Page 29 of Colton's Secret Weapon
There was no other marina in Shelby. And as Mitchell had pointed out recently, Brad Fletcher owned the marinas in the neighboring towns on both sides of them.
She could no longer turn a blind eye to the facts that were presenting at an alarming rate. Mitchell had been right. Someone was putting the squeeze on her and her father.
Someone with the power to offer a St. James employee a handsome raise at what was surely one of Brad Fletcher’s marinas.
At the same time Brad Fletcher was being increasingly aggressive with her in his bids to buy her father’s marina.
It didn’t take a mathematician to put two and two together on that one.
Nor to see that if she didn’t take Fletcher’s offer, she and her father would be destitute. St. James Boats was no longer raking in the dough, but it was making enough to cover Whaler’s minimal needs and alcohol with enough left over for the monthly installments on her mother’s remaining medical bills.
Namaste kept her afloat. But with nothing to spare.
“I might have a solution for this one.” Mitchell’s words slowly got through the fog taking over her brain.
“For what? We can’t offer Hal more money.”
“No, but with your permission, I think I might be able to find someone who can take over his duties. The son of a buddy of mine from high school. Dete Littleton. Like your father, Dete’s a sea captain, gone most of the time, but his son, Kirk, has beenraised on boats since he was born. He’s only twenty-one, just back from college graduation…”
A dream come true for St. James Boats. Even temporarily.
That math added up quickly, too. Glancing at Mitchell, accepting without question the good coming from him, through him, she said, “You have my permission” and sat calmly while he made the call.
Bad would come. It was a part of the learning experience. Her job was to trust. To know that, regardless of what happened, her spirit would be fine. She was loved.
To believe that answers would always be there.
And to keep firmly in mind at all times that Mitchell Colton was merely a conduit.
Not intended to be a personal part of her life.
Kirk was ecstatic at the idea of working at St. James Boats. He’d grown up with the marina in his backyard. Had hung out there as a high schooler, just to learn, to feel like he was closer to his father out at sea.
Unbeknownst to Dove, Whaler had let the kid tag along and help him out when he was working on the boats. And the others had, too.
“It’s a blessing of fate,” Dove told Mitchell as they headed back down to civilization to meet the young man at the marina. It would be getting dark by the time they arrived—would be nearly eleven at night—but Kirk wanted to be able to help on the docks in the morning, and Mitchell had to close the deal. Several of the boats had reservations on the books for the next day. Including Whaler’s largest, most expensive boat in the fleet—the small trawler,Wicked Winnings.
“It’s business, Dove. It’s what I do. Put together people and products that mesh through fair contracts.” It was clear, concise, logical business.
Something he’d done dozens of times during his nearly ten years since he’d opened Shelby Law Office.
Business. Not some kind of guided-by-invisible-powers miracle.
And because he was bothered by her comment, he had to bring the point home strong. “It’s what you’re paying me for,” he said succinctly.
Something that wasn’t yet technically true. There was still no official agreement between him and St. James Boats.
Nor was he planning to charge the business for hooking Kirk up with them. More like he was doing a favor for a friend—his high school buddy, not Dove St. James.
He would oversee the employment contract, however. And update the one Whaler had with his one remaining full-time employee, Wes Armstrong. And should get something in writing with Lyle Morris, the college kid who was helping out for the summer. For all he knew, Kirk and Lyle knew each other. Stood to reason since they were only a few years apart in age.
Something to keep in mind, to ask Kirk about when they met up. If there was jealousy or any kind of bad blood between the two, he’d want to see that both men were able to get along at work before he suggested that Dove leave them alone on the dock with Wes. Whaler’s senior employee did not need employee-relation problems on his hands.
Energized by the thoughts, back to doing what he did and did well—taking care of his clients’ business interests and preventing disasters—Mitchell was almost eager to get off the mountain and back to town. He was back in control of his world, himself again.
Right up until at the marina where, after the grocery incident, they’d decided to store her car that afternoon before leaving on their hike, Dove got in the passenger seat of his vehicle to ride home with him.
“It’s like a miracle,” she said, beaming in her usual way. Something he hadn’t seen since her father had gone missing. The glow hit him in the gut. Hard.
