
Chapter Four
Brendan Taggart was the first Westport resident to spot the women.
He heard a car door slam out by the curb and slowly turned on the barrel that passed as a seat in No Name. His bottle of beer paused halfway to his mouth, the loud storytelling and music filling the bar fading away.
Through the grubby window, Brendan watched the pair exit on opposite sides of a taxi and immediately wrote them off as clueless tourists who obviously had the wrong address.
That is, until they started hauling suitcases out of the trunk. Seven, to be exact.
He grunted. Sipped his beer.
They were a ways off the beaten path. There wasn’t an inn for several blocks. On top of misjudging their destination, they were dressed for the beach at night, during a late-summer rain, no umbrella to speak of—and visibly confounded by their surroundings.
It was the one in the floppy hat who caught his eye right away, purely because she looked the most ridiculous, a lipstick-shaped purse dangling from her forearm, wrists limp and drawn up to her shoulders, as if she was afraid to touch something. She tilted her head back and gazed up at the building and laughed. And that laugh turned into what looked like a sob, though he couldn’t hear it through the music and pane of glass.