Love, Unexpected

Moving to a new place isn’t easy...

Until a neglected ship and its owner make her feel at home

After spying a boat in need of some TLC, single mom Andi Sterling strikes a deal with its owner, Zeke Donovan, who shares her passion for restoring old things. Uncovering the legendary ship’s secrets draws them closer. Is it too soon for Andi to open her heart to the chance to build new dreams?

After a childhood spent on Chicago’s sandy beaches, VIRGINIA McCULLOUGH moved to a rocky island in Maine, where she began writing magazine articles. She soon turned to coauthoring and ghostwriting nonfiction books, and eventually began listening to the fictional characters whispering in her ear. Today, when not writing stories, Virginia likes to wander the world.

To contact the author, please visit virginiamccullough.com, or find her on Twitter, @vemccullough, and Facebook, Facebook.com/virginia.mccullough.7.

Also By Virginia McCullough

Girl in the Spotlight

Something to Treasure

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Love, Unexpected

Virginia McCullough

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08498-7

LOVE, UNEXPECTED

© 2018 Virginia McCullough

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Sitting across from him, Andi held her water bottle out to propose a toast.

“To Drifting Dreamer,” she said, tapping her bottle against Zeke’s. “I can’t stop thinking about what I may uncover about her next.”

Zeke threw his head back. “Oh, no. Now every day I’ll wonder if something new has turned up.”

“I’ll keep you guessing, section by section,” she said, cocking her head. “It’s tempting to start taking apart every inch of the boat. No telling what we’d find under the bunks.”

“But maybe it’s better to keep the suspense going,” he said, surprising himself.

Her expression changed. “Funny, isn’t it? A boat named Drifting Dreamer simply showed up here one day without fanfare or even much preparation.”

“So did you,” Zeke teased, his voice low and right on the edge of flirtatious.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Two Moon Bay, a small town on Wisconsin’s Lake Michigan shore. In the third book in the series, several characters from Girl in the Spotlight and Something to Treasure are back and two have a story of their own. Love, Unexpected proves romance can tap us on the shoulder, even if we’ve closed our hearts to love.

Andi and Zeke find they share a passion for restoration and strike a deal to make the boat Drifting Dreamer beautiful again. Curious about the dreams behind the ship’s name, the two search for answers while they bring the vessel back to life. As they discover what can—and can’t—be restored, they confide their secrets and maybe even spin new dreams.

I hope you enjoy Andi and Zeke’s special summer in Love, Unexpected. You can visit me and add your name to my mailing list at virginiamccullough.com. Find me on Twitter, @vemccullough, and Facebook, Facebook.com/virginia.mccullough.7.

To one more happy ending,

Virginia McCullough

For my two grown children, Laura & Adam—

to paraphrase Rat in The Wind in the Willows,

they’ve had some experience

“messing about in boats.”

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

ZEKE DONOVAN DIDN’T like his choices. He could simmer inside, or maybe stomp around the dock. Or he could let loose and holler at somebody. But as frustrated as he was, he knew perfectly well he wouldn’t do any of those things. He wasn’t the simmering, stomping, hollering type. Especially not when it came to his dad.

Planting a hand on his hip, Zeke filled his lungs and let the air out in a long sigh. On the few occasions in the last few years he’d been angry at his dad over mistakes or mix-ups, Zeke always ended up feeling guilty. Besides, anger didn’t solve anything. Today, like other days, he’d just have to figure out a way to clean up the mess Dad left behind.

Mess was a good word for the ancient motor yacht gently rocking at their Donovan Marine Supply dock in Two Moon Bay. By any standards, the boat was fifty feet of peeling varnish, not to mention the cracks in the wooden cabin house and rails. The sooner Zeke could find a way to get the eyesore off his hands—and off his dock—the better.

Early that morning, before they’d even flipped their sign from Closed to Open, Zeke learned Drifting Dreamer would be delivered to their dock in Two Moon Bay that day. Like a switch had flipped on inside his head, Dad suddenly remembered he’d inherited a yacht. The memory surfaced after a call from a lawyer’s office downstate in Kenosha confirmed the boat would arrive by noon. How this derelict motor yacht ended up settling a twenty-year-old debt was a question still waiting for an answer.

Zeke glanced at his dad and then studied the papers he held. “The original letter is dated in March, Dad.” He pointed to a date in the body of the letter. “There it is, right there at the end, the estimated delivery date in June. Today.”

Frowning, Art Donovan said, “I meant to tell you about that letter from the law firm. But I must have stuck it in the drawer in my nightstand.”

Out of sight, out of mind, Zeke thought. This shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. His dad often forgot day-to-day events, but typically remembered details of his dealings with a customer from years ago. Unfortunately, stashing the March letter in a drawer in his room was like him, too. Zeke worked with his dad every day, but at no time in these last few months had the letter from the law firm surfaced.

The letter was addressed to his dad, Arthur Donovan. The facts confirmed that a man named Terrance Smyth had died and bequeathed this very old, but classic yacht to his dad to settle that debt. Zeke slapped the sheaf of legal documents against his thigh. “Do you remember the guy who stiffed you, Dad?”

“You bet I remember him.” Art flapped his hand toward the boat. “I spent a couple of months trying to track him down to pay for the hardware I sold him to outfit his boat—about two grand worth of top-of-the-line stainless steel. I almost found him, but he disappeared again. I finally gave up. Wrote it off as a bad debt and moved on.”

Art shook his head and jabbed his finger in the air toward the run-down boat. “But it wasn’t this boat he was outfitting, not Drifting Dreamer. What I sold him was hardware for his fiberglass sailboat.”

None of that really mattered. “We might as well have a closer look.” Zeke stepped from the dock to the deck of Drifting Dreamer. He bounced a few times to test its strength before glancing over his shoulder and nodding to his dad. “Come on aboard. Seems sturdy enough to support us. At least it’s teak and probably cleans up pretty easily. The deck might be newer than everything else topside.”

From the aft deck, Zeke quickly scanned the boat from bow to stern. “Since you own this baby, such as she is, free and clear, we might as well see what we can salvage. Or...”

“Or what?” Art asked.

“Beats me.” Zeke grinned at his dad, his mood softening enough to bring back his sense of humor.

For the next few minutes, Zeke pushed away worrying thoughts of his dad’s odd memory lapses. Were they really happening more frequently, or did it only seem that way sometimes? Like now, when a fifty-foot boat showed up unannounced. The one bright spot was that unlike some of his dad’s other mistakes, this one wouldn’t hurt their marine supply business, except in lost time spent ridding themselves of the run-down yacht. But still, how could anyone, even a forgetful person like his dad, let an unexpected inheritance this substantial slip his mind?

Thinking back twenty years, Zeke had been away at college and had no memory of this bad debt. Dad obviously had handled it by himself, as he had everything connected with the family business.

“Hey, Zeke,” Art called from the wheelhouse, “Drifting Dreamer must have been a beauty in her day. Not everything’s old, either. She’s got electronics they didn’t make back in 1939.”

“I can see that,” Zeke said honestly, looking at the spec sheet. Even the diesel engine was only six years old and showed its good condition with a healthy hum when the two guys hired to deliver Drifting Dreamer had maneuvered between the pilings on the dock. Newer equipment aside, on closer inspection, the overall condition of the boat was every bit as sad as it appeared at first glance. The remaining traces of varnish on the mahogany trim and wheelhouse were only reminders of the yacht’s better days. Zeke grimaced at the sight of blackening wood and cracked joints and seams.

“All the hardware is bronze,” Zeke called, trying to insert a positive note. “That’s worth something.” If they scrapped the boat parts, they’d recoup the original two thousand dollars—with interest. Zeke gently kicked the toe of his shoe against the row of wooden bins under the rail of the aft deck. They rarely saw that high-quality mahogany anymore, except on the luxury custom boats very few people could afford.

When Zeke went into the main cabin, his dad was peering inside the oven of the newish stove, another item on the spec sheet that puzzled Zeke. Someone had a plan to bring back Drifting Dreamer. But who? Zeke shook off the question. It intrigued him, like a mystery, but it didn’t matter. He and his dad needed a new plan. Now.

To start, Zeke supposed they could ask Nelson White, their old friend who owned the marina and boatyard next door, to haul the boat out of the water, so they could begin salvaging whatever was valuable and get rid of the rest. But then he muttered, “A little sweat and sandpaper could help. To get her ready to sell, I mean. Maybe there’s life in the boat yet. We don’t need to junk her.”

His dad grinned and cupped his ear, acknowledging the groan of the pump that ran for a few seconds before coming to a halt with a clunk. “The bilge pump works.”

“See? Another selling point. Besides, we know for sure she’s seaworthy enough to make the trip from Kenosha.”

According to the paperwork, the nearly eighty-year-old yacht had been built in Duluth, Minnesota, and launched in 1939. It was a Bergstrom 50, a legendary design. That alone made her a classic, Zeke thought. From the attorney’s letter, Zeke learned Smyth bought the boat four years before he died. It had been sitting under a tarp in a boatyard, the victim of years of neglect.

He’d added a note in his will about it being better late than never to make restitution.

“Man, oh, man, you don’t have this much storage in your house,” Art called from the forward cabin.

“That big, huh?” Zeke was amused by his dad’s remark, even knowing it was his responsibility to resolve this result of a twenty-year-old problem. As a kid, he and his dad had been referred to as Art and his boy, Zeke. Even when he’d been almost thirty years old he was still Art’s boy. But over these last years, the situation reversed. Now people around town called them Zeke and his dad, Art. The shift was subtle at first, and really shouldn’t have mattered. But it did, mainly because Art had changed over the years, and Zeke had all but forced his dad to leave the apartment over their store and move into his house down the street.

“Must have cost a small fortune,” Art said as he came out of the cabin. “But there’s a lot of pride in this old yacht.”

Standing in the galley, Zeke agreed with his dad. It was built to be a showpiece and was made with the best materials available in the 1930s. In his mind’s eye, Zeke could take himself back to the day Drifting Dreamer was launched. The original owner, whoever it was, had chosen that name for a reason. Maybe a couple had her built, or it could have been a family. What kinds of dreams did they have mind?

“Kinda musty in here,” Art said, wrinkling his nose. “I can hardly smell anything anymore, but I got a whiff of old-boat odor. Maybe a little mildew mixed in. But it’s probably just the smell of a boat that’s been closed up too long.”

His train of thought interrupted, Zeke reached up and opened the porthole above the sink to let in a little fresh air on the sunny day.

“I suppose we better get back to the store,” Zeke said. “We won’t solve this problem today. But who knows? Someone might come along with money to burn and make you an offer, Dad.”

“Yep, and we left Teddy alone,” Art said, “not that the little mutt gets himself into too much trouble. I’ll take him for a walk.”

Zeke smiled at that characterization of the dog that had maneuvered his way through the back door of their store one day, plunked himself down and never left. In his pocket, Zeke’s phone signaled a text. As he read the screen, he got an immediate hit in his gut. He glanced at his dad, who was opening and closing storage lockers. But now they had another problem to solve. And right away.

“Uh, Dad, we really do need to get back.” He left out any mention of the customer’s problem. Well, a Donovan Marine Supply problem now. If he said anything about his dad mixing up an order for one of their best customers, he’d just upset him.

Zeke quickly scanned the shabby cabin one more time. Drifting Dreamer would have to wait.

* * *

WHENEVER ANDI STERLING’S mood needed a boost, a little aimless wandering usually did the trick. But that Friday night, even meandering along Two Moon Bay’s streets, Andi found her state of mind darkening as daylight faded into dusk.

She’d been in Two Moon Bay only a few days, but already she’d learned her way around the picture-book town. Ironically, despite not having a permanent place to live for herself and her daughter, Brooke, the town was beginning to feel like home. That evening, though, she deliberately avoided the shops and restaurants downtown and instead kept close to the waterfront parks and businesses.

Andi drew her hand across her brow, damp from the humid evening air. Since it was much too warm to let her long hair hang loose down her back, she tucked the stray wisps into the twist she’d fixed at the nape of her neck. “Stay put,” she murmured, mocking a tone of authority.

Since she knew almost no one in town, she could ramble around unnoticed, almost as if she was hiding. And in a way she was. For now, she craved privacy, even anonymity. She couldn’t say why that was true, but maybe it was because she had so many loose ends in her life and didn’t want to try to explain them.

Crossing the block-long park, the aroma of brats and burgers cooking on grills caught her attention. Couples and families were having old-fashioned cookouts around the clusters of wooden picnic tables and benches. The pleasant scents carried over to the party-like atmosphere of the Two Moon Bay Marina, a hot spot in late June. The breeze carried the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter, and a few boats were motoring out of the protected yacht basin and into the bay for a late-evening sail.

As Andi approached the well-lit docks, she spotted the tour boat with the almost whimsical name, Lucy Bee. Brooke had been on a trip on that boat with her stepmom, Lark, last summer. It amused Andi that Brooke was way more familiar with Two Moon Bay than she was thanks to her dad—Andi’s ex—living there.

A loud cheer drew Andi’s attention to a deck party on a large yacht, where a big-screen TV showed a baseball game. But then her eye was also drawn to a small runabout tied at the dock, where two teenage boys sat across from each other, phones in hand, so engrossed in video games or texting they were oblivious to what was going on around them.

Couples, parents, kids. Everywhere Andi looked she saw people busy having fun. But a few men and women weren’t too preoccupied to raise their hands in a sociable wave as she passed by. She was all smiles as she returned the greeting and kept walking as if she had somewhere to be.

Soon, Andi left the well-lit marina behind and reached an empty stretch of grass she knew led to a pair of docks belonging to the marine supply store. She and Brooke had ventured this way a couple times over the last few days, either on foot or on their bikes. They were usually taking the long route to the park or the Bean Grinder, where she and Brooke—and apparently all of Two Moon Bay—found their favorite coffee drinks and other treats.

A wave of nostalgia gently washed over her. Only recently had she fully accepted that the days when Brooke could be distracted with trips to the park or luscious cookies were fast disappearing. At ten years old, Brooke was growing up and asking hard questions. Like when was her mother going to get another job, and where were they going to live in their new town? At the moment, Andi didn’t have answers. No matter how hard she tried to keep up a cheerful and optimistic attitude about their move to Two Moon Bay, Andi still had regrets—and doubts—and they couldn’t help but spill over onto Brooke.

At least once a day, Brooke pointed out that she had no friends in Two Moon Bay. Andi gave her pat reassurances that she’d make new friends at riding camp and, later, in her new school. Brooke had already spent many weekends with her dad, who’d moved from Green Bay to Two Moon Bay late last summer. Miles and his new wife, Lark, had moved into a lakefront home. Her ex’s remarriage and move became the chief catalyst for Andi’s decision to relocate. For one thing, it would be so much easier to keep their shared custody agreement working smoothly—as it had for years. Those long drives involved in taking Brooke back and forth to each other’s houses in towns an hour away had grown old fast. Moving closer made a lot of sense, especially because Andi no longer had a job to anchor her in one place.

Andi pushed aside her job worries. Finding a place to live was a much bigger challenge. And she needed a house or an apartment right now. She and Brooke were staying in a cottage Lark owned and had lived in with her son, Evan. It was cozy and homey, but it was available for only another week, because Lark and Miles were expecting guests and were putting them up in the cottage.

Away from the lights and the party atmosphere of the marina now, Andi kept walking across the grass, alone with her bundles of mixed feelings. She ought to be grateful she could stay in Lark’s cottage. Well, she was grateful. But as much as she liked her ex’s new wife, Andi was embarrassed she needed to accept Lark’s offer.

At the moment, her daughter was spending an exciting weekend in Chicago with her dad and Lark, and Evan, Brooke’s stepbrother. For Brooke, the high point was the plan to ride the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier. She’d been talking about it for weeks.

Suddenly, the humidity on the hot evening seemed to trap her, and she brushed her hand across the back of her neck. The ground was soft under her feet as she slipped deeper into the darkness and approached the quiet docks. An isolated spot, it was peaceful and set apart from the marina, where people were always coming and going.

The docks belonging to Donovan Marine Supply were usually empty. She’d seen only one boat tied up there and it was gone by the time she and Brooke had passed by again on the way back to the cottage.

Tonight was different, though. Something had changed. Even in the dim light, she saw what looked like a large boat tied up with a row of fenders hanging from the rail to protect the hull from bumping against the wooden dock. The boat was closed up, with no light coming from inside. But even in the yellowish glow coming from the low light mounted at the end of the dock, Andi saw that the boat was amazing.

An amazing wreck.

The boat in front of her was unlike any yacht or runabout she’d seen at the Two Moon Bay docks—or anywhere else. This boat was a pile of ruined varnish and cracked or missing wood. From what she could see the boat was dying from neglect. Andi almost laughed out loud. Those were the exact words she’d used when she’d first seen the house she and Miles bought right after they were married. That house was such a wreck the cracks in the plaster had looked like roads and highways on a map. Someone had painted over the original oak woodwork, and the kitchen would have made a great exhibit in a Depression-era museum. But the previous owner’s estate had installed a new roof and repaired the foundation. Andi had instinctively known the house had strong bones, but badly needed a face-lift to restore its glory.

Staring at the boat, Andi had a feeling the yacht was a lot like her old house. For sure, the fixer-upper boat’s to-do list would be as long as the dock itself. What a huge undertaking. Then why was her heart beating a little faster? She immediately dismissed her own surprising reaction. Did she really want to clutch a scraper in her hand and get to work? As a matter of fact, yes, it was an appealing idea. She didn’t know a lot about large motor yachts, but something in her longed to brighten up this floating mass of wood.