The Inn at Rose Harbor

by Debbie Macomber

  “Did Dylan promise to take you to the prom?”

  “No,” she said and shook her head for emphasis. “I realized no one would believe that Dylan would ever ask someone like me to the junior-senior prom, but I wanted to go in the worst way. A bunch of us girls decided we would band together and drop by all on our own. All I wanted from Dylan, all I asked in return for writing his paper, was that he ask me to dance with him. Just one dance. He agreed, and I wrote it for him, making enough grammar and spelling errors to make sure Mrs. Chenard would believe it was his.

  “Dylan turned it in and then he completely ignored me at the dance. Really, how would it have hurt him to dance with me just that once?” she asked.

  “He didn’t?” For sure Dylan was no saint, but Josh had trouble believing that he would renege on his promise to Michelle.

  “I confronted him later and he said he forgot.”

  The excuse sounded lame to Josh. Still, he felt obligated to defend his stepbrother. “I’m sure there was some misunderstanding.”

  “There wasn’t. Later I heard through the grapevine that Dylan bragged to his friends about how he’d manipulated me into writing his term paper with the promise of a single dance. He told them that he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He said he wasn’t sure he could get his arms around Dumbo.”

  From the way Michelle’s voice dipped, Josh knew that this was still a painful memory for her. It seemed like his stepbrother had taken delight in embarrassing her. “I’m so sorry,” Josh whispered.

  “You have nothing to regret, Josh. You didn’t do that to me.” She managed what looked like a forced smile. “My one consolation was that he got a B instead of an A because of all the intentional typos.”

  Josh smiled, too, and, reaching for her hand, gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “I’m telling you this so you’ll realize that Dylan wasn’t the saint you and his father have painted him to be. In many ways he was wonderful, but he could also be heartless and cruel.”

  Josh knew that to be true. Dylan was his father’s son.

  Chapter 14

  While my guests were away for the afternoon, I decided to run a couple of errands. I wanted to stop off at the local bakery and check out their sweet rolls. My original intention had been to bake my own, but I know myself well enough to realize that that might not always be possible. I enjoyed baking, but there were bound to be days when I simply couldn’t.

  The drizzle continued to fall, but having lived in Seattle all these years I was undeterred. I grabbed my raincoat, scarf, and gloves, locked the front door, and headed down the hill. The sky was darkening even though it was barely two in the afternoon. The cove was thick with fog, making Bremerton and the navy shipyard directly across the cove completely invisible.

  The sidewalk was steep but I figured that by walking I could offset the additional calories I’d be consuming when I sampled sweets at the bakery. A warning to watch my weight was another gem Peggy had shared. As B&B proprietors, it was far too easy to get into the habit of sampling our own cooking, she’d said. The first year she and Bob had owned Thyme and Tide, Peggy confessed that she’d gained ten pounds.

  My resolve weakened the minute I opened the door to the bakery. They apparently had just taken bread out of the oven because the smell filled the room. A scent like this was more hypnotic than French perfume. Paul claimed that he decided to marry me the first time I baked him a loaf of homemade bread. I’m no dummy. I knew the way to a man’s heart, and he’d already captured mine so I used all my baking skills to woo him.

  “May I help you?” a young woman asked as I stepped up to the counter.

  I’d barely had a chance to look. The glass-enclosed shelf contained row upon row of delectable delights. The macaroons looked amazing, as big as my fist and golden brown, just the way I like them. Peanut butter cookies were another favorite of mine, and Paul’s, too.

  “I’ll take a dozen cookies,” I said before I could change my mind. “Mix and match, okay?”

  “Sure thing.” The girl behind the counter instantly brightened. “We have eight varieties today.”

  “Make that two dozen then to even everything out,” I said, completely disregarding Peggy’s warning.

  I scooted down the case and glanced at the cakes on display. They were huge. The coconut cake looked like it contained five or six layers, and it stood nearly as tall as a wedding cake. The same could be said of the carrot cake, which was decorated with chopped nuts and tiny orange carrots made of frosting that circled the top in an artful display. The chocolate cake was elaborately decorated with a large white bow, as if it were a gift to be shared and enjoyed. Before my mouth started to water, I looked over the selection of pies.

  “Is there anything else?” the girl asked, following my gaze.

  “Ah …” I hesitated, and then reluctantly shook my head. I’d take the cookies back to Rose Harbor and set out a plate for my guests, in case they returned later that afternoon. Sandy Frelinger had recommended that I offer a mid-afternoon refreshment. My cookies resembled golf balls compared to these baseball-size wonders.

  The bell above the door chimed softly as someone else entered the bakery.

  “We’re also offering a special today,” the young clerk announced to me and the second patron. “Buy one cake or pie and get the second for half off.”

  “Oh dear, you do make this hard to resist.” Then I remembered my original intent. “Where are your sweet rolls?” I asked.

  “Sorry, we sold out of those before ten this morning. We almost always do. If you want breakfast sweets you’ll need to get here early, or order them the day before.”

  “Okay. Then maybe I should place an order for sweet rolls for tomorrow.”

  “A dozen?” the clerk asked, grinning.

  “Just six for now. I only have two guests at the moment, so that should be more than enough. What time do you open?”

  “Seven. We make great lattes, too.”

  I’d noticed the espresso machine when I entered the shop.

  “Excuse me,” the other patron said from behind me. “Are you Jo Marie Rose?”

  “Yes.” I was surprised that anyone in town knew my name.

  “You bought the Frelingers’ B and B, right?”

  Again I was pleasantly surprised. “I did.”

  She held out her hand. “I’m Corrie McAfee; Peggy Beldon is a good friend of mine. She mentioned that she was hoping to chat with you soon. Welcome to Cedar Cove.”

  “Peggy stopped by this morning.” I was warmed by how friendly everyone was.

  “My husband and I moved from Seattle several years ago. Peggy mentioned that you’re from there, too.”

  I nodded, liking Corrie right away.

  “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

  I glanced at my watch. There wasn’t any reason to rush back to the house. I knew Abby Kincaid had a rehearsal dinner to attend for her brother’s wedding. Josh hadn’t mentioned his plans but he’d said that he’d be out until late afternoon.

  “I’d love a cup of coffee,” I said. The bakery had a small sitting area with round tables.

  “Great, and it’s my treat.”

  “And I’ll provide the cookies to go with it,” I suggested.

  Corrie nodded enthusiastically. “That’s an offer too good to refuse.”

  After I finished my order for the sweet rolls and paid for everything, I selected a table close to the window. Corrie got our coffees and joined me.

  I held open the pink box of cookies and let her make her selection. Like me, she opted for a macaroon.

  “I have a weakness for these.”

  “I do, too,” I confessed.

  We each simultaneously took our first bites. The macaroon was just as delectable as it looked. We both took a moment simply to savor it.

  Corrie spoke first. “Roy and I have come to think of Cedar Cove as our home now, despite the years we spent in Seattle. Our son and his wife are here with our granddaughter.
Our daughter lives in North Dakota with her family.”

  I envied Corrie her husband and extended family. “I’m a widow and unfortunately I don’t have children.” And it looked like I probably wouldn’t have children. Accepting that was one of the most difficult parts of losing Paul.

  “When I get a chance, I’ll introduce you to my husband,” Corrie said, picking up the conversation. “Roy’s a retired police detective who works as a private investigator now and again.”

  “I’ll look forward to meeting him.”

  “If you ever have a problem—and I doubt that you will—please don’t hesitate to contact Roy or me.”

  “Thank you,” I said, struck again by the way this small town had already gathered me into its arms.

  We spoke for a while longer and finished our coffee and macaroons. I told Corrie how Peggy had urged me to get to know the town well. I could see now this was valuable advice, and I asked lots of questions about the businesses around town.

  Corrie and I left at the same time. My new friend headed for the library and—as Mark had done earlier—she suggested that I stop in and meet Grace Harding. I made a mental note to get over to the library sooner rather than later.

  I huffed and puffed my way up the steep hill to Rose Harbor Inn. By the time I was at the top, I was panting and the back of my calves ached. I’d worked off that macaroon for sure. I paused as I caught my breath. I’d need to work an exercise regimen into my daily routine.

  I was halfway up my driveway before I noticed that a car was parked in the special area reserved for guests. Because I hadn’t expected anyone, I’d spent far more time away from the inn than I’d originally planned.

  Picking up my pace I approached the car to find a man sitting there, apparently awaiting my return. I tapped lightly against the window, and he turned to look my way, automatically breaking into a huge smile.

  He seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He opened the car door to climb out as I stepped back.

  “Jo Marie, how good to see you.”

  My mind was busy trying to piece together how I knew this man. Unfortunately I came up blank.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long?” I said. He knew my name so clearly he wasn’t a guest whose reservation had somehow gotten overlooked.

  “I’ve only been here for a few minutes,” he assured me. He followed me up toward the house, chatting as we walked. “I can’t wait for the rain to stop. Nothing depresses me more than one rainy day after another,” he said affably, although the cheerful tempo of his voice belied his words.

  “I was at the bakery,” I explained as I led the way into the house. I set down the cookies and paused for long enough to hang up my coat and scarf. He removed his own coat and hung it next to mine.

  My mind remained a blank, but the longer he spoke, the more convinced I was that I knew him. Then it hit me. This was Spenser Wood—he’d been in the same unit as Paul, and they’d been stationed at Fort Lewis together.

  “You’re back,” I said, feeling much more comfortable now that I recognized Spenser. If I remembered correctly, he had been in Afghanistan with Paul.

  “Yes. A friend from our unit told me you’d moved here. I wanted to stop by and tell you how sorry I am about Paul. He was a good man.”

  “Thank you.” The words caught, but he didn’t appear to notice and I was glad. “I have coffee on if you’d like a cup.”

  “Please, that would be wonderful.”

  He followed me into the kitchen, locking his arms behind his back as he looked around, giving the room an intense appraisal. “This place is really something.”

  “I fell in love with it the minute I saw it,” I confessed.

  “Paul would have loved it, too.”

  I agreed with a short nod. I hadn’t spoken to anyone who knew Paul for several days now. I found it rather awkward for Spenser to mention his name, though I hadn’t felt that way with others who wanted to talk about him.

  “You were in Afghanistan with Paul, right?” I asked, leading him into the living room by the fireplace. It was lit by gas so when I flipped the switch the fire instantly roared over the logs.

  Spenser sat on the sofa and I took the chair. He set his mug down on the wood coffee table before I could get him a coaster.

  “You know how close Paul and I were,” Spenser said, his face falling in his own grief over the loss.

  To the best of my memory I’d only met Spenser once. I didn’t remember Paul mentioning him in his emails or any of his other correspondence. While he was deployed, Paul and I had had the opportunity to talk now and again on our cell phones. I searched my memory and couldn’t bring up any mention of Spenser.

  “I’m grateful for all of Paul’s friends,” I said, sidestepping the question.

  Spenser gripped the coffee mug with both hands. “He was like a brother to me … a brother I never had. We were tight, especially after we landed in Afghanistan.”

  I looked down, avoiding eye contact. For reasons I couldn’t explain this conversation was making me uncomfortable. I felt myself tensing up. I wasn’t sure where Spenser was headed.

  “He talked about you a great deal,” Spenser went on to say. “He was crazy about you.”

  “I deeply loved my husband.”

  “And he loved you more than anything.”

  A lump filled my throat as I fiddled with my coffee mug. An awkward silence followed and I glanced up. Spenser had scooted closer to the edge of the cushion and was leaning forward.

  “I imagine you’re wondering why I’m here. It pains me to come to you like this … it’s rather embarrassing, to be frank. Unfortunately I’ve gotten myself into something of a financial mess and …”

  My gaze shot up. Could it be that Spenser had come to me looking for a loan?

  He gestured weakly with his hands. “I know that as Paul’s wife you’re the recipient of his life insurance policy. The army takes care of their own and …”

  “And this concerns you how?” I asked.

  “Seeing how close Paul and I were, I was hoping you could help me out.”

  I was too stunned to speak.

  “I apologize for hitting you with this, but the truth is that I could use a little financial help. It would only be a loan for a short while. I wouldn’t even think to approach you if Paul and I weren’t like brothers … like family.”

  Dumbfounded, I tried to think about how Paul would have wanted me to handle this situation.

  Before I could speak, Spenser added, “If Paul were alive I know he’d lend me the money without question. Like I said, we were really close.”

  “Spenser,” I said as gently as I could. “I’m not a bank.”

  He nodded and seemed to accept my decision. “I understand, but I felt I had to ask. Paul and I often helped each other out of financial jams. More than once I’ve lent him money … and he did the same for me. I wouldn’t want you to think I came to you out of the blue. I’d do this for Paul in a heartbeat … and now that he’s gone, I’d be more than willing to help you, if our situations were reversed.”

  I didn’t know how to answer. I hadn’t been aware that Paul had ever borrowed money from friends, and that surprised me. I teetered, wondering what I should do.

  “I know what it means to get caught in financial difficulties,” I said, sympathizing with him.

  “Then you’ve been in the same spot?”

  I nodded, remembering what it was like when I was on my own for the first time. “I’ve been there myself.” After getting my first credit card, despite warnings from my family, I’d charged more than I could afford to spend. When the bill arrived I’d been shocked by exactly how much I’d managed to run up in a single month.

  It got much worse before I came to my senses and destroyed the card. For a while I could ill afford to pay the interest on the debt, let alone make headway toward the principal. Then my hours were cut and all I earned went toward rent, groceries, and utilities. I didn’t sleep. I fret
ted and worried. It was the most awful feeling not to be able to pay those bills. I never wanted to endure that again.

  “Then you might reconsider … if you’ve been where I’m at, you must understand how humiliating this is.”

  “I—”

  I wasn’t allowed to finish my thought.

  All at once the front door burst open and Mark Taylor walked in unannounced. He paused in the foyer and took one look at Spenser and me. His eyes darkened as he headed directly for Spenser.

  Spenser stood.

  The two men stood nose to nose. “I believe we need to talk,” Mark said gruffly and then added. “Outside. Now.”

  Spenser looked at me for an explanation, but I had none to give him. “Ah … Mark,” I started.

  He ignored me. “Now,” he repeated in a tone that didn’t leave room for argument.

  Spenser shrugged his shoulders and walked toward the door.

  Mark followed, grabbing Spenser’s coat off the peg on the way out.

  I stood and looked out the window. I couldn’t see either man, but I could distinguish raised voices. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t make out what was being said.

  After only a few minutes, I heard footsteps, followed a minute later by the sound of a car engine.

  Spenser was leaving. Without a single word of farewell.

  The next thing I heard was the sound of gravel crunching as he backed out of the driveway and drove away.

  I hurried toward the front door to confront Mark and find out why he’d rushed into the inn like an angry mother bear protecting her cub.

  Only he had left, too, his retreating figure moving quickly.

  Chapter 15

  Abby had been worried about meeting Roger’s fiancée, but Victoria had been sincere and gracious and so clearly in love with Roger that Abby couldn’t help but like her. How fortunate her brother was to have found someone he was willing to commit to for the rest of his life.

  The afternoon was speeding by and Abby wanted to change clothes before the rehearsal and the dinner that was scheduled to immediately follow it. Before leaving her brother, she’d learned that their cousin, Lonny, was serving as Roger’s best man and his parents were staying at the same hotel as Abby’s parents. With every detail she realized how much distance she’d put between her and her family. In retrospect, she couldn’t believe she’d been so caught up in her own worries about the wedding that she hadn’t even asked whom he’d chosen as his best man.