Secrets of the Heart: Heart to Heart, #1

By Judi Phillips

In a town where everyone has a secret, what can possibly go wrong? Robyn Cushman, owner of the local cafe in Tide Rock Maine, is opposed to people keeping secrets. So when Gregg Hollister, a Department of Marine Resources agent, arrives in town, undercover as a lobsterman looking for a job but really there to investigate the escalating feuds among local lobstermen. Secrets abound. Gregg is keeping them from Robyn. Robyn's father tries to keep them from his easily stressed wife. Robyn's sister-in-law is keeping them from her husband. Robyn's partner and best friend has been keeping one for years. And the guilty party is keeping one from the whole town. When the feud intensifies and threatens loved ones, Robyn understands that some secrets are best kept, while others need to be revealed. Can Robyn and Todd can unlock the Secrets of Their Hearts before it's too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Judi Phillips
• Release date: Sep 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9780989916585

Book preview

Prologue

He looked out the window of his camp. Someone was cruising past to his landing. The outboard puttered and the boat moved way too slow. Nosey bugger.

He didn't want anyone snooping around. No telling what they'd find. His discovery was a sure thing. He just needed more time before he went public. People in town would be amazed at how clever he was. Especially the old man. And anyone else who'd dissed him over the years. He'd show them. He'd show everyone.

The boat drifted closer. Whoever was at the tiller stepped ashore.

Damned intruder. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel. The gunshot boomed across the space between them and punched a hole in the aluminum hull. He grinned, satisfied, as the intruder hurtled off the ground and jumped into his dinghy, causing it to rock precariously. The shot was close enough to serve as a warning to anyone, particularly this guy, to stop messing with his stuff. No matter where it was.

One

Gregg Hollister got the call from his uncle Tuesday morning in mid-August. A couple of days earlier, Uncle Ned had run into an old friend who was worried about some incidents among the lobstermen. Things like shouting matches, a couple of fist fights, and lots of name calling. His uncle had immediately thought of calling Gregg in to help.

Normally, Gregg didn't mind shifting gears at the last minute, but his vacation plans had included some of the hot spots of Boston, not trapped in some small town on the coast of Maine. Hopefully, it would be nothing more serious than the usual feuding among lobstermen, something that could be resolved in a couple of days.

If his uncle was correct, it could also be risky. A Department of Marine Resources Agent amongst a crowd of fishermen was as popular as a fox at a chicken growers' convention. And with the lobstermen in Tide Rock, Maine riled up by recent events, it could be downright dangerous.

They cobbled together a scheme for him to claim he was a lobsterman just moved to town. After all, he was on vacation. This wasn't an official investigation. He was doing a favor for his uncle. He hoped that in planning this trip so quickly, he and his uncle hadn't overlooked anything.

The miles flew by as his Harley Davidson chewed up the highway. He downshifted into hairpin turns, then let her run flat out when the road straightened.

It was mid-morning on Thursday when Gregg rode across the suspension bridge high above the river flowing swiftly and silently as it neared the ocean. He slowed his bike on the curving descent to the outskirts of Tide Rock. Nestled in the enfolding hills at the edge of the sea, the small fishing village sprawled along the rim of the bay, the ocean pewter-gray on this overcast day. A flock of dinghies, anchored in the middle of the bay, bobbed quietly, as if waiting patiently for the return of the lobster boats.

Seeing the Cape Cod houses lining the street, and smelling the tangy sea air, Gregg knew he was in the heart of Down East Maine. He stopped at the first restaurant he came to, the Bayside Café.

As he swung one leg across his bike, the residue of the vibration from the long ride echoed through his body. He stretched, loosening tightened muscles, pulled off his helmet and hooked it to the bike, then stepped up onto the verandah extending across the front of the building. Red trim with the cedar shakes, weathered to a silvery-gray. The café was inviting. Small but cute.

This would be as good a place as any to get his bearings. He'd have to make the most of the next two weeks. A tricky situation, at best.

It was after six Thursday morning when Robyn Cushman braked her battle-scarred red Jeep, Nellie, to a gravel-skidding halt in the Bayside Café parking lot and dashed into her restaurant.

Last night, she'd been out late celebrating her dad's birthday with family and friends, and had slept through her alarm. If Sara hadn't called in sick with a killer cold, Robyn would still be asleep.

She hated days that started like this. A small bit of disorganization could send a day careening out of control. Then, she'd inevitably spend the rest of the day either racing to catch up, or running to get out of the way.

Robyn stepped into the kitchen. The familiar, busy activity greeted her. Nate, the cook, effortlessly juggled orders at the grill with the skill borne of long practice. The dishwasher, a harried expression on his acne-blotched face, bussed tables and scraped plates.

You okay, Jody? Robyn watched the only waitress working race from table to table as she distributed silverware and filled coffee cups. Where was Tina?

Yep.

I'll get started on lunch, then. Robyn wrapped an oversized white apron around her waist and jammed a baseball cap on her head, tucking up her curls.

She had barely started mixing pie crust for pot pies, a dusting of flour covering her forearms, when the telephone rang. It was the missing waitress.

Hi. Tina's high, little-girl voice grated on Robyn's already stretched nerves. I ain't comin' in today. Bitsy, ya know, my baby. Well, she's got th' sniffles.

Oh, Tina! Not today. We're already shorthanded. Robyn fought back her growing desperation. Can't you get someone to watch her?

Nah. She just fusses wicked hard when I, like, put her down.

Fine, she snapped. I'll see you tomorrow."

Robyn hung up the flour-coated phone and rubbed her forehead in frustration, knocking her ball cap askew. She returned to the pastry counter, consigning summer colds and epidemics and babies to any restaurant but hers.

The kid who washed dishes dropped a stack of plates, still scalding hot from the dishwasher. They crashed, scattering shattered shards across the floor. Robyn helped him clean up the mess, then started prep on one of the luncheon soup specials. As she poured cream into the lobster bisque, the mixture curdled.

Jody poked her head through the swinging doors. Robyn, we need help out here. Her voice held a desperate edge. Grateful to abandon the congealed, lumpy mess slated to be the soup of the day, Robyn went into the dining room. A flock of customers, mostly tourists, perched everywhere, like gulls along the ridge pole of the fish cannery.

As she rushed to take orders and deliver food, Robyn overheard snatches of conversation, which explained the unusually large breakfast crowd.

… too gloomy a day to …

I guess we'll do some souvenir shopping.

… a good time to catch up on the laundry.

… finish that book I started by …

She lost count of the cups of coffee she refilled as people lingered over their breakfasts, reluctant to go out into the somber weather. Then, for no apparent reason, as if reacting to some invisible signal, they left en masse, creating gridlock at the cash register.

With the dining room nearly empty, Robyn retreated to the kitchen and stared morosely into the soup kettle. How did one recycle curdled bisque?

Completely frazzled, Robyn pulled off her hat. I'm taking a break, she said, wiping her hands on her apron. Nate nodded acknowledgment as he scraped the grill. Robyn pushed open the swinging door leading into the dining room.

Behind the counter, she poured herself a cup of coffee, then turned around. And stared into a pair of eyes. Blue as a jay's wing. Black flecks radiated out from the center. The fringe of long, dark eyelashes intensified the color. Eyes to drown in.

I'll take some of that, if you don't mind. The stranger quirked an eyebrow and pointed at her cup.

She ignored the curl of heat in her belly, generated by his resonant voice, blaming it on the hectic morning. Sure. Regular?

Nope. Black.

Although his accent was Yankee, he'd picked up foreign ways. He didn't drink coffee like a native, with cream and sugar. Robyn grabbed a second mug, set it on the counter, and poured the aromatic brew. She took her time, checking him out. Her gaze ranged idly over the rest of him, which turned out to be as compelling as his eyes. Wide cheekbones, a strong chin. Nutmeg-brown hair looked tousled, as if he had just gotten out of bed. A leather jacket enhanced his broad shoulders.

Robyn had to admit it, this guy was hot. So hot, in fact, that she could feel it all the way down to her toes, which were practically burning.

Burning?

She tore her gaze away from his and looked down. Crap. She'd overfilled the cup, and coffee was flowing over the counter and spilling onto her foot. The stress of the morning had obviously gotten to her. It had nothing to do with blue eyes. Nothing at all.

You did say you wanted a full cup, didn't you? she quipped, trying to inject some humor into the situation. Grabbing a cloth, she mopped up the flood of brown liquid in a couple of swipes.

He removed his jacket and hung it over the back of the counter stool.

Nice! Strong arms and great shoulders, even better without the leather hiding them. She handed him his coffee, suddenly aware he was watching her closely. She should have taken more care with her appearance. At least put on some mascara. I shouldn't have taken my hat off. I can imagine what my hair looks like.

Tide Rock was small. She'd lived here all her life. She knew everyone. Although something about him was vaguely familiar, she was sure she'd never met him before. She would have remembered those blue eyes. She leaned against the service counter behind her. Just passing through?

Nope.

His terse response didn't satisfy her curiosity. Robyn pressed further. Here on vacation, then?

Nope. Got a job.

She rested one elbow on the counter and raised a brow. Doing what?

Lobstering.

That so? She crossed her arms. Above all, she was loyal to her family. Her brother and father were lobstermen. Another competitor would cut into their profits. There were already more than enough boats working the bay.

He remained silent.

Why Tide Rock? she challenged.

I remembered it from working with my uncle, not far down the coast.

His glance trapped hers, and she forgot what she was going to ask. Robyn noticed the muscles of his forearm flex as he lifted his mug to take a sip. She dragged her gaze away and tried to resume her questions. So … you're a lobsterman, too?

Haven't been for a while. I'm burned out from my job, and looking for relief from the fast pace.

Robyn eyed him closely. He certainly didn't look burned out. His face and body seemed relaxed, his hands steady. What's the deal? There's already enough trouble around here without some nautical tenderfoot getting in the way.

How's the catch been this summer? He leaned back, tucking his fingertips into the pockets of his jeans.

She hesitated, torn between discouraging and encouraging him. She didn't want him competing with her father and brother, but she definitely wouldn't mind keeping him around. About average.

So it's basically a normal year around here?

What did he mean by that? Did he know something, or was it nothing more than idle curiosity? Pretty much. She was reluctant to say more.

Tipping back his head, the stranger drained the last of his coffee and stood to leave. Say, I need to find a place to stay. Any suggestions? His slightly crooked grin charmed her, and she forgot the question she'd been about to ask.

Sure. Hold on a minute. She stepped to the end of the counter and picked up a copy of the Tide Rock Gazette left behind by a customer.

Here. When she handed it to him, their fingers brushed. Her hand tingled from the momentary contact. This might help.

Thanks. I appreciate it.

You might also check at the Suds and Go laundromat. People sometimes post notices there.

I'll do that. Pulling some money out of his jeans pocket, he dropped a couple of bills on the counter. He retrieved his jacket, hooked one finger in the collar, and slung it over a shoulder. I'll probably see you around.

Yeah… she murmured as the stranger exited the café, see ya 'round.

Two

Robyn Cushman watched the stranger stride through the parking lot, heading toward a tough-looking motorcycle. Despite her wariness, she admired his rangy body, with long legs encased in faded denims, the loose-jointed swing in his step, and his firm butt. She should have asked his name, asked about his uncle. She shrugged. In a town the size of Tide Rock, she'd hear every single detail in a day or two.

Shaking her head to dislodge the memory of blue eyes and broad shoulders, she returned to the kitchen. His reluctance to volunteer any information about himself raised lots of questions. Like what had happened to burn him out? And why didn't he want to talk about it?

He also didn't appear very well organized for his new venture. He hadn't mentioned his boat, a favorite topic among lobstermen. They either bragged they had the best boat, or complained about all the trouble they were having. Sometimes both in the same breath. He hadn't talked about where he was going to moor it, or about his traps or bait. Something didn't quite add up.

Oh, well. She raked her fingers through her hair and put her ball cap on, visor backward, dismissing the stranger from her mind. It wasn't her problem. Lord knew she had enough of her own today.

By three that afternoon, Robyn was totally stressed. She sagged against the door when she turned the key and the lock snicked into place. She headed home, and crawled straight into bed.

Two hours later, the raucous cry of a jay perched on the pine tree outside her bedroom, roused her. Wisps of dreams of blue eyes, broad shoulders and long legs swirled in her head. Dialing her parents' number, she gulped down a glass of milk, then wiped off the faint mustache on her upper lip with the back of her hand.

She waited impatiently, tapping her bare foot on the wood floor. Mum? Hi. Can I invite myself to dinner? I'm starving, but if I cook one more thing, I won't be responsible for my actions.

Come on over, dear. I'll stick an extra potato in the oven.

Thanks. You're awesome. See ya.

After hanging up the phone, Robyn took a quick shower, washing away the stale smell of food. Hot water sluiced over her, restoring her to full alertness. Smelling like fried food was not too high a price to pay for doing what you like best, and being your own boss.

Twenty minutes later, driving into her parents' yard, she noted Dad's latest project. He'd begun the oft-threatened re-shingling. A skeleton of scaffolding had appeared across the front of their house. Angled two-by-fours supported planks for a walkway at eaves level. It was hard to decide whether the house was spinning or emerging from a cocoon.

Undisturbed by the work, a wisteria vine with a tangled mass of purple blooms climbed a trellis that arched over the front door. The ever-present stack of lobster traps piled to one side resembled a huge mound of overgrown mailboxes made out of wooden slats.

Entering the roomy kitchen, which occupied the entire ell, so-called because the addition added an L-shape to the main house, Robyn inhaled the aromas of dinner. Mmm, delish. What's for supper, Mum? Smells like meat loaf and baked potatoes. She hugged her mother.

Right on the first guess. Liz Cushman was comfortably plump, a testament to her own good cooking.

Hi, Nikki, Robyn greeted her sister-in-law.

Nikki lifted a hand.

I see Little Todd's showing himself, Robyn teased. Nikki was almost six months pregnant.

Yeah. Nikki wore one of Todd's shirts. With a protective gesture, she pulled the oversized shirt over her rounded abdomen.

No need to hide him.

I wasn't.

Was that a defensive note in her sister-in-law's voice?

You look great, Liz soothed. A belly bump always takes time to adjust to in the beginning.

Mm-hmm.

Robyn peered closely at Nikki, surprised at her terse response. Most of the time, you couldn't get a word in edgewise around her.

The tramp of feet on the outside steps heralded the arrival of her father and younger brother. Phil Cushman and his son, Todd, were as alike as two peas in a pod. Both were lean and rangy, with the same bright, brown eyes. The only differences were her father's dark, grizzled hair and the few extra pounds he carried. In another twenty years, Todd would look exactly like him.

Supper's ready, Liz announced. Let's catch up while we eat.

The discussion around the dinner table was lively, ranging from national politics to the latest gossip about the next door neighbors. Robyn noticed that Nikki remained subdued during the meal. Was the mom-to-be feeling okay?

When they finished eating, Liz got up from the table and began clearing it.

Let me help, Mum. Robyn started to stand up.

No. You sit right there. You've worked hard enough today. Liz crossed the length of the room and ran hot water into the sink.

Dad watched her mother, making sure she was absorbed in her task of washing dishes. Things are no better on the bay. His voice was low, and he reached for his pipe and lit up.

The fragrant tobacco smoke Robyn associated with him swirled above his head. It was a blend he had worked on over the years and ordered especially from Portland.

Her father exhaled a long plume of smoke. Two of the guys almost came to blows on the wharf this afternoon.

What happened? Robyn glanced in her mother's direction.

Dad gripped his pipe. Tim Jackson accused Irv Peabody of cutting his trap lines. Thought he saw Irv's boat near his buoys.

I still say that doesn't sound like Irv, Todd interjected.

I know. I had to step in and stop it. Phil shook his head. Things are bad. Maybe I should contact the Department of Marine Resources.

I wouldn't. The DMR is an interfering bunch of nosy, prying meddlers. Nobody has much use for them. Todd spoke his mind more bluntly than usual.

But maybe they could help this time. Robyn threw support behind her father.

I think us lobstermen can handle this among ourselves. Dad's tone tried to convey reason.

I don't know about that. Todd's voice was a low growl.

Her brother's insistence on keeping the DMR out of the situation surprised Robyn.

I don't like it. More and more things have been happening, or people have accused each other of doing nasty things. I'm gettin' real worried. Her father's voice reflected his concern.

Worried about what? Her mother circled the table, wiping down the surface. What's the matter? Her brow creased with anxiety.

Oh, another squabble between a couple of the guys. Her father sent a warning look to Todd and Robyn.

Just like little boys, her mother scolded as she took her seat. Don't you think it's time you all grew up?

The discussion about the current feud reminded Robyn of the stranger she'd met that morning. He added an unknown ingredient to the already-roiling stew. Perhaps it would be best if she distracted her mother and changed the subject. Have you heard about the new guy in town?

No. What's his name? Nikki leaned forward slightly, her body tense.

Robyn blinked. That's odd. Why does Nikki care about a stranger in town?

I forgot to ask. He stopped in at the Bayside. Said he was 'burned out' with his old job. Needs something new, I guess. Claims he's gonna be lobsterin', but I don't believe he knows the first thing about it.

Nikki settled back in her chair. A rookie lobsterman?

Dad puffed on his pipe. Hardly likely. It's not the sort of job you take up on a whim. You can't run a lobster boat as some kind of occupational therapy.

Robyn frowned. I agree. That's why I think there's something fishy about him.

Her father and brother burst into hearty guffaws.

Robyn wrinkled her brow, until she realized her unintentional pun. Laugh if you want, but mark my words. She waved her index finger at them. Something's … fishy.

Here you are, kid. Late afternoon the following day, her father paused in the open doorway to Robyn's cramped office in the