A Kiss to Seal the Deal / The Army Ranger's Return: A Kiss to Seal the Deal / The Army Ranger's Return. Nikki Logan
knew from experience how that felt.
She’d made a pledge to herself back when she was young that she’d never let herself get in that position again—exposed, vulnerable to the capricious decisions of others. Without control. Without any say.
It must have occurred to the seal species in the ancient past that the loss of the baby meant the loss of only one, but the loss of a fertile mother meant the loss of an entire genetic line. Pups were expendable. And entirely, tragically vulnerable.
Danny Boy looked straight at her and then dashed off, barking in grumpy high-pitched tones. Sad affection bubbled through her. As far as the fishing communities along the west coast were concerned, seals and man were hunting the same fishstocks. And, when that industry was worth millions of dollars a year, anything or anyone threatening supply would not be tolerated. Her research was showing that, whether by good design or dumb luck, seals were hunting totally different fish from humans. If only she could prove that to the people of Castleridge. To the government. To the world.
‘Don’t suppose you guys would consider going vegetarian?’ she quietly asked the wary mass of seals.
Close by, one mother trumpeted her displeasure at that idea, and Kate scrabbled away from the ensuing stench; beyond disgusting.
Her chuckle was half-gag. ‘Go on. Get it out of your system now. I need you guys to be charming the next time I come down.’
With McMurtrie junior in tow. It was the obvious next step. If he was going to throw legalese at her, then she’d fight back with the only thing she had—history. If Grant McMurtrie had cared for these seals as a kid, maybe she could use that and try to change his mind about her access. She wasn’t above begging, or conniving.
Whatever it took to snatch back a bit of control.
Not only did she have three funding grants riding on this, but her professional reputation as well. She didn’t want years of work to be wasted because somebody had a chip on their shoulder about conservation programs. She had her university, the Fisheries Department and the Castleridge Town Shire to remind her of that. They were expecting results in return for their contribution and it was her job to get them, come hell or high water.
Or hot, surly city lawyers. ‘So, what was the good news?’ Grant drained the last of his coffee and stared meaningfully at Castleridge’s mayor.
Alan Sefton chuckled. ‘Twelve weeks is pretty short for probate settlement, as you know. You should be thanking me.’
Three months before he could legally boot Kate Dickson and her team off his land.
‘Thank you for agreeing to be Dad’s executor,’ he allowed.
The older man smiled sadly. ‘I was aware that he wouldn’t … That you and he …’ Grant lifted one hand and Alan gratefully picked up the cue to move on. ‘Did you know he’d left you the farm?’
‘I had no idea.’
‘You were still his son. His only heir. Time couldn’t change that, nor distance.’
‘It wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d left the farm to those greenies just to spite me.’
Alan frowned. ‘Spite is not a trait I connected with Leo. Belligerence, absolutely. Selective hearing, sometimes. But he was not a man who wasted time on petty grudges.’
Grant let that sink in. ‘Perhaps he mellowed in the twenty years we were apart.’
‘Or perhaps you did.’
Silence fell. With no other customers this early in the Castleridge café, the tinny radio coming from the kitchen was the only other noise.
Alan cleared his throat. ‘How are you doing, son?’
Son. It had been a long time since anyone had called him that—since his mother had died early in his life. His father had called him exclusively by his given name growing up, his school teachers by his surname, and his staff tended towards ‘sir’. Just hearing the phrase ‘son’ brought a certain familiarity to the discussion. If anyone else had asked him how he was getting on, he would have moved the conversation quickly on.
But discovering a body together had a way of forging a bond between strangers. The genuine question deserved a genuine answer.
‘I’m … getting by.’
‘How are you finding being in his house?’
‘It’s fine.’ And, surprisingly, it was, despite everything. ‘It’s been so long since I lived there with him; it’s not like the walls are infused with his spirit, you know?’
Alan nodded.
‘Unlike his tobacco,’ Grant said. ‘Twenty years didn’t change that habit.’ The memories of his distinctive brand made it too hard to sleep. ‘I had to repaint the whole place to get rid of the smell.’
A dark shadow crossed the mayor’s face before he masked it.
Grant moved the conversation on. ‘What else did you want to tell me?’
Alan caught the eye of the teenage waitress and interrupted her nail-varnishing session at a far table to indicate it was time for the bill. ‘Not tell, so much as ask,’ Alan hedged.
Grant waited but nothing further came. ‘Shoot.’
‘I know you don’t have a lot of connection to Castleridge these days.’
Not a lot, no. But he’d been floored by the number of people who had attended Leo’s funeral, and the amount of prepared dinners that had graced Leo’s freezer when he died. The locals were still looking after their own. ‘I grew up here, remember? There’s still a lot of familiar faces.’
‘Well … that’s good. Makes what I’m about to say that bit easier.’
Grant frowned. ‘Just say it.’
‘It’s about the research team …’
He snorted. ‘If you can call a bunch of science types counting seals research.’
Alan nodded thoughtfully. ‘Leo had reservations for a long time before deciding to work with them.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘It took him a year of discussions before finally relenting to—’
‘I’ve met Kate Dickson. I can well see what he relented to.’
Alan’s weathered face creased. ‘Kate came to see you?’
‘Last week.’
‘How did she seem?’
Seem? Too beautiful for a scientist. Too young to have shadows beneath her eyes. ‘She seemed hell-bent on getting her way.’
‘Yes. That would be Kate. She wouldn’t let her sorrow detract from the work she’s doing.’
Grant tightened his jaw. He had thought he had an ally in Alan Sefton but the man was every bit as smitten with Ms Dickson as his father had apparently been. ‘The only thing she was sad about was me shutting down her access.’
‘Ah.’ Alan nodded. ‘I wondered what your choice would be.’
‘There is no choice. Introducing the buffer zone will cut the farm’s profitable land by a third, and its valuable coast-access completely. I have no interest in helping the people who tore my father’s farm out from under him.’
Alan’s clear blue eyes held his. ‘Oh, now you care about the farm?
Grant had spent too many years across negotiating tables in the corporate world to let his shock show. Instead, he swallowed back the shaft of pain and fixed Alan with his hardest stare.
The older man glanced away first. ‘I’m sorry. That was unnecessary. But I’ll ask you to remember that twenty years of