Storm Surge by Celia Ashley Read Free Book Online

Perhaps a ghost, then?” His eyes cut in her direction as if to gauge her reaction.
    Paige didn’t hold back. She snorted. “A ghost? Come on. This isn’t some television show.”
    “No,” he agreed, “it isn’t. It’s a very real town with three hundred years of history behind it. Before I moved here, I’d heard the town referred to as Haunted Alcina Cove.”
    “Haunted?” Paige tried not to laugh again and was not entirely successful. “Although its residents might not always be the friendliest, and some might be downright peculiar, it’s a quaint, picturesque location. Certainly not the stuff of nightmares.”
    “Neither are ghosts. Not usually, anyway.”
    “You sound like you believe—”
    “I don’t know what I believe.” He stood. “But this is what I do. I write travelogues, and I gather and research local stories about ghosts and other mysterious happenings and compile them into books. Sometimes I combine the two, writing travelogues featuring ghost stories of the area along with the scenic spots. I can’t explain everything I’ve found out or everything people believe they’ve seen.”
    He paused in his pacing in front of her. The heat off his body was palpable in the evening’s dropping temperature. She lifted her head to look him in the eye. “Okay. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
    “You didn’t upset me. The subject just makes me a little nuts at times.” He laughed. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not here?”
    Paige sidled away from him. His proximity made her twitchy. She reclaimed the Adirondack chair since he obviously wasn’t using it. He returned to his earlier roost on the railing.
    “I teach eighth grade English,” she said.
    “A bunch of hormonal thirteen- and fourteen-year-old boys? They must adore you.”
    “What?”
    “You have to be aware you’re a good-looking woman, Paige.”
    Paige waved a hand, heat flaring in her cheeks. “I don’t have to be aware of any such thing. And we’ve gotten off topic. I want to go back to you. How long have you been making a living at writing?”
    Liam folded his arms across his chest. Evening’s last light flashed off the water behind him. “Making a living? Not long. And not hand-over-fist, either. But I like it. I’ve been writing most of my life. But a sedentary occupation was never the destiny of a Gray. Nope. I was out on the sea at sixteen and owned and operated my own trawler by nineteen. Fished the ocean for more than fourteen years.”
    Performing some quick math even after only half a beer proved difficult, but Paige figured she had an approximate idea of his age. Curiosity satisfied, Paige smiled. “So you gave that up? Commercial fishing?”
    “About eight months ago,” he said with a small affirmative motion of his head. “Sold the boat and equipment shortly after I bought this place.”
    “To pursue your writing? Bold move.”
    “Yeah, something like that.”
    Paige leaned forward, elbows on her knees in an awkward position on the sloped seat. “Not satisfied writing about ghosts?”
    “That’s not what I meant. But I don’t plan to talk about it, if you don’t mind.”
    He held her gaze as though daring her to question him. She shook her head. Another thing he didn’t want to talk about, like his scar. And he didn’t have to. Who was she to him, after all? A stranger who’d shown up practically on his doorstep in the wee hours, claiming an association to the house he owned. No reason for confidences exchanged. No cause for anything beyond a neighborly chat. “It’s your business, not mine, Liam. We both have our secrets, I guess.”
    “Yes,” he said quietly, “I think we do.”
    * * * *
    Soon after the exchange, Paige thanked Liam for the beer she hadn’t finished and left. Instead of returning to the cottage, she went to her car and removed a small flashlight from the glove compartment. Slipping it into her pocket, she headed down to the waterline. Despite her dismissal of