More than Neighbors Read online

  He knew she was right, of course. But Carolina had loved this cottage. She’d fought for it, from the pink shingles to the disheveled wildflowers to the crooked flower boxes, and some part of him resisted homogenizing it to suit some mass real estate appeal.

  “Honestly, it would be a teardown,” she continued. “Somebody would buy it for the land, raze the cottage and build something new.”

  Oh hell no.

  Cam prided himself on his business acuity. He might work for the family business, but he’d made his mark there. A lot of their recent growth had his name all over it. And he knew Meredith was telling him the truth, but he couldn’t accept it.

  Not yet, anyway. Maybe when he was finished reconciling himself to this alternative life he never got to experience, he’d be ready to let the cottage go without looking back, but he couldn’t even consider it right now.

  But Meredith wasn’t done. “And that would raise the property values for all of the houses in the immediate area.”

  “You sound like a snob,” he snapped before his brain could put the brakes on his mouth.

  Her eyes widened. “Or a property owner who invested a lot of money in her home and cares to protect that investment.”

  “Maybe you should build that fence, after all.” Before she could say anything else that would require a response from this strange and new defensive side of him, he turned and walked into the cottage.

  They really did push each other’s buttons, without even trying.

  Okay, that wasn’t true, he admitted to himself after a few minutes alone. He had been trying to push her buttons, even though it was on a subconscious level.

  Maybe it was the way Carolina’s love of her home had shone through in her journals, but he’d gotten defensive about Meredith’s practical, logical observations and acted like a jerk.

  He’d have to apologize, but for now he just wanted to be alone for a little while and try to get his head on straight.

  This wasn’t like him at all. Business was business and for any other comparable property, he would have been the first to suggest the best thing they could do for the property’s value was tear down the cottage.

  Being able to sleep without background noise and making do without late-night food deliveries were normal adjustments to his new environment. But bringing sentimentality into a business transaction? That was so unlike him, he was almost afraid to look in the mirror.

  It was a momentary weakness, he told himself. Khaki shorts and hammocks and pink cat mugs couldn’t put a dent in one vital fact—Michael Archambault might be his biological father, but he was a Maguire.

  And a Maguire wouldn’t protect an old pink cottage because a woman he’d never met had loved it.

  Chapter Six

  It was Oscar’s barking that woke Meredith before eight on Sunday morning, but under the frantic yips she could hear the annoying hum of a lawnmower.

  A lawnmower that sounded so close that, as she threw back her covers, it seemed to pass right by her window.

  Not okay, she thought as she crossed her room and peered through the curtains.

  Cam was pushing one of the oldest lawnmowers she’d ever seen, seemingly oblivious to the smoke it was spewing and the obnoxious racket it was making at a barely decent hour.

  She was still mad about what a jerk he’d been about her very honest opinion that the property’s curb appeal would be increased by tearing down the cottage. And its effect on her property value wasn’t an opinion at all. That was a fact, even if she should have been more tactful about it.

  And now this?

  And Oscar needed to go out now, of course. Once he was up, there was no coaxing him back to bed. Because she hadn’t gotten around to dealing with the fencing situation yet, she had to pull a cardigan on over her pajamas and snap the dog’s leash on.

  She glared at her neighbor’s back—and the impressive shoulders hugged by his shirt—while she waited for Oscar to do his business. Cam pushed the mower in a straight line away from her, and she was still glaring at him when he turned.

  Their eyes locked, and she concentrated on making sure everything from her facial expression to her body language conveyed how annoyed she was with him.

  And she must have done a good job because he raised an eyebrow and then released the bar to allow the engine to sputter and die. Then he just waited.

  “You have a cell phone and a smart watch, so I know you have ways of telling time,” she said.

  “Only if I look at them,” he pointed out.

  “There are ordinances about these kinds of things.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head. “Are there?”

  She was cornered and they both knew it. There were probably noise ordinances in Blackberry Bay, but she didn’t know what they said. So she went a different direction. “You know, they make newer models of those. They’re probably a lot more efficient. And quieter. They even make electric ones that are virtually silent.”

  “Why would I blow money on a new lawnmower when I have this trusty beauty?”

  Beauty was a stretch. A big one. “I’m pretty sure a guy who can afford a car like yours can afford a new lawnmower with no problem.”

  He tilted his head, the amused quirk of his lips getting on her last nerve. “Maybe I can afford a car like that because I don’t waste money replacing things that aren’t broken.”

  Clearly she wasn’t going to get anywhere with him before she’d had her coffee—although she wasn’t sure even a full pot would be enough for Cam Maguire—so she turned on her heel and headed for the house. Luckily Oscar was ready to follow her without coaxing.

  Once inside, she gave the dog a treat and had just decided to crawl back into bed when the lawnmower coughed a couple of times and roared to life.

  She tried to tell herself it was for the best as she prepared a mug of coffee and sat at the table to drink it. After Devin had died and the things that had filled their lives started slipping away, so had her sleep schedule. She’d started roaming the empty-feeling house at night. Napping during the day. It hadn’t been healthy, but she hadn’t been able to force herself to do better until she’d realized Sophie’s sleep patterns were also being disrupted and kindergarten was around the corner.

  It had taken months for Meredith to return to the structure of a healthy night’s sleep, and even if she had trouble sleeping in a new house with new sounds around her, she needed to get up at a reasonable time so she could fall asleep at bedtime.

  But eight o’clock on a Sunday was a perfectly reasonable time, so she had no intention of letting her inconsiderate neighbor off the hook. Who mowed their lawn that early on a Sunday morning?

  Blackberry Bay almost certainly had noise ordinances that set out official quiet times because it was a town financially dependent on charming visitors and enticing them not only to stay but also to keep coming back. She should look into those while she looked into the requirements for installing a fence.

  Sophie emerged from her bedroom, shuffling across the floor in unicorn slippers while rubbing her eyes. “Can we have heart pancakes today?”

  “Good morning to you, too, sweetie.” Meredith pulled her up onto her lap and blew out a little breath as Sophie nestled against her and her daughter’s dark blond hair tickled her face. “We can make heart pancakes today.”

  It hurt a little. Devin had started the habit of heart-shaped pancakes when Sophie was a toddler, and it was one of the strongest specific memories she had of her dad, so Meredith had kept it going. The memory of Devin and Sophie laughing together in the kitchen still made her heart ache, but she’d reached the place where it made her smile, too.

  Once they’d had breakfast, Sophie went to get dressed with Oscar at her heels. Meredith was cleaning up when the lawnmower finally shut off for what she hoped was the last time for the day.

 
Then Cam moved into her field of vision and she totally forgot she was annoyed with him as he peeled off his shirt and blotted his forehead with it before flinging it over his shoulder.

  His arms and torso weren’t as tan as his hands and face, which made sense for a man who probably wore business suits every day before arriving in town. But he’d lost the tinge of pink, and she figured if he kept running around shirtless, the tan would even out in no time.

  Watching him move around the yard wasn’t a hardship, so she took her time hand washing the few dishes they used, telling herself there weren’t enough to merit running the dishwasher.

  Then he stretched out in his hammock, arms stretched up so he could rest his hands under his head, and she caught herself sighing like a teenage girl watching her crush.

  And that was enough of that. She had things to do that didn’t involve spying on her shirtless neighbor, no matter how good it felt to find herself lusting after a man again.

  * * *

  Elinor is not a fan of crutches or the cast on my foot. I’m not much of a fan, either, but somebody had to fix the roof and I didn’t want to ask Michael. That boy is working himself to the bone, but he can’t work through the kind of sadness he’s carrying around with him. I try hard to be kind and find joy in the small things, but I’ll hate that woman until the day I die. Maybe even longer if ghosts are real. I haven’t really made up my mind about that.

  Tess said I should hire someone, but I helped Thomas replace the roof years ago, so I thought I could fix such a little piece of it on my own. I should have listened to Tess. Michael said the same thing when he got to the hospital. And, of course, so did Tess. She might be my best friend, but that woman doesn’t let go of anything.

  So now Michael still had to fix my roof and I’m on crutches until my foot heals. At least it wasn’t my hip. Finding joy in that small blessing.

  Waking up at dawn after a fitful night’s sleep hadn’t exactly fit into the rest-and-relaxation thing Cam was going for this summer. And restlessly pacing around the small kitchen area didn’t even come close to burning through the need for physical exertion he felt.

  Going for a walk, or even a jog, didn’t seem like enough, so he’d decided it was landscaping day and fired up the lawnmower. In retrospect, he should have looked at the clock first. Just because he’d been up for a while didn’t mean everybody else in the neighborhood had.

  But it hadn’t dawned on him until he looked up and saw Meredith glaring at him as though she were daydreaming about knocking him over the head with one of his grandmother’s terra-cotta flowerpots.

  She was a beautiful woman, but when she was annoyed? She was stunning, he thought as he stripped off his sweaty clothes and turned on the shower. He knew from experience the water heater couldn’t be much bigger than a coffee urn and that he shouldn’t dawdle or he’d be washing the last of the soap off with cold water.

  But with Meredith in his thoughts, maybe a cold shower wouldn’t hurt.

  In an effort to put his uncharacteristic reaction to Meredith—and the apology he owed her—out of his mind, he’d stayed up too late reading Carolina’s journals, fascinated by the colorful personality of the woman who’d raised his birth father and how skilled she was at putting it on the page. And there were glimpses of his father in the journals. Not a lot, and he got the impression Michael Archambault hadn’t been as devil-may-care as his mother, but Cam soaked up the details he could find, and it made it hard for him to put the books down.

  Then, when he’d gone to bed, thoughts of Meredith had resurfaced and he’d done a lot of tossing and turning before he finally fell asleep.

  After he’d finished mowing, he’d hit the hammock, determined to do Sunday-type things. He’d always known people tended to relax on the weekends, but that wasn’t true in the Maguire household. While the offices were closed on Sundays, he and his father both had home offices that never closed.

  He almost napped, but Sophie and Oscar playing in their yard kept him from actually nodding off. Meredith must have had a talk with her daughter because the little girl never called his name, and it sounded like she was playing with the dog on the far side of her yard.

  As much as he needed to learn to totally relax, he was a little disappointed she didn’t seek out his company. She was a fun distraction, and he’d never realized such small kids could have such big personalities. Maybe if he’d had siblings, he would have nieces and nephews to play with, but he was an only child and his social life was mostly business related. Acquaintances didn’t bring kids to business lunches, cocktail parties or charity events.

  He really needed to say he was sorry to Meredith, and not just for Sophie’s sake. It bothered him that he’d upset Meredith enough that she’d told her daughter to leave him alone.

  He’d had an opportunity when she laid into him about the lawnmower, but there was something about the way she looked when she was mad that made him want to challenge her—to keep pushing those buttons—instead of de-escalating the situation.

  He should probably stop doing that if he wanted peace, but she was so sexy when she looked at him with those sparks in her eyes.

  When Sophie and Oscar were called in for lunch, Cam decided that was a good idea, so he went inside and heated up a can of soup. His cooking skills were rudimentary at best, so he had a cabinet full of soup and a fridge well stocked with deli meats and cheeses. When all else failed, he could get by on soup and sandwiches. Now that he’d figured out the barbecue grill, he could probably add steaks and chicken breasts to his next shopping list, though.

  Then he decided he could still count Sunday as a day off if he didn’t do actual Maguire company business, so he spent the afternoon sifting through the plastic tote labeled Important Papers that Carolina had deemed sufficient for holding vital records and legal documents.

  He scanned each paper as he pulled it out, and started spreading them across the table, trying to put them in order by year. And he was doing okay, seeing it as an exercise in organization, until he pulled out the death certificate for Michael Thomas Archambault, with his obituary paper-clipped behind it.

  He’d been fifteen when his biological father passed away. He closed his eyes, remembering where he was when he was fifteen—at the boarding school where he was expected to learn discipline and make connections that would serve him in the business world. Mostly he’d learned detachment from his parents and made a couple of good friends he still spoke to on a regular basis while counting the days until he was an adult. His life might be tied to his father’s forever, but he’d get his own apartment and make it his refuge.

  Meanwhile, the man who was actually his father worked for a logging company and was killed in an accident.

  Survived by his mother, Carolina Archambault, and a son, who was adopted by a loving family as an infant.

  Cam blinked, shocked to find tears blurring his vision. His grandmother had written that, he was sure. She’d felt compelled to include the grandchild she’d never seen when mourning the sudden loss of her son, and Cam’s heart ached for her.

  And for himself. This was his family, and he’d never gotten to know them. He hadn’t gotten to play ball with his dad or help comfort his grandmother in her grief. His mother had robbed him of Carolina’s warmth and love, and raised him in a cold household that prized success over all else.

  Not surprisingly, he slept poorly that night, and his lingering anger carried him through his Monday-morning conference call with his father and other top executives in the company. Calvin III managed to make several references to his displeasure over Cam’s working remotely, but he ignored them.

  Then he spent the rest of the day putting out fires from a distance, which involved a lot of computer time and several long phone calls. He was aware sometimes of the sounds from outside—it sounded like Meredith and Sophie were gardening—and Elinor came and went through the cat door, but mostly it
was a day to put his head down and work.

  His mother called shortly after he finished the cold turkey sandwich he was calling his dinner. He didn’t want to answer it, but there was no point in sending her to voice mail. If she had something to say, she wasn’t going to be put off, and he reminded himself that at the end of the summer, he was going back to her world.

  “Your father called me a few minutes ago,” she said once the standard greetings were out of the way. “He’s displeased with you.”

  He’s displeased with you. There was a time avoiding hearing those words drove every decision he made. Not so much anymore. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “He feels your little vacation is happening at an inconvenient time.”

  Calvin III often filtered his displeasure through his wife, as if parental lectures were somehow more palatable to Cam coming from his mother. And it kept Cam’s responses in check, because he obviously couldn’t have a shouting match with her.

  “First, I’m not on vacation. I’m working remotely, and accomplishing what I need to accomplish. Second, I’ve never actually taken a vacation because there’s never a convenient time, so if I was on vacation, which I’m not, I’d have earned it.”

  “Why can’t you spend weekends with this woman and her family and weekdays in the office?”

  It took Cam a few seconds to remember that his mom didn’t know he was in Blackberry Bay. She didn’t know he was sifting through her secrets and lies, trying to piece together a picture of the life he didn’t grow up in.

  “Traveling that much would result in more lost work time than simply working remotely. I’ll come back to the city for a couple of days next week and then again in August to deal with any matters requiring my actual presence. Considering how seldom I leave my office, it doesn’t really matter where that office is.”

  And they weren’t going to find out where it was. He’d spent almost an hour before the first video conference with his father to ensure his webcam caught nothing but a blank wall as background behind his head.