Passing Through Paradise by Susan Wiggs Read Free Book Online Page A

called from the Coast Guard station to report that one of the windows had blown out, putting the room-sized, antique French lantern at risk. He needed help, right away.
    Mike jammed his leg against the iron rail to keep from going over. From inside the beacon, Archie shouted something, but Mike couldn’t hear. Wishing he’d taken time to strap on safety gear, he wrestled the plywood against the broken window, bits of glass grinding beneath his boots.
    With numb, slippery hands, he screwed a series of stout iron clamps in place and hoped the temporary repair would hold until the weather cleared.
    Archie held open the door, and Mike shoved himself inside to the relative quiet of the beacon. He wiped a sodden sleeve across his cold-stung face. “When I said I was looking for restoration work, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”
    “For a minute there, I was afraid we’d lost you.” Archie headed down the spiral staircase. “There’s coffee on.”
    “No, thanks,” Mike said, his teeth chattering. “I’d better be getting back.”
    Archie handed him a check. “Keep this high and dry.”
    Leaving the lighthouse, Mike drove along the debrislittered road to the marina. The storm skirled to the south, leaving a restless, tossing sea in its wake. A single light burned in the harbormaster’s office and others glimmered from some of the larger fishing vessels, but the docks were all deserted.
    Mike still didn’t think of the boat as “home,” but since he’d come back to Paradise, he’d been living aboard the cabin trawler
Fat Chance,
docked with the fishing fleet at the tiny port.
    Beamy but well appointed, the boat became Mike’s when his father retired to Florida. Years ago, Mike and Angela used to spend nearly every summer weekend aboard, taking leisurely runs out to Block Island, anchoring in private coves, fixing soup and crackers for dinner and making love to the hushed rhythm of the waves. Angela hadn’t set foot on the boat in a long, long time.
    Zeke leaped to greet him when he boarded and stepped into the main saloon. He paused to scratch the dog behind the ears, then headed for a quick, scalding shower in a bathroom so compact he could barely stand up straight or turn around.
    When Mike emerged from the bunk in dry clothes, Zeke thumped his tail, eager to go out for his usual evening rounds of the Paradise docks. “All right, all right,” Mike muttered, pulling on a jacket.
    His gaze fell to the pages of notes and sketches on the chart table, which now housed a computer and printer as well as his father’s sea charts. At the top of his stack was one of innumerable letters from Loretta Schott, his divorce attorney. The family court judge had doubts about a guy who lived on a boat.
    Some people believed he was “living the dream”— he’d restored the forty-two-foot boat to a pristine liveaboard with an office, a snug galley, two staterooms and two baths. But without the kids, it was a ghost ship, adrift on unremembered dreams—now his only dream was to stay connected to the kids.
    The custody evaluator assigned to his case wasn’t into living the dream. Even though the kids were wild about the boat, the court-appointed evaluator gave the
Fat Chance
only temporary approval. Mike had until the start of the new school year to find a permanent residence. According to Loretta, he’d get better evaluations if he settled down in a proper house.
    Frustrated, he’d stayed up late last night, putting his thoughts together about the Babcock place. Earlier today, he had replaced her mailbox. It had only taken him about five minutes and he hadn’t even honked his horn to get her attention. He figured she’d know who had fixed it for her.
    Part of him wished he could tell the Winslow woman he wasn’t interested in her house, but another part wanted to tackle the challenge of a one-of-a-kind restoration. Besides, it was his best prospect for a long-term job. He studied the sea chart beside the