Blaze of Winter: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance by Elisabeth Barrett Page B

two large piles on the wooden desk. As he picked up one of the books, it fell open onto the hardwood floor.
    “Damn,” he said. The book was old and its spine was crumbling. If he’d damaged it, there would be hell to pay. Bran guarded these materials like they were his own children. Gingerly, Theo picked up the book and placed it back on the desk. He flipped through it carefully, checking for damage. Suddenly, something caught his eye.
    There was an insert in the book—a drawing of an old map. He could tell that it depicted the coastline in and around Star Harbor. The town’s uniquely shaped harbor was unmistakable—itshalf-star shape was what had originally given the town its name. Theo peered at the map. It seemed to show the location of a shipwreck. Could it possibly be …
    His breath caught in his lungs as he scanned the old-style text around the map. Yes! It was a map of the wreck of the Siren Lorelei . What a stroke of luck! He was sure he’d have found the map eventually, but this would give him a jump start. Typically, when he was researching a book, he liked to visit any actual sites he was using as background. Coupled with his fictional ideas, real historical details were what made his books special. He smiled. He did love getting things right.
    He flipped his notebook back open and sketched out a rough copy of the map, including the outline of the harbor and the place where the wreck was supposed to have occurred. According to the text, the wreckage had been spread out over four miles, so he drew that in, too. Then he put a small piece of paper in the old book as a bookmark, carefully shut it, and placed it on top of one of his piles.
    He tucked his notebook and laptop into his shoulder bag, shrugged on his coat, and walked through the main room. A display of old nautical instruments sat atop a long table, and peeling, yellowed maps of Cape Cod lined the walls. Bran had given him the key to the front door, so he used that to lock up behind him.
    It was snowing again, but it was a short walk down to the pier where the Rusty Nail was located. As he walked, his feet crunched in the crisp, freshly fallen snow. In the harbor, whitecaps topped the waves, and sturdy winter boats bobbed in the water. Most of the pleasure boats were dry docked for the winter, but the fishing boats and houseboats—including Val’s—were still attached to their moorings.
    Theo reached the Nail’s unassuming front door within ten minutes. Blending in seamlessly with its surroundings, the tavern looked like any other worn harbor-front building. Built of shellacked wood that had taken a pounding over the years from wind and saltwater, the Nail could be identified only by a small placard over the door frame. It had been around forever,and like any local, Theo knew that Andy had carefully maintained its uninviting exterior to exclude tourists. Happily, it was much less of an issue during the wintertime.
    Pushing the door open, Theo was blasted by a warm gust of air. Unlike its shabby façade, the Nail’s interior was well maintained. The front room was dimly lit, but not dark, and the place was clean. Some fishermen sat at the long, polished oak bar, conversing with Andy Neiman. Small groups gathered at lacquered wooden tables, nursing tall steins of beer. He spotted Val and Cole at one of the corner tables, sitting with Jimmy Bishop. Theo gave them a wave, then moved to the bar to get a drink.
    “Hey, Andy. How are things?”
    “Just fine, Theo. Had a good rehearsal with my chamber music group tonight. Expecting the rest of the players any minute now. You?”
    “A productive day,” he said with satisfaction. “Tough, but productive.”
    “Sounds like you need a drink,” Andy said wryly.
    “What do you have on tap?”
    “I got a Shipyard winter ale from Maine you might like.”
    Theo inclined his head. “Sure.”
    “Put it on your tab?” the older man asked, drawing the brew.
    “Yeah, thanks, Andy.” He took the