Free Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove) by Donna Kauffman

the spigot popping off in the shower. A short spray of icy cold water to the face had done wonders to clear those steamy images from her brain.
    Not that he hadn’t immediately put them right back in there. Coming to her rescue, or trying to, anyway, then looking anything but official and chief-like in that old hoodie and faded jeans, slung all low on his hips. And, dear Lord, but that voice of his. She wasn’t too certain that, wielded properly, the vibration of that baritone alone wouldn’t make a woman clim—Alex coughed and ducked behind her hand for a moment, mortified to be thinking of this man’s nephew—the chief of police—like she was. And right in front of him, for God’s sake. One night of sleep and a decent cup of coffee might be a start, but she clearly had a long way to go.
    “So, are you saying it was that wee spot of trouble you had on the way in that made him decline your services?”
    Alex had just taken a sip of coffee and almost choked all over again, thinking of the services she’d offered in her dreams. “I don’t know. He said he’s focusing his resources on restoring the house first, and that the keeper’s cottage and tower are a bit lower on his list. I know how involved renovation would be on a light station the age of that one, and how costly it is, so I understand the need to prioritize. He needs to live in the house, whereas the lighthouse . . .” She let the rest trail off with a lift of her shoulder.
    That was the problem with most of the decommissioned lighthouses left to private interests. Unless there was a desire to turn them into some source of tourist income, or in the rare case, to make them into personal living quarters, it was a whole lot of money to put into something that was otherwise, essentially just a rather oversized lawn ornament. An ornament that needed constant upkeep and maintenance, given its location was rarely, if ever, in a guarded, sheltered spot.
    To her, it was about preserving history. A very unique slice of history. And she wasn’t alone. Lighthouses inspired all kinds of deep and powerful emotions in a broad range of folks, even the ones with no personal history or association with them. For her, it was, and had always been, very personal.
    Her grandfather-with-many-greats before his name had also been a light keeper. He’d done as much of the maintenance himself as possible in those days. His son and daughter-in-law had taken over for him eventually, and his grandson after him, who was keeper when their tower had been decommissioned. The grandson had used his renovation skills, learned at the hands of his own father and grandfather, to do what he could to sustain it, then had put those skills to use helping out with the restoration of other light stations. When his two sons had joined him, MacFarland & Sons had been born. Now it had all come down to Alex, who was the last of the line.
    Fergus grumbled something under his breath, then grabbed a white apron and quickly tied it around his stout frame. “Here I sit, bending yer ear and not offerin’ up anything to go with that coffee. I can fire up the grill. What will ye have?”
    “Please don’t go to any trouble. Actually, I was hoping you could direct me where to go to grab a bite before leaving.”
    “Was that your only reason for stopping by then?”
    “I wanted to thank you for the opportunity, for trying to make it happen, and let you know that I understand the situation.” She smiled. “And I figured a pub owner would steer me right when it came to a place to eat.”
    That elicited what could only be described as a jolly, whiskey-edged laugh. “Och, so you’ve heard my reputation with the grill here. Or lack thereof. Unfortunately, my cook doesna’ start work for a few hours yet.”
    “No, no, nothing like that and it’s okay, truly. I meant what I said about not going to any trouble.”
    “It’s the least I can do, seeing the trouble I put you through, coming all this way for