EVERY BRIDE NEEDS SOMETHING "BLUE"

The late-afternoon sun backlit his hunky, decidedly masculine frame, casting his face and those thickly lashed eyes in shadow. Her gaze drifted to his hands again as she remembered how they’d felt, keeping her steady in those first moments after the crash. He looked like the perfect guy. All gorgeous, courteous, manly-man rescuer of damsels in distress.She felt a hot rush of attraction zip right through her recently traumatized system. And by trauma, she didn’t mean the car crash. She blamed it on that, though, all the same. All that adrenaline and pain, making her a little light-headed. Had to be it. Otherwise, she was quite certain she’d have looked at him and felt nothing. Because not only had she sworn off men in general, she’d sworn off men who made her girl parts tingle very specifically.One thing was certain. Looks were deceiving. Because there were no perfect men. “Just perfect idiots,” she muttered, lifting her hand from the wheel, as if taking an oath. “Yes, your honor, gu

“Well, the sign is DOA,” he continued calmly, in that spine-tingling voice of his, as if she hadn’t just summarily dismissed him. “And given the steam rising from under the hood, your car might need more than a little CPR, too.” She heard him pushing at the air bag and she felt him angle in for a closer look. “Looks like you took a bit of a hit from the air bag canister when it popped. And, uh . . .”At the odd edge in his voice, she cracked open one eye and caught sight of a head of tawny, sun-streaked brown hair. She couldn’t see his face, because he was staring at her . . . boobs? Really? She’d have snorted in disgust if she hadn’t been pretty sure doing so would make her face fall off. “Someone from town will tow me,” she said, barely restraining the urge to pull his head back. By the hair. Now get your stupid man face out of my boobs. She sighed. Six years of college, summers spent clerking for a federal court judge, a law degree, and a fast-tracked position in one of Capitol Hil

Calder wisely kept his opinion to himself. “Just being protective of her family. Nothing wrong in that. Why don’t we get you over to the paramedic or the ER if you’d rather go there, and we’ll let your sister handle calling in for the tow.”Hannah surprised him by merely nodding. “Thank you. I appreciate that. I’ll need to call Beanie, too.”“Who’s Beanie?” It surprised him that he actually wanted to know.“The owner of the sign I just took out. Her husband built it and hand-painted it.” She looked over at the pile of shattered planks. “I feel awful about ruining it.”“Sounds like the kind of guy who wouldn’t mind making another one. I’m sure it will be fine.” He motioned toward his truck. “Is there anything you need from your car?” He lifted a hand. “I’ll get it, just tell me.”“He can’t make another one,” she said instead. “He passed away last year. That’s why I feel awful.”Calder stopped and looked at her, and saw she was on the verge of tears. And likely not the sweet trickle of

“Well, if you’d bother to come back home more often than once every few years, or keep in touch more regularly, you’d know when it happened.”There’s the lecture. Hannah knew better than to think she’d escape without one. Oddly, instead of irritating her, it made her feel . . . well, not comforted, but like she was home. Like she mattered. To someone.Barbara leaned back, but stopped short of folding her arms over her buttoned-up, uniformed bosom. Not that it mattered. Her steely gaze did much the same. “Speaking of which, what is Tim the Titan of Finance’s excuse this time? And don’t bother telling me he’s coming because it’s all over your face that he’s leaving you to pull wedding duty alone. At least he didn’t keep you from coming home this time.”“No,” Hannah said quietly, no longer annoyed by Barbara’s nickname for him. He had plenty of far worse ones now. “Tim isn’t here. He’s not coming to the wedding. It’s just me.” The urge to simply unload and tell Barbara exactly how truthf

Calder swallowed a sigh and perhaps a swear word or two as he pulled into the gravel lot and spied Jonah Blue standing at the ready, on the dry-land end of Blue’s Fishing Company’s main pier. The sun was setting over the pine tree–dotted ridge that fringed the hill rising up behind High Street at Calder’s back, casting Jonah’s tightly pinched features in a stark, mauve-shadowed relief that didn’t warm his expression in the least. Calder told himself he should feel lucky the old man wasn’t toting a shotgun. Although he supposed that didn’t rule out something equally lethal. Like a nice, sharp gutting knife.Feeling a little too close a kinship to a lobster swimming into a trap, he slid out the cab of his truck . . . and tried not to grimace when the sharp briny scent hit him. Calder had discovered that the air had a salty tang anywhere you went in Half Moon Harbor—in most of the Cove proper, for that matter. He liked it well enough, thinking it added a more immediate, visceral element