Return to Pelican Inn
Return to Pelican Inn
Dana Mentink
Her design scheme didn't include him! Struggling interior designer Rosa Franco and her twin brother, Cy, are bent on transforming the timeworn Pelican Inn into the jewel of the California coast, even if it kills them. And it will kill Rosa if they fail. Their business, and her future, depend on winning the Great Escapes Magazine design contest that lured them back to the town where some of her best–and worst–memories were forged. Memories like those of Pike Matthews, the innkeeper's nephew, her high school heartthrob turned humiliator, now infiltrating himself into every aspect of the project. Is he purposely frustrating her efforts? Behind that killer smile is he carrying a grudge…or a torch?
Her design scheme didn’t include him!
Struggling interior designer Rosa Franco and her twin brother, Cy, are bent on transforming the timeworn Pelican Inn into the jewel of the California coast, even if it kills them. And it will kill Rosa if they fail. Their business, and her future, depend on winning the Great Escapes Magazine design contest that lured them back to the town where some of her best—and worst—memories were forged. Memories like those of Pike Matthews, the innkeeper’s nephew, her high school heartthrob turned humiliator, now infiltrating himself into every aspect of the project. Is he purposely frustrating her efforts? Behind that killer smile is he carrying a grudge…or a torch?
“You’ve changed.”
“More handsome, huh?” He grinned.
Darned if Pike wasn’t right, but she’d never tell him that. And not only more handsome but lithe and lanky, intelligent, and worst of all was that terrible, wonderful, dimpled chin. “I was going to say more stubborn.”
“Stubborn, sayeth the pot to the kettle?”
“Yes, sayeth the pot. Aunt Bitsy wants her inn reborn and I can do that better than anyone. It’s the best thing for her.”
He cut his eyes to her, a flicker, before he looked back at the highway. “And you’re sure about that?”
“Yes. It’s what she wants.” Rosa twiddled with the hem of her linen coat, noticing for the first time a spot of paint. Why had she not thought to put on the green blouse that brought out the spark in her hair? Get a grip, Rosa. He wouldn’t notice a spark if it leaped out and burned a hole in his retina. And why should you want him to?
He chewed on his lush lower lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t always have what we want.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_94dc6613-efd1-5d06-b6c6-3281fd02a324),
Who wouldn’t want to escape the hectic hubbub of daily life and slip away to a quirky beachside town? I can almost hear the roar of the surf, those raucous seagulls in the sky, and I can even see a few folks strolling the sand, hand in hand. That’s how the town of Tumbledown feels in my mind, a little island of sweetness, a respite from the world. Tumbledown’s ragged cliffs and scenic coves are modeled after the real-life city of Half Moon Bay along the central coast of California. While Tumbledown is a picture-postcard town, even a quirky out-of-the-way place can hold a bit of mystery, a splash of mayhem and a whole lot of romance.
Thank you for coming along with Rosa and Pike on a journey that will leave an indelible mark on their hearts. I hope in the pages of this book you’ll find love, laughter and encouragement as they do in the old Pelican Inn. I’m extremely grateful to and blessed by my readers. I’d love to hear any questions or comments you might have. If you’d like to contact me, I can be reached via my Facebook reader page as well as through my website at www.danadurgin.com (http://www.danadurgin.com). There is also a physical address on the website if you prefer. Thank you again.
Fondly,
Dana Durgin
Return to Pelican Inn
Dana Durgin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
DANA DURGIN (#ulink_aacd937c-d1c9-5209-9d9e-0f5b9192fe07)
got her start writing cozy mysteries for Barbour Books. Currently, she writes for Mills & Boon Love Inspired Suspense line, where her books have earned an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, a Holt Medallion Merit Award and a 2013 Carol Award. She’s thrilled to be writing for Mills & Boon Heartwarming line. Visit her at danadurgin.com (http://www.danadurgin.com/).
To Holly Love, who is even sweeter than her honey.
Contents
Cover (#u1780acd5-4987-5703-bdf5-ce8517e0cae5)
Back Cover Text (#ufd49fd31-80d4-5062-bd15-8275c72c3fab)
Introduction (#ue41fc393-d695-5816-a9d7-da0c4bd74374)
Dear Reader (#u8123a1f2-e5e9-584d-8085-3a0343a591c0)
Title Page (#u62040926-1c02-52f9-867c-9ffc195ce5da)
About the Author (#u4ebe8da3-299e-5270-8cbc-48ec26984720)
Dedication (#ufa668f7f-c161-5b49-9376-9b2aba1ab5ef)
CHAPTER ONE (#u1283cd16-b1e9-5b88-85b3-6273ac4350c7)
CHAPTER TWO (#u1b163f82-a47c-52c2-b23b-caaca3cccb4e)
CHAPTER THREE (#u55038fec-2678-54a7-8409-270bd52b61b8)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u3137ac27-bc61-5838-a161-6df7cd2bad65)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u85d4c40b-a8b4-57de-9506-3c4442bdbaa2)
CHAPTER SIX (#ua37b6d18-b7a1-5aee-a796-a089201f8a82)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_dad53bde-d2fa-5ec7-bb15-34187882a5d8)
ROSA FRANCO CLOSED her eyes and lost herself in the design plan: walls bathed in rich ivory, the subdued elegance of the marble that would edge the fireplace, matching sofas adorned in buttery, cream-colored fabric set off by jewel-toned pillows. It was the pillows that would really put the sprinkles on the sundae, so to speak. They murmured, “Stuffy library? Not at all. Come and sit. You’re finally home.”
Home. It was the heart of every great room design, to capture the essence of home in the most beautiful way possible. She’d done it with this library. The graphics that scrolled on the laptop in front of her and the paper mockups were just a taste, of course, confirmation of something she already knew.
Spot on, Rosa.
“Miss Franco?”
The voice seemed to come from far away. She was still gripped by the magic of her design.
“Yo, sis?” Her twin brother Cy’s wild head of dark blond hair swam into view as she snapped back to the present. He was wiggling his fingers in front of her face, as if trying to free her from a hypnotist’s spell.
Mr. Charles Frasier, a highly regarded estate planning lawyer, looked extremely uncomfortable perched in a wingback chair in the Dollars and Sense Design showroom, a painstakingly decorated oasis in the charming house Rosa and her brother rented for use as a business and their residence. The lovely old home in Danville, complete with small kitchen downstairs and a cramped living space upstairs, was expensive, but the location was well calculated. One of the wealthiest suburbs of Oakland and San Francisco, Danville was a town that screamed “affluent” and “quaint.” It was also convenient to a major freeway and had a median annual income of $129,000 for crying out loud. A suburban haven filled with people like Charles Frasier. The lawyer picked at a dot of lint on his immaculate suit pants. “The design is fine.”
Fine? Rosa resisted the urge to correct him. It was more than fine. It was perfect, down to the rich wood bookcases and sleek brass lamp that would occupy a cozy corner. “I’m glad you like it.” She flashed him a brilliant smile. “When shall we get started?”
He stood. “That’s what I’ve been trying to explain.”
She stood.
Cy stood.
Baggy, the frightening doglike creature that Cy had dragged home the week before, stood and peeked out from his favorite spot behind the curtain. Fortunately, Mr. Frasier did not see him.
They all stared at each other.
Rosa had the inkling that somehow, something had gone terribly wrong.
“We are not going to get started, Miss Franco. Sorry.”
“We’re not? Why aren’t we? What would be the reason for not?” She was babbling. Cy shrugged his wide shoulders, giving her a “Who knows?” look.
Frasier checked his watch. “Yes, well, the design for the library is fine, as I said. That is not the problem. Violet and I have decided to sell rather than remodel. It’s a seller’s market, and our home in Atherton will do.”
His words made sense, they all had the appropriate number of vowels, consonants and such, yet she found she could not comprehend. She’d spent hours. His wife, Violet, loved Rosa’s design ideas. It was the big moment for Dollars and Sense, the job that would put them on the map.
“You will be compensated for your time. Good luck.” Frasier turned on his Florsheims and walked out the door, leaving a whisper of Drakkar Noir behind.
In shock, Rosa tottered after him, down the front steps.
Danville was filled with people like Mr. Charles Frasier. People who could discard homes as if they were used socks. People like Mr. Frasier, she was convinced, had not spent their childhoods searching for that elusive paradise. Not like Rosa, who had been mesmerized by those strange and wonderful families that stayed in one precious place, decorating their homes with a wash of memories and embellishing odd corners with bits of family history that gave meaning to every last nook and cranny.
She watched Mr. Frasier climb into his pristine Mercedes SL550 Roadster and drive away.
As she sank down on the front step, Baggy snuffled his crooked nose into her thigh, leaving a wet smear on her best pair of pants. He stared at her with his one steady eye, the other wandering off to admire the view somewhere else. She never should have let Cy take that night job at the pet store. So far, they’d collected a dozen unwanted goldfish, an unnaturally angry cat who’d run away the day after Cy brought it home and now Baggy, a dog that was, quite simply, the ugliest animal she’d ever clapped eyes on. It didn’t matter to Cy. Ugly or not, nothing helpless would ever be abandoned on his watch.
Maybe that’s why Cy stays with you. The thought gave her a stab of pain. Cy was everything she was not, his hair fair and curly where hers was stick straight and black. Softhearted where she was driven to succeed. Athletic. Resilient. Forgiving.
Rosa was a different design altogether. She thought about her father and the last time he’d called. She’d refused to speak to him. Cy had gabbed on just as if the man had not betrayed them on the cusp of their sixteenth birthday. She had no time for their father’s excuses. All that mattered was making her business thrive, to show herself and the world that, this time, failure was not an option.
“I can’t understand this,” she said to Baggy, who had insinuated his ten-pound body under her elbow. “I made a business plan.”
Cy stuck his head out the front door. “What should I make for dinner? Or do you want takeout?”
“We can’t afford takeout,” she grumbled. “I’ve got the marinara reheating on the stove. I started it before Mr. Mercedes canceled us.”
“Oh, huh. Marinara.”
“What’s wrong with my marinara?” The answer was quite simple; their mother wasn’t alive to help her make it. The memory of those glorious pots of sauce bubbling on the stove were almost tangible, the smell of the crushed rosemary that had grown in a cracked terra-cotta pot seemed to permeate the air even now. Frank Sinatra music had usually played in counterpoint to the gurgling of the sauce, and more often than not, her father’s deep baritone warbled a harmony.
Rosa put Baggy down, supporting the awkward creature until he got all his legs working in unison. “Do you remember how Mom used to plop the tomatoes into boiling water and they’d sort of pop out of their skins?”
Cy nodded.
“I tried that, but it didn’t work.” She swallowed against a sudden thickness in her throat. “I squished them with my fingers.”
“That’s okay,” Cy said, joining her. “Mom wouldn’t mind.”
“And I didn’t have any fresh garlic so I used a lot from the jar.”
“Uh-huh.”
Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “And I left out the wine.”
She could still hear their mother adding a splash of red to the marinara and a much bigger splash into her own glass. One glass, followed by another.
She hadn’t realized she was crying until Cy embraced her, the only other person in the world who could understand. “Cheer up, kiddo. Not everyone is gifted in a culinary way.”
Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she gently elbowed him away. “Our business is failing, we have rent due at the end of the month and zero, count them, zero clients, and you’re going to tell me my marinara sauce is bad?”
He flashed his effervescent smile. “Not bad, just...aggressive.”
She would have smiled if she had the energy. Instead, she put into words the worry that had plagued her the most in the past four years. “I should have tried another law school.” It was ridiculous. No other school would take her after she was kicked out. She swallowed the shame of it. Cheater—that’s what they’d thought of her. Heat rose to her cheeks. But she wasn’t a cheater, just a naive girl who’d been stupid enough to put her future in the hands of the wrong man.
Cy laughed, a boisterous, rolling chuckle. “Right. You hated law school, remember? Even if the thing with Foster hadn’t happened, you spent every moment of the case-analysis lectures imagining what the room would look like with pine paneling and silk drapes.” He hopped down the steps, reaching for a leaf that graced the spotless front path. Not surprising. Cy could stay still for no more than three minutes, barring sedation.
But law school was where the successful people went, the ones who were going to make something of themselves. The image popped into her head before she could stop it. Pike, the golden boy from high school. Privileged and perfect, or so she’d thought until the accusation from her father turned him into her enemy. Pike’s derisive laughter still rang in her ears from one particularly horrific day when her mother had shown up at the high school three months into Rosa’s freshman year, wearing only a bra and panties, clutching a bottle of whiskey and waving to everyone as if she was queen of the British Isles.
Then, like petals borne away by a fickle wind, her high school friends weren’t her friends anymore.
And Pike finally had his revenge.
Rosa combed her hands through her hair and groaned. It wasn’t the time for a stagger down that blighted memory lane.
The mailman pulled up and Cy trotted off to greet him, engaging him in conversation about their shared passion, the San Francisco Giants. There would be nothing but bills and a myriad of credit card applications, as if they needed any more opportunities to climb deeper into an abyss of debt. Cy thumbed through the stack as he came back up the walk, tearing open an envelope in that messy way that bugged her to no end. She looked at Baggy who now lay on his back, one eye fixed dreamily on her.
“Baggy, I admire your ability to stay calm while all around you is turning to poop.”
“Rosa,” Cy said, his eyes riveted on the letter in front of him.
“Unless it’s a paying client, I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Uh, I think you do.”
She shot to her feet. “No, really, Cy. If it’s bad news, I just can’t take any more right now.” She began to pace. “I’ve got to think of a way out of this, or we’re flat-out ruined. Do you understand me?” An acrid smell drifted into her nostrils a moment before her brain filled in the pertinent details. Kitchen. Marinara. Stove. Burning!
With a shriek she ran into the kitchen just in time to see the lid blow off the pot, showering the stove and Rosa with hot, red sauce. She did not have time to indulge the pain as the sauce ignited on the burner, followed by the potholder Cy had left too close to the heat.
Smoke billowed. Sauce bubbled. Rosa scurried around, swatting at the flames with a heavy kitchen towel. When the fire was out, she turned wearily to her brother, sauce spatters on the front of her shirt, the smoking potholder in her hand. She stuck a finger in the sauce and tasted it. “You’re right. On top of everything else, my marinara is horrible.”
Cy stood there, still clutching the letter, a look of complete shock on his face. “Put down the potholder, sis. You’re not going to believe this.”
* * *
ROSA WAS STILL in a cloud of disbelief the next morning as she guided her Nissan along Highway 92, Cy sitting next to her with Baggy curled across his lap. She relished the sight of the Pacific Ocean crashing against the rocky shore as they made their way to the tiny coastal town of Tumbledown, just south of Half Moon Bay. The population on the official sign read 314, but that had been erected before the birth of twin boys to the town’s dentist, she’d been told by her almost-aunt, Bitsy, the last time she’d visited. A miniscule country store served the basic needs of the seaside community, along with Tad’s Bait and Tackle, which also sold ice cream in the summer. Small houses in a variety of styles and conditions dotted the landscape. A series of ramshackle farms offered opportunities for city slickers to do everything from picking pumpkins to cutting their own Christmas trees, depending on the season.
The faded, striped awning outside Julio’s Book Shoppe flapped in the breeze, just as it did in Rosa’s memory. She’d spent a summer crammed into the tiny shop with the corpulent Julio, working the counter and shelving books. Julio’s was likely the only bookstore in the civilized world where books were arranged by the author’s first name.
“I nearly froze to death in Korea,” Julio proclaimed many times, wide face gleaming with sweat. “Did something to my brain. Since the fifties, I can’t remember last names for anything.”
In Julio’s store, patrons would find Ernest Hemmingway’s masterpieces snuggled right up to Eugene Fitzwater’s Guide to Forest Mushrooms.
She shook away the wave of nostalgia. “Are you absolutely sure about this, Cy?”
“Like I said the first sixteen times, Rosa, I’m sure.”
Her heart kept up its rapid staccato, as it had from the moment Cy told her the news. Her tiny decorating business, the humble Dollars and Sense Design, had won the lottery, or more specifically, the chance to enter the Great Escapes magazine contest. Ten teams, ten different locations and a budget of five thousand dollars. The winner scored a photo spread in Great Escapes and the gaggle of clients that would go with it.
“Tell me again,” she said.
Cy rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his mop of blond hair. “Bitsy called me three weeks ago and told me her very own Pelican Inn was one of the locations. She insisted that I enter our business in the contest and, whammo, a miracle occurred. We were actually selected.”
Rosa shook her head. “I can’t believe it.”
“They probably liked the sappy emotional angle.”
“What sappy emotional angle?”
Cy raised an eyebrow. “We spent three years of our lives here when Dad went AWOL. Bitsy might as well be a relative.”
Rosa nodded. No need to say the rest. They both knew Bitsy had had no business taking in two abandoned teenagers when their father took off, indulging in one of the strange fits of wanderlust that had seized him since their mother passed away at the beginning of their sophomore year. It was not the first time he’d left. Manny Franco might have been trying to escape the overwhelming responsibility of raising two motherless teens. Or it could have been an inability to handle his own grief. In any case, they’d awakened shortly after their sixteenth birthday to find a pile of money on the table and a scrawled note.
Gotta get away for a while. Take care of each other. I’m sorry. Daddy
A “while” had stretched into days, then into months and finally years, with only occasional phone calls and quick visits, their father’s behavior growing more and more bizarre with every passing year. His last text to Cy was six months ago, indicating he was in the Southwest fossil hunting in the desert with a bunch of college kids. It did no good to remind him he was an insurance investigator, not Indiana Jones. He’d lost something when their mother died, and Rosa was sure he would spend the rest of his life trying to find it.
Bitsy should have called social services back then and reported Manny Franco for abandoning his kids. Her salesman husband, Leopold, was a constant traveler and a man who was never able to keep money in his pocket. Bitsy was responsible for a dilapidated inn with virtually no help from Leo. Even when he’d died five years ago, there had been no financial relief, no life insurance to ease Bitsy’s bottom line.
Even so, because she’d been a friend to Katy Franco all those years ago, instead of making that call to social services when Manny left, Bitsy had brought the twins to the Pelican Inn and sold her car to pay for their necessities. Rosa swallowed a sudden lump in her throat as they drove up the winding road that led to the top of a bluff overlooking the ocean, the location of the rustic inn.
The old, gabled structure still sported the same faded yellow paint, accented by window boxes spilling over with crimson geraniums. White-painted trim and a pelican weather vane on the peaked roof added to the charm. Rosa inhaled a deep lungful of sea air as she got out of the car. Heavenly. Could there be a more soothing place than the Pelican?
A thrill of unease shivered through her, upsetting her moment of bliss. She peered around the tiny parking area, looking for a car that might be driven by Bitsy’s nephew. A silver Mercedes and a dusty motorcycle occupied the lot under the shelter of a Monterey pine. “What if Pike’s here?”
“He’s busy with his law firm,” Cy said, handing over Baggy. “Besides, if he saw you, he’d probably run like a scalded cat. You remember the scar on his lip?”
She felt a flush crawl into her cheeks. “Who knew lips would bleed so much?” Rosa recalled a few of the “situations” she’d run into with Bitsy’s nephew Pike, a man at whom she would cheerfully hurl a tureen of her aggressive marinara sauce if given the opportunity. The memories were surprisingly vivid and painful. The feeling rose up strong as an ocean wind, the knowledge that she was nothing more than an awkward girl with her nose pressed to the glass, looking wistfully at the life she was not a part of. An outsider. Always. She wondered if Pike had heard about her expulsion from law school.
“If he shows up to bother you, I’ll take care of it.”
Cy was the gentlest person she knew, but he would always have her back. She swallowed a lump in her throat and shook away the thoughts. “Let’s go talk to Bitsy. I’m dying to see her, and we’ve only got three weeks to get this pelican whipped into shape.”
Cy surveyed the peeling paint on the shutters and the clinging scalp of ivy that adhered to the gutters with the tenacity of Super Glue. A redwood railing flanked the narrow steps that led to a front porch complete with cozy love seat and a tangle of climbing hydrangeas framing the charming nook. “Three weeks and five thousand dollars. It’s going to be a stretch,” Cy mused.
“It’s what we’re good at, remember?” Rosa tucked Baggy under her arm while Cy carried a bunch of yellow daisies they’d purchased. A widow for going on five years now, Bitsy deserved long-stemmed roses, dozens of them, but for now daisies would have to do. Rosa marched up the flagstone walk, doing mental gymnastics as she went. “We’ll want to capitalize on the view from the sitting room and we can draw attention to the exposed beams in the kitchen by painting the walls a light color.”
Something scuttled across the roof overhead, but she ignored it in the rush of excitement she felt. She raised her hand to knock, but the door flew open before her knuckles made contact with the old wood.
“Rosa, sweetie! Cy!” Bitsy cried, drawing back suddenly the way people generally did when they got an eyeful of Baggy. “Is that...a dog?”
“Probably,” Rosa said, shifting Baggy to the side and allowing Bitsy to wrap them in a double hug. “He was left in a bag at the pet store where Cy works part time. He doesn’t smell, and as far as I can see he’s house-trained.”
Bitsy laughed. “Better than some men I used to date way back in the day, before I married Leopold. You two look smashing.”
“Not as smashing as you,” Rosa said, trying to keep from tearing up, her voice muffled by Bitsy’s denim shirt. It wasn’t idle flattery. Bitsy was still tall and regal in spite of her nearly seventy years. Her hair shone white-blond in the buttery afternoon sunshine, cornflower-blue eyes as sharp as they’d ever been, her features enhanced by a touch of satin lipstick and artfully applied powder.
She pulled the twins to arm’s length. “Imagine you two staying at the Pelican again, but now you’re all grown up.” Her eyes filled with a mixture of pleasure and something Rosa thought for a moment was pain. “Come in, come in.”
They entered the familiar sitting room that featured a fireplace with a rustic pine mantel. It was crowded by two flowery stuffed chairs and set off by a honey-colored, planked floor. Bitsy’s collection of antique salt shakers was displayed on a corner shelf, meticulously free of dust. There were new drapes, expensive and overly ornate to Rosa’s eye.
“Hasn’t changed much, has it?” Bitsy sighed. “I guess that’s why you’re here.”
“I can’t believe we were chosen.” Rosa wanted to pinch herself. She was here in the old inn that held such bittersweet memories, and now she would be breathing new life into the place, repaying the woman who had breathed new life into her and Cy. “Where should we start? I’ll need to make sketches, consult with you on some color palettes, and we can come up with a common vision. I’m...”
Bitsy laughed. “Time enough for that. Maybe we should get you settled in first. I’ve closed the inn to guests for a few weeks. There weren’t many anyway, so it should be quiet.”
“We don’t want to...” Rosa’s words trailed off as a loud thump sounded from the roof. A slithering, scraping noise followed, and Bitsy’s face creased in consternation.
“What was that?” Rosa asked, already headed for the front door.
“Honey, there’s something you should know....” Bitsy called after her.
Rosa pushed the door open anyway, startled as a man dropped off the roof right in front of her.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_0d94fd76-7ab7-5891-afb9-850d9341ccf0)
ROSA STARED AT the man sprawled on the steps. First his eyebrows lifted in surprise, and then they lowered into a glare of unmitigated hostility, probably the perfect match to her own.
Bitsy pushed past Rosa. “Are you okay, Pike?”
“Fine, fine,” he said. He stood and unbuckled the tool belt from around his waist, brushing twigs and leaves from his jeans, spilling nails onto the ground. His forehead furrowed as he stared at Rosa. Her brain made note of his thick hair, now cut in a spiky, modern style, the slight dimple in his chin, his broad shoulders and lean physique. Her heart added its own observation: the arrogant arch to his eyebrow, his hands propped in irritation on his hips, the annoyed quirk of his full lips.
“What are you doing here?” they both articulated in unison.
Pike blinked. “Bitsy owns the place, remember? I’m a relative.”
Of course he would lead with that. He was blood. She was an interloper, a squatter on Bitsy’s generous affections.
“So what’s the deal, Rosa?” Pike demanded.
Slowly, Rosa turned and leveled a look at Bitsy, the picture of innocence.
“Isn’t this the oddest coincidence?” the older woman asked.
“Bitsy,” Rosa began sternly.
Cy inserted himself between them and shook Pike’s hand. “Hey, man. Good to see you.” He stared Pike full in the face, a man’s way of sizing up a potential enemy, Rosa knew.
Pike smiled, cordially. “You, too, Cy. Still hanging out with your crazy sister?”
Cy opened his mouth to answer but Rosa cut him off.
“Crazy?” she asked, lips twitching. “I wasn’t the one who just fell off the roof.”
“For your information,” Pike said, “I had it all under control. I didn’t fall, just skidded a little.”
“Uh-huh,” Cy said.
Rosa pressed her brother’s arm. “I need to have a private word with Pike.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“Okay. I think I’ll just go, er, sand something, then.”
“Let me show you where I keep the sandpaper, Cy,” Bitsy said gaily.
Before Rosa could get a word out, Bitsy vanished into the house with Cy. “I’ll talk to you later, Aunt Bitsy,” she grumped before turning back to Pike. “So, you were telling me why you’re here, Pike.”
His eyes narrowed. “First off, Bitsy is my aunt, so I don’t really need a more compelling reason than that. Second, the roof isn’t getting any younger, as you might have noticed, so I was doing some repair work at the request of Aunt Bitsy. Therefore...”
“You can drop the lawyer shtick.” He did it intentionally, to remind her again that she’d left law school while he’d sailed through on his way to a lucrative career that afforded him expensive, albeit attractive, haircuts and a silver Mercedes. He probably ran in the same legal circles as Foster Pardee, the man who’d used her. Her gut tightened. “I have as much right to be here as you do,” she couldn’t help adding.
“I didn’t say otherwise.”
“No, you wouldn’t actually have the guts to say it to my face, would you?” she snapped, heart slamming into her ribs. “Back in high school you made sure everybody knew my family and I didn’t belong in Tumbledown.”
His eyes flashed. “I didn’t need to tell them. They all knew once your mother...” His words died away as a look of horror flickered in his brown eyes. “I didn’t mean that.”
She tried to get a breath in past the pain in her chest. “Oh, I think we both know exactly what you meant.”
He looked down at the ground, and she heard him expel a breath through his teeth. “Your father tried to ruin my family. I had a right to be angry.”
“He was doing his job,” Rosa said.
“And I was doing mine, defending my father.”
She glared. “By humiliating his enemy’s daughter.”
Pike started to answer, then closed his mouth and fixed his gaze on a spot somewhere over their heads.
Rosa’s skin felt hot, as if she’d swallowed some incendiary drink that burned past her heart deep down into her stomach. “Maybe,” she managed, “we should keep our families out of this.”
“Excellent idea,” he barked.
A man in his mid-forties sauntered into the yard sporting a long ponytail draped over his shoulder and carrying a large wicker basket.
“Hello, Rocky,” Rosa said. He was an ever-present fixture at the inn for a long as Rosa could remember. Rosa had lived with Bitsy until she turned twenty, her brother leaving the year before. Had it really been sixteen long years since she’d moved away from Tumbledown? Her visits to Aunt Bitsy had become less and less frequent the more drama and stress filled her life.
Rocky was a veteran of the early days of the Persian Gulf War. He was a quiet man, and he could get anything to grow. Hydrangeas in a kaleidoscope of colors, daylilies, azaleas, spring bulbs.
Rocky lowered the basket to the ground while he dredged a stick of gum from his pocket. Then he flashed Rosa a peace sign, picked up the basket and continued toward the coop.
Rocky’s silent greeting was not a shock, at any rate. And she couldn’t argue that he’d been a loyal helper to Bitsy, especially after Leopold’s death.
“Look out for the loose board,” Pike called after him. Pike’s attention swiveled back to Rosa. “So, why are you here?”
“We’re redecorating the inn for Bitsy.”
Pike groaned and closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh, man. You two are the Dollars and Sense outfit that’s competing in the contest? I thought Bitsy changed her mind about all that.”
“Yes, Cy and I happen to be the owners of Dollars and Sense, and we won the chance to participate. Furthermore, when we’re finished, the Pelican will be the hottest destination in Tumbledown. We’re going to turn this place around.”
His eyes widened. “You can’t do that.”
It was her turn to gape. “And why not?”
“Because the inn is...”
A crash came from the chicken coop, followed by an all-out cacophony of squawks and clucking. Puffs of feathers floated out of the opening.
“I’ve gotta go help Rocky.” He turned and jogged away.
“But why can’t we remodel, Pike?” She called after him. “Pike?”
Bending his tall frame, he disappeared into the clucking chaos.
Rosa did some deep breathing to try to keep her emotions in check. Pike’s presence brought up all the angst she’d left behind years before. He was her high school enemy and, worse yet, a lawyer. She wondered if it had been a mistake to come back to Tumbledown.
At the moment the only thing she knew for sure was that she did not want to have another confrontation with Pike until she had better control of what came out of her mouth. She headed back inside the inn, confusion and determination warring inside her.
Bitsy stood with a cowed expression, hands folded. She gave Rosa the “little girl lost” look that Rosa had seen her employ a number of times on susceptible individuals. “How much trouble am I in, exactly?”
Rosa sighed. “I know he’s your nephew and you are required to love him. You’re biologically related and all.”
“And I love you, too, Rosa, and I’m your aunt, biology or not.”
Rosa blinked hard, irritated to find tears gathering. “You should have told me he was here.”
“I know, but I thought you might not come, and this is the chance of a lifetime, isn’t it?”
Rosa nodded.
“And you forgive me for not telling you everything, right?” Bitsy moved close and put her smooth fingertips under Rosa’s chin, lifting gently. “Please tell me you can forgive me.”
Like a little girl, Rosa found she could only answer by throwing herself into Bitsy’s arms and snuffling against her shoulder, clinging to her until Cy ambled into the room, stopping uncertainly in the doorway.
Bitsy released Rosa and rubbed her hands together. “Tell you what. Why don’t you two put your bags up in the attic? It isn’t included in the contest.”
Cy nodded, impressed. “You know a lot about the details.”
“One hears things,” Bitsy said. “Now up to the attic with you.”
“It’s not necessary,” Rosa said, thinking she would rather have a sandpaper facial than stay in a place where she was likely to run into Pike. “We can easily find a hotel.”
Bitsy’s lip twitched. “If you so much as suggest a hotel again, I’ll be forced to puncture your tires.”
Rosa’s mouth fell open and Cy laughed. “Don’t mess with a woman who knits.”
Bitsy’s eyes sparkled. “Crochets. And I’m determined when I know what’s best for all concerned.”
Rosa and Bitsy trekked up the rickety stairs, single file, until they reached the attic, which was redolent with dust and a faint fragrance of the sea. The twin beds perched against the walls, just as they had when she was a teen, looking drastically smaller to Rosa’s adult eyes. Memories flooded through her.
She pictured the stacks of decorator magazines, dog-eared and marked, that she used to pore over in that tiny space, dreaming of bright, shining places where happy families lounged in comfort and style. Her foot found the white stain on the floor, a souvenir of the giant solar system she’d painstakingly painted on the wall before coming to her senses and covering it all with a cool blue tint.
Why had Bitsy ever allowed the solar system monstrosity in the first place? Rosa sneaked a look at Bitsy’s worn face. Because Bitsy was a stalwart defender of every one of Rosa’s dreams. She’d been the only one besides Cy to whom Rosa spilled her truest feelings after her humiliating exit from law school.
And now it was Rosa’s turn to do the same for Bitsy, to transform the Pelican into the jewel of the coast, no matter what Pike thought.
She carefully set Baggy down and threw open the faded curtains that covered the round window, the room’s most precious feature. The view had not changed. Framed by the branches of a cypress tree that thrived just outside the window, the Pacific Ocean danced in an endless rhythm against the cliffs below. Rosa swallowed a lump in her throat, momentarily letting go of her worries: the teetering business and the rent due at the end of the month. “I’m so happy to be here.”
Bitsy squeezed her shoulder. “And I’m thrilled to have you back.”
“Oh, look.” Rosa pointed at the crawling waves. “There’s Larry’s fishing boat. I can’t believe he’s still sailing. He must be close to ninety by now.”
“Well, some things never change.” A tone of uncertainty crept into Bitsy’s voice. “Then again, some things do.”
“Is everything okay?” Rosa studied Bitsy closely. The woman was thinner than she remembered, her skin more wrinkled and her eyes shadowed.
“Fine, fine,” Bitsy said. She gazed out toward the ocean. “Still the best view in the house.”
“Second best.” Rosa looked out at the worn shingles on the peak of the jutting room fondly known as Captain’s Nest. The panorama from that room was truly unbeatable. As far as Rosa had ever known, though, Captain’s Nest was stuffed from floor to rafters with boxes, rendering it unusable. Even in her time growing up at the inn, the Nest was kept secure. She’d only managed to sneak in a few times when the door was left unlocked. “So you don’t get hurt,” Bitsy said many times. Not anymore. It would be the highlight of the inn, the charming nautical nook that levered the Pelican above the competition.
“Do you have a place we can store the boxes?”
Bitsy blinked. “What boxes?”
“The ones you keep in Captain’s Nest. We’ll need to get them out so we can paint, maybe do some rough texture.”
“No,” Bitsy said firmly.
“No? Well, we can find someplace else to store things temporarily.”
“No, I mean no one is going in that room.”
“But it’s the gem of this inn.”
Bitsy shook her head, lips pressed together. When she answered, her voice was low. “That room is off-limits. No one is touching Captain’s Nest.”
Rosa could not believe what she was hearing. “Bitsy, we won’t change anything without consulting you, I promise.”
Bitsy took Rosa’s hands and pressed them. Her palms were cool, the fingertips almost icy. “No, honey. No one goes in there.” Without waiting for Rosa to respond, Bitsy turned on her heel and left.
Rosa watched Bitsy go, her gait as strong and sure as it had ever been. Bitsy had an iron resolve that Rosa had witnessed firsthand many a time, but in this circumstance, there seemed no reason for such a reaction. Captain’s Nest was off-limits? Still? Puzzling over it, Rosa returned to the foyer to find Cy peering at a newspaper.
“Do you think Bitsy is okay?” she asked her brother.
Cy didn’t look up from his paper, his knee bobbing up and down. “Of course. She’s the same as ever. There’s an estate sale two blocks from here.”
Rosa tried for a firm tone. “It’s not a good time. We’ve got to meet with the Great Escapes people, and for some reason Pike doesn’t want us to...”
Cy had the same glazed-over expression he got whenever he was about to embark on a decorating treasure hunt. His uncanny nose for a bargain had netted them everything from a Japanese tobacco box to an exquisite Persian rug he bought for pocket change. “Bitsy heard they might have clocks. A clock would look completely amazing in the sitting room.”
Rosa sighed. Cy was a kind of decorating history savant. He’d been completely obsessed with clocks ever since he’d read that Thomas Jefferson designed the Great Clock in the front hall of his Monticello mansion.
“All right,” she said, hiding a smile. “But if you come back with a clock connected to a Chinese gong that chimes the half hour...”
“Jefferson’s clock chimed on the hour, not the half,” he fired back. “Did you know that gong rang loudly enough for field hands to hear it three miles away?”
“Yes, Cy. You mentioned that a time or two.” She grabbed her keys. “I’ll drop you on my way to the magazine, but remember we’ve only got five thousand for the whole place.”
“Caviar decorating on a bologna and cheese budget. I got it.”
She shot a glance into the backyard as they left. No chicken sounds, but no sign of Pike, either. She wondered how he’d squeezed his strapping six-foot-three frame into the coop.
Shaking off thoughts of Pike, she headed for the parking lot.
* * *
AFTER CY PRACTICALLY leaped from the moving car at the entrance to the estate sale, Rosa drove down Highway One, once again drinking in the vast ocean and the wheeling scores of seagulls and terns. If she hadn’t been on her way to a meeting, she would have pulled the elastic from her ponytail and let the glorious wind have its way. Instead, she kept her speed steady and professionalism intact as she made her way to the Great Escapes headquarters in Cliffside, some twelve miles north of Tumbledown. Once there, she was ushered into the neat but ordinary office of Wanda Elliot, coordinator of the contest.
The fiftysomething redhead looked ill at ease, despite her snappy charcoal suit. Rosa attributed Wanda’s discomfort to the bland eggshell paint and prosaic print on the wall. She found herself daydreaming about what the space would look like with a woven area rug and a handful of bright, odd-sized pillows tossed artfully about on the corner chairs.
Wanda sat at her desk, tapping a pencil on the glass top. “So, we’ve spelled it all out for you, the terms of the contest. If we could just have your paperwork.” She thrust out a hand and snatched the papers Rosa provided.
“I still can’t believe we were chosen to participate.”
“I’m sure. Is there anything else?” There was a small tic underneath Wanda’s eye.
“We’re just happy and thrilled,” Rosa said, raising her charm quotient with a cheerful smile. “Bitsy mentioned that she knew you.”
“Me? No. Well, yes. I mean, we’ve probably met a time or two. That’s natural, isn’t it?” Wanda’s blue eyes widened. “That a travel magazine editor and an innkeeper would meet?”
“She said she met you when she brought in pictures of the Pelican along with a history of the inn.”
Wanda looked relieved. “Ah, yes. Excellent write-up, as a matter of fact. Her nephew helped.”
Rosa jerked. “Her nephew?”
“Yes, good-looking man.” Wanda sighed, a wistful look stealing across her face. “That little dimple in his chin. If they could just figure out how to surgically implant those in all men.”
Rosa leaned forward, trying to catch Wanda’s eye. “Pike helped her prepare the materials for the contest?”
Wanda nodded, chewing a fingernail. “Yes. Dreamy brown eyes, too. Like fudge.”
Now it was Rosa’s turn to tap the desk. The noise seemed to rouse Wanda from her Pike-induced stupor. “That’s funny,” Rosa said. “I spoke to Pike right before I came here, and he gave me the distinct impression he wasn’t in favor of the contest.”
Wanda nodded. “Yes, I got that sense, too. He’s probably just going along with Bitsy to make her happy. Men always want to give Bitsy whatever she wants. Pike seems like he’d be that type of nephew. Loyal...kind...” She sighed again. “Strong.”
Rosa resisted the urge to shake Wanda by the shoulders. “But why would he be against the contest?” she asked firmly. “It can’t do anything but help Bitsy’s business...or the next owner’s, if she decides to sell someday.”
Wanda blinked. “He doesn’t want to help the business.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard him talking to Bitsy while they were here. He thinks she should give up the inn right now.”
“Give it up?”
“You know, sell it. A prime piece of seaside property like that would fetch a small fortune, and let’s face it, Bitsy is getting a little long in the tooth to be an innkeeper, though she fancies she’s the mayor of Tumbledown or something.” Wanda added, “Or so I’ve heard.”
Rosa’s eyes narrowed. And a nice piece of that “small fortune” would go to her faithful nephew and lawyer. Her father had been right about Pike. She thanked Wanda and made for the door.
“If you see Pike, tell him I said hello,” Wanda called.
Rosa offered a tight smile. “Oh, Pike and I are going to have a long conversation as soon as he finishes canoodling with the chickens.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. Thank you, Ms. Elliot.”
Rosa returned to the parking lot, put the car into gear and stepped on the gas.
It was time to get started and show lawyer Pike that decorator Rosa was ready for a throwdown.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_b89522cb-003e-51de-993e-8228dde60917)
ROSA ALTERNATELY PUZZLED and fumed all the way back to Tumbledown.
Cy was not at the appointed meeting place outside the estate sale. Since her brother wore no watch and paid scant attention to his cell phone when in the throes of an antique hunt, there was nothing to be done but track him down on foot. She stepped out of the car and trudged through a trellis laden with clematis and into a well-appointed Tudor-style home filled with customers and eager sale attendants.
She found Cy in the living room, a wall sconce in each hand, standing like the figurehead from some strange pirate ship.
An old lady with startling bluish hair arranged in perfect springy curls tried to snatch them out of his grip.
“I got them first,” she said.
The normally unflappable Cy yanked back. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But these are mine. I found them, and I’ve got an inn to refurbish.”
She glowered up at him. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a store to fill and original sconces will sell.”
“They’re reproductions.”
The old lady glared as if he’d sworn at her. “Liar. They’re Colonial Revival, circa 1920.”
Cy glared back, though he had to bend down to look the ferocious female in the eyes. “Circa 1925.” He drew out the last word into the full measure of syllables. “Reeeproductionssssss.”
Her face twisted into a deeper scowl. “Aged brass.”
Cy drew himself up to his full six feet. “Cast metal.”
She fell back slightly, a flicker of uncertainty on her wrinkled face, and Cy went in for the kill. Leaning close, he delivered the coup de grace. “Polychrome finish.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I think I know you. Did you go to school here?”
Cy nodded, snapping his fingers. “You’re Miss Flaubert, the freshman English teacher.”
“Retired teacher,” she said sharply. “And you’re Cy Franco, C-minus student who wrote an essay about promoting nudist beaches here in Tumbledown.”
Rosa felt her cheeks warm.
Cy laughed. “Yep, that was me. Awesome that you remember my paper after all these years.”
Miss Flaubert’s gaze found Rosa and shifted back to Cy. “You two were memorable, all right.” With a sniff, she stalked off, muttering angry words under her breath.
Cy spotted Rosa and waved the sconces. “I had to fight the English teacher for ’em.”
“So I heard.” She risked a look around to see if anyone else had taken note of the exchange, but no one appeared at all interested. “Ready to go?”
He shot a mournful glance at the remaining treasures. “I guess. I’ve got a box waiting for me at the pay table.”
“Cy...” she warned.
“Don’t worry. Just a lamp and a small piece of stained glass.”
They lined up to pay and Rosa filled him in.
“So, you think Pike’s trying to put the squeeze on Bitsy to sell?” Cy asked, eyes wide.
“Seems like it.”
“Then why help her enter the contest in the first place?”
Rosa shrugged. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”
As they waited by the tables crowded with items, Rosa’s attention was caught by an old black-and-white photo of a man perched proudly on the bow of a small boat. Before she knew it, her memories took her back to Pike’s exquisite eighteen foot runabout, listening to him ramble on about the mahogany decks that he himself had restored. She hadn’t cared one bit about anything relating to boats, but back then, her sixteen-year-old self had been more than impressed by his heart-melting smile and, yes, the dimple in his strong chin.
Pike was completely at home on that boat, more comfortable than she’d ever seen him strolling down the halls of their high school. She’d always thought there was some sort of tension in him, some coiled spring inside, in spite of the easy smile and elegant posture. Lost in the memory, she could feel the wind whipping her hair, his hand on the small of her back.
On that boat, the sleek Poppy’s Dream, Pike was truly at home.
Until the day when Poppy’s Dream was delivered to the bottom of the Pacific.
She remembered his handsome face twisted with rage, nearly unrecognizable, when her father began to investigate. Pike, he believed, helped his own father commit insurance fraud by sinking the exquisite boat to recoup the $100,000 insurance money they’d pretended not to need.
There was a history that hinted at fraud, Manny Franco had said. Past events that painted an entirely different picture of Pike and his kin. Facts she was unaware of.
You’re wrong, Dad, she’d told him.
Whatever Pike’s family may or may not have planned, Pike did not sink that boat. She knew it then with all the certainty of her steadfast teenage heart. He loved Poppy’s Dream too much. The proof was in his long fingers trailing over the gleaming wood, the way he’d settled into the captain’s seat with a sheen of awe in his brown eyes. The passion in his voice when he’d told Rosa every last detail about acquiring the antique vessel and his dreams to start a sailing school.
He’d never forgiven her father for the accusation.
Or Rosa for being related to him. And now Pike’s father was gone, dead of a heart attack some four years prior.
Someone jostled Rosa out of her reverie, and Cy forked over fifty dollars to the beaming attendant. Five thousand minus fifty. Four thousand, nine hundred and fifty dollars left to transform a tired old fowl into a regal bird.
Cy handed her a box to carry while he took possession of his hard-won wall sconces. On the way to the car, Rosa’s foot caught on a loose brick that edged the lawn. The box tumbled to the ground as she sprawled on the sidewalk, the heel of her shoe breaking clean off.
Cy helped her up and retrieved the box, which was still mercifully taped shut, and handed it to her. She shook it gently. Glass tinkled inside. “Uh-oh.”
His expression was pained. “It was a stained glass panel. The colors are out of this world. Don’t worry. I can probably fix it.”
With a sigh, Rosa schlepped the box to the car and loaded it into the trunk.
The sun was low in the sky, painting the town in umber and gold as they drove back to the Pelican. This time, she rolled the window down and kissed her hairdo goodbye.
Cy sang to himself, content in the passenger seat, fingers pounding a drum lick on his thighs. She was used to driving everywhere they went. Cy had only been driving for a few short weeks after getting his license when he’d struck a child riding a bike. The child had recovered, Cy had not. He’d never tried driving again. They zoomed along against the backdrop of a spectacular sunset, and Rosa could not help but revel in it.
When they finally traipsed into the inn, the smell of roast chicken greeted them. Baggy was lapping up a bowl of broth and rice.
“Baggy seems to be missing some teeth, so I thought maybe soft foods were the way to go,” Bitsy said, ushering them to the table. Pike was already seated there, looking like the lord of the manor in his clean shirt and jeans. Rosa felt more like a court jester as she furtively attempted to smooth her hair and straighten her blouse, limping to the table on her broken shoe.
“What happened to you?” Pike asked.
She flashed him a snooty look. “It was just some trouble relating to wall sconces.”
He raised an eyebrow and gave her a smile that, she was annoyed to discover, transformed his face from arrogant to breathtakingly handsome.
“I had no idea the decorating business could be so dangerous,” he said.
And the lawyering business is about to take a nasty turn, too, she thought, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation toward his plans for Bitsy’s inn. She decided to do some fishing over the delectable herbed chicken and creamy roasted potatoes.
“I went to see the Great Escapes people today,” she said. “Wanda says hello.”
“Wanda?” Pike frowned as he selected a pillowy roll and passed the basket to Cy. “Oh, red-haired lady. Right.”
“She told me you helped Bitsy prepare the contest materials. That was nice of you.”
Pike nodded. “I’m Bitsy’s lawyer. I created a history of the inn to be used for other purposes, and Bitsy attached it to the entry form.”
Bitsy smiled. “Oh, you’re much more than just my lawyer. You’re my darling nephew, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She shot a look at Rosa. “I can’t figure out why you two never got along. You’re both such angels to me. Here you are, Rosa, with Cy, ready to transform my inn, and Pike has helped me manage the legalities of this old place ever since he finished law school.”
“You could have done it, too, Rosa,” Pike said. “Why did you decide on that career change, by the way?”
She tried to read his expression. Was he baiting her or simply curious? “Never mind.”
“It’s a big job, running a bed-and-breakfast,” Pike said, eyeing Rosa as he spoke. “Too big.”
Rosa put her fork down. Time to take off the gloves. “Are you trying to pressure Bitsy to sell this place? Is that why you don’t want us here?”
“No one is pressuring me to do anything, honey,” Bitsy said, taking a tiny sip of water. “I’m not that pliable. I do what I want to.”
“And you don’t want to sell,” Rosa said. “But Pike thinks you should.”
Pike stared at Rosa and put down his fork. “I’m going to come right out and say it. I think it would be better for her to sell than participate in some cockamamie contest that, at best, will disrupt her life and, at worst, bring in more guests than she can handle.” He sat back. “That’s my position and I’m working toward getting the Pelican sold. With Bitsy’s permission, I might add.”
“Your position is wrong,” Rosa snapped.
“You’ve been here all of three hours and you think you know what’s best for my aunt?”
“Maybe I do,” she retorted.
“You’re not a lawyer, remember?”
“Hang on,” Bitsy said, an offended gleam in her eye. “As far as I can tell, I’m still in the room. I love the Pelican and I want to see her spread her wings again. I’m not a spring chicken, but I’m not dead quite yet.”
Rosa and Pike both started to speak, but Bitsy held up a hand and silenced them. “We will finish out this contest and see where things lie, but in the meantime, I want everyone to try and get along. Is that clear?” She directed a stern, blue-eyed stare at Rosa and Pike.
“Yes, ma’am,” Pike said, after a moment.
Bitsy gave them an impish smile. “I’m not sure that sounded sincere. You’ll both get along for the sake of your cherished aunt, won’t you?”
Rosa sighed, thinking it would probably be easier to negotiate peace in the Middle East.
“For you,” Pike said to Bitsy, “I will try.” He extended a hand to Rosa across the table. “Truce?”
A temporary one. Rosa reluctantly stretched out her own hand and Pike clasped it. His palms should be clammy and soft, she thought. Reptilian, perhaps. Instead, they were strong and warm, sending an electric shock through her body. She pulled her hand away and hastily shoved some chicken into her mouth.
Cy began to happily wolf down every morsel that passed near his plate except for the chicken, which he declined on account of his longstanding vegetarianism. He stopped chewing only for a moment when his phone chirped, indicating a text. “I think it’s from Dad,” he said, consulting the screen, “but it makes no sense. He hasn’t gotten the hang of text speak.”
Pike stiffened. “So what is your old man up to these days? Falsely accusing other families?”
“Pike,” Bitsy warned. “We just agreed to a truce, remember?”
Rosa glared at him. “And I thought we weren’t going to bring up family business.”
“Guilty conscience?”
She dropped her fork with a clatter. “I don’t have anything to feel guilty about, Pike.”
“You agree with your father, then? You think my family and I set out to commit fraud?”
Rosa bit her lip. “I don’t have to agree with him to defend him. He’s my father.”
“Oh, yeah,” Pike said. “And he’s done such a great job in that role. When was the last time you saw him?”
Rosa clamped her mouth closed.
“Too far, Pike,” Cy said, his customary smile gone. “Back off.”
Rosa felt the tears gather. Her brother was her stalwart defender, the only man she could rely on. She abruptly shot to her feet, determined not to let Pike see her cry. “I’ve got plans to sketch,” she said.
Pike half rose as she bolted past, as if he meant to stop her. To apologize? Not likely. She stomped up the stairs, stomach knotted, knee throbbing from her spill at the estate sale. He had no right. Arrogant, self-important jerk. In the little attic room, she tried to quiet her breathing. Just do what you know, Rosa. Do what you’re good at and don’t let Pike derail you.
She pulled out her stack of well-thumbed magazines, a book full of fabric swatches and her favorite stubby pencil with the paint chewed off in the middle. Closing her eyes, she tried to conjure up the essence of home.
* * *
ROSA WAS STILL wondering what she should do about Captain’s Nest the following morning, after she’d emailed the landlord of their rented home in Danville to collect the papers and mail during their absence. Too bad he wouldn’t allow them to skip the rent check, which she forced herself to write and send out. If money didn’t start coming in soon, she and Cy would be out on their ears.
In her fuzzy pajama pants and T-shirt, Rosa paced the attic’s worn floorboards, ignoring the chill that seeped in through the ill-fitting window casement. Her watch read six thirty. Baggy tracked her movement with his steady eye. Cy was no doubt out for a run on the beach. And Pike? She didn’t have any idea where he was. Nor did she care, she told herself firmly.
Downstairs, someone knocked at the front door, sending Baggy galloping in excited circles until she opened the door and let him out. The knocking continued, but she ignored it. Should she try to talk to Bitsy again? Or let the subject of Captain’s Nest drop?
The knocking resumed.
Bitsy was probably out gardening.
She waited another minute, hoping the visitor would go away.
Another round of knocking destroyed that hope.
Blowing out a breath, Rosa headed downstairs, more to stop the incessant pounding than out of any real interest in whoever was on the porch. Her thoughts flipped through a mental Rolodex of design topics. Striped ticking slip covers to freshen up the sofa in the front room rather than reupholstering would free up some cash for airy curtains. Her mind stubbornly insisted on picturing these imaginary curtains hugging a certain window in a certain Captain’s Nest, despite Bitsy’s odd reticence about the room.
Knock, knock.
Her slippered feet flew down the stairs. “Stop knocking. I’m coming.”
Baggy leapt up and down as much as his stubby legs would allow.
“Hold on to your kibble, Baggy. I’m on it.”
She pulled open the door, letting in a swirl of air sharp with the tang of the sea. The man on the step stood with his callused hand raised to knock again, a shock of thick white hair hanging over a creased forehead. She blinked hard. Did she actually see the scar on his forearm, or was it a memory from long ago when he’d absentmindedly crashed into a sliding glass door?
A door in the place they’d rented in Tumbledown.
A place she’d finally dared to believe was home.
Home with the father who now stood before her on the porch, watching his daughter watching him.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_27a90e89-0fb1-5119-b278-d2556f08516f)
IT WAS BAGGY who succeeded in breaking the silent stalemate as Rosa stared open-mouthed at Manny Franco, who smiled steadily back at her. Baggy, having waited patiently for some word of introduction, stood on his hind legs and pawed at Manny’s knee.
Manny appeared confused for a moment as he considered the beast before him. “Ah, a dog. Thought it was some kind of gigantic mole or something.” He patted Baggy’s head. “One minute, dog-o. My princess gets her hug first.”
And Manny proceeded to wrap Rosa in a hug that smelled of mothballs and bacon. Rosa’s heart coursed with too many emotions to be contained properly in the now sporadically pumping organ. Her mind teemed with memories, both sweet and serrated, starting with her father’s famous bacon-and-cheese omelets, which they ate every night for a straight week when Rosa’s mother endured the first of her many hospitalizations for cirrhosis of the liver. Cy ate his sans bacon. The succulent omelets were always accompanied by a side of sage advice their father doled out with the wave of a spatula.
“Bacon is good for you,” Manny proclaimed to a protesting Rosa who was deeply under the influence of a school nutrition class. “Don’t see many pigs with pacemakers, do you?”
He’d smiled through it all, the omelets, the hospitalizations, the biopsies, the burial. Smiled when he’d kissed the kids the night before he left. She loathed that smile with the part of her that did not leap at the sight of it.
Now she stood, ramrod stiff, as he hugged her and pressed a dry kiss to her temple. “You look fantastic, Rosa, like a flower about to blossom.” He stepped away to hoist the oddball dog into his arms. “All right, dog-o. Your turn. Can’t say you look fantastic, but you’re an original and that deserves a scratch at least.”
Was her father really there, standing in the golden morning light, dropping compliments on daughter and dog? Perhaps it was a dream induced by too many hours spent poring over paint palettes when she should have been sleeping. She wanted to scream “Why are you here?” It was the same way she’d felt when he graced them with his presence for her high school graduation. Only she hadn’t been there. Cy, of course, had attended, being deeply in love with fellow senior Eva Lassiter, blonde president of the Cupcakes for a Cause Club. But Rosa had no use for the ceremony, though Bitsy had pleaded with her to attend.
“Where’s Rosa?” her father had apparently said, when he didn’t see her face amid the sea of caps and gowns.
“Where’s Rosa? I’m not the one who’s been missing!” she’d screamed to her bewildered father later, when they’d caught up with her at the beach. Now she wanted to let him have it once again. In the recent past, she’d seen him only a handful of awkward times. Why are you here, Dad? Why here? Why now?
Instead, she found herself saying, “His name is Baggy.”
“Weird name for a dog. Better suited for a mole. No offense, Baggy.” He took in the front room of the Pelican, breathing so deep his spindly chest widened with the effort. “Still the most beautiful place on the beach.” His expression went suddenly timid. “So, where’s Bitsy?”
Bitsy arrived as if on cue, clutching an armful of pillows, eyes rounding in surprise over the cushioned stack. “I thought I heard...” She stopped. “Manny?”
He put Baggy down and held him steady until the dog synchronized his paws. Then he went to Bitsy and waited while she put the pillows on a chair. A long moment stretched between them, and Rosa tried to read the messages unrolling in that silence. Bitsy’s cheeks pinked, and her hand went to her throat. Manny hooked his thumbs in his pockets. Rosa wondered if Bitsy’s heart pulsed with similar feelings of outrage. As far as Rosa knew, Manny had not bothered to visit Bitsy on more than a handful of occasions since the disastrous high school graduation, not even for Leopold’s funeral. And he’d never, to Rosa’s knowledge, thanked the woman for raising the two children he was incapable of parenting.
“Hello,” she said quietly.
“Hey, Bits,” he said. “You’re looking well.”
“Thank you, and you are also, Manny.” She hugged herself, as if she’d felt a sudden chill. “We weren’t expecting you.”
Rosa found her voice again. “No, we weren’t. Why are you here, Dad?”
He scrunched up his face. “Just found myself in town.”
“Last I heard, you were fossil hunting somewhere.”
The phrase seemed to click something to life inside his head. “That was a blast, but after a while you get tired of digging up stuff more ancient than yourself. Cy wrote me that you had a project here, so I popped in. Where’s my boy, these days?”
“He’s here, too,” Rosa snapped. “But we’re busy. Working on a decorating job.”
“Swell.” Manny heaved in a breath. “Cy?” he bellowed. “Come say hello to your Pops.”
“He’s out for a run,” Rosa said. “We’ll find him on the way to the car.”
“Car?” Manny blinked.
“You drove here, didn’t you?”
“No. Took a cab,” Manny started. “Don’t have a car just at the moment.”
“No matter.” She forged ahead. “I’ll give you a ride back to your trailer.”
Cy had helped their father secure a trailer on one of his in-town jaunts, and somehow Manny managed to pay for the rental space in the Seascape Trailer Park some fifteen miles out of town. Or so she’d heard. Rosa had not visited the place her father called home.
“Don’t think that will work,” he mumbled.
“Of course it will.” Rosa grabbed her purse. Above all things, she wanted to remove her father from the inn before a certain arrogant lawyer arrived. She didn’t need any more distractions to delay the design work. It was bad enough having Pike around as both an obstacle and a painful reminder of her past.
Bitsy shook her head. “You’re still in your pajamas, Rosa. Go put some clothes on, at least.”
“No need,” Rosa chirped. “I won’t even be getting out of the car. Just a quick drive and drop.”
“At least let the man stay for breakfast.” Bitsy began to gather up the pillows in such a hurry they slid from her hands and scattered across the floor. Manny helped her gather them up again.
“He doesn’t need breakfast, and we’re really busy. Only three weeks until this place has to be shipshape, remember? It’s nice that you wanted to visit, but it’s really not a great time. We’ll reschedule for next month.” Rosa touched his shoulder. “Come on, Dad. Let’s go.”
The door slammed open and Rosa’s heart shot to her throat, but it was Cy who barreled in, glistening with sweat from his run, curls tousled wildly by the wind.
“Pops,” he said, a wide grin obliterating the fatigue from his face. “Did you come to root for us in the contest?”
Rosa would have kicked him if he’d been in closer proximity. She didn’t want her father involved with their design endeavors in any way, shape or form. “He was just leaving, Cy.”
“What’s this about a contest?” Manny asked. “I thought it was a regular decorating job.”
“You can tell him all about it over breakfast.” Bitsy moved toward the kitchen. “Cy, I know you can’t handle bacon without upchucking, but would you mind collecting some eggs? Rocky had to go into town to run an errand for me.”
“Sure thing, but last time Esmerelda, the chicken queen, took a dislike to me,” Cy said. “She pecked my, er, nether regions. I tried to explain that I don’t even eat her kind, but she wasn’t in a receptive mood. You can’t reason with fowl.”
“Not a female fowl.” Bitsy laughed. “It was a love peck. That’s the way chickens show affection.”
Cy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need that kind of affection.”
Manny sighed. “We all need a little love, Cy. Even us old-timers.” His gaze wandered over the knotted pine table and came to rest, ever so lightly, on Bitsy.
Rosa watched helplessly as Cy ambled out to the chicken house and Bitsy, always the graceful hostess, put Manny to work setting the table. Rosa tossed like a ship in the storm. Manny could not—must not—be allowed to stay, her roiling nerves shouted, yet she was helpless in the face of Bitsy’s overwhelming graciousness.
Breakfast only. Then he’s gone.
Maybe, if she was lucky, Pike wouldn’t arrive until later in the day.
Cy returned from the chicken house fifteen minutes later with a clean-shaven Pike in tow. “Look who I found in the henhouse. He’s got a way with Esmerelda. Either that or he threatened her with a lawsuit.”
If it weren’t for bad luck, Rosa thought, biting back a groan, I’d have no luck at all.
Pike did a double take when he caught sight of Manny. He shot an irate look at Cy. “You didn’t disclose that your father was here.”
Cy shrugged. “I was busy guarding my nether regions, and my dad is free to come and go as he likes.” He carried the eggs off to the kitchen where Bitsy and Manny were installed at the stove, frying pancakes. Rosa fired off a preemptive round.
“I didn’t know Dad was coming. He just sort of appeared.”
Pike turned to her, brown eyes like liquid chocolate. “He doesn’t belong here.”
“I’m taking him home right after breakfast,” she returned through gritted teeth. “But why don’t you finish your thought? He doesn’t belong here and neither do his children. The contest is a bad idea, and you wish we would all just go away.”
He clenched his fists and placed them on his hips, which fit very well in his expensive jeans. “You know how I feel about the contest. I made no secret of it.”
“That’s not the part that hurts, Pike. It’s....” She broke off in horror. What had she said? Did she just give voice to the deeper issue that rankled inside? Her father’s presence had upset her, loosed her self-control from its moorings, caused a crack in her good sense.
He cocked his head. “Rosa, I never said you weren’t welcome.”
She raised her chin. “Hmm. I wonder how I could have confused the welcome mat with the ‘don’t let the door hit you as you leave’ sign.”
His mouth quirked, and then a smile drifted across his lips like a wave breaking across the shore. He laughed.
“What do you find amusing, exactly?” she said, her heart thumping at his grin.
“You. I always liked that quick wit.”
Rosa’s cheeks warmed. He liked something about her? She took a step back, covering up uncertainty with bravado. “You don’t like anything about me. Let’s not pretend.”
His smile dimmed. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
Bitsy called to them. “Breakfast is served.”
“I’m not staying, Aunt Bitsy,” Pike said, eyeing Manny. “I’ve got some work to do in the office.”
She frowned. “You need breakfast. Come sit.”
He raised a placating hand. “No, really, I have to go.”
“Pike,” Bitsy snapped, her voice sharp. “We’re all going to settle down here around the table and eat like normal people and leave the past behind us for a moment. You can do that—we all can, with a little effort.” She swallowed. “Please.” Her pale skin was stretched taut across her cheekbones. Suddenly, Bitsy closed her eyes and gripped the chair, fingers trembling.
Pike was at her side in a moment. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, waving him away.
“Sit down,” Pike insisted, hovering at her elbow. “Let me get you something. Some water.” Rosa was halfway to the kitchen when Bitsy waved her off, too.
“I’m just fine,” she said, her soft tone back in place. She pressed a kiss on her nephew’s cheek. “Everyone sit, please.”
Rosa watched as Pike pulled out a chair for Bitsy. Manny sat next to her and Cy carried out platters of scrambled eggs and pancakes. What had she just witnessed? Was Bitsy ill? Rosa was still lost in thought when she felt someone touch her. She started, surprised to find Pike’s fingers curled around her forearm. He pulled out the chair for her and gently guided her into it. She breathed in the subtle scent of his cologne.
“Like normal people,” he whispered, a secret smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. His fingertips brushed her wrist and she wondered if he felt the odd uptick in her pulse, which she was at a loss to understand.
Doing her best to impersonate a normal person, Rosa sat.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_6919df2d-4c91-5979-9531-6fd7e532b405)
AWKWARD DID NOT come close to describing the painful, stuttering conversation that unfolded at the breakfast table. Cy could not shovel in the food fast enough, and Bitsy conducted a gracious symphony of small talk on every possible subject from tile to typhoons. That was fine with Rosa, as it filled the conversational void while keeping her father from getting a word in edgewise. Cy forked up the last pancake and Manny scanned the table, in search of a refill for his coffee.
“Okay,” Rosa said, springing from the chair and stacking all the plates within arm’s reach. “I’ll put these in the kitchen and we’ll get going. Thanks for breakfast, Bitsy. It was delicious.”
Cy mumbled his agreement around a mouthful of pancake.
Rosa did not give Bitsy any time to consider issuing a lunch invitation. She changed clothes in an eye blink, collected Manny and walked briskly from the inn out to her Nissan, Cy trailing behind into the fog-misted morning.
“I could have used another cup of joe,” Manny said.
“I’m on a tight schedule, Dad, and you didn’t exactly call ahead.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not gonna get too far in that,” Manny said, pointing to the Nissan’s left rear tire, which was flat to the rim.
Rosa groaned. “Why me?”
Manny looked closer. “Got a nail in the tire. Roofing nail, I think.”
Rosa huffed.
“No worries, sis,” Cy said, removing the keys from her hand and popping the trunk. “I’ll have her up and running in half a second.”
Perhaps it was to make up for the fact that he did not drive that Cy strove to be a master at all things automobile. She’d caught him reading over the Nissan’s owner’s manual to kill time between appointments, studying the diagrams of braking systems and trunk release mechanisms with fervor. In truth, he was the world’s worst auto mechanic, though Rosa didn’t have the heart to tell him so.
“Um, maybe we should call for roadside assistance,” she proposed. “Since we’re in a hurry. I think we’ve got one of those membership cards.”
“Nah, this is easy. You just get that lug wrench thing and whip the bolts off. Or is it nuts?” Cy began rummaging through the trunk.
Rosa heard a soft sigh from behind her. She turned to find Pike watching Cy as if he was a rare animal at the zoo. “Can I help?” he said with a slight grimace.
“No,” Cy called, voice echoing in the trunk space. “I’ve got this. Piece of cake.”
“He never lets me help, either,” Rosa said, though she could change a tire in half the time it took her twin. She considered commandeering the lug wrench, but there were some things one did not do, especially to a brother as incredible as Cy. If he needed to change that tire, she would let him.
“This is going to take a while,” Manny said, and Rosa agreed.
“I’ve got a roofing nail in my tire,” she said, skewering Pike with a look. “I wonder who spilled those everywhere.”
Pike chewed his lip, a flush stealing across his cheeks. “I suppose I could drive you.”
She wanted to say no. Actually, she wanted to say, absolutely not while I still have one measly living breath in my body. Cy emerged, saluting them with the lug wrench and an enormous smile. “All right. I’m goin’ in,” he sang out, as he dove under the car.
“He knows the lug nuts are on the outside of the vehicle, right?” Pike asked.
“Sure I do,” Cy hollered good-naturedly. “But it’s important during an automotive crisis to check over the entire undercarriage for any signs of collateral damage.”
Manny whistled. “He’s still got that weird love-hate relationship with cars, doesn’t he?”
Rosa breathed deep to steady her nerves. “Yes, yes he does.”
“Would have thought he’d get over it and start driving again.”
“Some things,” she snapped, “you just don’t get over.” As if her father could ever understand the wake of destruction he’d left behind. She looked at Pike. “It’s just up Highway One about fifteen miles. That’s where his trailer is. I’m really sorry to ask.” Especially you.
“You didn’t ask. I offered. Let’s get this over with.” Pike strode to his gleaming Mercedes and opened the door for Rosa.
“Please stop doing that,” she said.
“Doing what?”
“Pulling out chairs and opening doors for me.”
He arched a brow. “Sorry if it offends you, but the Matthews men were trained to be chivalrous.”
“The Matthews men. Now I remember,” Manny said, with a snap of his fingers. He fixed his eyes on Pike. “You’re Ben Matthews’s kid.”
Pike stiffened. “You should remember. You tried to send him to jail.”
Manny pursed his lips. “I investigated. That’s my job.”
“You defamed us. That’s illegal.”
Manny’s eyes narrowed and his slumped shoulders straightened. “Good-looking boat, wasn’t it?”
“Dad...” Rosa warned.
Manny continued. “Sank on a perfectly calm evening. Insurance paid a hundred thousand on it.”
Pike’s face darkened in rage. “Get in,” he snarled. “Or you can walk back to your trailer, if you prefer.”
Rosa shoved Manny into the car before he had a chance to add any more gasoline to the fire. She sank into the plush leather passenger seat, pulling the door closed quickly before Pike could slam it. Pike took the driver’s seat.
“Nice wheels,” she said.
Pike didn’t answer. A vein throbbed in his jaw as he slid on a sleek pair of sunglasses.
“Law business must be treating you well,” she tried again.
“Well enough.”
That concluded the small talk between Rosa and her chivalrous enemy.
Manny was silent as well. Probably for the best, Rosa thought, as they drove along the highway, past fields of pumpkins that, in a month, would greet the visitors who came for that pick-it-yourself experience. She’d been too mature to indulge in such fantasies when they’d moved to Tumbledown. Fifteen-year-olds did not scurry about in pumpkin patches hunting for that perfect squash. At least, that’s what she’d told her family, but nothing would dissuade Manny and Cy until they’d rolled away the most enormous specimen—one that required both of them to heft it into the station wagon.
She remembered the expression they’d carved into that orange flesh. Intending eeriness, Cy and her father had somehow captured the mournful, contemplative look she’d seen on her mother’s face in her more sober moments, a hint that she’d let something pass her by while she was otherwise occupied. Or was it grief for something she’d lost? If she closed her eyes, Rosa could picture the pumpkin’s visage, illuminated by the candle flickering inside. If only there had been such a candle to illuminate her mother’s soul. Would it have revealed the dark impulse that drove her to drink herself to death? What could Rosa have done, or Manny, or any of them to drive that darkness away before it consumed her? She swallowed hard.
“Penny.”
She jumped. “What?”
“A penny for your thoughts,” Pike said. “Ten miles of awkward silence is my limit. I’m a trained talker.”
“The conversation lagged, so I guess I drifted.”
“Yeah,” Pike said, eyeing Manny in the rearview mirror. He appeared to have dozed off. “Took him a while to remember who I was.”
“You’ve changed.”
“More handsome, huh?”
He grinned. Darned if he wasn’t right, but she’d never tell him that. And not only more handsome but lithe and lanky, intelligent. Worst of all was that terrible, wonderful, dimpled chin. “I was going to say more stubborn.”
“Stubborn, sayeth the pot to the kettle?”
“Yes, sayeth the pot. Aunt Bitsy wants her inn reborn and I can do that better than anyone. It’s the best thing for her.”
He cut his eyes to her, a flicker before he focused again on the highway. “And you’re sure about that?”
“Yes. It’s what she wants.” Rosa twiddled with the hem of her linen coat, noticing for the first time a spot of paint staining the fabric. Why had she not thought to put on the green blouse, which brought out the spark in her hair? Get a grip, Rosa. He wouldn’t notice a spark if it leaped out and burned a hole in his retina. And why would you want him to? Remember Foster, the handsome guy from law school? The one who ruined you?
He chewed on his lower lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t always have what we want.”
She twisted on the seat. “Why? What do you know?” She lowered her voice. “Is Bitsy sick?” Bitsy’s pale face and trembling fingers swam into her memory and her stomach contracted.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Oh, quit the lawyer jargon.” Rosa would have grabbed his arm if he hadn’t been negotiating a narrow section of highway that pinched them against the dark cliff side. “You have to tell me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Pike, I love Bitsy. I need to know.”
“It’s for her to discuss with you, not me.”
“How can you be such a...” Rosa heard herself emit a sort of choking sob. She swallowed it and stared stonily out the window.
Pike shifted. “I’m sorry. I know she’s like a mother to you. All I can tell you is I’m going to make it all turn out for the best.”
So condescending. As if she hadn’t experienced and survived plenty of challenges in her life already. “Yet you still refuse to tell me, even though you know what she means to me?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “Not my place.”
Who was Pike Matthews to withhold information about Bitsy? He was the owner of the luxury vehicle in which she was now being chauffeured, with butter-soft seats and a top-of-the-line sound system burbling a blues song that made her want to cry. He had a career, a living and a future that did not depend on winning some nutty contest. He was, in a word, a success.
She thought about how ashamed she’d felt when she’d realized that Foster had been using her teacher’s assistant password to hack into the law school’s computer system and alter his grades. And again how she’d burned with fury when her professor believed it was her doing, a lovestruck girl risking her future for her boyfriend. Maybe if her father had been a benefactor at the school, as Foster’s had been, the administration might have believed her. As it was, Foster claimed he had no idea that poor, addle-headed Rosa was changing his grades. She was a crazy stalker. Obviously.
She fixed her gaze on the horizon, watching the fog ease away from the ocean. Inside her, fear ebbed and flowed like the waves below. Could Bitsy be seriously ill? She forced her hands to unclench. The very first thing she would do after they dropped Manny at his trailer was to sit down with Aunt Bitsy and ask for the truth. They turned into the Seascape Trailer Park.
“Dad, which one is yours?”
Pike lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”
“I’ve been busy,” she sniped. “I haven’t seen the trailer.”
Manny didn’t answer.
“Dad? Wake up. Which one is your trailer?”
Manny blinked and stared at Rosa. “What?”
She forced out a breath and kept her voice in what she hoped was a pleasant range. “We’re here at your trailer park. Which unit is yours?”
He sat up and peered out the window, scanning the neat rows of trailers, which were separated by low picket fences. Some were permanent residences and others more likely vacation rentals. Pike slowed the car to a crawl. The trailers perched on small plots of grass, with lush patches of hydrangea and bougainvillea adding a blaze of color. The nearest yard was crisscrossed by a clothesline with children’s garments flapping gaily in the breeze. Clearly that one wasn’t Manny’s.
Rosa turned to Manny again with a stir of unease. “You can’t remember which one is yours?”
“Yes, I can,” he grumbled, passing a hand over his eyes. “Just takes me a minute.”
Pike watched in the rearview mirror and Rosa wondered what he was thinking. Probably that the Francos came from substandard mental material. With an alcoholic mom and a deadbeat dad who couldn’t find his way home, she could see where some might make the connection.
At least my dad didn’t sink his own boat, she thought uncharitably. She pointed to a sign. “Sea Cliff Lane,” she read off. “Is that the one, Dad?”
He smiled, relieved. “Yes, that’s the one. Turn there.”
Pike slowed to let a couple of kids whip across the narrow graveled lane on their bikes and continued on at a snail’s pace, grimacing when a rock pinged against the side of his Mercedes.
Rosa cringed, too. She didn’t want any more damage inflicted on Pike because of her family. The sooner they could deliver Manny back to his trailer, the better for Pike. And for Rosa.
With everything else on her plate, her father’s presence might just push her over the edge of sanity.
The Mercedes crept along at the specified five miles per hour.
“It’s on the end, left side,” Manny said. “Number six ten.”
Rosa rolled down the window and caught an odd scent, like the smell of an extinguished campfire. The grass that was doing its best to spring up along the side of the road was smashed and blackened.
“Dad?” she said.
“Yes, princess?”
She ground her teeth. I’m not your princess. You don’t run out on princesses. “Why does it look like there’s been a fire around here?”
“Because, there has,” Pike said, pointing to the charred remains of trailer number six ten, Sea Cliff Lane.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_252ab5c6-462a-58db-9654-fa80723a3d24)
ROSA GOT OUT of the Mercedes and moved closer to the burned wreck, as if closing the distance would somehow correct her misbehaving eyeballs. The trailer remained stubbornly fixed in her line of sight, ugly and black. The door was wrenched off its hinges and the linoleum floor was brown and bubbled like a poorly cooked pizza. The stench of burned plastic stung her nostrils. “Dad,” she said, “your trailer is burned up.”
Manny looked at the ground. “Yes.”
Yes? Did he think that would be sufficient explanation? She rounded on him. “Well, what happened?”
Manny spoke softly, perhaps so Pike would not hear. “There was a mishap.”
“A mishap?” Rosa was beyond trying to conceal anything from Pike. “This thing is charcoal. We’re way beyond mishap here. What happened, exactly?”
He screwed up his mouth, as if considering. “I put a pot of ramen noodles on the stove to boil, and then I had a craving for ice cream so I walked to town and went for some Rocky Road. When I came back, the fire department was here and...well...that’s that. My car burned up, too. I’ve been staying in an empty unit for a few weeks now, but they found somebody to rent it.”
Rosa made a conscious effort to close her mouth. “Why would you leave your trailer with the stove on?”
“Just slipped my mind.” His lips tightened. “It happens to people, doesn’t it?”
Slipped his mind. She worked on breathing some more. “Not really, Dad. People do not generally leave their trailers to burn down while they go on an ice cream run.”
“Actually, technically speaking, it isn’t my trailer. It was a rental. Stan owns the park and he said the insurance would cover it, no sweat, which is nice, isn’t it?”
One small bit of good news. She’d take it.
Her father continued. “But he wasn’t keen on renting me another.”
“So, that’s the real reason you showed up at Bitsy’s place?” Pike interjected.
“Yes.”
“Lost your trailer so you’re expecting her to take you in like she did your kids?”
“It’s not the time, Pike,” Rosa said, sweeping an arm to encompass the wreck. “Even you can see that, can’t you?”
She watched the muscles in his jaw working, but he stayed quiet.
“Dad, why didn’t you mention the fire before we drove all the way here?” Rosa asked. “You could have explained that your trailer was destroyed. Why wouldn’t you tell me something like that?”
Manny took in a heavy breath and let it out slowly in leaky spurts, flicking a quick glance at Pike and then away. “Because I didn’t remember until we pulled up to my street.”
A child walked by holding a bedraggled kite with a tear in the middle, like a wound. The girl wiggled her fingers at Manny, who returned the greeting and ambled over. “Didja bust up your kite?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t. My mom said Gregory had to have a turn and he got it stuck in a tree. Brothers are dumb.”
“Yeah,” Manny agreed. “I had a brother and he sure was dumb. Got any tape? The clear kind that people close up packages with?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’ll fix the rip right up. Good as new.”
The girl brightened. “Good idea. But brothers are still dumb.”
Rosa watched it all with the surreal feeling that she was observing from afar. The breeze continued its capricious meanderings, as if things were perfectly normal, as if the world’s equilibrium had not just been dealt a severe blow. Though she saw the wind toying with the branches of the big cypress that sheltered the burned trailer, she did not feel it on her face. Rosa was surprised to find that Pike had stayed near. To gloat, maybe. They both waited until Manny shuffled back, having concluded his kite repair advice. “What did you mean, Dad, that you didn’t remember?”
Manny cast about for a while, starting and stopping his words, pocketing and unpocketing his hands until he finally hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “I think I’ve got something.”
“You’ve got something.” She felt slow and stupid. “Got what?”
“Alzheimer’s?” Pike asked.
“No, not that,” Manny snapped. “It’s got a different name. ‘Pick’ something.” He pulled a paper from his pocket. “Here, I wrote down what the doctor said.”
He handed over a crumpled scrap of paper and headed to a bench perched in the shade of the cypress tree several yards away.
Rosa smoothed the scrap. “Pick’s disease.” She looked at Pike. “Have you heard of it?”
Shaking his head, he thumbed his phone to life and typed in the search. She watched him read, and though he kept his features in a calm, noncommittal expression, something trickled through the coffee brown of his eyes and the corners of his mouth tightened the tiniest fraction as he scrolled through the information.
“What?”
He pocketed the phone. “We don’t need to research it now. Let’s go back to Bitsy’s and you and Cy can discuss housing options for Manny.”
He turned away, but she stopped him with a hand on his biceps. “Pike, tell me.”
He didn’t meet her eyes, but stared at her fingers curled around his arm. “Rosa, I think maybe this isn’t something you should hear from me in light of...everything.”
She didn’t remove her hand and he remained there, still looking away.
“Please.”
He hesitated. “It says Pick’s disease is a rare form of dementia.”
She blinked. “And?”
“And it’s irreversible and incurable,” he added softly.
Dementia. Irreversible. Incurable. The words fell like heavy stones in deep water, swallowed by the mad, whirling rush in her head. She looked at her father, who was skinning the bark off of a stick he’d retrieved, hunched and small on the hewn wood bench, dwarfed by both the old tree and the blackened wreck.
There seemed no sense to it, that she was standing, watching her father, while being floored by a diagnosis that seemed as if it belonged to a stranger. Manny had left a long time ago, chasing some sort of mysterious, phantom dream that he could not even articulate. He had abdicated the role of father when she’d most desperately needed one. So why, now, were her fingers rigid and her breath tight? Why should she care? Why did it pinch at a place deep inside?
Infuriatingly, Pike had been right. She should not have insisted he tell her about the disease because she was no longer certain she was in control. Above all things, she would not let Pike see her lose it. The man who hated her father. The man who had ridiculed her mother.
She realized she was still touching Pike and that he had covered her hand with his, tenderly, as if he feared bruising her. She detached herself. “I see. Thank you for the info.”
“Do you...want to go talk to him?”
Deep breath. A steadying smile. “I think we should go back. We’ll drive him to the inn, as you suggested, and talk to Cy. This is one of those times when I wish my brother would actually answer his cell phone, the big dork.”
Pike eyed her uncertainly, looking as though he was about to press her further.
“I’m sure Cy’s got the flat changed by now, or the car completely dismantled—one or the other.” Her laugh sounded tinny and strange in her own ears. She strolled to her father and told him of her plan. He nodded, without comment, and shuffled back to the car, the naked twig still clutched in his fingers.
Irreversible, her mind repeated as they drove back to the Pelican.
Incurable.
Unbelievable.
* * *
THE OLD NISSAN sported four fully functioning tires, Rosa noted, as they pulled in to the parking lot. Cy was on the front porch, poring over a stack of history books. Her brother believed that a decorator’s sacred responsibility was to understand the past of any given building before reinventing it.
“The history of a place is what changes a house to a home,” Cy preached at anyone who would listen.
He glanced up as the trio climbed the front steps. “Oh, hey, Pops. Changed your mind about the visit?”
Before Rosa could open her mouth, Cy began hurling historical bomblets at her from his spot on the wicker bench. He gestured with a dusty volume. “Got it from Julio. Took us an hour and a half to find it. The Pelican was built by Harold Herzberg in...”
“In 1860, Cy. I know.”
“Yes, but did you know he was a carpenter turned...”
“Forty-niner who eventually discovered that there was really no money to be made in the goldfields. Yes, I knew that, too.”
“Well, did you know that there was a notable portrait done of Herzberg and his wife, worth thousands, that was stolen from what used to be the Tumbledown Bank some twenty years ago?”
“Hmm. Nope, that’s news to me.”
“Anyway, his carpentry background explains the extensive woodwork.” Cy patted his pockets for a pencil until Pike pointed to the one behind his ear. “There’s a mention of the oak window seat in the dining room being a favorite of Mrs. Herzberg, who used to have guests join her to shell peas and watch the horse-drawn carriages come up from the docks. We’ll need to do it.”
“Do what, Cy?” she said wearily, though she already knew.
“Restore the window seat. Make it a focal point. It won’t be hard—most of the wood is still sound. Aunt Bitsy is fine with it.”
“Yes, she is,” said Bitsy as she stepped out onto the porch. She handed Cy a tape measure. “You left this in the bathroom.”
Pike huffed. “I’m aware that no one is listening, but this inn is on the verge of being sold. There’s no need to do work with window seats or paint or anything else.”
Cy wore a glazed expression as he rambled on about crown molding and stain.
Pike rolled his eyes, mumbling something about being trapped in a nuthouse.
Rosa tried to rally, determined to ignore Pike and his bad tidings. “Time and money, Cy. The window will cost both. And besides, we have something to discuss that’s more important.”
He gaped. “More important than a window seat?”
She nodded. “At the moment, yes.”
Manny rocked back and forth on his heels. “She wants to tell you I’m losing my marbles.”
Cy’s face did not show the signs of shock and surprise that Rosa expected. His mouth opened and closed.
“Oh,” he said. “That.”
Rosa sighed. “You already knew about the Pick’s disease?”
He nodded. “Dad mentioned it when he was last in town.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“He wanted to tell you himself, but you weren’t up for the meeting.”
“You could have told me anyway.”
“Well,” Cy said, tapping the pencil on his palm. “You were stressed about the library design. You’re not the easiest person to talk to when you’re stressed. And I figured we had time.”
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Dana Mentink
Her design scheme didn't include him! Struggling interior designer Rosa Franco and her twin brother, Cy, are bent on transforming the timeworn Pelican Inn into the jewel of the California coast, even if it kills them. And it will kill Rosa if they fail. Their business, and her future, depend on winning the Great Escapes Magazine design contest that lured them back to the town where some of her best–and worst–memories were forged. Memories like those of Pike Matthews, the innkeeper's nephew, her high school heartthrob turned humiliator, now infiltrating himself into every aspect of the project. Is he purposely frustrating her efforts? Behind that killer smile is he carrying a grudge…or a torch?
Her design scheme didn’t include him!
Struggling interior designer Rosa Franco and her twin brother, Cy, are bent on transforming the timeworn Pelican Inn into the jewel of the California coast, even if it kills them. And it will kill Rosa if they fail. Their business, and her future, depend on winning the Great Escapes Magazine design contest that lured them back to the town where some of her best—and worst—memories were forged. Memories like those of Pike Matthews, the innkeeper’s nephew, her high school heartthrob turned humiliator, now infiltrating himself into every aspect of the project. Is he purposely frustrating her efforts? Behind that killer smile is he carrying a grudge…or a torch?
“You’ve changed.”
“More handsome, huh?” He grinned.
Darned if Pike wasn’t right, but she’d never tell him that. And not only more handsome but lithe and lanky, intelligent, and worst of all was that terrible, wonderful, dimpled chin. “I was going to say more stubborn.”
“Stubborn, sayeth the pot to the kettle?”
“Yes, sayeth the pot. Aunt Bitsy wants her inn reborn and I can do that better than anyone. It’s the best thing for her.”
He cut his eyes to her, a flicker, before he looked back at the highway. “And you’re sure about that?”
“Yes. It’s what she wants.” Rosa twiddled with the hem of her linen coat, noticing for the first time a spot of paint. Why had she not thought to put on the green blouse that brought out the spark in her hair? Get a grip, Rosa. He wouldn’t notice a spark if it leaped out and burned a hole in his retina. And why should you want him to?
He chewed on his lush lower lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t always have what we want.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_94dc6613-efd1-5d06-b6c6-3281fd02a324),
Who wouldn’t want to escape the hectic hubbub of daily life and slip away to a quirky beachside town? I can almost hear the roar of the surf, those raucous seagulls in the sky, and I can even see a few folks strolling the sand, hand in hand. That’s how the town of Tumbledown feels in my mind, a little island of sweetness, a respite from the world. Tumbledown’s ragged cliffs and scenic coves are modeled after the real-life city of Half Moon Bay along the central coast of California. While Tumbledown is a picture-postcard town, even a quirky out-of-the-way place can hold a bit of mystery, a splash of mayhem and a whole lot of romance.
Thank you for coming along with Rosa and Pike on a journey that will leave an indelible mark on their hearts. I hope in the pages of this book you’ll find love, laughter and encouragement as they do in the old Pelican Inn. I’m extremely grateful to and blessed by my readers. I’d love to hear any questions or comments you might have. If you’d like to contact me, I can be reached via my Facebook reader page as well as through my website at www.danadurgin.com (http://www.danadurgin.com). There is also a physical address on the website if you prefer. Thank you again.
Fondly,
Dana Durgin
Return to Pelican Inn
Dana Durgin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
DANA DURGIN (#ulink_aacd937c-d1c9-5209-9d9e-0f5b9192fe07)
got her start writing cozy mysteries for Barbour Books. Currently, she writes for Mills & Boon Love Inspired Suspense line, where her books have earned an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, a Holt Medallion Merit Award and a 2013 Carol Award. She’s thrilled to be writing for Mills & Boon Heartwarming line. Visit her at danadurgin.com (http://www.danadurgin.com/).
To Holly Love, who is even sweeter than her honey.
Contents
Cover (#u1780acd5-4987-5703-bdf5-ce8517e0cae5)
Back Cover Text (#ufd49fd31-80d4-5062-bd15-8275c72c3fab)
Introduction (#ue41fc393-d695-5816-a9d7-da0c4bd74374)
Dear Reader (#u8123a1f2-e5e9-584d-8085-3a0343a591c0)
Title Page (#u62040926-1c02-52f9-867c-9ffc195ce5da)
About the Author (#u4ebe8da3-299e-5270-8cbc-48ec26984720)
Dedication (#ufa668f7f-c161-5b49-9376-9b2aba1ab5ef)
CHAPTER ONE (#u1283cd16-b1e9-5b88-85b3-6273ac4350c7)
CHAPTER TWO (#u1b163f82-a47c-52c2-b23b-caaca3cccb4e)
CHAPTER THREE (#u55038fec-2678-54a7-8409-270bd52b61b8)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u3137ac27-bc61-5838-a161-6df7cd2bad65)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u85d4c40b-a8b4-57de-9506-3c4442bdbaa2)
CHAPTER SIX (#ua37b6d18-b7a1-5aee-a796-a089201f8a82)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_dad53bde-d2fa-5ec7-bb15-34187882a5d8)
ROSA FRANCO CLOSED her eyes and lost herself in the design plan: walls bathed in rich ivory, the subdued elegance of the marble that would edge the fireplace, matching sofas adorned in buttery, cream-colored fabric set off by jewel-toned pillows. It was the pillows that would really put the sprinkles on the sundae, so to speak. They murmured, “Stuffy library? Not at all. Come and sit. You’re finally home.”
Home. It was the heart of every great room design, to capture the essence of home in the most beautiful way possible. She’d done it with this library. The graphics that scrolled on the laptop in front of her and the paper mockups were just a taste, of course, confirmation of something she already knew.
Spot on, Rosa.
“Miss Franco?”
The voice seemed to come from far away. She was still gripped by the magic of her design.
“Yo, sis?” Her twin brother Cy’s wild head of dark blond hair swam into view as she snapped back to the present. He was wiggling his fingers in front of her face, as if trying to free her from a hypnotist’s spell.
Mr. Charles Frasier, a highly regarded estate planning lawyer, looked extremely uncomfortable perched in a wingback chair in the Dollars and Sense Design showroom, a painstakingly decorated oasis in the charming house Rosa and her brother rented for use as a business and their residence. The lovely old home in Danville, complete with small kitchen downstairs and a cramped living space upstairs, was expensive, but the location was well calculated. One of the wealthiest suburbs of Oakland and San Francisco, Danville was a town that screamed “affluent” and “quaint.” It was also convenient to a major freeway and had a median annual income of $129,000 for crying out loud. A suburban haven filled with people like Charles Frasier. The lawyer picked at a dot of lint on his immaculate suit pants. “The design is fine.”
Fine? Rosa resisted the urge to correct him. It was more than fine. It was perfect, down to the rich wood bookcases and sleek brass lamp that would occupy a cozy corner. “I’m glad you like it.” She flashed him a brilliant smile. “When shall we get started?”
He stood. “That’s what I’ve been trying to explain.”
She stood.
Cy stood.
Baggy, the frightening doglike creature that Cy had dragged home the week before, stood and peeked out from his favorite spot behind the curtain. Fortunately, Mr. Frasier did not see him.
They all stared at each other.
Rosa had the inkling that somehow, something had gone terribly wrong.
“We are not going to get started, Miss Franco. Sorry.”
“We’re not? Why aren’t we? What would be the reason for not?” She was babbling. Cy shrugged his wide shoulders, giving her a “Who knows?” look.
Frasier checked his watch. “Yes, well, the design for the library is fine, as I said. That is not the problem. Violet and I have decided to sell rather than remodel. It’s a seller’s market, and our home in Atherton will do.”
His words made sense, they all had the appropriate number of vowels, consonants and such, yet she found she could not comprehend. She’d spent hours. His wife, Violet, loved Rosa’s design ideas. It was the big moment for Dollars and Sense, the job that would put them on the map.
“You will be compensated for your time. Good luck.” Frasier turned on his Florsheims and walked out the door, leaving a whisper of Drakkar Noir behind.
In shock, Rosa tottered after him, down the front steps.
Danville was filled with people like Mr. Charles Frasier. People who could discard homes as if they were used socks. People like Mr. Frasier, she was convinced, had not spent their childhoods searching for that elusive paradise. Not like Rosa, who had been mesmerized by those strange and wonderful families that stayed in one precious place, decorating their homes with a wash of memories and embellishing odd corners with bits of family history that gave meaning to every last nook and cranny.
She watched Mr. Frasier climb into his pristine Mercedes SL550 Roadster and drive away.
As she sank down on the front step, Baggy snuffled his crooked nose into her thigh, leaving a wet smear on her best pair of pants. He stared at her with his one steady eye, the other wandering off to admire the view somewhere else. She never should have let Cy take that night job at the pet store. So far, they’d collected a dozen unwanted goldfish, an unnaturally angry cat who’d run away the day after Cy brought it home and now Baggy, a dog that was, quite simply, the ugliest animal she’d ever clapped eyes on. It didn’t matter to Cy. Ugly or not, nothing helpless would ever be abandoned on his watch.
Maybe that’s why Cy stays with you. The thought gave her a stab of pain. Cy was everything she was not, his hair fair and curly where hers was stick straight and black. Softhearted where she was driven to succeed. Athletic. Resilient. Forgiving.
Rosa was a different design altogether. She thought about her father and the last time he’d called. She’d refused to speak to him. Cy had gabbed on just as if the man had not betrayed them on the cusp of their sixteenth birthday. She had no time for their father’s excuses. All that mattered was making her business thrive, to show herself and the world that, this time, failure was not an option.
“I can’t understand this,” she said to Baggy, who had insinuated his ten-pound body under her elbow. “I made a business plan.”
Cy stuck his head out the front door. “What should I make for dinner? Or do you want takeout?”
“We can’t afford takeout,” she grumbled. “I’ve got the marinara reheating on the stove. I started it before Mr. Mercedes canceled us.”
“Oh, huh. Marinara.”
“What’s wrong with my marinara?” The answer was quite simple; their mother wasn’t alive to help her make it. The memory of those glorious pots of sauce bubbling on the stove were almost tangible, the smell of the crushed rosemary that had grown in a cracked terra-cotta pot seemed to permeate the air even now. Frank Sinatra music had usually played in counterpoint to the gurgling of the sauce, and more often than not, her father’s deep baritone warbled a harmony.
Rosa put Baggy down, supporting the awkward creature until he got all his legs working in unison. “Do you remember how Mom used to plop the tomatoes into boiling water and they’d sort of pop out of their skins?”
Cy nodded.
“I tried that, but it didn’t work.” She swallowed against a sudden thickness in her throat. “I squished them with my fingers.”
“That’s okay,” Cy said, joining her. “Mom wouldn’t mind.”
“And I didn’t have any fresh garlic so I used a lot from the jar.”
“Uh-huh.”
Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “And I left out the wine.”
She could still hear their mother adding a splash of red to the marinara and a much bigger splash into her own glass. One glass, followed by another.
She hadn’t realized she was crying until Cy embraced her, the only other person in the world who could understand. “Cheer up, kiddo. Not everyone is gifted in a culinary way.”
Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she gently elbowed him away. “Our business is failing, we have rent due at the end of the month and zero, count them, zero clients, and you’re going to tell me my marinara sauce is bad?”
He flashed his effervescent smile. “Not bad, just...aggressive.”
She would have smiled if she had the energy. Instead, she put into words the worry that had plagued her the most in the past four years. “I should have tried another law school.” It was ridiculous. No other school would take her after she was kicked out. She swallowed the shame of it. Cheater—that’s what they’d thought of her. Heat rose to her cheeks. But she wasn’t a cheater, just a naive girl who’d been stupid enough to put her future in the hands of the wrong man.
Cy laughed, a boisterous, rolling chuckle. “Right. You hated law school, remember? Even if the thing with Foster hadn’t happened, you spent every moment of the case-analysis lectures imagining what the room would look like with pine paneling and silk drapes.” He hopped down the steps, reaching for a leaf that graced the spotless front path. Not surprising. Cy could stay still for no more than three minutes, barring sedation.
But law school was where the successful people went, the ones who were going to make something of themselves. The image popped into her head before she could stop it. Pike, the golden boy from high school. Privileged and perfect, or so she’d thought until the accusation from her father turned him into her enemy. Pike’s derisive laughter still rang in her ears from one particularly horrific day when her mother had shown up at the high school three months into Rosa’s freshman year, wearing only a bra and panties, clutching a bottle of whiskey and waving to everyone as if she was queen of the British Isles.
Then, like petals borne away by a fickle wind, her high school friends weren’t her friends anymore.
And Pike finally had his revenge.
Rosa combed her hands through her hair and groaned. It wasn’t the time for a stagger down that blighted memory lane.
The mailman pulled up and Cy trotted off to greet him, engaging him in conversation about their shared passion, the San Francisco Giants. There would be nothing but bills and a myriad of credit card applications, as if they needed any more opportunities to climb deeper into an abyss of debt. Cy thumbed through the stack as he came back up the walk, tearing open an envelope in that messy way that bugged her to no end. She looked at Baggy who now lay on his back, one eye fixed dreamily on her.
“Baggy, I admire your ability to stay calm while all around you is turning to poop.”
“Rosa,” Cy said, his eyes riveted on the letter in front of him.
“Unless it’s a paying client, I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Uh, I think you do.”
She shot to her feet. “No, really, Cy. If it’s bad news, I just can’t take any more right now.” She began to pace. “I’ve got to think of a way out of this, or we’re flat-out ruined. Do you understand me?” An acrid smell drifted into her nostrils a moment before her brain filled in the pertinent details. Kitchen. Marinara. Stove. Burning!
With a shriek she ran into the kitchen just in time to see the lid blow off the pot, showering the stove and Rosa with hot, red sauce. She did not have time to indulge the pain as the sauce ignited on the burner, followed by the potholder Cy had left too close to the heat.
Smoke billowed. Sauce bubbled. Rosa scurried around, swatting at the flames with a heavy kitchen towel. When the fire was out, she turned wearily to her brother, sauce spatters on the front of her shirt, the smoking potholder in her hand. She stuck a finger in the sauce and tasted it. “You’re right. On top of everything else, my marinara is horrible.”
Cy stood there, still clutching the letter, a look of complete shock on his face. “Put down the potholder, sis. You’re not going to believe this.”
* * *
ROSA WAS STILL in a cloud of disbelief the next morning as she guided her Nissan along Highway 92, Cy sitting next to her with Baggy curled across his lap. She relished the sight of the Pacific Ocean crashing against the rocky shore as they made their way to the tiny coastal town of Tumbledown, just south of Half Moon Bay. The population on the official sign read 314, but that had been erected before the birth of twin boys to the town’s dentist, she’d been told by her almost-aunt, Bitsy, the last time she’d visited. A miniscule country store served the basic needs of the seaside community, along with Tad’s Bait and Tackle, which also sold ice cream in the summer. Small houses in a variety of styles and conditions dotted the landscape. A series of ramshackle farms offered opportunities for city slickers to do everything from picking pumpkins to cutting their own Christmas trees, depending on the season.
The faded, striped awning outside Julio’s Book Shoppe flapped in the breeze, just as it did in Rosa’s memory. She’d spent a summer crammed into the tiny shop with the corpulent Julio, working the counter and shelving books. Julio’s was likely the only bookstore in the civilized world where books were arranged by the author’s first name.
“I nearly froze to death in Korea,” Julio proclaimed many times, wide face gleaming with sweat. “Did something to my brain. Since the fifties, I can’t remember last names for anything.”
In Julio’s store, patrons would find Ernest Hemmingway’s masterpieces snuggled right up to Eugene Fitzwater’s Guide to Forest Mushrooms.
She shook away the wave of nostalgia. “Are you absolutely sure about this, Cy?”
“Like I said the first sixteen times, Rosa, I’m sure.”
Her heart kept up its rapid staccato, as it had from the moment Cy told her the news. Her tiny decorating business, the humble Dollars and Sense Design, had won the lottery, or more specifically, the chance to enter the Great Escapes magazine contest. Ten teams, ten different locations and a budget of five thousand dollars. The winner scored a photo spread in Great Escapes and the gaggle of clients that would go with it.
“Tell me again,” she said.
Cy rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his mop of blond hair. “Bitsy called me three weeks ago and told me her very own Pelican Inn was one of the locations. She insisted that I enter our business in the contest and, whammo, a miracle occurred. We were actually selected.”
Rosa shook her head. “I can’t believe it.”
“They probably liked the sappy emotional angle.”
“What sappy emotional angle?”
Cy raised an eyebrow. “We spent three years of our lives here when Dad went AWOL. Bitsy might as well be a relative.”
Rosa nodded. No need to say the rest. They both knew Bitsy had had no business taking in two abandoned teenagers when their father took off, indulging in one of the strange fits of wanderlust that had seized him since their mother passed away at the beginning of their sophomore year. It was not the first time he’d left. Manny Franco might have been trying to escape the overwhelming responsibility of raising two motherless teens. Or it could have been an inability to handle his own grief. In any case, they’d awakened shortly after their sixteenth birthday to find a pile of money on the table and a scrawled note.
Gotta get away for a while. Take care of each other. I’m sorry. Daddy
A “while” had stretched into days, then into months and finally years, with only occasional phone calls and quick visits, their father’s behavior growing more and more bizarre with every passing year. His last text to Cy was six months ago, indicating he was in the Southwest fossil hunting in the desert with a bunch of college kids. It did no good to remind him he was an insurance investigator, not Indiana Jones. He’d lost something when their mother died, and Rosa was sure he would spend the rest of his life trying to find it.
Bitsy should have called social services back then and reported Manny Franco for abandoning his kids. Her salesman husband, Leopold, was a constant traveler and a man who was never able to keep money in his pocket. Bitsy was responsible for a dilapidated inn with virtually no help from Leo. Even when he’d died five years ago, there had been no financial relief, no life insurance to ease Bitsy’s bottom line.
Even so, because she’d been a friend to Katy Franco all those years ago, instead of making that call to social services when Manny left, Bitsy had brought the twins to the Pelican Inn and sold her car to pay for their necessities. Rosa swallowed a sudden lump in her throat as they drove up the winding road that led to the top of a bluff overlooking the ocean, the location of the rustic inn.
The old, gabled structure still sported the same faded yellow paint, accented by window boxes spilling over with crimson geraniums. White-painted trim and a pelican weather vane on the peaked roof added to the charm. Rosa inhaled a deep lungful of sea air as she got out of the car. Heavenly. Could there be a more soothing place than the Pelican?
A thrill of unease shivered through her, upsetting her moment of bliss. She peered around the tiny parking area, looking for a car that might be driven by Bitsy’s nephew. A silver Mercedes and a dusty motorcycle occupied the lot under the shelter of a Monterey pine. “What if Pike’s here?”
“He’s busy with his law firm,” Cy said, handing over Baggy. “Besides, if he saw you, he’d probably run like a scalded cat. You remember the scar on his lip?”
She felt a flush crawl into her cheeks. “Who knew lips would bleed so much?” Rosa recalled a few of the “situations” she’d run into with Bitsy’s nephew Pike, a man at whom she would cheerfully hurl a tureen of her aggressive marinara sauce if given the opportunity. The memories were surprisingly vivid and painful. The feeling rose up strong as an ocean wind, the knowledge that she was nothing more than an awkward girl with her nose pressed to the glass, looking wistfully at the life she was not a part of. An outsider. Always. She wondered if Pike had heard about her expulsion from law school.
“If he shows up to bother you, I’ll take care of it.”
Cy was the gentlest person she knew, but he would always have her back. She swallowed a lump in her throat and shook away the thoughts. “Let’s go talk to Bitsy. I’m dying to see her, and we’ve only got three weeks to get this pelican whipped into shape.”
Cy surveyed the peeling paint on the shutters and the clinging scalp of ivy that adhered to the gutters with the tenacity of Super Glue. A redwood railing flanked the narrow steps that led to a front porch complete with cozy love seat and a tangle of climbing hydrangeas framing the charming nook. “Three weeks and five thousand dollars. It’s going to be a stretch,” Cy mused.
“It’s what we’re good at, remember?” Rosa tucked Baggy under her arm while Cy carried a bunch of yellow daisies they’d purchased. A widow for going on five years now, Bitsy deserved long-stemmed roses, dozens of them, but for now daisies would have to do. Rosa marched up the flagstone walk, doing mental gymnastics as she went. “We’ll want to capitalize on the view from the sitting room and we can draw attention to the exposed beams in the kitchen by painting the walls a light color.”
Something scuttled across the roof overhead, but she ignored it in the rush of excitement she felt. She raised her hand to knock, but the door flew open before her knuckles made contact with the old wood.
“Rosa, sweetie! Cy!” Bitsy cried, drawing back suddenly the way people generally did when they got an eyeful of Baggy. “Is that...a dog?”
“Probably,” Rosa said, shifting Baggy to the side and allowing Bitsy to wrap them in a double hug. “He was left in a bag at the pet store where Cy works part time. He doesn’t smell, and as far as I can see he’s house-trained.”
Bitsy laughed. “Better than some men I used to date way back in the day, before I married Leopold. You two look smashing.”
“Not as smashing as you,” Rosa said, trying to keep from tearing up, her voice muffled by Bitsy’s denim shirt. It wasn’t idle flattery. Bitsy was still tall and regal in spite of her nearly seventy years. Her hair shone white-blond in the buttery afternoon sunshine, cornflower-blue eyes as sharp as they’d ever been, her features enhanced by a touch of satin lipstick and artfully applied powder.
She pulled the twins to arm’s length. “Imagine you two staying at the Pelican again, but now you’re all grown up.” Her eyes filled with a mixture of pleasure and something Rosa thought for a moment was pain. “Come in, come in.”
They entered the familiar sitting room that featured a fireplace with a rustic pine mantel. It was crowded by two flowery stuffed chairs and set off by a honey-colored, planked floor. Bitsy’s collection of antique salt shakers was displayed on a corner shelf, meticulously free of dust. There were new drapes, expensive and overly ornate to Rosa’s eye.
“Hasn’t changed much, has it?” Bitsy sighed. “I guess that’s why you’re here.”
“I can’t believe we were chosen.” Rosa wanted to pinch herself. She was here in the old inn that held such bittersweet memories, and now she would be breathing new life into the place, repaying the woman who had breathed new life into her and Cy. “Where should we start? I’ll need to make sketches, consult with you on some color palettes, and we can come up with a common vision. I’m...”
Bitsy laughed. “Time enough for that. Maybe we should get you settled in first. I’ve closed the inn to guests for a few weeks. There weren’t many anyway, so it should be quiet.”
“We don’t want to...” Rosa’s words trailed off as a loud thump sounded from the roof. A slithering, scraping noise followed, and Bitsy’s face creased in consternation.
“What was that?” Rosa asked, already headed for the front door.
“Honey, there’s something you should know....” Bitsy called after her.
Rosa pushed the door open anyway, startled as a man dropped off the roof right in front of her.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_0d94fd76-7ab7-5891-afb9-850d9341ccf0)
ROSA STARED AT the man sprawled on the steps. First his eyebrows lifted in surprise, and then they lowered into a glare of unmitigated hostility, probably the perfect match to her own.
Bitsy pushed past Rosa. “Are you okay, Pike?”
“Fine, fine,” he said. He stood and unbuckled the tool belt from around his waist, brushing twigs and leaves from his jeans, spilling nails onto the ground. His forehead furrowed as he stared at Rosa. Her brain made note of his thick hair, now cut in a spiky, modern style, the slight dimple in his chin, his broad shoulders and lean physique. Her heart added its own observation: the arrogant arch to his eyebrow, his hands propped in irritation on his hips, the annoyed quirk of his full lips.
“What are you doing here?” they both articulated in unison.
Pike blinked. “Bitsy owns the place, remember? I’m a relative.”
Of course he would lead with that. He was blood. She was an interloper, a squatter on Bitsy’s generous affections.
“So what’s the deal, Rosa?” Pike demanded.
Slowly, Rosa turned and leveled a look at Bitsy, the picture of innocence.
“Isn’t this the oddest coincidence?” the older woman asked.
“Bitsy,” Rosa began sternly.
Cy inserted himself between them and shook Pike’s hand. “Hey, man. Good to see you.” He stared Pike full in the face, a man’s way of sizing up a potential enemy, Rosa knew.
Pike smiled, cordially. “You, too, Cy. Still hanging out with your crazy sister?”
Cy opened his mouth to answer but Rosa cut him off.
“Crazy?” she asked, lips twitching. “I wasn’t the one who just fell off the roof.”
“For your information,” Pike said, “I had it all under control. I didn’t fall, just skidded a little.”
“Uh-huh,” Cy said.
Rosa pressed her brother’s arm. “I need to have a private word with Pike.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“Okay. I think I’ll just go, er, sand something, then.”
“Let me show you where I keep the sandpaper, Cy,” Bitsy said gaily.
Before Rosa could get a word out, Bitsy vanished into the house with Cy. “I’ll talk to you later, Aunt Bitsy,” she grumped before turning back to Pike. “So, you were telling me why you’re here, Pike.”
His eyes narrowed. “First off, Bitsy is my aunt, so I don’t really need a more compelling reason than that. Second, the roof isn’t getting any younger, as you might have noticed, so I was doing some repair work at the request of Aunt Bitsy. Therefore...”
“You can drop the lawyer shtick.” He did it intentionally, to remind her again that she’d left law school while he’d sailed through on his way to a lucrative career that afforded him expensive, albeit attractive, haircuts and a silver Mercedes. He probably ran in the same legal circles as Foster Pardee, the man who’d used her. Her gut tightened. “I have as much right to be here as you do,” she couldn’t help adding.
“I didn’t say otherwise.”
“No, you wouldn’t actually have the guts to say it to my face, would you?” she snapped, heart slamming into her ribs. “Back in high school you made sure everybody knew my family and I didn’t belong in Tumbledown.”
His eyes flashed. “I didn’t need to tell them. They all knew once your mother...” His words died away as a look of horror flickered in his brown eyes. “I didn’t mean that.”
She tried to get a breath in past the pain in her chest. “Oh, I think we both know exactly what you meant.”
He looked down at the ground, and she heard him expel a breath through his teeth. “Your father tried to ruin my family. I had a right to be angry.”
“He was doing his job,” Rosa said.
“And I was doing mine, defending my father.”
She glared. “By humiliating his enemy’s daughter.”
Pike started to answer, then closed his mouth and fixed his gaze on a spot somewhere over their heads.
Rosa’s skin felt hot, as if she’d swallowed some incendiary drink that burned past her heart deep down into her stomach. “Maybe,” she managed, “we should keep our families out of this.”
“Excellent idea,” he barked.
A man in his mid-forties sauntered into the yard sporting a long ponytail draped over his shoulder and carrying a large wicker basket.
“Hello, Rocky,” Rosa said. He was an ever-present fixture at the inn for a long as Rosa could remember. Rosa had lived with Bitsy until she turned twenty, her brother leaving the year before. Had it really been sixteen long years since she’d moved away from Tumbledown? Her visits to Aunt Bitsy had become less and less frequent the more drama and stress filled her life.
Rocky was a veteran of the early days of the Persian Gulf War. He was a quiet man, and he could get anything to grow. Hydrangeas in a kaleidoscope of colors, daylilies, azaleas, spring bulbs.
Rocky lowered the basket to the ground while he dredged a stick of gum from his pocket. Then he flashed Rosa a peace sign, picked up the basket and continued toward the coop.
Rocky’s silent greeting was not a shock, at any rate. And she couldn’t argue that he’d been a loyal helper to Bitsy, especially after Leopold’s death.
“Look out for the loose board,” Pike called after him. Pike’s attention swiveled back to Rosa. “So, why are you here?”
“We’re redecorating the inn for Bitsy.”
Pike groaned and closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh, man. You two are the Dollars and Sense outfit that’s competing in the contest? I thought Bitsy changed her mind about all that.”
“Yes, Cy and I happen to be the owners of Dollars and Sense, and we won the chance to participate. Furthermore, when we’re finished, the Pelican will be the hottest destination in Tumbledown. We’re going to turn this place around.”
His eyes widened. “You can’t do that.”
It was her turn to gape. “And why not?”
“Because the inn is...”
A crash came from the chicken coop, followed by an all-out cacophony of squawks and clucking. Puffs of feathers floated out of the opening.
“I’ve gotta go help Rocky.” He turned and jogged away.
“But why can’t we remodel, Pike?” She called after him. “Pike?”
Bending his tall frame, he disappeared into the clucking chaos.
Rosa did some deep breathing to try to keep her emotions in check. Pike’s presence brought up all the angst she’d left behind years before. He was her high school enemy and, worse yet, a lawyer. She wondered if it had been a mistake to come back to Tumbledown.
At the moment the only thing she knew for sure was that she did not want to have another confrontation with Pike until she had better control of what came out of her mouth. She headed back inside the inn, confusion and determination warring inside her.
Bitsy stood with a cowed expression, hands folded. She gave Rosa the “little girl lost” look that Rosa had seen her employ a number of times on susceptible individuals. “How much trouble am I in, exactly?”
Rosa sighed. “I know he’s your nephew and you are required to love him. You’re biologically related and all.”
“And I love you, too, Rosa, and I’m your aunt, biology or not.”
Rosa blinked hard, irritated to find tears gathering. “You should have told me he was here.”
“I know, but I thought you might not come, and this is the chance of a lifetime, isn’t it?”
Rosa nodded.
“And you forgive me for not telling you everything, right?” Bitsy moved close and put her smooth fingertips under Rosa’s chin, lifting gently. “Please tell me you can forgive me.”
Like a little girl, Rosa found she could only answer by throwing herself into Bitsy’s arms and snuffling against her shoulder, clinging to her until Cy ambled into the room, stopping uncertainly in the doorway.
Bitsy released Rosa and rubbed her hands together. “Tell you what. Why don’t you two put your bags up in the attic? It isn’t included in the contest.”
Cy nodded, impressed. “You know a lot about the details.”
“One hears things,” Bitsy said. “Now up to the attic with you.”
“It’s not necessary,” Rosa said, thinking she would rather have a sandpaper facial than stay in a place where she was likely to run into Pike. “We can easily find a hotel.”
Bitsy’s lip twitched. “If you so much as suggest a hotel again, I’ll be forced to puncture your tires.”
Rosa’s mouth fell open and Cy laughed. “Don’t mess with a woman who knits.”
Bitsy’s eyes sparkled. “Crochets. And I’m determined when I know what’s best for all concerned.”
Rosa and Bitsy trekked up the rickety stairs, single file, until they reached the attic, which was redolent with dust and a faint fragrance of the sea. The twin beds perched against the walls, just as they had when she was a teen, looking drastically smaller to Rosa’s adult eyes. Memories flooded through her.
She pictured the stacks of decorator magazines, dog-eared and marked, that she used to pore over in that tiny space, dreaming of bright, shining places where happy families lounged in comfort and style. Her foot found the white stain on the floor, a souvenir of the giant solar system she’d painstakingly painted on the wall before coming to her senses and covering it all with a cool blue tint.
Why had Bitsy ever allowed the solar system monstrosity in the first place? Rosa sneaked a look at Bitsy’s worn face. Because Bitsy was a stalwart defender of every one of Rosa’s dreams. She’d been the only one besides Cy to whom Rosa spilled her truest feelings after her humiliating exit from law school.
And now it was Rosa’s turn to do the same for Bitsy, to transform the Pelican into the jewel of the coast, no matter what Pike thought.
She carefully set Baggy down and threw open the faded curtains that covered the round window, the room’s most precious feature. The view had not changed. Framed by the branches of a cypress tree that thrived just outside the window, the Pacific Ocean danced in an endless rhythm against the cliffs below. Rosa swallowed a lump in her throat, momentarily letting go of her worries: the teetering business and the rent due at the end of the month. “I’m so happy to be here.”
Bitsy squeezed her shoulder. “And I’m thrilled to have you back.”
“Oh, look.” Rosa pointed at the crawling waves. “There’s Larry’s fishing boat. I can’t believe he’s still sailing. He must be close to ninety by now.”
“Well, some things never change.” A tone of uncertainty crept into Bitsy’s voice. “Then again, some things do.”
“Is everything okay?” Rosa studied Bitsy closely. The woman was thinner than she remembered, her skin more wrinkled and her eyes shadowed.
“Fine, fine,” Bitsy said. She gazed out toward the ocean. “Still the best view in the house.”
“Second best.” Rosa looked out at the worn shingles on the peak of the jutting room fondly known as Captain’s Nest. The panorama from that room was truly unbeatable. As far as Rosa had ever known, though, Captain’s Nest was stuffed from floor to rafters with boxes, rendering it unusable. Even in her time growing up at the inn, the Nest was kept secure. She’d only managed to sneak in a few times when the door was left unlocked. “So you don’t get hurt,” Bitsy said many times. Not anymore. It would be the highlight of the inn, the charming nautical nook that levered the Pelican above the competition.
“Do you have a place we can store the boxes?”
Bitsy blinked. “What boxes?”
“The ones you keep in Captain’s Nest. We’ll need to get them out so we can paint, maybe do some rough texture.”
“No,” Bitsy said firmly.
“No? Well, we can find someplace else to store things temporarily.”
“No, I mean no one is going in that room.”
“But it’s the gem of this inn.”
Bitsy shook her head, lips pressed together. When she answered, her voice was low. “That room is off-limits. No one is touching Captain’s Nest.”
Rosa could not believe what she was hearing. “Bitsy, we won’t change anything without consulting you, I promise.”
Bitsy took Rosa’s hands and pressed them. Her palms were cool, the fingertips almost icy. “No, honey. No one goes in there.” Without waiting for Rosa to respond, Bitsy turned on her heel and left.
Rosa watched Bitsy go, her gait as strong and sure as it had ever been. Bitsy had an iron resolve that Rosa had witnessed firsthand many a time, but in this circumstance, there seemed no reason for such a reaction. Captain’s Nest was off-limits? Still? Puzzling over it, Rosa returned to the foyer to find Cy peering at a newspaper.
“Do you think Bitsy is okay?” she asked her brother.
Cy didn’t look up from his paper, his knee bobbing up and down. “Of course. She’s the same as ever. There’s an estate sale two blocks from here.”
Rosa tried for a firm tone. “It’s not a good time. We’ve got to meet with the Great Escapes people, and for some reason Pike doesn’t want us to...”
Cy had the same glazed-over expression he got whenever he was about to embark on a decorating treasure hunt. His uncanny nose for a bargain had netted them everything from a Japanese tobacco box to an exquisite Persian rug he bought for pocket change. “Bitsy heard they might have clocks. A clock would look completely amazing in the sitting room.”
Rosa sighed. Cy was a kind of decorating history savant. He’d been completely obsessed with clocks ever since he’d read that Thomas Jefferson designed the Great Clock in the front hall of his Monticello mansion.
“All right,” she said, hiding a smile. “But if you come back with a clock connected to a Chinese gong that chimes the half hour...”
“Jefferson’s clock chimed on the hour, not the half,” he fired back. “Did you know that gong rang loudly enough for field hands to hear it three miles away?”
“Yes, Cy. You mentioned that a time or two.” She grabbed her keys. “I’ll drop you on my way to the magazine, but remember we’ve only got five thousand for the whole place.”
“Caviar decorating on a bologna and cheese budget. I got it.”
She shot a glance into the backyard as they left. No chicken sounds, but no sign of Pike, either. She wondered how he’d squeezed his strapping six-foot-three frame into the coop.
Shaking off thoughts of Pike, she headed for the parking lot.
* * *
AFTER CY PRACTICALLY leaped from the moving car at the entrance to the estate sale, Rosa drove down Highway One, once again drinking in the vast ocean and the wheeling scores of seagulls and terns. If she hadn’t been on her way to a meeting, she would have pulled the elastic from her ponytail and let the glorious wind have its way. Instead, she kept her speed steady and professionalism intact as she made her way to the Great Escapes headquarters in Cliffside, some twelve miles north of Tumbledown. Once there, she was ushered into the neat but ordinary office of Wanda Elliot, coordinator of the contest.
The fiftysomething redhead looked ill at ease, despite her snappy charcoal suit. Rosa attributed Wanda’s discomfort to the bland eggshell paint and prosaic print on the wall. She found herself daydreaming about what the space would look like with a woven area rug and a handful of bright, odd-sized pillows tossed artfully about on the corner chairs.
Wanda sat at her desk, tapping a pencil on the glass top. “So, we’ve spelled it all out for you, the terms of the contest. If we could just have your paperwork.” She thrust out a hand and snatched the papers Rosa provided.
“I still can’t believe we were chosen to participate.”
“I’m sure. Is there anything else?” There was a small tic underneath Wanda’s eye.
“We’re just happy and thrilled,” Rosa said, raising her charm quotient with a cheerful smile. “Bitsy mentioned that she knew you.”
“Me? No. Well, yes. I mean, we’ve probably met a time or two. That’s natural, isn’t it?” Wanda’s blue eyes widened. “That a travel magazine editor and an innkeeper would meet?”
“She said she met you when she brought in pictures of the Pelican along with a history of the inn.”
Wanda looked relieved. “Ah, yes. Excellent write-up, as a matter of fact. Her nephew helped.”
Rosa jerked. “Her nephew?”
“Yes, good-looking man.” Wanda sighed, a wistful look stealing across her face. “That little dimple in his chin. If they could just figure out how to surgically implant those in all men.”
Rosa leaned forward, trying to catch Wanda’s eye. “Pike helped her prepare the materials for the contest?”
Wanda nodded, chewing a fingernail. “Yes. Dreamy brown eyes, too. Like fudge.”
Now it was Rosa’s turn to tap the desk. The noise seemed to rouse Wanda from her Pike-induced stupor. “That’s funny,” Rosa said. “I spoke to Pike right before I came here, and he gave me the distinct impression he wasn’t in favor of the contest.”
Wanda nodded. “Yes, I got that sense, too. He’s probably just going along with Bitsy to make her happy. Men always want to give Bitsy whatever she wants. Pike seems like he’d be that type of nephew. Loyal...kind...” She sighed again. “Strong.”
Rosa resisted the urge to shake Wanda by the shoulders. “But why would he be against the contest?” she asked firmly. “It can’t do anything but help Bitsy’s business...or the next owner’s, if she decides to sell someday.”
Wanda blinked. “He doesn’t want to help the business.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard him talking to Bitsy while they were here. He thinks she should give up the inn right now.”
“Give it up?”
“You know, sell it. A prime piece of seaside property like that would fetch a small fortune, and let’s face it, Bitsy is getting a little long in the tooth to be an innkeeper, though she fancies she’s the mayor of Tumbledown or something.” Wanda added, “Or so I’ve heard.”
Rosa’s eyes narrowed. And a nice piece of that “small fortune” would go to her faithful nephew and lawyer. Her father had been right about Pike. She thanked Wanda and made for the door.
“If you see Pike, tell him I said hello,” Wanda called.
Rosa offered a tight smile. “Oh, Pike and I are going to have a long conversation as soon as he finishes canoodling with the chickens.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. Thank you, Ms. Elliot.”
Rosa returned to the parking lot, put the car into gear and stepped on the gas.
It was time to get started and show lawyer Pike that decorator Rosa was ready for a throwdown.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_b89522cb-003e-51de-993e-8228dde60917)
ROSA ALTERNATELY PUZZLED and fumed all the way back to Tumbledown.
Cy was not at the appointed meeting place outside the estate sale. Since her brother wore no watch and paid scant attention to his cell phone when in the throes of an antique hunt, there was nothing to be done but track him down on foot. She stepped out of the car and trudged through a trellis laden with clematis and into a well-appointed Tudor-style home filled with customers and eager sale attendants.
She found Cy in the living room, a wall sconce in each hand, standing like the figurehead from some strange pirate ship.
An old lady with startling bluish hair arranged in perfect springy curls tried to snatch them out of his grip.
“I got them first,” she said.
The normally unflappable Cy yanked back. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But these are mine. I found them, and I’ve got an inn to refurbish.”
She glowered up at him. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a store to fill and original sconces will sell.”
“They’re reproductions.”
The old lady glared as if he’d sworn at her. “Liar. They’re Colonial Revival, circa 1920.”
Cy glared back, though he had to bend down to look the ferocious female in the eyes. “Circa 1925.” He drew out the last word into the full measure of syllables. “Reeeproductionssssss.”
Her face twisted into a deeper scowl. “Aged brass.”
Cy drew himself up to his full six feet. “Cast metal.”
She fell back slightly, a flicker of uncertainty on her wrinkled face, and Cy went in for the kill. Leaning close, he delivered the coup de grace. “Polychrome finish.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I think I know you. Did you go to school here?”
Cy nodded, snapping his fingers. “You’re Miss Flaubert, the freshman English teacher.”
“Retired teacher,” she said sharply. “And you’re Cy Franco, C-minus student who wrote an essay about promoting nudist beaches here in Tumbledown.”
Rosa felt her cheeks warm.
Cy laughed. “Yep, that was me. Awesome that you remember my paper after all these years.”
Miss Flaubert’s gaze found Rosa and shifted back to Cy. “You two were memorable, all right.” With a sniff, she stalked off, muttering angry words under her breath.
Cy spotted Rosa and waved the sconces. “I had to fight the English teacher for ’em.”
“So I heard.” She risked a look around to see if anyone else had taken note of the exchange, but no one appeared at all interested. “Ready to go?”
He shot a mournful glance at the remaining treasures. “I guess. I’ve got a box waiting for me at the pay table.”
“Cy...” she warned.
“Don’t worry. Just a lamp and a small piece of stained glass.”
They lined up to pay and Rosa filled him in.
“So, you think Pike’s trying to put the squeeze on Bitsy to sell?” Cy asked, eyes wide.
“Seems like it.”
“Then why help her enter the contest in the first place?”
Rosa shrugged. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”
As they waited by the tables crowded with items, Rosa’s attention was caught by an old black-and-white photo of a man perched proudly on the bow of a small boat. Before she knew it, her memories took her back to Pike’s exquisite eighteen foot runabout, listening to him ramble on about the mahogany decks that he himself had restored. She hadn’t cared one bit about anything relating to boats, but back then, her sixteen-year-old self had been more than impressed by his heart-melting smile and, yes, the dimple in his strong chin.
Pike was completely at home on that boat, more comfortable than she’d ever seen him strolling down the halls of their high school. She’d always thought there was some sort of tension in him, some coiled spring inside, in spite of the easy smile and elegant posture. Lost in the memory, she could feel the wind whipping her hair, his hand on the small of her back.
On that boat, the sleek Poppy’s Dream, Pike was truly at home.
Until the day when Poppy’s Dream was delivered to the bottom of the Pacific.
She remembered his handsome face twisted with rage, nearly unrecognizable, when her father began to investigate. Pike, he believed, helped his own father commit insurance fraud by sinking the exquisite boat to recoup the $100,000 insurance money they’d pretended not to need.
There was a history that hinted at fraud, Manny Franco had said. Past events that painted an entirely different picture of Pike and his kin. Facts she was unaware of.
You’re wrong, Dad, she’d told him.
Whatever Pike’s family may or may not have planned, Pike did not sink that boat. She knew it then with all the certainty of her steadfast teenage heart. He loved Poppy’s Dream too much. The proof was in his long fingers trailing over the gleaming wood, the way he’d settled into the captain’s seat with a sheen of awe in his brown eyes. The passion in his voice when he’d told Rosa every last detail about acquiring the antique vessel and his dreams to start a sailing school.
He’d never forgiven her father for the accusation.
Or Rosa for being related to him. And now Pike’s father was gone, dead of a heart attack some four years prior.
Someone jostled Rosa out of her reverie, and Cy forked over fifty dollars to the beaming attendant. Five thousand minus fifty. Four thousand, nine hundred and fifty dollars left to transform a tired old fowl into a regal bird.
Cy handed her a box to carry while he took possession of his hard-won wall sconces. On the way to the car, Rosa’s foot caught on a loose brick that edged the lawn. The box tumbled to the ground as she sprawled on the sidewalk, the heel of her shoe breaking clean off.
Cy helped her up and retrieved the box, which was still mercifully taped shut, and handed it to her. She shook it gently. Glass tinkled inside. “Uh-oh.”
His expression was pained. “It was a stained glass panel. The colors are out of this world. Don’t worry. I can probably fix it.”
With a sigh, Rosa schlepped the box to the car and loaded it into the trunk.
The sun was low in the sky, painting the town in umber and gold as they drove back to the Pelican. This time, she rolled the window down and kissed her hairdo goodbye.
Cy sang to himself, content in the passenger seat, fingers pounding a drum lick on his thighs. She was used to driving everywhere they went. Cy had only been driving for a few short weeks after getting his license when he’d struck a child riding a bike. The child had recovered, Cy had not. He’d never tried driving again. They zoomed along against the backdrop of a spectacular sunset, and Rosa could not help but revel in it.
When they finally traipsed into the inn, the smell of roast chicken greeted them. Baggy was lapping up a bowl of broth and rice.
“Baggy seems to be missing some teeth, so I thought maybe soft foods were the way to go,” Bitsy said, ushering them to the table. Pike was already seated there, looking like the lord of the manor in his clean shirt and jeans. Rosa felt more like a court jester as she furtively attempted to smooth her hair and straighten her blouse, limping to the table on her broken shoe.
“What happened to you?” Pike asked.
She flashed him a snooty look. “It was just some trouble relating to wall sconces.”
He raised an eyebrow and gave her a smile that, she was annoyed to discover, transformed his face from arrogant to breathtakingly handsome.
“I had no idea the decorating business could be so dangerous,” he said.
And the lawyering business is about to take a nasty turn, too, she thought, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation toward his plans for Bitsy’s inn. She decided to do some fishing over the delectable herbed chicken and creamy roasted potatoes.
“I went to see the Great Escapes people today,” she said. “Wanda says hello.”
“Wanda?” Pike frowned as he selected a pillowy roll and passed the basket to Cy. “Oh, red-haired lady. Right.”
“She told me you helped Bitsy prepare the contest materials. That was nice of you.”
Pike nodded. “I’m Bitsy’s lawyer. I created a history of the inn to be used for other purposes, and Bitsy attached it to the entry form.”
Bitsy smiled. “Oh, you’re much more than just my lawyer. You’re my darling nephew, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She shot a look at Rosa. “I can’t figure out why you two never got along. You’re both such angels to me. Here you are, Rosa, with Cy, ready to transform my inn, and Pike has helped me manage the legalities of this old place ever since he finished law school.”
“You could have done it, too, Rosa,” Pike said. “Why did you decide on that career change, by the way?”
She tried to read his expression. Was he baiting her or simply curious? “Never mind.”
“It’s a big job, running a bed-and-breakfast,” Pike said, eyeing Rosa as he spoke. “Too big.”
Rosa put her fork down. Time to take off the gloves. “Are you trying to pressure Bitsy to sell this place? Is that why you don’t want us here?”
“No one is pressuring me to do anything, honey,” Bitsy said, taking a tiny sip of water. “I’m not that pliable. I do what I want to.”
“And you don’t want to sell,” Rosa said. “But Pike thinks you should.”
Pike stared at Rosa and put down his fork. “I’m going to come right out and say it. I think it would be better for her to sell than participate in some cockamamie contest that, at best, will disrupt her life and, at worst, bring in more guests than she can handle.” He sat back. “That’s my position and I’m working toward getting the Pelican sold. With Bitsy’s permission, I might add.”
“Your position is wrong,” Rosa snapped.
“You’ve been here all of three hours and you think you know what’s best for my aunt?”
“Maybe I do,” she retorted.
“You’re not a lawyer, remember?”
“Hang on,” Bitsy said, an offended gleam in her eye. “As far as I can tell, I’m still in the room. I love the Pelican and I want to see her spread her wings again. I’m not a spring chicken, but I’m not dead quite yet.”
Rosa and Pike both started to speak, but Bitsy held up a hand and silenced them. “We will finish out this contest and see where things lie, but in the meantime, I want everyone to try and get along. Is that clear?” She directed a stern, blue-eyed stare at Rosa and Pike.
“Yes, ma’am,” Pike said, after a moment.
Bitsy gave them an impish smile. “I’m not sure that sounded sincere. You’ll both get along for the sake of your cherished aunt, won’t you?”
Rosa sighed, thinking it would probably be easier to negotiate peace in the Middle East.
“For you,” Pike said to Bitsy, “I will try.” He extended a hand to Rosa across the table. “Truce?”
A temporary one. Rosa reluctantly stretched out her own hand and Pike clasped it. His palms should be clammy and soft, she thought. Reptilian, perhaps. Instead, they were strong and warm, sending an electric shock through her body. She pulled her hand away and hastily shoved some chicken into her mouth.
Cy began to happily wolf down every morsel that passed near his plate except for the chicken, which he declined on account of his longstanding vegetarianism. He stopped chewing only for a moment when his phone chirped, indicating a text. “I think it’s from Dad,” he said, consulting the screen, “but it makes no sense. He hasn’t gotten the hang of text speak.”
Pike stiffened. “So what is your old man up to these days? Falsely accusing other families?”
“Pike,” Bitsy warned. “We just agreed to a truce, remember?”
Rosa glared at him. “And I thought we weren’t going to bring up family business.”
“Guilty conscience?”
She dropped her fork with a clatter. “I don’t have anything to feel guilty about, Pike.”
“You agree with your father, then? You think my family and I set out to commit fraud?”
Rosa bit her lip. “I don’t have to agree with him to defend him. He’s my father.”
“Oh, yeah,” Pike said. “And he’s done such a great job in that role. When was the last time you saw him?”
Rosa clamped her mouth closed.
“Too far, Pike,” Cy said, his customary smile gone. “Back off.”
Rosa felt the tears gather. Her brother was her stalwart defender, the only man she could rely on. She abruptly shot to her feet, determined not to let Pike see her cry. “I’ve got plans to sketch,” she said.
Pike half rose as she bolted past, as if he meant to stop her. To apologize? Not likely. She stomped up the stairs, stomach knotted, knee throbbing from her spill at the estate sale. He had no right. Arrogant, self-important jerk. In the little attic room, she tried to quiet her breathing. Just do what you know, Rosa. Do what you’re good at and don’t let Pike derail you.
She pulled out her stack of well-thumbed magazines, a book full of fabric swatches and her favorite stubby pencil with the paint chewed off in the middle. Closing her eyes, she tried to conjure up the essence of home.
* * *
ROSA WAS STILL wondering what she should do about Captain’s Nest the following morning, after she’d emailed the landlord of their rented home in Danville to collect the papers and mail during their absence. Too bad he wouldn’t allow them to skip the rent check, which she forced herself to write and send out. If money didn’t start coming in soon, she and Cy would be out on their ears.
In her fuzzy pajama pants and T-shirt, Rosa paced the attic’s worn floorboards, ignoring the chill that seeped in through the ill-fitting window casement. Her watch read six thirty. Baggy tracked her movement with his steady eye. Cy was no doubt out for a run on the beach. And Pike? She didn’t have any idea where he was. Nor did she care, she told herself firmly.
Downstairs, someone knocked at the front door, sending Baggy galloping in excited circles until she opened the door and let him out. The knocking continued, but she ignored it. Should she try to talk to Bitsy again? Or let the subject of Captain’s Nest drop?
The knocking resumed.
Bitsy was probably out gardening.
She waited another minute, hoping the visitor would go away.
Another round of knocking destroyed that hope.
Blowing out a breath, Rosa headed downstairs, more to stop the incessant pounding than out of any real interest in whoever was on the porch. Her thoughts flipped through a mental Rolodex of design topics. Striped ticking slip covers to freshen up the sofa in the front room rather than reupholstering would free up some cash for airy curtains. Her mind stubbornly insisted on picturing these imaginary curtains hugging a certain window in a certain Captain’s Nest, despite Bitsy’s odd reticence about the room.
Knock, knock.
Her slippered feet flew down the stairs. “Stop knocking. I’m coming.”
Baggy leapt up and down as much as his stubby legs would allow.
“Hold on to your kibble, Baggy. I’m on it.”
She pulled open the door, letting in a swirl of air sharp with the tang of the sea. The man on the step stood with his callused hand raised to knock again, a shock of thick white hair hanging over a creased forehead. She blinked hard. Did she actually see the scar on his forearm, or was it a memory from long ago when he’d absentmindedly crashed into a sliding glass door?
A door in the place they’d rented in Tumbledown.
A place she’d finally dared to believe was home.
Home with the father who now stood before her on the porch, watching his daughter watching him.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_27a90e89-0fb1-5119-b278-d2556f08516f)
IT WAS BAGGY who succeeded in breaking the silent stalemate as Rosa stared open-mouthed at Manny Franco, who smiled steadily back at her. Baggy, having waited patiently for some word of introduction, stood on his hind legs and pawed at Manny’s knee.
Manny appeared confused for a moment as he considered the beast before him. “Ah, a dog. Thought it was some kind of gigantic mole or something.” He patted Baggy’s head. “One minute, dog-o. My princess gets her hug first.”
And Manny proceeded to wrap Rosa in a hug that smelled of mothballs and bacon. Rosa’s heart coursed with too many emotions to be contained properly in the now sporadically pumping organ. Her mind teemed with memories, both sweet and serrated, starting with her father’s famous bacon-and-cheese omelets, which they ate every night for a straight week when Rosa’s mother endured the first of her many hospitalizations for cirrhosis of the liver. Cy ate his sans bacon. The succulent omelets were always accompanied by a side of sage advice their father doled out with the wave of a spatula.
“Bacon is good for you,” Manny proclaimed to a protesting Rosa who was deeply under the influence of a school nutrition class. “Don’t see many pigs with pacemakers, do you?”
He’d smiled through it all, the omelets, the hospitalizations, the biopsies, the burial. Smiled when he’d kissed the kids the night before he left. She loathed that smile with the part of her that did not leap at the sight of it.
Now she stood, ramrod stiff, as he hugged her and pressed a dry kiss to her temple. “You look fantastic, Rosa, like a flower about to blossom.” He stepped away to hoist the oddball dog into his arms. “All right, dog-o. Your turn. Can’t say you look fantastic, but you’re an original and that deserves a scratch at least.”
Was her father really there, standing in the golden morning light, dropping compliments on daughter and dog? Perhaps it was a dream induced by too many hours spent poring over paint palettes when she should have been sleeping. She wanted to scream “Why are you here?” It was the same way she’d felt when he graced them with his presence for her high school graduation. Only she hadn’t been there. Cy, of course, had attended, being deeply in love with fellow senior Eva Lassiter, blonde president of the Cupcakes for a Cause Club. But Rosa had no use for the ceremony, though Bitsy had pleaded with her to attend.
“Where’s Rosa?” her father had apparently said, when he didn’t see her face amid the sea of caps and gowns.
“Where’s Rosa? I’m not the one who’s been missing!” she’d screamed to her bewildered father later, when they’d caught up with her at the beach. Now she wanted to let him have it once again. In the recent past, she’d seen him only a handful of awkward times. Why are you here, Dad? Why here? Why now?
Instead, she found herself saying, “His name is Baggy.”
“Weird name for a dog. Better suited for a mole. No offense, Baggy.” He took in the front room of the Pelican, breathing so deep his spindly chest widened with the effort. “Still the most beautiful place on the beach.” His expression went suddenly timid. “So, where’s Bitsy?”
Bitsy arrived as if on cue, clutching an armful of pillows, eyes rounding in surprise over the cushioned stack. “I thought I heard...” She stopped. “Manny?”
He put Baggy down and held him steady until the dog synchronized his paws. Then he went to Bitsy and waited while she put the pillows on a chair. A long moment stretched between them, and Rosa tried to read the messages unrolling in that silence. Bitsy’s cheeks pinked, and her hand went to her throat. Manny hooked his thumbs in his pockets. Rosa wondered if Bitsy’s heart pulsed with similar feelings of outrage. As far as Rosa knew, Manny had not bothered to visit Bitsy on more than a handful of occasions since the disastrous high school graduation, not even for Leopold’s funeral. And he’d never, to Rosa’s knowledge, thanked the woman for raising the two children he was incapable of parenting.
“Hello,” she said quietly.
“Hey, Bits,” he said. “You’re looking well.”
“Thank you, and you are also, Manny.” She hugged herself, as if she’d felt a sudden chill. “We weren’t expecting you.”
Rosa found her voice again. “No, we weren’t. Why are you here, Dad?”
He scrunched up his face. “Just found myself in town.”
“Last I heard, you were fossil hunting somewhere.”
The phrase seemed to click something to life inside his head. “That was a blast, but after a while you get tired of digging up stuff more ancient than yourself. Cy wrote me that you had a project here, so I popped in. Where’s my boy, these days?”
“He’s here, too,” Rosa snapped. “But we’re busy. Working on a decorating job.”
“Swell.” Manny heaved in a breath. “Cy?” he bellowed. “Come say hello to your Pops.”
“He’s out for a run,” Rosa said. “We’ll find him on the way to the car.”
“Car?” Manny blinked.
“You drove here, didn’t you?”
“No. Took a cab,” Manny started. “Don’t have a car just at the moment.”
“No matter.” She forged ahead. “I’ll give you a ride back to your trailer.”
Cy had helped their father secure a trailer on one of his in-town jaunts, and somehow Manny managed to pay for the rental space in the Seascape Trailer Park some fifteen miles out of town. Or so she’d heard. Rosa had not visited the place her father called home.
“Don’t think that will work,” he mumbled.
“Of course it will.” Rosa grabbed her purse. Above all things, she wanted to remove her father from the inn before a certain arrogant lawyer arrived. She didn’t need any more distractions to delay the design work. It was bad enough having Pike around as both an obstacle and a painful reminder of her past.
Bitsy shook her head. “You’re still in your pajamas, Rosa. Go put some clothes on, at least.”
“No need,” Rosa chirped. “I won’t even be getting out of the car. Just a quick drive and drop.”
“At least let the man stay for breakfast.” Bitsy began to gather up the pillows in such a hurry they slid from her hands and scattered across the floor. Manny helped her gather them up again.
“He doesn’t need breakfast, and we’re really busy. Only three weeks until this place has to be shipshape, remember? It’s nice that you wanted to visit, but it’s really not a great time. We’ll reschedule for next month.” Rosa touched his shoulder. “Come on, Dad. Let’s go.”
The door slammed open and Rosa’s heart shot to her throat, but it was Cy who barreled in, glistening with sweat from his run, curls tousled wildly by the wind.
“Pops,” he said, a wide grin obliterating the fatigue from his face. “Did you come to root for us in the contest?”
Rosa would have kicked him if he’d been in closer proximity. She didn’t want her father involved with their design endeavors in any way, shape or form. “He was just leaving, Cy.”
“What’s this about a contest?” Manny asked. “I thought it was a regular decorating job.”
“You can tell him all about it over breakfast.” Bitsy moved toward the kitchen. “Cy, I know you can’t handle bacon without upchucking, but would you mind collecting some eggs? Rocky had to go into town to run an errand for me.”
“Sure thing, but last time Esmerelda, the chicken queen, took a dislike to me,” Cy said. “She pecked my, er, nether regions. I tried to explain that I don’t even eat her kind, but she wasn’t in a receptive mood. You can’t reason with fowl.”
“Not a female fowl.” Bitsy laughed. “It was a love peck. That’s the way chickens show affection.”
Cy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need that kind of affection.”
Manny sighed. “We all need a little love, Cy. Even us old-timers.” His gaze wandered over the knotted pine table and came to rest, ever so lightly, on Bitsy.
Rosa watched helplessly as Cy ambled out to the chicken house and Bitsy, always the graceful hostess, put Manny to work setting the table. Rosa tossed like a ship in the storm. Manny could not—must not—be allowed to stay, her roiling nerves shouted, yet she was helpless in the face of Bitsy’s overwhelming graciousness.
Breakfast only. Then he’s gone.
Maybe, if she was lucky, Pike wouldn’t arrive until later in the day.
Cy returned from the chicken house fifteen minutes later with a clean-shaven Pike in tow. “Look who I found in the henhouse. He’s got a way with Esmerelda. Either that or he threatened her with a lawsuit.”
If it weren’t for bad luck, Rosa thought, biting back a groan, I’d have no luck at all.
Pike did a double take when he caught sight of Manny. He shot an irate look at Cy. “You didn’t disclose that your father was here.”
Cy shrugged. “I was busy guarding my nether regions, and my dad is free to come and go as he likes.” He carried the eggs off to the kitchen where Bitsy and Manny were installed at the stove, frying pancakes. Rosa fired off a preemptive round.
“I didn’t know Dad was coming. He just sort of appeared.”
Pike turned to her, brown eyes like liquid chocolate. “He doesn’t belong here.”
“I’m taking him home right after breakfast,” she returned through gritted teeth. “But why don’t you finish your thought? He doesn’t belong here and neither do his children. The contest is a bad idea, and you wish we would all just go away.”
He clenched his fists and placed them on his hips, which fit very well in his expensive jeans. “You know how I feel about the contest. I made no secret of it.”
“That’s not the part that hurts, Pike. It’s....” She broke off in horror. What had she said? Did she just give voice to the deeper issue that rankled inside? Her father’s presence had upset her, loosed her self-control from its moorings, caused a crack in her good sense.
He cocked his head. “Rosa, I never said you weren’t welcome.”
She raised her chin. “Hmm. I wonder how I could have confused the welcome mat with the ‘don’t let the door hit you as you leave’ sign.”
His mouth quirked, and then a smile drifted across his lips like a wave breaking across the shore. He laughed.
“What do you find amusing, exactly?” she said, her heart thumping at his grin.
“You. I always liked that quick wit.”
Rosa’s cheeks warmed. He liked something about her? She took a step back, covering up uncertainty with bravado. “You don’t like anything about me. Let’s not pretend.”
His smile dimmed. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
Bitsy called to them. “Breakfast is served.”
“I’m not staying, Aunt Bitsy,” Pike said, eyeing Manny. “I’ve got some work to do in the office.”
She frowned. “You need breakfast. Come sit.”
He raised a placating hand. “No, really, I have to go.”
“Pike,” Bitsy snapped, her voice sharp. “We’re all going to settle down here around the table and eat like normal people and leave the past behind us for a moment. You can do that—we all can, with a little effort.” She swallowed. “Please.” Her pale skin was stretched taut across her cheekbones. Suddenly, Bitsy closed her eyes and gripped the chair, fingers trembling.
Pike was at her side in a moment. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, waving him away.
“Sit down,” Pike insisted, hovering at her elbow. “Let me get you something. Some water.” Rosa was halfway to the kitchen when Bitsy waved her off, too.
“I’m just fine,” she said, her soft tone back in place. She pressed a kiss on her nephew’s cheek. “Everyone sit, please.”
Rosa watched as Pike pulled out a chair for Bitsy. Manny sat next to her and Cy carried out platters of scrambled eggs and pancakes. What had she just witnessed? Was Bitsy ill? Rosa was still lost in thought when she felt someone touch her. She started, surprised to find Pike’s fingers curled around her forearm. He pulled out the chair for her and gently guided her into it. She breathed in the subtle scent of his cologne.
“Like normal people,” he whispered, a secret smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. His fingertips brushed her wrist and she wondered if he felt the odd uptick in her pulse, which she was at a loss to understand.
Doing her best to impersonate a normal person, Rosa sat.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_6919df2d-4c91-5979-9531-6fd7e532b405)
AWKWARD DID NOT come close to describing the painful, stuttering conversation that unfolded at the breakfast table. Cy could not shovel in the food fast enough, and Bitsy conducted a gracious symphony of small talk on every possible subject from tile to typhoons. That was fine with Rosa, as it filled the conversational void while keeping her father from getting a word in edgewise. Cy forked up the last pancake and Manny scanned the table, in search of a refill for his coffee.
“Okay,” Rosa said, springing from the chair and stacking all the plates within arm’s reach. “I’ll put these in the kitchen and we’ll get going. Thanks for breakfast, Bitsy. It was delicious.”
Cy mumbled his agreement around a mouthful of pancake.
Rosa did not give Bitsy any time to consider issuing a lunch invitation. She changed clothes in an eye blink, collected Manny and walked briskly from the inn out to her Nissan, Cy trailing behind into the fog-misted morning.
“I could have used another cup of joe,” Manny said.
“I’m on a tight schedule, Dad, and you didn’t exactly call ahead.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not gonna get too far in that,” Manny said, pointing to the Nissan’s left rear tire, which was flat to the rim.
Rosa groaned. “Why me?”
Manny looked closer. “Got a nail in the tire. Roofing nail, I think.”
Rosa huffed.
“No worries, sis,” Cy said, removing the keys from her hand and popping the trunk. “I’ll have her up and running in half a second.”
Perhaps it was to make up for the fact that he did not drive that Cy strove to be a master at all things automobile. She’d caught him reading over the Nissan’s owner’s manual to kill time between appointments, studying the diagrams of braking systems and trunk release mechanisms with fervor. In truth, he was the world’s worst auto mechanic, though Rosa didn’t have the heart to tell him so.
“Um, maybe we should call for roadside assistance,” she proposed. “Since we’re in a hurry. I think we’ve got one of those membership cards.”
“Nah, this is easy. You just get that lug wrench thing and whip the bolts off. Or is it nuts?” Cy began rummaging through the trunk.
Rosa heard a soft sigh from behind her. She turned to find Pike watching Cy as if he was a rare animal at the zoo. “Can I help?” he said with a slight grimace.
“No,” Cy called, voice echoing in the trunk space. “I’ve got this. Piece of cake.”
“He never lets me help, either,” Rosa said, though she could change a tire in half the time it took her twin. She considered commandeering the lug wrench, but there were some things one did not do, especially to a brother as incredible as Cy. If he needed to change that tire, she would let him.
“This is going to take a while,” Manny said, and Rosa agreed.
“I’ve got a roofing nail in my tire,” she said, skewering Pike with a look. “I wonder who spilled those everywhere.”
Pike chewed his lip, a flush stealing across his cheeks. “I suppose I could drive you.”
She wanted to say no. Actually, she wanted to say, absolutely not while I still have one measly living breath in my body. Cy emerged, saluting them with the lug wrench and an enormous smile. “All right. I’m goin’ in,” he sang out, as he dove under the car.
“He knows the lug nuts are on the outside of the vehicle, right?” Pike asked.
“Sure I do,” Cy hollered good-naturedly. “But it’s important during an automotive crisis to check over the entire undercarriage for any signs of collateral damage.”
Manny whistled. “He’s still got that weird love-hate relationship with cars, doesn’t he?”
Rosa breathed deep to steady her nerves. “Yes, yes he does.”
“Would have thought he’d get over it and start driving again.”
“Some things,” she snapped, “you just don’t get over.” As if her father could ever understand the wake of destruction he’d left behind. She looked at Pike. “It’s just up Highway One about fifteen miles. That’s where his trailer is. I’m really sorry to ask.” Especially you.
“You didn’t ask. I offered. Let’s get this over with.” Pike strode to his gleaming Mercedes and opened the door for Rosa.
“Please stop doing that,” she said.
“Doing what?”
“Pulling out chairs and opening doors for me.”
He arched a brow. “Sorry if it offends you, but the Matthews men were trained to be chivalrous.”
“The Matthews men. Now I remember,” Manny said, with a snap of his fingers. He fixed his eyes on Pike. “You’re Ben Matthews’s kid.”
Pike stiffened. “You should remember. You tried to send him to jail.”
Manny pursed his lips. “I investigated. That’s my job.”
“You defamed us. That’s illegal.”
Manny’s eyes narrowed and his slumped shoulders straightened. “Good-looking boat, wasn’t it?”
“Dad...” Rosa warned.
Manny continued. “Sank on a perfectly calm evening. Insurance paid a hundred thousand on it.”
Pike’s face darkened in rage. “Get in,” he snarled. “Or you can walk back to your trailer, if you prefer.”
Rosa shoved Manny into the car before he had a chance to add any more gasoline to the fire. She sank into the plush leather passenger seat, pulling the door closed quickly before Pike could slam it. Pike took the driver’s seat.
“Nice wheels,” she said.
Pike didn’t answer. A vein throbbed in his jaw as he slid on a sleek pair of sunglasses.
“Law business must be treating you well,” she tried again.
“Well enough.”
That concluded the small talk between Rosa and her chivalrous enemy.
Manny was silent as well. Probably for the best, Rosa thought, as they drove along the highway, past fields of pumpkins that, in a month, would greet the visitors who came for that pick-it-yourself experience. She’d been too mature to indulge in such fantasies when they’d moved to Tumbledown. Fifteen-year-olds did not scurry about in pumpkin patches hunting for that perfect squash. At least, that’s what she’d told her family, but nothing would dissuade Manny and Cy until they’d rolled away the most enormous specimen—one that required both of them to heft it into the station wagon.
She remembered the expression they’d carved into that orange flesh. Intending eeriness, Cy and her father had somehow captured the mournful, contemplative look she’d seen on her mother’s face in her more sober moments, a hint that she’d let something pass her by while she was otherwise occupied. Or was it grief for something she’d lost? If she closed her eyes, Rosa could picture the pumpkin’s visage, illuminated by the candle flickering inside. If only there had been such a candle to illuminate her mother’s soul. Would it have revealed the dark impulse that drove her to drink herself to death? What could Rosa have done, or Manny, or any of them to drive that darkness away before it consumed her? She swallowed hard.
“Penny.”
She jumped. “What?”
“A penny for your thoughts,” Pike said. “Ten miles of awkward silence is my limit. I’m a trained talker.”
“The conversation lagged, so I guess I drifted.”
“Yeah,” Pike said, eyeing Manny in the rearview mirror. He appeared to have dozed off. “Took him a while to remember who I was.”
“You’ve changed.”
“More handsome, huh?”
He grinned. Darned if he wasn’t right, but she’d never tell him that. And not only more handsome but lithe and lanky, intelligent. Worst of all was that terrible, wonderful, dimpled chin. “I was going to say more stubborn.”
“Stubborn, sayeth the pot to the kettle?”
“Yes, sayeth the pot. Aunt Bitsy wants her inn reborn and I can do that better than anyone. It’s the best thing for her.”
He cut his eyes to her, a flicker before he focused again on the highway. “And you’re sure about that?”
“Yes. It’s what she wants.” Rosa twiddled with the hem of her linen coat, noticing for the first time a spot of paint staining the fabric. Why had she not thought to put on the green blouse, which brought out the spark in her hair? Get a grip, Rosa. He wouldn’t notice a spark if it leaped out and burned a hole in his retina. And why would you want him to? Remember Foster, the handsome guy from law school? The one who ruined you?
He chewed on his lower lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t always have what we want.”
She twisted on the seat. “Why? What do you know?” She lowered her voice. “Is Bitsy sick?” Bitsy’s pale face and trembling fingers swam into her memory and her stomach contracted.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Oh, quit the lawyer jargon.” Rosa would have grabbed his arm if he hadn’t been negotiating a narrow section of highway that pinched them against the dark cliff side. “You have to tell me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Pike, I love Bitsy. I need to know.”
“It’s for her to discuss with you, not me.”
“How can you be such a...” Rosa heard herself emit a sort of choking sob. She swallowed it and stared stonily out the window.
Pike shifted. “I’m sorry. I know she’s like a mother to you. All I can tell you is I’m going to make it all turn out for the best.”
So condescending. As if she hadn’t experienced and survived plenty of challenges in her life already. “Yet you still refuse to tell me, even though you know what she means to me?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “Not my place.”
Who was Pike Matthews to withhold information about Bitsy? He was the owner of the luxury vehicle in which she was now being chauffeured, with butter-soft seats and a top-of-the-line sound system burbling a blues song that made her want to cry. He had a career, a living and a future that did not depend on winning some nutty contest. He was, in a word, a success.
She thought about how ashamed she’d felt when she’d realized that Foster had been using her teacher’s assistant password to hack into the law school’s computer system and alter his grades. And again how she’d burned with fury when her professor believed it was her doing, a lovestruck girl risking her future for her boyfriend. Maybe if her father had been a benefactor at the school, as Foster’s had been, the administration might have believed her. As it was, Foster claimed he had no idea that poor, addle-headed Rosa was changing his grades. She was a crazy stalker. Obviously.
She fixed her gaze on the horizon, watching the fog ease away from the ocean. Inside her, fear ebbed and flowed like the waves below. Could Bitsy be seriously ill? She forced her hands to unclench. The very first thing she would do after they dropped Manny at his trailer was to sit down with Aunt Bitsy and ask for the truth. They turned into the Seascape Trailer Park.
“Dad, which one is yours?”
Pike lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”
“I’ve been busy,” she sniped. “I haven’t seen the trailer.”
Manny didn’t answer.
“Dad? Wake up. Which one is your trailer?”
Manny blinked and stared at Rosa. “What?”
She forced out a breath and kept her voice in what she hoped was a pleasant range. “We’re here at your trailer park. Which unit is yours?”
He sat up and peered out the window, scanning the neat rows of trailers, which were separated by low picket fences. Some were permanent residences and others more likely vacation rentals. Pike slowed the car to a crawl. The trailers perched on small plots of grass, with lush patches of hydrangea and bougainvillea adding a blaze of color. The nearest yard was crisscrossed by a clothesline with children’s garments flapping gaily in the breeze. Clearly that one wasn’t Manny’s.
Rosa turned to Manny again with a stir of unease. “You can’t remember which one is yours?”
“Yes, I can,” he grumbled, passing a hand over his eyes. “Just takes me a minute.”
Pike watched in the rearview mirror and Rosa wondered what he was thinking. Probably that the Francos came from substandard mental material. With an alcoholic mom and a deadbeat dad who couldn’t find his way home, she could see where some might make the connection.
At least my dad didn’t sink his own boat, she thought uncharitably. She pointed to a sign. “Sea Cliff Lane,” she read off. “Is that the one, Dad?”
He smiled, relieved. “Yes, that’s the one. Turn there.”
Pike slowed to let a couple of kids whip across the narrow graveled lane on their bikes and continued on at a snail’s pace, grimacing when a rock pinged against the side of his Mercedes.
Rosa cringed, too. She didn’t want any more damage inflicted on Pike because of her family. The sooner they could deliver Manny back to his trailer, the better for Pike. And for Rosa.
With everything else on her plate, her father’s presence might just push her over the edge of sanity.
The Mercedes crept along at the specified five miles per hour.
“It’s on the end, left side,” Manny said. “Number six ten.”
Rosa rolled down the window and caught an odd scent, like the smell of an extinguished campfire. The grass that was doing its best to spring up along the side of the road was smashed and blackened.
“Dad?” she said.
“Yes, princess?”
She ground her teeth. I’m not your princess. You don’t run out on princesses. “Why does it look like there’s been a fire around here?”
“Because, there has,” Pike said, pointing to the charred remains of trailer number six ten, Sea Cliff Lane.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_252ab5c6-462a-58db-9654-fa80723a3d24)
ROSA GOT OUT of the Mercedes and moved closer to the burned wreck, as if closing the distance would somehow correct her misbehaving eyeballs. The trailer remained stubbornly fixed in her line of sight, ugly and black. The door was wrenched off its hinges and the linoleum floor was brown and bubbled like a poorly cooked pizza. The stench of burned plastic stung her nostrils. “Dad,” she said, “your trailer is burned up.”
Manny looked at the ground. “Yes.”
Yes? Did he think that would be sufficient explanation? She rounded on him. “Well, what happened?”
Manny spoke softly, perhaps so Pike would not hear. “There was a mishap.”
“A mishap?” Rosa was beyond trying to conceal anything from Pike. “This thing is charcoal. We’re way beyond mishap here. What happened, exactly?”
He screwed up his mouth, as if considering. “I put a pot of ramen noodles on the stove to boil, and then I had a craving for ice cream so I walked to town and went for some Rocky Road. When I came back, the fire department was here and...well...that’s that. My car burned up, too. I’ve been staying in an empty unit for a few weeks now, but they found somebody to rent it.”
Rosa made a conscious effort to close her mouth. “Why would you leave your trailer with the stove on?”
“Just slipped my mind.” His lips tightened. “It happens to people, doesn’t it?”
Slipped his mind. She worked on breathing some more. “Not really, Dad. People do not generally leave their trailers to burn down while they go on an ice cream run.”
“Actually, technically speaking, it isn’t my trailer. It was a rental. Stan owns the park and he said the insurance would cover it, no sweat, which is nice, isn’t it?”
One small bit of good news. She’d take it.
Her father continued. “But he wasn’t keen on renting me another.”
“So, that’s the real reason you showed up at Bitsy’s place?” Pike interjected.
“Yes.”
“Lost your trailer so you’re expecting her to take you in like she did your kids?”
“It’s not the time, Pike,” Rosa said, sweeping an arm to encompass the wreck. “Even you can see that, can’t you?”
She watched the muscles in his jaw working, but he stayed quiet.
“Dad, why didn’t you mention the fire before we drove all the way here?” Rosa asked. “You could have explained that your trailer was destroyed. Why wouldn’t you tell me something like that?”
Manny took in a heavy breath and let it out slowly in leaky spurts, flicking a quick glance at Pike and then away. “Because I didn’t remember until we pulled up to my street.”
A child walked by holding a bedraggled kite with a tear in the middle, like a wound. The girl wiggled her fingers at Manny, who returned the greeting and ambled over. “Didja bust up your kite?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t. My mom said Gregory had to have a turn and he got it stuck in a tree. Brothers are dumb.”
“Yeah,” Manny agreed. “I had a brother and he sure was dumb. Got any tape? The clear kind that people close up packages with?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’ll fix the rip right up. Good as new.”
The girl brightened. “Good idea. But brothers are still dumb.”
Rosa watched it all with the surreal feeling that she was observing from afar. The breeze continued its capricious meanderings, as if things were perfectly normal, as if the world’s equilibrium had not just been dealt a severe blow. Though she saw the wind toying with the branches of the big cypress that sheltered the burned trailer, she did not feel it on her face. Rosa was surprised to find that Pike had stayed near. To gloat, maybe. They both waited until Manny shuffled back, having concluded his kite repair advice. “What did you mean, Dad, that you didn’t remember?”
Manny cast about for a while, starting and stopping his words, pocketing and unpocketing his hands until he finally hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “I think I’ve got something.”
“You’ve got something.” She felt slow and stupid. “Got what?”
“Alzheimer’s?” Pike asked.
“No, not that,” Manny snapped. “It’s got a different name. ‘Pick’ something.” He pulled a paper from his pocket. “Here, I wrote down what the doctor said.”
He handed over a crumpled scrap of paper and headed to a bench perched in the shade of the cypress tree several yards away.
Rosa smoothed the scrap. “Pick’s disease.” She looked at Pike. “Have you heard of it?”
Shaking his head, he thumbed his phone to life and typed in the search. She watched him read, and though he kept his features in a calm, noncommittal expression, something trickled through the coffee brown of his eyes and the corners of his mouth tightened the tiniest fraction as he scrolled through the information.
“What?”
He pocketed the phone. “We don’t need to research it now. Let’s go back to Bitsy’s and you and Cy can discuss housing options for Manny.”
He turned away, but she stopped him with a hand on his biceps. “Pike, tell me.”
He didn’t meet her eyes, but stared at her fingers curled around his arm. “Rosa, I think maybe this isn’t something you should hear from me in light of...everything.”
She didn’t remove her hand and he remained there, still looking away.
“Please.”
He hesitated. “It says Pick’s disease is a rare form of dementia.”
She blinked. “And?”
“And it’s irreversible and incurable,” he added softly.
Dementia. Irreversible. Incurable. The words fell like heavy stones in deep water, swallowed by the mad, whirling rush in her head. She looked at her father, who was skinning the bark off of a stick he’d retrieved, hunched and small on the hewn wood bench, dwarfed by both the old tree and the blackened wreck.
There seemed no sense to it, that she was standing, watching her father, while being floored by a diagnosis that seemed as if it belonged to a stranger. Manny had left a long time ago, chasing some sort of mysterious, phantom dream that he could not even articulate. He had abdicated the role of father when she’d most desperately needed one. So why, now, were her fingers rigid and her breath tight? Why should she care? Why did it pinch at a place deep inside?
Infuriatingly, Pike had been right. She should not have insisted he tell her about the disease because she was no longer certain she was in control. Above all things, she would not let Pike see her lose it. The man who hated her father. The man who had ridiculed her mother.
She realized she was still touching Pike and that he had covered her hand with his, tenderly, as if he feared bruising her. She detached herself. “I see. Thank you for the info.”
“Do you...want to go talk to him?”
Deep breath. A steadying smile. “I think we should go back. We’ll drive him to the inn, as you suggested, and talk to Cy. This is one of those times when I wish my brother would actually answer his cell phone, the big dork.”
Pike eyed her uncertainly, looking as though he was about to press her further.
“I’m sure Cy’s got the flat changed by now, or the car completely dismantled—one or the other.” Her laugh sounded tinny and strange in her own ears. She strolled to her father and told him of her plan. He nodded, without comment, and shuffled back to the car, the naked twig still clutched in his fingers.
Irreversible, her mind repeated as they drove back to the Pelican.
Incurable.
Unbelievable.
* * *
THE OLD NISSAN sported four fully functioning tires, Rosa noted, as they pulled in to the parking lot. Cy was on the front porch, poring over a stack of history books. Her brother believed that a decorator’s sacred responsibility was to understand the past of any given building before reinventing it.
“The history of a place is what changes a house to a home,” Cy preached at anyone who would listen.
He glanced up as the trio climbed the front steps. “Oh, hey, Pops. Changed your mind about the visit?”
Before Rosa could open her mouth, Cy began hurling historical bomblets at her from his spot on the wicker bench. He gestured with a dusty volume. “Got it from Julio. Took us an hour and a half to find it. The Pelican was built by Harold Herzberg in...”
“In 1860, Cy. I know.”
“Yes, but did you know he was a carpenter turned...”
“Forty-niner who eventually discovered that there was really no money to be made in the goldfields. Yes, I knew that, too.”
“Well, did you know that there was a notable portrait done of Herzberg and his wife, worth thousands, that was stolen from what used to be the Tumbledown Bank some twenty years ago?”
“Hmm. Nope, that’s news to me.”
“Anyway, his carpentry background explains the extensive woodwork.” Cy patted his pockets for a pencil until Pike pointed to the one behind his ear. “There’s a mention of the oak window seat in the dining room being a favorite of Mrs. Herzberg, who used to have guests join her to shell peas and watch the horse-drawn carriages come up from the docks. We’ll need to do it.”
“Do what, Cy?” she said wearily, though she already knew.
“Restore the window seat. Make it a focal point. It won’t be hard—most of the wood is still sound. Aunt Bitsy is fine with it.”
“Yes, she is,” said Bitsy as she stepped out onto the porch. She handed Cy a tape measure. “You left this in the bathroom.”
Pike huffed. “I’m aware that no one is listening, but this inn is on the verge of being sold. There’s no need to do work with window seats or paint or anything else.”
Cy wore a glazed expression as he rambled on about crown molding and stain.
Pike rolled his eyes, mumbling something about being trapped in a nuthouse.
Rosa tried to rally, determined to ignore Pike and his bad tidings. “Time and money, Cy. The window will cost both. And besides, we have something to discuss that’s more important.”
He gaped. “More important than a window seat?”
She nodded. “At the moment, yes.”
Manny rocked back and forth on his heels. “She wants to tell you I’m losing my marbles.”
Cy’s face did not show the signs of shock and surprise that Rosa expected. His mouth opened and closed.
“Oh,” he said. “That.”
Rosa sighed. “You already knew about the Pick’s disease?”
He nodded. “Dad mentioned it when he was last in town.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“He wanted to tell you himself, but you weren’t up for the meeting.”
“You could have told me anyway.”
“Well,” Cy said, tapping the pencil on his palm. “You were stressed about the library design. You’re not the easiest person to talk to when you’re stressed. And I figured we had time.”
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Dana Mentink
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Her design scheme didn′t include him! Struggling interior designer Rosa Franco and her twin brother, Cy, are bent on transforming the timeworn Pelican Inn into the jewel of the California coast, even if it kills them. And it will kill Rosa if they fail. Their business, and her future, depend on winning the Great Escapes Magazine design contest that lured them back to the town where some of her best–and worst–memories were forged. Memories like those of Pike Matthews, the innkeeper′s nephew, her high school heartthrob turned humiliator, now infiltrating himself into every aspect of the project. Is he purposely frustrating her efforts? Behind that killer smile is he carrying a grudge…or a torch?