Love for All Seasons

by Stacy Henrie

  He lifted his thumb and rubbed it against her bottom lip. Her pulse sped up at his touch. “I don’t really want a marriage of convenience, Tempest,” he said, his tone somber. “I only suggested it because I thought you might prefer that.” A slow grin began at the corners of his mouth, the one she’d very much enjoyed kissing, and drove the solemnity from his handsome face. “But if you don’t want that . . .”

  A rush of happiness and love prompted her to edge closer so their knees were touching. “I’ll tell you want I want, Bram Wakeman.”

  “I’m listening,” he said with a light laugh.

  She gazed into his eyes and felt clarity for the first time since he’d come to town. “I thought I still wanted a store and my hard-earned freedom.” Tempest swallowed as she turned her gaze first to her mercantile and then to his. “But now I know what I want more than anything. It’s what the Lord knew I needed all along, what we needed. And it isn’t a marriage of convenience. We need a marriage of love.”

  Her face warmed with her boldness, but she didn’t regret saying what was on her mind. She might not be the owner of a store after tonight, but she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do than work alongside Bram in their store.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” He kissed the back of her knuckles, his lips lingering against her skin. “Together we’ll have the best mercantile in Idaho City.”

  She bent forward and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “I love you, Bram. I think I have since that moment you first walked into my store.”

  He smiled, setting her heartbeat thrumming all over again. “I rather like the idea of marrying a woman who brandishes a hammer like it’s a battle-axe.”

  “Is that a proposal then?” she teased.

  “No, but this is.” He went down on one knee in the ash and dirt. “Will you marry me, Tempest?”

  She didn’t hesitate with her answer. “Yes,” she said with enthusiasm.

  He drew closer for another kiss. Tempest closed the distance as well, then purposely paused a hairbreadth away. “Will you let me keep some of my organized chaos?”

  Bram pretended to think the question over before nodding. “If I can keep some of my alphabetizing methods.”

  “All right,” she said, adopting his thoughtful pose. “And will you try to tame the tempest out of me?”

  “Never.” His expression radiated tenderness. “‘I would not wish any companion in the world but you,’” he quoted softly.

  “Ah, The Tempest.”

  “No,” he corrected, “my Tempest.” And then he kissed her again as the songbirds began their early morning chorus.

  Summer

  “A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance”

  —Ecclesiastes 3:4

  A Summer for Love

  Chapter 1

  Bayocean, Oregon, August 1922

  Loralee Love clasped the ferry’s railing tightly between her gloved hands as she watched the sand and tree-dotted shoreline drawing ever closer. She was nearly there.

  “Is that where we’ll be staying all summer?” a young girl excitedly asked her mother from their spot along the rail at Loralee’s right.

  “Yes,” the mother answered, her voice full of equal delight. “That’s Bayocean.”

  Bayocean. The name itself had the power to conjure up so many memories for Loralee, both sweet and bitter. Even this far from shore, she could see the resort town had changed since she’d been here eight years ago. There were more buildings and houses, and the beach appeared narrower than she remembered. Perhaps the ferry captain had been right—the jealous sea was greedily eating away at the town.

  “Excuse me?”

  Pulling her gaze from the resort, Loralee glanced at the girl’s mother from beneath the wide brim of her hat. “Yes?”

  “Are you by chance . . .” Her cheeks flushed. “What I mean is you look a great deal like Miss Loralee Love, the singer.”

  “One and the same,” Loralee said with a genuine smile, swallowing a ping of disappointment. She may prefer watching the shoreline in solitude, but she wouldn’t turn down a chance to talk with someone who recognized her. Her career would never have soared as it had without the support of those who appreciated her singing.

  The girl slipped her hand into her mother’s, furthering the feeling of disquiet within Loralee, and stared up at her with wide eyes. “You’re pretty.”

  Keeping one hand on the railing, she crouched in her high-heeled shoes and drop-waist silk dress. She’d learned a long time ago the importance of looking someone in the eye, even if that someone was a child. The girl’s unruly red curls reminded Loralee of her own light blond ones as a child, though she kept her hair cropped short and close to her face these days. “Thank you. I think you’re quite lovely too.”

  The girl beamed. “Are you a real singer?”

  “I don’t always feel like one, but don’t tell my manager I said so.” The girl and her mother joined Loralee in a laugh. “Do you like singing?”

  The curly head shook vigorously. “I like playing the violin.”

  “Then you keep playing, young one,” Loralee said, rising to her feet. “And one day you just might be performing all over the world.”

  “Have you been all over the world?” the girl inquired.

  Loralee nodded, her gaze drifting back to the shore. “I’ve visited a great many places, but I felt like it was time to return to Bayocean.”

  “Are you from here then?” the mother asked.

  “No, not exactly.”

  Memories of living in the small, crowded cabin in central Oregon invaded Loralee’s thoughts—the barren land, the hungry cries of her younger siblings, the peace she’d found in singing and in God. The memories bled together before coalescing on the day, eight years ago, when she’d watched her entire family drive away from the Hotel Bayocean Annex without her. She’d stood on the steps, tears tracing her cheeks, while fear and loneliness ate at her from the inside.

  “This job is a good one,” her mother had said. “You’ll be paid a decent wage as a maid and have a house and food.” She squeezed Loralee’s hand, her fingers as cool as ice despite the sunny day. “It’s for the best, Loralee.”

  After a quick hug and a peck to Loralee’s cheek, her mother turned and climbed onto the wagon seat. Loralee’s siblings watched her as the wagon moved farther and farther away, their expressions ranging from confusion to indifference. Her mother didn’t look back once.

  Loralee hadn’t seen any member of her family since, though she’d tried for years to locate them, if only to send a portion of her earnings to help out. But they’d disappeared as quickly and completely as the scanty food of her childhood.

  Breathing through the pain, which thankfully hurt less and less as the years passed, Loralee forced her lips upward. “I spent a summer here in Bayocean, a long time ago, but it was a happy time.” Then her manager, Henry Love, heard her sing for the first time and had convinced her to come live with him and his wife—giving Loralee a home, a new last name, and a life as a professional singer.

  “Have you come back to perform?” The mother’s voice was as kind as it was curious.

  “Yes.” It was one of the reasons she was here and the easiest one to share with Henry and Susan. But she sensed their suspicion that there was more to this trip than performing in Bayocean for old times’ sake. Thankfully her adoptive parents hadn’t pressed her with questions and agreed to let her travel unaccompanied.

  After all, she wasn’t a novice anymore, in life or in singing. She was twenty-four years old and had sung to audiences in London, New York, Paris, and Amsterdam. She’d even joined a tour to lift the troops’ spirits in France during the war.

  “Looks like we’re docking.” The mother smiled down at her daughter, then lifted her gaze to Loralee’s once more. “It was very nice to meet you, Miss Love. We’ll be sure to come hear you sing.”

  “Thank you.” Loralee watched them walk away before hoist
ing her single piece of luggage, a large suitcase. Her heart knocked against her chest, faster and faster, as the shore loomed ahead. Was he here already? Would he come at all? Or had he found someone else to love during these intervening years?

  The unanswerable questions pestered her like swarming mosquitoes as she disembarked from the ferry and made her way toward the Hotel Bayocean—they’d dropped the “Annex” part from the name at some point. Each step forward increased her hope and trepidation.

  She’d thought of this reunion so many times during those first few years living with Henry and Susan. Then less and less as her singing career grew and she gained popularity with the public. But still, that long-ago promise she and Wyatt Noble had made remained with her always, like a treasured keepsake at the back of her mind, something to be pulled out every so often and lovingly reexamined.

  She’d searched for his face among the soldiers during her time in France, but she never saw him. There’d been one man who looked much like his brother-in-law, but Loralee couldn’t be certain. She had only met Wyatt’s sister and her husband once. By the time she finished singing, though, she’d worked up the courage to approach him. Only she’d been swarmed at the end of the performance, and when she’d finally had a moment alone, the man with a possible link to Wyatt had disappeared.

  Lost as she was in the past, she reached the hotel in no time. People bustled in and out of the main doors, their voices rising and falling in conversation. Loralee entered the busy lobby and wound her way through the throng to the front desk.

  “May I check in?” she asked the young desk clerk, who was busy scribbling into a logbook.

  “One moment.” His tone bordered on the impatient. Loralee set down her suitcase, her gaze sweeping the room. The place exuded more permanence than it had nearly a decade ago, though the automatic fire sprinklers were still an original, and innovative, feature. “Now . . .” The young man glanced up, but his bland expression changed to one of flustered surprise. “Miss Love? So sorry to keep you waiting. I do apologize. Welcome to the Hotel Bayocean.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If you’ll sign the register, please.” He spun his book around to face her and handed her his pen. Taking it in hand, she signed her name. The young man eyed her signature with a grin. “Such beautiful penmanship.”

  “May I have my key?”

  “Of course, of course.” He fumbled a few moments behind the counter. “Here it is.” He brandished the key. “Room twenty is ready and waiting, with a fresh bouquet of flowers, I might add.”

  It was Loralee’s turn to flush at his starry-eyed exuberance. What would he say if he knew that not so many years ago she’d also been an employee of this hotel? “I appreciate it, though it really wasn’t—”

  He continued on as if he feared she’d leave before he could finish his effusive speech. “As you can see, we hung the poster your manager mailed to us the other week.”

  He waved at the large drawing that depicted her in a long rose-colored gown, hands cupped near her heart, lips parted in song. It was Henry and Susan’s favorite portrait of her. But to Loralee, it was the picture of a different person. Someone far more confident and beautiful than the orphan girl she was inside. Only onstage did that girl and the poised singer become one.

  “We want all of our guests to know you’ll be performing here this weekend.”

  Loralee managed to return his smile, though hers felt suddenly tired and drooping. “Again, thank you. I believe I’ll head to my room now.”

  “Oh, yes. Your key.” He presented it as if it were a trophy. Loralee pressed her mouth over a chuckle. “If there’s anything you should require during your stay, please let us know.”

  She tipped the key at him. “I will.” Picking up her luggage, she started for the stairs, but a new thought made her turn back. “Actually, a friend of mine is coming . . .” She swallowed, tamping down the hope. “That is, he might be coming into town. Could you tell me if he’s already checked in?”

  The clerk nodded. “Certainly. What is the name?”

  “Wyatt Noble.” The words felt strange leaving her throat after holding them in silence for so many years.

  The young man’s eyebrows rose to his thinning hairline. “As in the owner of Noble Logging?”

  Wyatt is now the company’s owner? She felt a measure of pride at the news but also a twinge of sadness. Something must have happened to his formidable father to make Wyatt the owner of his family’s large and profitable logging business. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  A few seconds of silence passed as the clerk perused the list of hotel guests. At last he lifted his chin and shook his head. “No, it doesn’t appear that he has checked in yet. Shall I let you know when he arrives?”

  If he arrives. “No, that’s all right. I simply thought I’d check. Thank you again for your assistance.” She nearly asked if he knew whether Wyatt was married or not, but she didn’t wish to hear such news from a stranger.

  She turned away, willing back the unexpected press of tears. Wyatt’s absence at the moment didn’t mean he wasn’t coming at all. There was still an entire day to go until the date they’d agreed upon to meet would be here at last.

  Still time for their dreams from that long-ago summer to yet become reality.

  Chapter 2

  Bayocean, Oregon, Summer 1914: Eight years earlier

  Loralee smoothed her hand over the bed linens, eliminating any creases or wrinkles, and stood back to survey her handiwork. Satisfied, she dipped her head in a nod. While her days as a maid were nearly as tiring as the ones she’d spent on the homestead, at least now she was earning wages, had a non-leaky roof overhead, and plenty to eat at mealtimes.

  But even the measure of pride she felt in her position couldn’t completely eradicate the homesickness and loneliness that still crept over her, especially at night. Only then, in the dark of the bungalow she shared with two other maids, would she allow the tears to come unchecked as she thought of her parents and siblings. She missed them and she missed having a place to call home, even though life on the homestead had been difficult. She hadn’t made any real friends in Bayocean yet. And while the other members of the hotel staff treated her kindly, the wealthy patrons ignored her.

  “You are invisible to them,” the hotel manager had instructed her on her first day. “Keep your gaze down and avoid conversation with the guests unless you’re directly asked a question.”

  She’d followed his counsel thus far and it had served her well. Although she couldn’t help wondering at times why money, or the lack thereof, meant one person was “seen” and another merely faded into the background. Wasn’t God the Father of each of them, regardless of wealth, position, or birthplace? At least that was something no one could take from her. She often reminded herself of that after a long day of picking up after people who viewed her in such a lowly light.

  After gathering up the bundle of towels and clean linens to deliver to the next room, Loralee slipped out the door—only to crash into a firm chest clad in a damp bathing shirt. A hand clasped her elbow to keep her from joining the towels and sheets that had spilled onto the carpet.

  “Sorry about that. Didn’t know anyone was in the room. Are you all right?”

  Loralee didn’t look at his face as she nodded and dropped to her knees to pick up the mess. If she moved quickly, perhaps she wouldn’t have to take everything back down to the hotel laundry to be cleaned again and risk getting in trouble.

  “Here you go.” He knelt beside her and passed her a folded sheet. “Thankfully it doesn’t look spoiled from my mishap.”

  As she accepted the sheet, she couldn’t resist glancing at him. He’d clearly come from the beach or the pool inside the natatorium, his towel draped casually around his neck. He was handsome and at least a few years older than her. And not only was he helping, he’d taken responsibility for the collision.

  “Th-thank you,” she managed to stammer out.

  His light brown hair
stuck up in tufts here and there, though not unattractively so, and appeared to still be wet at the ends from swimming. His skin was tanned a golden brown and his eyes were the color of coffee.

  But it was his smile, when he trained it on her, that robbed her of breath, more than colliding with him had. “You’re welcome.”

  Loralee sucked in a gulp of air. She wasn’t supposed to be conversing with the hotel guests, let alone staring openly. “I appreciate the help, but I can manage now.” Balancing the bundle once again, she slowly rose to her feet. She’d inspect the linens for dust or dirt inside the next room, away from his open gaze.

  “Are you certain? I smacked you pretty hard. You aren’t seeing stars or anything, are you?” He bent to study her eyes, an expression of mock seriousness on his face.

  She tried to hold back her chuckle, but it escaped her lips. “I’m fine, truly. I apologize for not seeing you.” She moved past him, but he matched her steps.

  “I likely put you behind schedule, though. Which isn’t easily forgivable.” His brow furrowed a bit. “Believe me, I know.”

  Loralee allowed herself a full laugh now. Nice as he was, what did this rich young man know of schedules, especially in a place like Bayocean, where life was all about leisure, at least for the guests? “I’ll make it up on this next room.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’ve just been insulted?” His tone sounded more amused than annoyed.

  Turning to face him, the next room’s door at her back, she shook her head. “Not at all. We all have work to do in this life. Some of us just get more hours off than others.”

  “And when are your hours off?”

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Why wasn’t he leaving or ignoring her? “Not until five o’clock this evening.”

  “Then what do you say to my making things up to you”—he held the ends of the towel around his neck—“by taking you to dinner in the hotel dining room?”