The lighthouse, p.1
The Lighthouse, page 1
About The Lighthouse
The Hope Harbor Lighthouse draws two people together, where a chance at love waits—if they'll take it.
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With her life in upheaval, Emily Cooke takes a sabbatical leave to take stock of her life. As she moves into her tranquil beachfront rental, her new neighbor rumbles into the driveway next door on his vintage motorcycle—and ignores her neighborly wave.
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Wes Taggert left behind a lucrative career that destroyed his faith in humanity. All he wants now is to be left alone, undisturbed. When news spreads that the historic lighthouse is slated to be demolished, Wes goes to a meeting of locals determined to rescue the crumbling landmark. His new neighbor is there. He can't seem to avoid her.
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As they work together on the lighthouse project, they find themselves letting down their well-guarded defenses. But secrets from the past will destroy what they're building together unless they find the courage to trust.
Also by J.L. Jarvis
Christmas at Cedar Creek
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Pine Harbor Series
Allison’s Pine Harbor Summer
Evelyn’s Pine Harbor Autumn
Lydia’s Pine Harbor Christmas
* * *
Holiday House Novels
The Christmas Cabin
The Winter Lodge
The Lighthouse
The Christmas Castle
The Beach House
The Christmas Tree Inn
The Holiday Hideaway
* * *
Highland Passage Series
Highland Passage
Knight Errant
Lost Bride
* * *
Highland Soldiers Series
The Enemy
The Betrayal
The Return
The Wanderer
* * *
Highland Vow
* * *
American Hearts Romances
Secret Hearts
Runaway Hearts
Forbidden Hearts
* * *
For more information, visit jljarvis.com.
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Sign up for the J.L. Jarvis Journal.
The Lighthouse
A Holiday House Novel
J.L. Jarvis
THE LIGHTHOUSE
A Holiday House Novel
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Copyright © 2018 J.L. Jarvis
All Rights Reserved
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
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Published by Bookbinder Press
bookbinderpress.com
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ISBN 978-1-942767-26-8 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-942767-08-4 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-942767-07-7 (ebook)
Contents
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
Chapter 19
Acknowledgments
Thank You!
About the Author
One
Emily Cooke set the last box of books on the floor by her suitcase and went straight to the back porch that faced the sea. There was no one about, which was just fine with her. To the left, within walking distance, stood an old lighthouse that embodied everything that she’d wanted for her yearlong escape from the life she had known. The old lightkeeper’s house stood at the edge, where the land met the water that stretched to the horizon—where the sky, in turn, went on forever. The sight of it lifted the weight of the past several years from her shoulders. She drew in a deep breath of salt air and sighed as the gentle breeze rustled the grass on the dunes. She had rented this place for a year in order to lose herself in something so vast and timeless that her life would seem small and safe in its presence.
She’d longed for that feeling at the end of each class and every evening in the months since her mother had died. Almost two years before, her ailing aunt had moved in with Emily and her mother when she’d grown too ill to care for herself. She was gone six months later. Right after that, her mother’s health had declined from the same hereditary disease and in almost the same way as her aunt’s. And now they were gone. Emily was alone.
She reclined, rested her head on the back of the chair, and felt nothing but bliss. She took in the rush and retreat of the foam-laced seawater on sand and the cries of the gulls as they circled the lighthouse nearby.
And a loud rumbling motor.
Emily got up and went to the side of the back porch to see what it could be. With her hands on the rail, she leaned over and looked toward the front of her small rental cottage. Next door, a man pulled into the driveway astride an old motorcycle. He parked the old red rumbly thing and pulled off his helmet. A mass of straight espresso-brown hair fell to his shoulders. He turned just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his face, which had too much growth to be stubble yet not quite enough to be a beard. Oh, great. I’ve moved in next door to Grizzly McStubble and his thundering motorcycle. So much for my quiet haven.
He cast a sidelong glance at her. Since she was already leaning halfway over the rail for no plausible reason except to look at him, she couldn’t pretend she didn’t see him. And they were going to be neighbors, so what else could she do but ignore her annoyance and wave? She almost managed a smile. He was looking right at her, but he turned without so much as a wave or hello and walked into his garage.
Emily stared in disbelief. “Well, okay, then.” She shrugged and returned to her chair. So her new neighbor was rude. Or maybe he thought she was interested in him and didn’t want to get her hopes up. She smiled wryly. He could let go of that notion. She had no feelings left but the gentle numbness of being alone. And since everything else in Hope Harbor was perfect, she would have to adjust to his antisocial proclivity. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she believed it was better that way. Having a tacit agreement to ignore one another worked right into her plan for her one year of solitude.
Emily sat up abruptly then looked about for a moment before she remembered where she was. The faint glow of late afternoon hung in the air. She had dozed off in the porch chair, in the afternoon, no less—something she rarely did. But she’d come to the beach house to relax and, at some point, to finish her dissertation.
She glanced at her watch. She didn’t know how late stores stayed open, so she decided to make a quick run for some groceries. After combing her fingers through her plain brown shoulder-length hair, she arranged it in a knot at the nape of her neck, grabbed her car keys, and headed out the door.
Grizzly McStubble was back outside working on that old beat-up motorcycle of his. She couldn’t help but notice the impressive array of tools strewn about him. Emily headed for her car, poised to wave just in case he looked up. He did not. Well, at least she’d been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. She got into her car and backed out of the driveway. Her seatbelt alarm went off, so she pulled the belt over and locked it. The alarm kept going, and so did she. After she’d made a right turn onto the road, her car sputtered and stopped directly in front of Grizzly McStubble’s cottage.
She turned the key again. Nothing. “Crap.” She exhaled, exasperated. In her everything’s going to be fine voice, she said “Okay” a handful of times as if repeating it might make it so. She dug through her purse, pulled out her phone, and began scrolling through search results for a service station nearby.
A tapping at the driver’s-side window made her flinch. She turned to find Grizzly McStubble staring at her with a quizzical look, a well-worn T-shirt clinging to his muscular shoulders and chest. Not that she was interested, but how could she not notice? She was merely observing the obvious. In spite of her recent stint at nonelective celibacy, she still recognized an attractive man when she saw one.
Emily pressed the button to open her window. Nothing happened. She looked up at him. He was talking—she could hear his voice but not what he was saying. He made a key-turning motion with his hand, which confused her for a moment. He pointed at the ignition. Of course. The window couldn’t open without power. She knew that. She turned the key, pressed the button, and the window came down. Brilliant, Em. Stunningly brilliant. This was yet one more reason why she had chosen to retreat from the world. She didn’t like feeling awkward, which was an all-too-familiar state of mind for her around men—although, to be honest, college-faculty types weren’t always the smoothest, at least not in her department. Grace and poise took practice, and she didn’t have the best talent pool to draw from.
He studied her with a quizzical frown. “Something wrong?”
“Uh, no. I wa
“I mean with your car.” His eyes shone with amusement, probably at her expense.
“Oh. I don’t know. I’ve been driving all day. It’s been fine. But just now, I don’t know. It just quit. It won’t start.”
He nodded as though deep in thought.
Emily waited, expecting him to speak. When he didn’t, she said, “Well, anyway, I’ll call someone and have the car out of your way soon.”
He shook his head as he frowned and stared into the distance.
Since he wasn’t sharing any of those deep, silent thoughts, she exhaled. “Well, thank you. I’ll just make a few calls. I’ll be fine. I’m sure you have more important things to do.” Like buy a new T-shirt since your muscles might stretch that one out of shape.
As she picked up her phone, she made a mental note that she really had to make an effort to be more observant, since she’d clearly misjudged him—his looks anyway. She could only see from the waist up. It was probably better that way, but so far, so good. If a little motorcycle noise could so easily distract her from the beauty that existed in nature—and neighbors—it was no wonder she was still single. Sort of single.
“Get out of the car.”
“Excuse me?” she said.
“Let me take a look.”
So he was a fixer—and a bossy one at that. But her car needed fixing, and he had all of those tools. With a shrug, she got out of the car.
He was grinning but at her expense—she was certain of it.
She sidled past him as they switched places. “I might have missed an oil change or two.”
“Don’t do that,” he said.
“Uh, okay. Good to know, but too late.”
He started to get in but turned back to face her—clearly as an afterthought, but better late than never. He extended his hand. “Wes Taggert.” He looked into her eyes.
There were defining moments in life. In that moment, she gained a complete understanding of how blue eyes could be—and how shallow she was. She had never known a gaze so intense as to weaken one’s knees. And as much as she would have enjoyed a good swoon in his arms right then, the timing was wrong.
From somewhere deep inside, a reflex took over, and she managed to reach for his outstretched hand and shake it. “Emily Cooke.” She quickly averted her eyes lest his gaze send her IQ further south than it already was.
“Excuse me.” He gestured toward the front seat, which she was blocking.
“Oh, sorry.” She stepped out of the way, and he got into the car.
When he turned the key, nothing happened. He turned it again, then he stared at the dashboard. Moments later, he got out of the car. “Did you hear anything when you were driving?”
“My music.”
“Loud music?”
“Maybe.” She winced.
“Did you see any lights on the dashboard?”
Emily frowned and thought for a moment. “Not really.”
He studied her as if she’d just lost her mind. “You’re out of gas.”
“Oh, that. But whenever it goes off, I always have plenty of time to get to a station.”
“Not this time. You’re past empty, and the fuel-gauge warning light’s on.”
She thought she detected a smirk, although he seemed to be making an effort to suppress it. She started to nod as though deep in thought, which she wasn’t. She was stuck. After three years of tending to her mother and aunt and taking care of their healthcare, insurance, and everything else—after seeing them laid to rest—here she was. She had held on and powered through. But now, she’d arrived at the refuge she’d dreamed of, and she’d let down her guard. And she couldn’t start her car. She knew what to do, but she couldn’t seem to take one step to do it.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “On the plus side, you’ve got amazing powers of concentration.” He grinned.
Emily couldn’t help but offer a nervous smile back, which brought her to her senses. “Well, thank you for your help.” She turned to go into her cottage and make a few phone calls. There had to be a service station nearby. She felt the phone in her hand and hoped he wouldn’t notice. The truth was, she just wanted to go. Meltdowns were better in private.
“What’re you doing?”
“Going to call someone.” She slipped her phone into her back pocket.
He shook his head. “I’ll take you into town for some gas.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
“It’s no trouble.”
She eyed the motorcycle. “I’m not going anywhere on that.”
His assessing look made her feel as though she’d just lost his respect. “We’ll take my car.“ He took a step toward the garage and said over his shoulder, “Come on.”
“Sorry. It’s nothing personal. I just have a policy of not getting into cars with strangers.”
He looked a bit stunned for a second but recovered. “You’re right.” He nodded, more to himself than to her, then he turned and walked away.
Emily called after him, “But thanks anyway.” Without turning, he waved and walked into his house. She’d offended him—that much was clear. But she’d rather offend him than get into the car of a man she’d just met, even if he was good-looking. Especially if he was good-looking. Chances were, he was a nice guy trying to do a nice thing. A nice guy would understand that—or be offended, as he apparently was. But she owed him no apology for being smart and protecting herself.
In any event, he was gone, and she needed a tow truck. She gave up on going inside and sank into the car seat to search her phone for a service station. Wes backed a black status car out of the garage and drove off. He’d bailed. That resolved any question of whether he was offended. She wasn’t happy about it, but she couldn’t think of what she could have done differently. So she turned her attention to the matter at hand, found a station on the Internet, and called for a tow truck.
Twenty minutes later, Emily was sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting and checking her email, when Wes pulled back into his driveway. Emily watched him over the top of her phone and debated whether to approach him and apologize for her lack of tact. They were going to be neighbors, and an apology might smooth over any awkwardness between them. She got out of the car, but before she could speak, he opened his trunk and pulled out a gas can. She wasn’t expecting that after the way he had left.
“Pop the door to your gas tank.”
“Okay.” So he hadn’t been offended after all. He was simply a man of few words, which threw her a little off balance. As she watched him empty the gas can into her tank, a tow truck pulled up. Emily walked over to the driver. “I’m so sorry. My neighbor has helped me out, so I won’t be needing your services after all.”
He glanced over at Wes then shook his head. “Sorry, lady, but you’re still gonna have to pay for the call since I made the trip out here.”
She nodded and handed him her credit card. “I understand.”
He shrugged. “If I made free business trips to everyone who called, my kids would go hungry.”
