A Maine Christmas...or Two Read online

  A Maine Christmas...or Two

  SMASHWORDS Edition

  Copyright © 2013 by J.S. Scott & Cali MacKay

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the Authors except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The stories contained within are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual person’s living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-939962-39-3 (E-Book)

  ISBN: 978-1-939962-40-9 (Paperback)

  Cover Design by Cali MacKay – Covers by Cali

  Edited by Faith Williams – Atwater Group

  The Billionaire’s Angel

  By J.S. Scott

  A Mermaid Isle Christmas

  By Cali MacKay

  Copyright © 2013 by J. S. Scott

  http://www.authorjsscott.com

  http://www.facebook.com/authorjsscott

  Boston, Massachusetts ~ December 22, 2000

  Grady Sinclair pushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes impatiently, straightened his glasses with a frown, and then resumed tapping at lightning speed over the computer keyboard in front of him. He was so close, so very close to solving the problem that he’d been wrestling with on this Internet project. He could feel it, and his intuition always made him doggedly driven to solve the puzzle. In fact, being involved in computer projects was about the only place he felt at home, able to forget that he was imperfect, and so much less than his parents wanted him to be.

  “I thought I told you to get your stupid ass downstairs and join the party,” a furious male voice exploded from the doorway of his bedroom, causing Grady to flinch.

  Grady froze at the sound of his father’s displeasure, although he really should be used to it by now. When it came to his second-born son, Martin Sinclair was always disapproving, and usually downright hostile. “I’m working on something important,” he answered his father quietly and carefully, his stomach dropping to his feet because he already knew what his father was going to say.

  The large, gray-haired man folded him arms in front of him, his face red with fury. “Every member of this family attends the Sinclair annual Christmas party. Your sister and brothers are doing their duty, while you’re up here hiding away like a coward, an embarrassment to the whole Sinclair name, as usual. My son, the idiot, is not at our party because he’s too dimwitted to have a conversation. That’s what people are saying.” Martin stopped to take a wheezing breath before adding, “You’ll show yourself downstairs now and try to act like a Sinclair.”

  Grady tried not to flinch as he met his father’s cold, gray-eyed stare, eyes so very much like his own. “I don’t like parties,” he stated flatly, knowing it went much deeper than that, but he wasn’t about to try to explain. His father had never understood him, and he never would.

  “I don’t give a shit about what you like and don’t like. No son of mine is going to be an idiot and a coward. Man up and do what’s expected of you,” his father growled. “Downstairs. Five minutes. And try not to act like a fool for a change.” Martin Sinclair turned around and left without another word.

  Grady let out a huge sigh, glad that his father was hosting the annual Christmas party and probably didn’t have more time to rake him over the coals for not being the man he wanted all of his sons to be.

  Martin Sinclair wanted every one of his children to be just like him, and Grady knew he was…different. He didn’t want to be, but he was, and at the age of eighteen, he knew he’d never be like his father.

  Walking to his closet, he pulled out a suit and tie, shucking his jeans and t-shirt to put on more formal clothing. Nothing less than a suit and tie would do, and if he couldn’t act like a Sinclair, at least he would dress like one.

  The Sinclair annual Christmas party was something he dreaded every year. And by the age of eighteen, he’d attended a lot of them, every one of them torture. He knew his sister and brothers would rally around him for support. His father would say cutting, degrading things, especially as the evening wore on and Martin Sinclair drank more and more alcohol. His father was a mean drunk, even nastier than when he was sober, which wasn’t very often. His mother would be the perfect hostess, just like she always was, never naysaying his father. She never did. She was probably as terrified of his father as her children were, but if she was, she never let on. Her plastic smile would stay affixed to her mouth like it was painted on, a smile that would never quite reach her eyes. Sometimes Grady wondered if his mother was really happy. It was hard to tell.

  The Sinclairs were old money, and as high in social status as a family could get. His oldest brother, Evan, was already off to Harvard, home only for Christmas break. Grady envied him, and was counting the days until he could leave for college. Honestly, if he was Evan, he wasn’t sure he would have come home for breaks at all. Maybe he could make up reasons why he had to stay on campus when he went to college, avoid the humiliation that always occurred at the Christmas parties. The thing was, Evan didn’t feel the same revulsion that Grady did over parties and gatherings. In fact, Grady was pretty sure that Evan was probably downstairs charming every person at the party. His older brother might not be enjoying himself, but he could put on the Sinclair demeanor at will, a trait that Grady admired, but couldn’t seem to master. All of his siblings could act the part of a proper Sinclair, a talent that Grady would give his right testicle to have. Hell, maybe he’d give up both of them if he could get relief from his father’s constant criticism. Grimacing, Grady cupped his genitals, thinking about losing both of his balls. Okay, maybe not that. He was an eighteen-year-old guy, and that part of his anatomy seemed pretty critical right now. But he’d give almost anything to not be the atypical Sinclair in his family. If he could just fit in, he wouldn’t draw anyone’s notice.

  I’m the odd one out, the disappointing Sinclair.

  Grady looked in the full-length mirror, straightening his tie and trying to finger-comb his unruly raven hair into place. He was tall, gangly, and awkward, not yet accustomed to how fast his body had grown in the last two years. He thought about taking off his glasses because then he might not look like such a nerd, and maybe if he couldn’t see, it might help block out some of the condescending looks from his father and the guests. But then he’d be stumbling around, unable to see things clearly, which would probably make him look that much more clumsy and stupid. He shook his head, knowing his fear was showing in his eyes, and he hated himself for it. If he could see his own terror in the mirror, he knew everyone else would notice it.

  I can do this. I can do this. I do it every year.

  Grady stiffened his spine and walked through his bedroom door, the noise of the party assaulting him as he descended the stairs.

  His palms grew moist and he swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat as he advanced closer to the crowd, a horde of people who he barely knew. And, as usual, they would be unforgiving, laughing at his bizarre behavior, pitying his father for having a pathetic son. His father only mingled with people who had status and wealth, and for the most part, they were as artificial as his father was, and many were just as cruel.

  Why do I have to be different? Why can’t I just fit in?

  Grady could feel his heart thundering against his chest wall, and he tried to control his rapid breathing, willing himself to take slow, deep breaths.

  “Don’t let them intimidate you, Grady. You’re smarter than every one of them.” His brother, Evan, moved up beside him, shovin
g a plate of food into one of Grady’s sweaty hands, and a glass of punch into the other. “Just stay busy eating and ignore them.”

  Hoping the punch was heavily spiked, he took a large gulp, his eyes meeting Evan’s and nodding with a confidence he wasn’t really feeling at the moment.

  This is why Evan had come home, even when he didn’t really want to. He comes because of me.

  His brother didn’t really want to be here either. Grady could sense it. Evan might try to play the badass young businessman to appease their father, but Evan would never come close to being the man their father was, and he didn’t enjoy this crowd. Evan was here for one reason and one reason only: to lend support to his younger brother, Grady.

  One by one, his four siblings surrounded him, none of them speaking, but silently lending support.

  Grady remained at the fringe of the crowd, his heart pounding, his dizziness never quite subsiding. He promised himself, at that very moment, that this would be the last Christmas he’d ever suffer through this gathering of vultures who had swooped down and humiliated him every single Christmas since he could remember. He would never, ever go through this again!

  As it turned out, Grady kept that vow. His father died a few hours later of a massive heart attack, right after the party was over. Martin Sinclair left each one of his children and his wife exceptionally wealthy, and it was the very last Sinclair annual Christmas party.

  It was also the year that Grady Sinclair admitted he hated Christmas, and always would.

  “I can’t believe you’re really going to approach the Amesport Beast for a donation. You’re either very brave or very desperate. Grady Sinclair is the last person who would help you out.”

  Emily Ashworth glanced up from her seat at her office desk, frowning at her best friend and Youth Center volunteer, Randi Tyler. Miranda, better known by everyone in Amesport as Randi, was a local teacher, and volunteered her time at the Center to help kids who needed extra assistance with learning.

  “Do I have a choice? He’s a billionaire, he lives in Amesport, and we need the money. It’s only three weeks until Christmas, and Paul took everything.” Emily’s eyes drifted down to her computer screen, the balance in the account of the YCOA glaringly showing the numbers in the red. Her ex-boyfriend—if she could even call him that—was gone, and so was any money the YCOA had in the business account. Damn it! She should have known Paul was a con, his attention too focused, his pursuit of her too unusual. All his attention and supposed affection was nothing more than a ruse to get his hands on readily available money, funds he shouldn’t have been able to steal.

  It’s my fault. I’m the director. I should have watched him closer, not ever left him alone in my office.

  Paul had completely duped her, and she’d stupidly fallen for his con job. The bastard! No doubt he had accessed the account from her computer and did the transaction from here. He’d been in to visit her here at the Center two days ago. She’d had an emergency with one of the kids playing basketball and left him alone for a while in her office. The next day, he was gone, and the business account was empty.

  “It’s not your fault,” Randi told her soothingly, plopping her jean-clad butt into the chair in front of the desk. “You had no way of predicting this would happen.”

  Emily eyed her petite, dark-haired friend warily, wondering if Randi would have been stupid enough to fall for Paul’s smooth lines. Probably not! “No matter whose fault it is, I have to fix this. The Center could go under. And we definitely won’t have any funds to buy Christmas presents and food this year for the annual party. The gift from us is the only thing some of these kids get every Christmas.” Emily’s heart sank to her feet, guilt squeezing at her chest. “I can’t let the kids down. I can’t let the community down.”

  Amesport was a small coastal town, but the population of kids who needed this youth center was fairly substantial because of all of the surrounding villages. Losing the Center would be a tough blow to the whole town and the surrounding communities.

  Randi rolled her eyes. “So you’re just going to walk up to Grady Sinclair’s door and ask for money?”

  “That’s the plan, yes. We can get small donations from the community, but we’re missing the whole operating budget for the rest of the year. There’s no other way to fix this other than to receive a huge donation,” Emily replied, sighing as she laid her head down on the desk with her arms underneath it for support, tears of anger and frustration finally escaping from her eyes. “And I don’t have the funds to replace it myself.”

  “I wish I had it to give to you, but I don’t have that kind of money lying around either,” Randi replied wistfully. “He won’t give you the money, so I think you should save yourself the humiliation of asking. Grady Sinclair isn’t exactly known for his kindness and generosity. Maybe one of the other Sinclairs—”

  “He’s the only one in residence. The others are all out of town,” Emily replied glumly, already aware that the rest of the family, who all had homes on the Amesport Peninsula, were unavailable. She’d already checked. The last thing she really wanted to do was to approach a man who was known for being rude, antisocial, and condescending. But he was the only Sinclair available. So, beast or not, she was asking. Honestly, she probably deserved to have the guy slam the door in her face. This was entirely her fault, even though the police had already told her that this exact same scenario had occurred in several businesses in Maine in the last few months, but they hadn’t yet been able to nail the perpetrator. Still, had she not been so completely charmed by Paul’s flattering attention, the future of the YCOA wouldn’t be in jeopardy.

  Men who look like him don’t exactly fall all over me. I should have been suspicious! Paul used his looks and charm to bowl me over, and it had worked because I’m not used to that kind of male attention.

  She was tall, her figure too round, and her long blonde hair was usually scraped back into a ponytail. The old pair of glasses perched on her nose didn’t help improve her blandness, and she wore very little make-up because most of it irritated her skin. She had a tendency to just blend into the woodwork, and men usually made her a buddy rather than a girlfriend.

  “Don’t cry over Paul. So what if he was attractive? He’s a thief and he’s definitely not worth it. I’d castrate the bastard if I could find him,” Randi said vehemently. “You obviously weren’t his first victim, but I’d certainly like to make sure you were his last.”

  Lifting her head, Emily swiped at the tears on her face. “I’m not upset about him. We only dated for a few weeks, and I obviously didn’t even know him. But the kids—”

  “The kids will survive, and we’ll think of something.”

  The Youth Center was the heart of the town of Amesport. Not only was the sprawling old brick building a refuge for kids of all ages who needed some support and attention, but it was the place where everything important happened, from wedding receptions to weekly events for the senior citizens in the community. Everything good that took place in town happened here, and Emily would be damned if she’d let the community down by letting the Center go under. The people in this town, from the very young to the elderly, needed this gathering place and the activities and services it offered. She hadn’t returned to Amesport only to end up destroying the very Center that she herself had used when she was younger.

  Amesport had always been home to Emily. The only time she had been away was to attend college in California. She’d stayed there for a while after graduation, trying to climb the corporate ladder, before finally realizing that she really didn’t give a damn whether or not she reached the top. When her mom had told her the previous director of the Center had retired, Emily had come back home to stay. It had been comforting that very little had changed during her absence, except for the fact that the Sinclair siblings had all decided to finally claim the peninsula outside of town, land that had been in their family for generations. Gra
dy had been the first to build his home there, with all of the other members of the family putting up their own houses after his was completed. As far as she knew, Grady Sinclair was the only full-time resident on the peninsula, but all five of them had a house there, homes that usually sat empty.

  “I have to do something,” Emily whispered to herself desperately, standing and pulling on her bright red jacket.

  “I hear he eats women and small children as a snack,” Randi warned her ominously, her lips curving into a small smirk.

  Emily smoothed the jacket over her generous hips and retorted, “I think I’d make a decent lunch.” Unlike her petite friend, Emily was far from small, and she’d probably make a decent meal, even for a beast.

  She had been back in Amesport and running the YCOA for over a year, but hadn’t once encountered a single member of the Sinclair family. Apparently, most of the family was either constantly traveling or lived elsewhere, using their house here in Maine as strictly a vacation home. Grady Sinclair was rarely spotted in town, but his few not-so-friendly interactions with the locals had labeled him as a complete jerk. Residents here in Amesport weren’t accustomed to people being less than polite and friendly; almost anyone in town was more than willing to yack and gossip with a new arrival. Apparently, Grady Sinclair wasn’t exactly the amiable type, and Emily wondered why he had ever moved here to Amesport. The Sinclairs were from Boston. Sure, they had land here. But then, they owned real estate just about everywhere.

  Randi stood, her smirk replaced by a look of concern as she asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m doing it,” Emily answered confidently as she scooped up her purse. “How bad can he be?”

  Randi shrugged. “I’ve actually never met him, either. But from what I’ve heard, he’s like the devil incarnate.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “Thanks. That’s comforting.”