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varnished table so hard, coffee sloshed over the rim of his cup. “How can you treat this so lightly? When first he told it to me, I wanted to round up some men and go search for the
Mittie
myself.”
    Pearson calmly wiped up the spill with his napkin and took a slow swig of the tepid brew. “I understand your passion, little Rosie. I used to get worked up about these old legends myself. After a while you get a feel for what’s real”—he nodded toward the raspy snores coming from the back room—”and what isn’t.” He shot the uninvited spectators an amused glance. “Right, boys?”
    Several grinned and nodded. A couple patted Rosie affectionately on the shoulder. Others shared winks and knowing glances with Pearson before drifting to the bar, their murmuring voices sprinkled with good-natured laughter.
    She stared after them with blazing eyes.
    Pearson slid his chair around to make room to stretch out his legs. With a wide yawn, he fisted his hands and kneaded his temples. “Are you ready to take me back to your place, Theo? I’m so tired I won’t mind your lumpy couch.” He grinned and winked at Rosie. “Or the musty quilt he pulled out of mothballs just for me.”
    Stirring from her pout, she blinked at Pearson. “Still can’t bear the thought of staying in your house, honey?”
    Not willing to talk about his parents’ big house on Broadway Street, he shook his head.
    “Well, that’s all right.” She patted his hand. “There’s no need to suffer Theo’s distorted idea of hospitality. We have the spare room upstairs.” She pointed with her chin. “It’s not much, but it’s clean … and free of lumps and moths.”
    Pearson’s stomach tightened the way it did only while on theisland. The prospect of sitting upstairs alone with his thoughts seemed far less appealing than a tattered blanket. He squeezed Rosie’s hand. “I appreciate the offer, sweetheart. I really do.” He ducked his head at Theo. “But I’ll stay with my old friend there, so his feelings won’t be hurt. I hate to see a grown man cry.”
    Stepping gingerly over his booted feet, Pearl stopped in front of him, her crossed arms hugging her chest. “Are you sure, Pearson? It’s a nice little room, and the windows face the ocean. You’d wake up to a beautiful sunrise.” Blushing, she reached to fiddle with her apron again. “I washed and ironed the curtains myself.” She cleared her throat. “They’re yellow.”
    An uncomfortable silence settled like dew.
    Pearl’s bright flush deepened, and she lowered her lashes.
    “It’s no use, honey,” Rosie said, coming to her rescue. “You know how stubborn men are, and I’d say his mind is made.” Grunting from the effort, she pushed up and stood behind Pearson, gathering long strands of hair off his shoulders. “Do you have any plans to cut this moldy mess?” She tugged hard on a lock. “I’ve seen sheep with less matted wool.”
    Laughing, he straightened in his chair. “Speaking of hurting a man’s feelings …”
    She pulled his head back and stared upside down at his face. “There are topics I dare to raise out of love”—she scowled at the two scoundrels who were teasing him before—”and those I won’t tolerate from anyone else.” She grinned. “But you have to admit it’s a peculiar mess.”
    Theo snickered. “His hair has always twisted into knots, and people have always taunted him. That’s how he learned to fight like a badger.”
    Rosie held out a snakelike strand and tried to pull it straight. “You couldn’t drag a rake through this. How do you comb it?”
    Pearson preened. “Go on and scoff, but in your hands you hold the fruit of careful and deliberate neglect.”
    They shared a hearty laugh, except for Pearl. Casting a shy glance at Pearson, she frowned. “I think your hair is nice. It suits you.”
    Holding her gaze, he gave her a warm smile. “Thank you, Pearl.”
    Grinning like an unbalanced dolt, Theo stood and pulled Pearson from