He glanced out at the clear sound of a boat horn.

That's

one of Holt and Nate's,

Sloan told her, pointing to the long terraced boat that was gliding across the water.

The

Mariner.

Takes tourists out for whale-watching.

The kids were all atop the fort now, shouting and waving at the boat. When the horn blasted again, they cheered.

You'll meet Nate at dinner,

Sloan began.

I met him already.

Flirting a meal out of Coco?

It appeared that way.

Sloan shook his head.

That man can eat, let me tell you. What did you think?

Not much,

she muttered.

He seemed a little rough-edged to me.

You get used to him. He's one of the family now.

Megan made a noncommittal sound. Maybe he was, but that didn't mean he was part of hers.

Chapter 2

As far as Coco was concerned, Niels Van Horne was a thoroughly unpleasant man.

He did not take constructive criticism, or the subtlest of suggestions for improvement, well at all. She tried to be courteous, God knew, as he was a member of the staff of The Towers and an old, dear friend of Nathaniel's.

But the man was a thorn in her side, an abrasive grain of sand in the cozy slipper of her contentment.

In the first place, he was simply too big. The hotel kitchen was gloriously streamlined and organized. She and Sloan had worked in tandem on the design, so that the finished product would suit her specifications and needs. She adored her huge stove, her convection and conventional ovens, the glint of polished stainless steel and glossy white counters, and her whisper-silent dishwasher. She loved the smells of cooking, the hum of her exhaust fans, the sparkling cleanliness of her tile floor.

And there was Van Horne or Dutch, as he was called a bull in her china shop, with his redwood-size shoulders and cinder-block arms rippling with tattoos. He refused to wear the neat white bib aprons she'd ordered, with their elegant blue lettering, preferring his rolled-up shirts and tatty jeans held up by a hank of rope.