California Homecoming (Crimson Romance)

by Casey Dawes

  “Even though I’m pregnant?”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Marcos and I talked about that a lot while we were gone. I think I may have over-reacted.”

  Sarah was quiet while she absorbed her mother’s words.

  Elizabeth continued. “I was wrong to have pushed Rick at you. I thought because that’s what I’d had to do, you should do it, too. But times are different, good or bad. And if Rick isn’t right for you … then you need to make that decision, not me.”

  Tears of relief began to spill down Sarah’s face. She hadn’t realized she needed her mother’s understanding so badly. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Elizabeth reached over and squeezed her hand. “I love you, Sarah. And I’ll love my new grandchild just as much.”

  “It’s a girl.”

  “Oh dear, are you in trouble!” Elizabeth laughed.

  Sarah quickly joined in.

  When Elizabeth dropped her off at the inn, she offered to come in to help, but Sarah told her she was tired and needed to take a nap.

  She also needed to call Rick before Hunter came back.

  She picked up the cell phone and perched on the edge of the couch in the living room. Taking a deep breath, she pulled up Rick’s number and hit dial.

  “Not here. You know what to do.”

  Voicemail. She hung up. She really should wait and speak to him in person. Should. There was that word again.

  What do I want to do?

  Sarah looked around the room, amazed at the progress that had been made in a few short months. She went into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee and stared at the room with a critical eye.

  Gleaming pots hung on the wall, the appliances were ugly, but solid and functioning. Mandy had set up tables for prep and cooling racks for baked goods. She was ready to go.

  A few more linens and knickknacks for the upstairs bedrooms and Sarah would be ready to apply for a permit. Hunter had almost finished a guest bathroom on the first floor that was handicap-accessible.

  She’d be ready by Annie’s wedding and the summer season stretching after it. And she couldn’t have done it without the help of her friends, friends who’d put up with the rotten temper tantrums of her boyfriend because they cared for her.

  It was time to clean up her mess.

  She sat at the table, sipped her coffee and redialed. This time she left a message.

  “Rick, I’m sorry things happened the way they did. And I hate to break up over a phone, but that’s what I’m doing. We’re done, Rick. Please stop sending me things. If — if you want to call in a few months to make arrangements to see the baby … ” She paused, hating to allow him in her life at all, but it was the right thing to do. Besides, she knew in her heart he’d never make the effort. “I’ll talk to you. But, other than that, please leave me alone.”

  She hung up.

  Chapter 21

  “I’ve got an appointment at Cal Poly next week,” Hunter said to Joe as he finished up for the day.

  Joe handed Hunter a beer. “That was fast.” Pointing to the almost finished cabinet on the worktable, he added, “Your cabinet is coming along really nicely. I might actually know someone who could use a piece like that.”

  “Really? That’d be great.” Hunter opened the beer and took a drink. “I was surprised they agreed to see me this quickly at Cal Poly. I think the guy is finishing up a master’s thesis and wants to get the prototype done.”

  “I hope it works out. It’d be great to see you out on the water again. It’s where you belong.” Joe flicked out the lights and led the way back into the surfboard workroom.

  Hunter frowned. “I’m worried, though. I don’t know how much of this the VA will pick up.”

  “Any idea how much it cost?”

  Hunter shook his head. “The guy’s only asking for materials — he’s going to do the labor as part of his thesis. Thinks he can improve on the last surfing prosthetic someone else at Cal Poly designed.”

  “Quite a deal.”

  “Yeah.” Hunter sipped his beer and gazed idly at the surfboards. “Of course,” he smiled, “once I have my surfer legs back, I’m going to need to have a board.”

  “How are you going to afford that?”

  “Sheetrock?”

  Joe shook his head. “No. It’ll take forever for the kind of board you’ll want.” He pointed his finger at Hunter. “What you need to do is get this business going. The cabinet should fetch a few thousand dollars. You need more like it and you need to get a website going. We’ll take pictures of that,” he gestured into the other room, “and more of the piece in place at Sarah’s.”

  He leaned back and studied Hunter. “How is the divine Miss Sarah these days. Boyfriend ever show back up?”

  Hunter shook his head.

  “Then why the glum look?”

  “He’s been sending stuff — flowers, cards — you know. The kind of thing a man does when he’s desperate. Sarah says it’s over, but I don’t think she’s told him.”

  “So you don’t want to ask her out.”

  Hunter put his hand on the picket fence and rolled his eyes. “She’s pregnant and the father’s still in the picture. She hasn’t told him ‘no’.”

  “Give me a break. Her being pregnant didn’t stop you before.”

  “I didn’t know she was pregnant then.”

  “Well, when she’s done being pregnant, she’s going to have another man’s child running around. Will you ask her out then?”

  Hunter let out a long breath. Trust Joe to get to the heart of the matter. “I don’t know. Feels weird somehow — dating a woman with kids.”

  “After a certain point most of the women you’ll date will have kids from someone else. Unless they’re not planning on being mothers.”

  “You’re probably right, but I don’t think dating Sarah’s in my best interest.”

  “Yet you made that beautiful Victorian hall stand and put it in her entryway.”

  “That I did.” Hunter didn’t want to think about the contrariness of that gesture to his professed disinterest in Sarah. Instead, he threw his empty can in the trash. “Bye, Joe.”

  He whistled as he walked down the sidewalk to his car, avoiding the pink tricycle in his path.

  • • •

  Sarah was in the kitchen when Hunter got back to the inn, a small cardboard box next to her on the table, a yellow legal pad in front of her. Daisy lay at her feet.

  “Another present from Rick?” he asked as he grabbed a beer from the fridge.

  Sarah glared at him.

  As she should have. “Sorry. That was low.”

  “Yep.”

  The silence that sifted through the kitchen was tinged with acrid spice.

  “How about we order pizza for dinner?” Maybe feeding her would get them back to normal. He’d wait for her to tell him if she’d talked to her “ex.”

  She shook her head. “Mom took me out to lunch.” All of a sudden she brightened, her shoulders lifted, and a smile crossing her face. “We went to meet the travel agent. The one with the brochure.”

  He must have looked as blank as he felt.

  She lifted the legal pad and pushed a brochure over to him. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  He was still no clearer than he had been. “What do you mean?” He forced himself to be patient while he searched for Pizza My Heart on his phone. He was having dinner tonight. He bet if he ordered an aromatic pie that he wouldn’t eat alone.

  Cheese, chocolate, and wine. The three food groups that went straight to a woman’s heart.

  “Marketing!” Sarah interrupted his dreams of a thick slab of pepperoni pizza oozing with garlicky cheese. “If we all get together, and get Mandy involved, we can help each other’s businesses. Can’t you see?”

  He set his beer on the table and sat down. “Now, Sarah, you know how I don’t know the first thing about marketing.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Why don’t you explain it to me.”
>
  She did for the rest of the night. Through his beer and his dinner. She took two good-sized slices.

  So much for not being hungry.

  She was animated for the first time in weeks. He could see the pixie girl who’d met him at the door in January, the one who was determined to make a go of the inn. Her core of strength wrapped in elfin skin compelled attention.

  His heart stirred.

  When she finally ran down, he said, “I think I get it. Now I only have one question left.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What’s in the box?”

  “Some letters. Love letters, I think. I found the box when I moved in.”

  “Have you read them?”

  She shook her head. “I started to, but it felt like an invasion of someone’s privacy. If I never open them, I’ll never know who they belong to”

  ”Maybe you still won’t know.”

  Unable to bear the tension running through him, he stood and got another beer.

  She flicked him a glance. “Are you okay?”

  ”I’m fine.” He leaned against the counter. Would the letters have something to do with his parents or were they left by the people who owned the house after them? He popped the can and took a swallow. “Why don’t you go ahead. Since I lived here before, I can help you figure it out.”

  “Okay.” Carefully, she opened the box and took out a packet of envelopes tied with ribbon. She slipped the ribbon off the edges. She flipped through them, scanning the postmarks.

  “I think this is the first one, the letter I started reading a week ago.” Opening the sheet of paper, she quickly scanned it and looked up.

  “Go ahead and read it.” He took another swallow of beer.

  “Loretta,” she began.

  Loretta. His mother’s name.

  Sarah’s eyes met his.

  He unclenched his teeth. “Go on.”

  She continued.

  “I know what is happening between us is wrong, but I can’t help myself. The thought of you tied to that liar another second makes me sick. You deserve better. So does the boy.”

  Hunter drew in a breath. The sounds of his childhood home resurfaced in his memory. Raised voices. Broken dishes.

  He moved a little closer to the back door and his eyes scanned the room for danger to him or Sarah.

  “You aren’t okay. Maybe I should stop.” Sarah’s voice broke through to him.

  He took a couple of steadying breaths and focused on her. “Sorry. Old memories.”

  Memories I don’t want to resurrect.

  He forced himself to walk to the table and sit down. “Why don’t you finish?”

  Sarah hesitated a moment, studying him intently. “Okay.”

  He gazed at the table top.

  “I love you, Loretta. I know it will be difficult, but I can protect you from him. Let me shower you with the affection you deserve. I’ll dig you a big space to plant with your heart’s delight and we’ll travel to explore all the great gardens of the world. Please think on it. Love, Richard.”

  Richard. The name of his mother’s lover.

  The room was closing in on him. He could barely breathe. “Gertrude told me Richard was her brother.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Hunter gestured at the letter. “Loretta was my mother. Your gardener remembered the affair.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  Hunter shook his head. “Killed in a car accident.”

  “Sounds like growing up must have been difficult.” She reached out her hand, but he ignored it, pushed back his chair, and stood.

  “It wasn’t pretty. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.” Her voice interrupted him before he could leave the room.

  “Hunter?”

  He stared at her, his muscles tense.

  “I called him.”

  It took Hunter a moment to realize she was talking about Rick. “Okay.” Hunter stomped up the stairs, closed the door behind him, leaned against it, and let tears of sorrow and missed opportunities roll down his face.

  Although he had trouble getting to sleep, his rest had been dreamless and refreshing. The next morning Daisy greeted him, tail wagging, outside his door. “How you doing this morning, girl?” He smiled and patted the dog, contentment filling every vein in his body. He’d faced a childhood demon and survived. There was hope for resolving his past.

  Sarah had called Rick and the future looked bright as well.

  Letting Daisy proceed him down the stairs, he said, “Anyone let you out?”

  “I did.” Sarah stood at the bottom of the stairs, the glow of pregnancy in her cheeks, and a look of concern in her eyes. “How are you doing this morning?”

  He smiled at her and fought the impulse to kiss her. “I’m doing well.” Then he quit resisting. Putting his index finger under her chin, he tilted up her face and brushed her lips with his. “Just as I remembered,” he whispered.

  Easily, he moved back and asked, “Coffee?”

  A soft smile on her face told her she hadn’t disapproved of his move.

  “Already made.” She trailed him into the kitchen where Daisy curled up on her dog bed. He noticed the letters had been put back in the box.

  After he poured his coffee he gestured toward the box. “Did you read them?”

  She blushed. “All the way through. So sad.”

  “Tell me.”

  She sat down at the kitchen table. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  He nodded and sat down next to her. “Please.”

  “From what I can piece together, Loretta’s husband, your dad, made her life pretty miserable. He had lovers on the side, drank a little too much, and some of his business practices were questionable, which made her life difficult in the community. He stopped short of physical abuse, but it didn’t sound like life was good. I just don’t understand why she didn’t leave. Richard sounds like he was head over heels in love with her.”

  “Me.” Hunter took a sip of his coffee.

  Gertrude’s garden truck roared through the silence. Daisy raised her head, thumped her tail once, and went back to sleep.

  “What do you mean?” Sarah asked.

  “He threatened to take me away from her. He may have been a crooked lawyer, but he was effective. My mother wouldn’t have stood a chance and she knew it. She stayed in that miserable excuse of a marriage to protect me.”

  “It’s what mothers do.” Sarah reached out her hand and this time Hunter took it.

  Her skin was amazingly soft. He rubbed his hardened thumb over it, the urge to protect her from the kind of pain his mother had suffered growing with each passing moment.

  “Mandy coming home for dinner?” he asked.

  Sarah shook her head.

  “Then let me take you out. There’s a fish place in Moss Landing I’d like to go back to — need to go back to.”

  She cocked her head and waited.

  He took a deep breath. “After I came back from the war, I had panic attacks due to PTSD. Doc thinks the craziness of my childhood left me susceptible. He gave me some tools, but some places still get me going.”

  He smiled at her. “Since I’ve been around you, though, the attacks have been happening less and less. I figure if I take you to Phil’s with me, I’ll be able to enjoy my fish instead of being afraid it would turn into a shark.”

  She chuckled. “I’m game. What do we do with the letters? Do you want to give them back to your mother?”

  He shook his head.”That would only make her sadder.” He gestured to the garden. “Let’s see if Gertrude wants them. Have you seen what she’s done to the garden since you’ve been up and around?”

  “No, it slipped my mind.”

  Hunter stood and held out his hand. “Come to the garden, my lady.”

  Sarah chuckled. Her laugh seeped into the hard stone of his emotional wounds and broke them apart as inexorably as water on rock.

  She breathed in deeply when they walked outsid
e. “I can smell spring bursting through the ground, can’t you?”

  His grin broadened and he nodded. They reached the entry to the garden bower and Hunter stood aside to let her enter first.

  Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes widened in wonder. “It’s amazing!”

  Gertrude had carved enchantment from the overgrown remains of his mother’s beginnings. Bright foliage and grasses peaked from behind flowering bushes. Bare patches hinted of future annuals. Branches entwined overhead, perfect to keep away the summer’s heat.

  “I’m glad you like it. I’m almost done and then I’ll start on the kitchen garden. I’m sure Mandy will be glad to hear that.” Gertrude had quietly walked up behind them.

  Sarah turned. “Has she been bothering you?”

  Gertrude gave as much of a smile as she ever did. “No. She’s eager. Patience comes with gray hair.”

  “Gertrude.” Hunter hesitated to ask, but he wanted that box — and its memories — gone. “We found a box of letters in the house that Richard wrote my mother. Do you want them?”

  “No,” Gertrude said immediately. “They’re not for me. Give them to your mother.”

  “I’m not going to do that. She’s dying and doesn’t need painful memories.”

  “Memories are all she has. Besides, it’s not your decision to make.”

  “Of course it is.” Gertrude squared herself and pointed her finger at him. “It is not your decision. Why do men always think a woman is too fragile to make a choice? You may not approve of how your mother ran her life, but she still has the right to do it. Take the box to her. It is hers. Now leave me to finish the garden.”

  Gertrude picked up the handles of the garden cart and wheeled it to the back reaches of the arbor.

  Sarah laughed. “Guess she told you.”

  He scowled at her. “Right.”

  “Oh, c’mon Hunter, lighten up. You’ll choose what’s best. But, if you care, I think she’s right.”

  “You would.” He slung his arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed the top of her head. “It’s a great day to be alive, isn’t it?”