Page 9 of The Lightkeeper

“Don’t bother,” he said and headed for the door. “No one comes out here.”

Except me.

He stopped, his body completely filling the frame as he looked back over his shoulder, pinning me with his stern stare. “It’s going to storm tonight,” he warned in a low voice. “I wouldn’t be traipsing around the water much longer.”

“Okay…” The word hung in the room longer than he did.

I walked to the door and watched him get back in his truck, wondering what it was about him that turned my heartbeat into an unsteady tumble and made my skin sizzle with heat.

No sooner did his truck disappear down the winding gravel drive than a fat raindrop landed on my nose. I looked up, the second one landing square in the middle of my glasses.Crap.I ducked back inside and within seconds, there was a steady shower coming down outside, the patter of the rain mingling with theriotous churn of the ocean against the rocks.Crap, crap.My shoulders slumped, and I stared longingly in the direction of the tide pool where I’d returned thedendronotus.

Tomorrow.I’d find him again tomorrow.

Crouching, I reached out and hauled my rubber waders inside, hanging them on one of the nails driven into the wall by the door. I had a feeling Mr. Kinkade had been the one to drive them into the wall; it seemed like his style. Rugged. Rough. Sturdy.

“Oh,” I muttered and reached for the small chest pocket on the waders, remembering the shell I’d tucked in there before I’d noticed the dendronotus.

A northern moon snail. Well, what was left of one.

The large shell had taken on an almost purple-pink hue which stuck out immediately among the brown and gray rocks, stranded there from one of the recent storms. It was too beautiful not to save before the tide washed it away.

I carried it to the kitchen and set it on the counter, the dulled opalescent hues of the shell practically the only color in the dreary room. And then the thought struck me. With a grin, I went to the desk and grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper from my notebook.

Mr. Kinkade, I think we got off on the wrong “foot.” I hope you have a spe-shell day!

I pushed a loose strand of hair back from my face and smiled as I tucked the note underneath the edge of the shell.Perfect.Dad always said there was nothing that couldn’t be cured with kindness. Maybe this would soften Mr. Kinkade’s prickly demeanor a little.

Satisfied with my little olive branch, I walked over to the window and watched the rain drench the shore. Hopefully, by tomorrow the storm would pass and I could be back outside—back to my research on the coast’s aquatic biology.

My phone buzzed and I fished it from my bag, smiling as I answered, “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, honey. I just finished class but I wanted to check and see how you’re settling in?—”

“Oh, I’m at the lighthouse already.”

“I’m not surprised.” Dad chuckled. “Find anything good yet?”

“A northern moon snail shell and a dendronotus.”And a grumpy lighthouse keeper.

“Oh, how wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Can you send photos? I’d love to show my class.”

Dad was a biology professor at Tufts, so there was no shortage of things for us to share our excitement on. We were like two peas in a pod for almost my whole life after Mom died. Always exploring. Learning. It was because of Dad that I wasn’t afraid to ask questions. That I wasn’t afraid to search for answers—for understanding. And it was because of him that I’d decided to finish up my master’s here in Maine rather than in the halls of Boston University.

I didn’t like leaving him for such a long period of time, but he wouldn’t hear of anything else.“There is no education without experience.”

“I’ll send one of the shell,” I said. “It started to storm, so I’ll have to try for the dendronotus tomorrow.”

“Oh, of course. Of course.” He chortled. “Alright, I’ll let you go. I can’t wait to hear about all the species you find.”

As I murmured my goodbye, I had to remind myself that the inhabitantinsidethe lighthouse wasn’t part of my studies.I wasn’t here to understand him… or the effect he had on my very rational brain.

Chapter Three

Kit

Bushy-backed nudibranch.

I didn’t know what was more ridiculous—that a living creature had such a name or that I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman who’d told it to me. I checked my phone and laid back on the stiff mattress with a huff; my alarm wasn’t set to go off for another twenty minutes.But what was another twenty minutes when I’d hardly slept all night?

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