Hunks, Hammers, and Happily Ever Afters

by Cari Quinn

  Now LeBeaux stared at him, obviously incredulous. The wad of tobacco in his cheek pulled his lips into a sneer. “Ya got wax in ya ears, boy? T’aint what she said a’tal. Said she couldn’t bear to watch you starve. Didn’t say nuthin’ ‘bout herself. Said the two of you couldn’t live on one salary. All the words was ‘we’ and ‘us.’ T’wasn’t no I in there.” He paused for a moment and then shook his head and spat a brown wad of tobacco onto the sand.

  He pointed a thin, bony finger and then tapped it against his chest. “You listen to me, Gabriel Silva: Willy-boy owed ya nuthin. Ya ‘member that. He ain’t blood kin t’ya like Miz Sophie. But he gave ya half a city block a’land. So what if his kin got the other half? Ya got some nerve to whine.”

  It wasn’t at all what Gabe had expected from the old man, who had been nothing but kind and gentle since he’d moved in. It stunned him into silence.

  LeBeaux gave a short, curt nod. “That’s right. Ya think on that. Then ya get yer sorry ass back there an ‘pologize to that little girl. She’s in a tougher spot than ya are, but she’s bein’ the noble one. Pride’s an honorable thing, but there’s a time to swallow it back down, boy.” He turned on his heel and started to walk back toward the stairs to the roadway, his movements slow and painful as he leaned on his cane, his back bowed with each step. It must have taken a great deal of effort to make it all the way down here to the beach. Gabe heard him mutter under his breath before the whistling wind drowned it out.“Willy-boy, I loved ya like my own kin, but I’d punch your nose ya right now if ya weren’t already dead.”

  Gabe stood there for a long moment, letting the wind and waves clear his head. He didn’t want to insult Mr. LeBeaux by offering to help, or beating him back to the motel.

  But he was right. It was time for Gabe to swallow his pride.

  When he got back to the hotel, he saw Sophie and Marie talking excitedly on the second floor landing. They were both smiling and pointing this way and that. It was such a different expression he’d seen Sophie have for a few days that it made him curious.

  He took a deep breath and climbed the stairs toward them. When he got to within a few feet of them, Marie nudged Sophie. “Go on. Tell him.”

  “Marie—” The tone was a warning one, as though she didn’t want to say whatever Marie wanted her to.

  “Sophie,” the old woman responded, her voice like a mother who would put up with no more nonsense. “It’s half his motel too. Be the adult.”

  She let out a slow breath, ready to speak. But Gabe raised his hand. “Please. Before you say anything, I want to apologize. I was told I acted the horse’s behind earlier. And it is true. I have not listened, and have not shared. That was wrong of me. Mr. Will put you in a bad place. I should not add to that. There is enough money for us to live. Frugally, yes. But I will share. We will not starve.”

  Marie nudged Sophie in the ribs. “You see? I told you.” He didn’t know what that meant, but it made Sophie’s face soften.

  “No. We won’t. Because I have the answer. I know how to fix the motel.” Fix? He felt the old, familiar pride well up and it apparently changed how he held himself. She let out a sigh. “It’s broken, Gabe. Accept it. It’s not your fault, or mine. But it’s broken.”

  I’d punch yer nose if ya weren’t already dead. It was true. As much as he hated to admit it, there was no denying it. “Yes. I do accept it. But I cannot fix it if it means breaking the people here to do so.” He couldn’t. It wasn’t their fault, any more than it was Sophie’s. Or his.

  Marie touched his arm. “Please, Gabe. Just listen. She really does have the answer. It’s one that Will would have liked.”

  He looked from one to the other woman and then nodded. It was time to let go of the past. If she had a way to make this work, he would listen. “Please. Tell me.”

  “There are ten units empty right now. Right?”

  Gabe nodded. He wasn’t proud of that, but, “Yes. Correct.”

  “If Marie moved to the unit on the other end of the second floor, that would mean all ten units would be together.” He nodded a second time. “My original idea for this motel was a high-end resort spa. There’s a great view of the ocean from the second floor, and they all have the potential to have balconies.”

  His head started shaking before he even realized he was doing it. “No, the people here can’t afford that much money. Mr. Will lowered the prices specifically because—”

  “Gabe,” Sophie said. “They’re empty units. I’m suggesting cutting the motel in half, figuratively. One half stays like it is. The second half gets renovated. With the oversized tubs, ocean view and the sauna, it’s perfect for a resort. It even has direct road frontage, and most of the parking is over there. We can make it a real spa.”

  Marie joined in the conversation in an excited voice. “That little breakfast bar that nobody uses, Gabe? We make it a massage room. It’s the perfect size. Mrs. Hernandez’s daughter is a professional masseuse. We could bring her in a day or two a week, let her charge her own rates. If we don’t keep a cut at first, she could make good money. It would bring people back.”

  The more he thought about it, the more he realized it could work. “We could paint the two halves different colors, and decorate the rooms differently.”

  Sophie smiled. “And there are a lot of local people, residents who live nearby, who might like to have a place to get a massage or a lunch hour facial. Maybe even find a make-up or nail artist. I even thought of a new name and slogan.”

  “Slogan?” They’d never had a slogan before. “What is it?”

  Sophie held her arms and spoke the words as though they were written in lights above her head. “The Starlight Resort and Residence Suites. Pampering so decadent that you’ll never want to leave.” And in the residence half, they never do.”

  It was brilliant. Completely brilliant. It also made him remember something. “We must go to your room. There was a drawing that Mr. Will had made long ago— of a new sign. It used the base we had now, but updated it. Come. I want to see that. I think it would work.” He started to pull the keys out of his pocket as he quickly walked that way, leaving Sophie and Marie to catch up.

  “I was all through the room, Gabe, I don’t remember seeing anything like that.”

  “You wouldn’t have,” he called back over his shoulder. The jumble of emotions that was flowing through him right now had him giddy. From anger to fear, to shame and now excitement. It was hard to focus. But he needed to get the drawing. Opening the door to Sophie’s room, he barged into the room until he was kneeling in front of the old oak desk. “You didn’t look in the side drawer, did you?”

  “Side—” Sophie paused and then slapped her forehead. “Oh. My. God! I completely forgot about that. I remember finding it as a kid. He would hide candy there for me to find when I visited.”

  “He would put important things inside that he didn’t want to forget.” Gabe pressed inward on the left side of the knee well and a small door spring open. Inside was the bundle of papers that Mr. Will had shown him nearly a year ago. He spread it out on the bed. “You see? This would lower the height of the sign, but make it stand out more.”

  Sophie wasn’t looking at the picture with he and Marie. She was staring at something in her hands. It must have come out of the drawer. “The rainbow lady box. I can’t believe he still had this.”

  Rainbow lady box. “What is that?”

  Sophie held it out for he and Marie to see. It was a black laquer wooden box with inlaid Japanese figures. The tiny women in long gowns looked like they were made from rainbows. The inlay must be of mother-of-pearl. They walked under blooming cherry trees, where the flowers were made of some sort of translucent pink stone.

  Without hesitation, she pressed it against Marie’s chest and closed her hands over it. “This is the box. It has to be. He knew I would know the box as soon as I saw it. He wanted you to have it.”

  Marie touched the smooth surface, her small fingers tracing along the
edges of the figures. “It’s lovely.”

  “What is inside?” He was terribly curious all of al sudden. He shouldn’t be. It was not his place to ask, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Marie sat down on the foot of the bed and lifted up the top on smooth metal hinges. Inside were a stack of letters and photos, bound with pale purple ribbon and a sprig of some sort of dried purple flowers. She smiled and lifted the dried flower to her nose and inhaled. “Will picked this lilac bloom for me on our first date. He tucked it behind my ear. I thought it fell off when we were walking. He must have gone back to get it.

  She ran a finger across the stack of letters. “All of the cards I gave him. Birthday, Christmas, a silly get-well card when he got the flu.” She picked up the stack and put it to the side. Underneath was a small, ornate blue box, made of velvet with gold edges. A single slender piece of paper was wrapped around the box and held on with a rubber band. “Oh. What could this be?”

  Pulling off the band, she opened the page. It was written in Mr. Will’s hand and had multiple scratch-outs and rewritings, down the margins and on the back. Marie handed it to him. “I don’t have my reading glasses with me. Would you read it?”

  He nodded, happy to be able to know what Mr. Will wanted to say to her. He cleared his throat and felt suddenly nervous, as though it was him saying the words, not Mr. Will. It was hard to follow the arrows and scratched out areas. “My dearest Marie. Has it already been two years? They’re the happiest I’ve had since Lindy died. I want them to continue for as long as we have. Please, do me the honor of wearing this for me. You deserve more, but I know you wouldn’t take more, even if I gave it. But know every day you have it on that you have all of my heart. Please say yes. Will”

  She was petting the box, her fingers trembling. When she opened it, Gabe caught his breath. The ring was a riot of diamonds and rubies. It looked like a fireworks burst had been frozen in mid-air. She pulled it gently out of the box and whispered, “Oh, Will. You silly man. How could I say no to you?”

  But her fingers were trembling too much to put it on her finger. Sophie took the ring from her hand. Marie held out her right hand, but Sophie lifted her left and put it on the ring finger. “That’s where he wanted it to go, Marie.”

  The old woman nodded, tears rolling down her face. “Yes, I suppose he did.” She paused and then took Sophie’s hand in one of hers, and Gabe’s with the other. “He also wanted you two to meet and build this place into something wonderful. If you haven’t already figured it out, he salted the mine a little. You each had pictures of the other. That was intentional. He knew . . . somehow he knew that you were meant for each other. He told me so, that he saw it through the camera lens. So he gave the Starlight to you to meet, and share and find each other.”

  Sophie looked at him, and she also had tears tracing down her face. He wanted to touch them, dry them away. But he knew they weren’t tears of sadness, but of happiness. “Have we?” she asked.

  “Mr. Will saw things with his camera that nobody else could. That one photo of you captured me long before you came here. You deserve so much more than a simple man like me. But I will promise to try to make you happy for as long as you want to stay here.”

  She smiled and it went all the way up to her eyes, shining through the tears. “I’ve never wanted anything fancy. I’ve always liked simple things. Simple makes me happy. We both build things. It’s what we do. It makes us happy. Between the two of us, I think we can build it up, make a go of this.”

  This? “The motel?”

  Sophie reached out and put her hand around his and smiled in a way that made his heart swell. “Yeah. The Starlight too.”

  Cathy Clamp

  Cathy Clamp is a USA Today bestselling author of paranormal and romance fiction for Tor Books, including the "Tales of the Sazi" series, the "Thrall" trilogy, the "Blood Singer" series and her her "Sazi of Luna Lake" series. She also writes stand-alone novels, short stories and novellas in anthologies/collections for multiple publishers.

  You can find Cathy at http://www.cathyclamp.com as well as sign up for her newsletter here: http://bit.ly/1W2Yi0n

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  Marked For Love

  A Lantano Valley Novella

  By Anna J. Stewart

  Marked For Love

  A Lantano Valley Novella

  Copyright © Anna J Stewart 2015

  Between managing Lantano Valley's go-to pub, running herd on her six siblings, and dealing with an emotionally unavailable father, the last thing Regan Murphy needs to add to her already overflowing life is tattoo artist Brodie Crawford. But from the moment she meets this sexy single father, she can't put him out of her mind.

  Brodie Crawford is looking for a fresh start for himself and his five-year old daughter. Brodie knows little to nothing about family. All that matters to him is giving Cilla the life she deserves...a life he'd very much like Regan to be a part of. If he can convince her it's time to live for herself.

  Dedication

  For Annissa Turpin-Giannone,

  The epitome of patience

  CHAPTER ONE

  “What kind of irresponsible idiot gives a sixteen-year old a tattoo?” Regan Murphy hauled her sister Maura through the door of MARKED, Lantano Valley’s new tattoo parlor, and pointed to one of the kingly purple upholstered chairs in front of the window. “Sit! Do. Not. Move.” Regan pinned the sullen teen with the same promise of death stare their mother might have used had she still been alive.

  The faint hint of lavender in the air did nothing to calm Regan’s anger as Maura slumped, arms crossed over her tank-top covered chest and frowned so hard Regan was sure she’d sprain her chin.

  Tattoo needles stopped buzzing as Regan turned her attention to the two men in front of her. The one with the needle in his hand looked as if he’s stepped off the screen of a Japanese Anime movie, his expression telling her he wasn’t easily fazed by raving red-headed females. The man he was in the process of inking, however, an older man who could well have challenged her father for his social security benefits, appeared more than a tad apprehensive as Regan’s indignation swirled around the room like an eagle with its talons out. The throbbing bass of down and dirty blues emanating from the stereo speakers hidden in walls painted in hues of gold and copper was just loud enough to set her teeth on edge.

  “Are you the owner?” Regan’s whiplash tone set the employee’s mouth to twitching. Thick strands of dark hair fell over his wide equally dark eyes as he shook his head.

  “No, ma’am.” He gestured toward the purple velvet curtain at the far end of the room and turned the needle on again. “Brodie’s in the back with—”

  “Thank you.” Regan stormed past the counter and the four stations that included black stretchers that resembled those found at any one of the dozen spas in town. Or so she’d seen on TV as she couldn’t remember the last time she’d stepped foot in anything remotely connected to a relaxed atmosphere. As it was she barely had time to deal with Maura’s latest ode to rebellion. Fridays were her biggest delivery days at the pub and she didn’t trust anyone else to sign for the crates of liquor that would be arriving at their back door. “Ah!” Regan spun around and caught Maura in mid-bolt. “Your butt better be in that chair when I come back out or you can kiss any hopes of drivers’ ed this year goodbye.”

  Maura huffed, her blade straight red hair falling around her shoulders like a protective curtain as she glared at Regan. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s my bod—”

  “The fact you don’t see is precisely the point. Plant it.” She aimed her finger at the chair.

  Maura glared at her, mascara thick lashes fanning sparking glass green eyes.

  “Now.”

  “Fine.” Maura flopped into the chair, crossed her long, jean encased legs, and looked anywhere but at her sister.
/>
  Keeping hold of the anger that had descended this morning when she’d walked in to the bathroom and found Maura attempting to treat the infection that had settled around the mediocre Celtic Knot tattoo on the base of her spine, Regan ripped open the curtain to MARKED’s back room. “I’m looking for someone named Brodie.”

  “You found him.”

  Whatever else Regan planned to say died on its way out of her mouth as she stared at the man perched on a miniscule stool, a tiny tea cup clasped between his right thumb and index finger. Amidst the shelves of supplies in the makeshift kitchen and break area, the industrial plastic child’s table in front of him was living up to its marketing promise of supporting the man’s significant build.

  Had Regan the time to think, she might have laughed as she took in the sight of him wedged into an explosion of pink and white lace, delicate plates filled with plastic pastries being poured a cup of invisible tea by a little girl who appeared as if she'd stepped out of the pages of a story book.

  As Brodie got to his feet, Regan stood her ground, tempted to tumble backwards as he turned dark hickory brown eyes on her.

  “Brodie Crawford.” He had a bad boy twinkle she was all too familiar with, but it was the humor shining on his face that turned her boiling temper to nothing more than steam. He held out his hand which she took automatically. “Welcome to MARKED. It’s, uh,” he chuckled. “It’s tea time.”

  “So I see.” Regan tugged free from his electric grasp and tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear. Men weren’t new to her. At twenty-eight, she ran the most successful sports pub in Lantano Valley and had raised her four younger brothers. Testosterone was as familiar to her as estrogen was to a runway model. An overabundance of testosterone, however, had never appealed to her. Then again, she hadn’t met Brodie Crawford before. Every dormant female hormone she possessed awakened with a shot.

  At an Amazonian five feet ten, Regan appreciated a man she could look up to and she found she enjoyed the added few seconds it took to meet the penetrating gaze of the man who came across as a hybrid biker/college professor. The contrast was both startling and intriguing as was his longish brown hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders and colorful inked images swirling over well-toned arms.