Prologue
“One day this will all be yours, James,” Alex Cavanaugh said while standing tall and strong in the warehouse of Cavanaugh Creations on Skaneateles Lake. He had always seemed larger than life to James, with his head full of thick white hair and dark brown eyes brimming with intelligence. The air was heavy with meaning, purpose. James knew in his gut that this day was special.
The Finger Lakes region was a gorgeous part of central New York with eleven lakes formed in the shape of fingers by glaciers from long ago. Skaneateles Lake was right in the middle and had the cleanest waters. It wasn’t good for making wine like some of the other lakes were because it sat too high, but it was known for its regattas. James was young, but he had always had a head for business. He’d done his homework after Alex had taken him in a few years ago. Alex had sent him to college for business, and James had always hoped to take over the company one day.
He’d just never dreamed it would actually come true.
“You’re all I have left,” Alex said, his voice full of pride yet a sense of urgency and conviction. “I don’t feel I wasted my years devoting them to business, but I do regret not allowing myself the time to find someone to share it with. I’m the last Cavanaugh besides you.” He paused and gripped James’s shoulders almost in a desperate fashion. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did, my son.”
“I won’t,” James Cavanaugh—formerly Jimmy Blake—said and meant it. “I’ll make you proud, I promise.”
He stood tall, feeling safe and secure with Alex’s arm draped across his shoulders. He adored his father and knew how much Alex had come to love him. James just couldn’t believe his good fortune. This business was huge, and the Cavanaughs were well respected in this neck of the woods. He felt lucky to be a part of them now. Except nothing positive had ever happened to James. It was sometimes hard for him to trust that this was all real.
He’d once had biological parents who loved him, but they had died in a car accident when he was young. So he’d grown up in a Brooklyn orphanage, feeling lost and alone, but then he’d met his angels. His best friends were Penny Delaney, Bridget McCloud, and Lila Sanders. Penny was a natural beauty who needed him, while Bridget was sophisticated and competent and intriguing, and Lila was stunning and wild and captivating. They’d been The Four Musketeers, having each other’s backs through everything.
Until they grew older and he fell for them all, unable to choose.
When he’d found out each of his angels was pregnant with his child—due within weeks of each other—he’d freaked out. Instead of being there for them, he ran away, leaving them to deal with the situation on their own. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done, and he had no idea how to make it right. Then he met Alex Cavanaugh—a wealthy older man who didn’t have children of his own. Alex took him in and made him his son, giving him a life of luxury.
James didn’t want to disappoint Alex, so he never told him the truth, even though it ate away at him every day. Keeping such a secret had turned James’s stomach, making him sick inside. Especially when Alex encouraged him to find someone special and start a family of his own so he would have children to hand this legacy to someday. Now Alex was grooming him to one day take over the family ship-building business. He should tell him now. Then again, James had always been a coward.
Maybe someday he would find the strength to locate his girls and do the right thing.
Chapter 1
“One day this could all be yours,” James said while standing in the warehouse of Cavanaugh Creations on Skaneateles Lake, sweeping his hand wide to encompass the massive space full of boats in various stages of being built. The smell of sawdust and varnish and paint hung heavy in the air.
Meghan McCloud glanced around and then studied him closely. He was a handsome man with piercing blue eyes, but it was still hard for her to think of him as her father. She took a step away from him when he tried to put his arm around her shoulders, not ready to let him get close. Not sure if she would ever be. He smelled like expensive cologne, sawdust, motor oil, and lake water: foreign yet somehow familiar, which gave her hope. His shoulders drooped a little, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. He was still a strong man, but he’d lost weight and his salt and pepper hair was more salt these days. He was only forty-eight, but the pancreatic cancer had taken its toll, adding years to his appearance.
He kept talking about the advantages of keeping the company in the family, and how impressed he was over all she had accomplished at such a young age, the rich timbre of his voice gentle and affectionate. She thought of her mother, Bridget—a no-nonsense redhead who didn’t stop until she got what she wanted. Practical, logical, and successful, she’d provided a good home for Meghan, but that was all. She’d pushed Meghan to be the best at whatever she did because you couldn’t rely on any handouts or help, she’d always said. Meghan remembered back to the day she had landed the job as manager of The Upper Crust….
“Guess what, Mother? I got the job!” Meghan said excitedly in Bridget Deangelo’s fancy kitchen.
“Good, that’s the first step to being secure,” her mother had replied in between delegating orders to the staff. Her red hair was artfully styled in a sophisticated twist, her dress the perfect length and cut with jewels to match. “Don’t slack off, there’s always room for improvement, Meghan,” she added.
Meghan waited for a hug, or a pat on the back, or at the very least an, I’m proud of you. She knew in her heart she would never get that. She hadn’t gotten it when she graduated as salutatorian of her high school class, or when she got into the top college of her choice, or when she graduated college with honors. It was enough to make a person desperate.
Desperate people did things they knew weren’t right.
But no matter what Meghan did, it was never good enough. She was never good enough. Her mother always said the same thing: good job, but keep going, try harder. Meghan was tired of trying. Trying to make her mother proud, trying to find a man to accept her for who she was, trying to fit into her stepfather’s world … trying to understand why her biological father had left. Sometimes it all felt like too much, and she feared she was on the verge of a breakdown.
“Maybe we can go out and celebrate tonight?” she gave one final try.
“I can’t. I’m hosting a party for Lorenzo this evening.”
“Oh,” Meghan brightened. “Maybe I can come, and we can celebrate then.”
“You wouldn’t like it,” her mother responded without meeting her gaze. “It’s just a bunch of high-society types. Not exactly your scene. You know how Lorenzo is.”
Her words deflated Meghan’s balloon of excitement. No matter how successful she became, she would never be a “real” success to her mother. Bridget might say it was Lorenzo who didn’t accept Meghan, but Meghan could see it in her mother’s eyes. She often felt like her mother resented her even more with each new accomplishment, as though she were jealous of her own daughter. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant with Meghan, then she probably would have been just as successful. Meghan could tell how her mother felt by the way that she looked at her, and it hurt more than she would ever know.
Her mother had married Lorenzo Deangelo, a widower fifteen years her senior with more money than he knew what to do with and a ready-made family just waiting for someone to step in and be their mother. Her mother had been all too happy to comply, more practical in nature than affectionate, even with her own daughter. In her mind survival came first, love a distant second if at all. Such a big house with plenty of space.
Yet they’d never seemed to have room enough for Meghan.
“I’m really proud of you,” James said, resting his hand on Meghan’s shoulder, bringing her back to the present. Her heart fluttered for a moment over hearing the words she’d waited a lifetime to hear. From anyone, really. She just didn’t know how she felt about them coming from the father she never thought she would meet. A virtual stranger who knew little about her, yet suddenly seemed to know her better than anyone.
“Tell me a little more about Cavanaugh Creations current financial state and what you have in mind for its growth and expansion,” she said in lieu of a response, once more stepping away from his touch, not yet ready to acknowledge his praise.
James went on speaking while Meghan went back to studying him. She hadn’t known he’d existed until just before summer started. She’d received a letter on her thirtieth birthday, saying he was her father and that she had two half-sisters born within weeks of her. He planned to leave everything to the three of them to be divided equally among them upon his death. The only stipulation was that they had to spend the summer with him at his house on Skaneateles Lake in New York.
Meghan had grown up in Brooklyn but then moved to Connecticut after accepting the position as hotel manager. She’d thrown herself into her job, and as a result the men she dated felt inferior to her. The problem was that men couldn’t handle how smart she was or that she made more money than most of them. All she’d ever wanted was to be accepted for who she was, but so far, that had never happened.
As far as Meghan went, she didn’t know what she wanted to do yet. She didn’t forgive and forget easily. She had her job running the hotel to go back to, but James was also offering her the job of President and CEO of Cavanaugh Creations. No matter how angry she was at him for abandoning them, the businesswoman in her was having a hard time turning the offer down. She could do so much with this business, as it still had room to grow. It was only the middle of July. She still had time, she reminded herself. The logical thing to do would be to wait and let the future play out.
“One day soon this really could all be yours and your sisters with you at the helm, Amber running the estate, and Brook in charge of the foundation,” James repeated. “It’s perfect. It’s your birthright. It was meant to be.” His voice softened, and he looked into her eyes with such sincerity and hope, making it really hard to stay angry at him. “I know I wasn’t there for any of you. At the very least I want to give you each other. I just want to see you settled and happy before I die. All you girls have to do is say yes.”
“Maybe,” Meghan replied with a safe enough answer, and then added, “We’ll see.” She was just terrified that he wouldn’t be so proud of her if he knew the truth.
***
“Mom, relax,” Wesley Campbell said while standing inside his brand new restaurant called The Roof Garden. It was a Monday morning in mid-July before the restaurant was open. Skaneateles Lake was often referred to as the “roof garden” since it sat the highest among all the Finger Lakes. Wes had chosen that name because he wanted his diners to feel like they were eating fantastic cuisine on top of the world in a heavenly garden.
“How can I relax?” his mother Nancy said. “Your grandmother’s one-hundredth birthday party needs to be perfect, and we’re running out of time. She’s been a pillar of this community for a century. Are you sure you will be ready? The party is in one week. I was all set to have it at the country club. Changing the venue throws a big kink in my plans. Now I have to send out brand new, last minute updates on the invitations.”
His mother was seventy and was still a striking woman. Chocolate brown hair styled perfectly, emerald green eyes that sparkled, a sophisticated suit on a tall, toned body—he was the spitting image of her. She was six-foot and he was six-four with long, wiry muscles. Whereas his three older brothers took after his father, Henry—five-foot-something, blonde, stocky and tough. Wes had never felt like he measured up in his father’s eyes, spending his life hearing, why can’t you be more like your brothers?
They had all played sports, gone to college on athletic scholarships, and gone on to serve in tough jobs like law enforcement, firefighting, and the military. Wes was the only one who didn’t play sports, earned an academic scholarship, and went into women’s work—as his father would say—by opening his own restaurant. His brothers loved to tease that Wes was the girl their parents never had—way too pretty for his own good. Getting voted prom king and most attractive his senior year in high school only made things worse.
“You’re not having Nana’s birthday party anywhere but here. You know how close we are, and she made it clear that she wanted it here,” he responded firmly, thinking, at least Nana Betty supports me. His grandmother had always been in his corner, his biggest ally. He knew his mother had really wanted a girl, and his father was disappointed in him as a man. His grandmother was the only one who appreciated him for who he was. He didn’t know what he would do when she was gone. Probably spend his life alone and lonely, because there was no way he was ever getting married.
Not after what had happened.
“Fine,” his mother said while smoothing her skirt. “But I get to handle the details. How many people does this place hold?”
“Three hundred. Plenty to cover the guest list you already invited. And Mom,” he met her eyes with a meaningful look, “please don’t make it hard for me to be there.”
“It happened.” She sighed as though speaking to an errant child. “Don’t you think it’s time to move on? It’s been a year.”
“What I think,” he strove hard not to clench his jaw, “is that you should leave it alone.”
She stiffened and raised her chin a notch. “I’ll have the updated list to you by the end of the day.”
“You do that, Mother.” He smiled, and she smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It never quite did.
Story of his life.
His mother left, and Wes pinched his brow with his thumb and index finger. It was exhausting walking around with a chip on his shoulder, but he couldn’t help it. Every time she visited, he ended up with a whopper of a headache. He wandered out back onto the upper deck that overlooked the lake and the lower patio, grounds, and dock below. His baby. This place meant the world to him. A lifetime of trying to prove himself. The sun was shining bright, the temperature already growing warm with cloudless blue skies and no breeze. It was going to be a hot one today.
He’d already had his grand opening, but business hadn’t been that good. That made him defensive because he knew what a great place he had. It didn’t help that the country club was right across the lake. He had hoped since that was a private club that he would draw in the rest of the local residents. But he didn’t want to cater to just the wealthy, he wanted this place to be a place where anyone could go. That’s why he’d included entrées with a wide range of prices.
He’d spent a lot of time and money creating a rooftop garden and bar, as well as a banquet room upstairs for parties and dining room on the ground floor. The restaurant sat back from the water with hills and trees behind it, making the impressive two-story, gleaming wooden structure with a wall of windows look majestic. His guests would have a spectacular view of the lake and the boats in the marina across the way. His grounds were substantial, but he hadn’t really done anything with them yet.
In the summer, he hoped boaters would dock their boats and come in for a bite to eat. And in the winter, people went ice-skating and snowmobiling on the lake. What better place to do that than in front of a restaurant that catered to everyone, where you could come inside and get warm when you were done? He just needed to think of a way to advertise and draw more people in. Get the word out that he was open for business.
Footsteps sounded below. He glanced down and a woman who looked to be around his age with long red hair pulled high in a ponytail jogged across his lower patio and onto his dock. Upon closer inspection, her hair appeared to be more auburn than red with flecks of blond that glittered in the morning sun. He recognized class when he saw it. She had on a top-of-the-line running suit and expensive sneakers. He was a runner himself, so he knew how much they cost. His father could never understand why he preferred to run outside, surrounded by nature, rather than be confined to a smelly gym like he and his other bulky sons went to.
In Wes’s business, working out was more about stress relief than body-building. He didn’t need to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger, he just needed to not have a heart attack before he turned forty from the stress his family gave him on a daily basis. He took a deep breath and studied the woman below. She had a great body. He would be blind not to notice that. But there was something else about her that intrigued him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but all he knew for certain was that he hadn’t been intrigued in far too long.
He frowned, suddenly wondering if she could be a spy for the country club. He tended to be a bit suspicious and overprotective of things that belonged to him. He climbed the stairs down to the lower level, when she pulled out her phone.
“I still haven’t made up my mind,” she said to someone on the other end, “but I can tell you this. If you’re planning to throw a party for your employees to celebrate a job well-done, I suggest you don’t do what’s expected. The country club is great, but not everyone is a member. You don’t want anyone to feel out of place. Besides, it’s overdone. Why not go for something new and unexpected. There’s this place that just opened called The Roof Garden. Great name, great space.”
Wes relaxed, his lips tipping up slightly at the corners, pleased at the compliment. She definitely wasn’t a spy, and she had great taste. Maybe things were finally starting to look up for him.
“Although if I ran this place, I can tell you I would change a few things,” she continued, pacing the dock while she talked and obviously not realizing he stood behind her.
His lips tipped back down into a bigger frown than before. “Like what?” he asked, coming to a stop before the red-headed dynamo.
She was even more attractive up close, but a stubborn know-it-all if ever he’d seen one. He recognized a control freak when he saw one because he was one. His gut squeezed when her mesmerizing tawny eyes met his, making him clench his jaw. She was smart and cunning. He knew the type, and frankly, didn’t want anything to do with people like that. He could tell she wasn’t above doing almost anything to get what she wanted.
Just like his ex-girlfriend had been.
“Gotta go.” The woman clicked her phone closed as she assessed him in a calculating way. “And who might you be?”
“Wesley Campbell, owner of The Roof Garden.” He held out his hand, assessing her right back in an equally wary, calculating way. “And you?”
“Meghan McCloud, manager of The Upper Crust Hotel in Connecticut … and daughter of James Cavanaugh of Cavanaugh Creations.”
He blinked. “James Cavanaugh?” Wes said, impressed. He cleared his throat, frustrated with himself for showing any emotion at all. “He’s highly respected around here,” he added in an, I’m-just-stating-the-facts-ma’am sort of way.
“Is he now?” Her lips pursed as if she were irritated over his compliment to her father, which didn’t make any sense.
“Cavanaugh Creations has built some of the most amazing racing sailboats. They have won the annual regatta more times than I can recount. I didn’t even know Mr. Cavanaugh was married, let alone had a daughter. You must be proud.”
Her face hardened, and he could tell he’d hit a nerve as she muttered, “Not married and he has three daughters all the same age by three different women. Proud isn’t exactly the word that comes to mind when I think about dear ole Dad.”
“Interesting,” Wes said, pleased that she wasn’t as good at playing the game, either. Not to mention he might have actually met a family more messed up than his own.
“Yes, well,” she said, appearing to regain control of herself as though realizing she’d said too much. With her game face firmly back in place, she continued, “Anyway, my father wants to have a party to celebrate all of the employees who have ever worked for him. He feels he owes them a debt of gratitude and wants to pay it before it’s too late.”
Wes softened just a hair. James was a good man. A young man. Anyone who knew him, or even of him, couldn’t help but feel bad for his family. “I heard he has cancer, and that his prognosis doesn’t look good. I wondered what would become of his business. It sounds like you’re stepping in and taking charge. That’s good.”
She frowned. “It doesn’t sound like anything of the sort. I’m simply helping out a bit. I do have experience in planning parties, given that I’m the manager of a fine hotel. Besides, I’m bored.”
“Then why not leave?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Sounds like you’re complicated.” And difficult, Wes thought. He smirked, trying hard not to roll his eyes, not surprised in the least. “Duly noted.”
“I’m not complicated. You’re just not a very good listener, which is something you need to be in the hospitality business.” She smirked back. “Duly noted.”
“Touché, Ms. McCloud. I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend your obviously delicate sensibilities.” He tilted his head, studying her.
“And I didn’t mean to offend yours.” She curtsied. “If you would come down off your perfect pedestal maybe you would see I’m trying to do something nice.”
“My mistake.” He bowed and fought hard not to chuckle. She was irritating yet entertaining: a mixture he couldn’t help but find fascinating. Straightening to his full height, he wiped the smirk off his face. He couldn’t afford to find anything fascinating. He had a new business to run. No time for dangerous, distracting things like romance.
In his experience, romance only led to heartache.
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