The Angel Island Titles
THE INN AT ANGEL ISLAND
THE WEDDING PROMISE
A WANDERING HEART
THE WAY HOME
HARBOR OF THE HEART
The Cape Light Titles
CAPE LIGHT
HOME SONG
A GATHERING PLACE
A NEW LEAF
A CHRISTMAS PROMISE
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
A CHRISTMAS TO REMEMBER
A CHRISTMAS VISITOR
A CHRISTMAS STAR
A WISH FOR CHRISTMAS
ON CHRISTMAS EVE
CHRISTMAS TREASURES
A SEASON OF ANGELS
SONGS OF CHRISTMAS
Thomas Kinkade’s Angel Island
Harbor of the Heart
KATHERINE SPENCER
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Copyright © 2014 by The Thomas Kinkade Company and Parachute Publishing, LLC.
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-60661-2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Spencer, Katherine, (date –)
Thomas Kinkade’s Angel Island : harbor of the heart / Katherine Spencer.—First edition.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-425-26428-7 (hardback)
1. Physicians—Fiction. 2. Man-woman relationships—Fiction. I. Title. II. Title: Angel Island. III. Title: Harbor of the heart.
PS3553.A489115T57 2014
813'.54—dc23
2013047388
FIRST EDITION: April 2014
Cover image: Morro Bay at Sunset by Thomas Kinkade; copyright © 2005 Thomas Kinkade.
Cover design by Lesley Worrell.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
Version_1
Contents
Also by Katherine Spencer
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Recipes
This book is dedicated to Abby, our beautiful chocolate Lab mix who was the inspiration for Edison, the canine character in this story. Just like Edison, Abby spent her life as the dedicated assistant to a somewhat harried, distracted inventor . . . me. If I was in my office, Abby was there, too, no matter how late the hour. Her silent, steadfast presence was a constant source of reassurance and encouragement. We wrote more than thirty books together and this was the last one we worked on. She stuck with it until the story was done. I will miss our talks and her good advice, the way she shadowed my steps and brightened the day with her smile. (Yes, dogs can smile. Never doubt it.) But the most amazing thing about Abby was that she made each member of our family feel that they were her “favorite.” We will always be grateful for loving and being loved by such an extraordinary dog.
—K. S.
Chapter One
“THAT’S the last of the laundry. We can make the rooms up later. Or even tomorrow. There aren’t any guests due until Friday.” Liza set a basket of clean towels on a chair, then sat at the kitchen table to check her laptop.
“Oh, you never know,” Claire said. “If the rooms are ready, an unexpected guest or two might arrive to fill them.” She stood at the sink, cleaning up the breakfast dishes, and glanced at Liza over her shoulder.
As usual, Liza couldn’t quite tell if her dear friend and right hand was serious or gently teasing. As usual, it seemed a mixture of both.
It was a Tuesday morning at the very end of June. The last of their weekend guests had just departed, and the inn was quiet again. It was always like this at the start of the summer, an ebb and flow of visitors and activity, with most of the action crowded into long weekends. Until the Fourth of July, when every room was filled. It would stay that way until the end of August. Labor Day weekend marked the last of the big rushes that swept in and out like the ocean tide. The inn grew quiet in September and quieter still in the cold, snowy months, though Liza and Claire entertained hardy winter weekenders and families gathering for the holidays. At least, this was the way the years had played out since Liza had inherited the Inn at Angel Island three years ago. It was hard to believe this was the third summer she would be running the inn. Time had passed so quickly, and every season brought surprises, and challenges, too.
“If you make the beds, guests will come—interesting theory.” Liza looked up and smiled. “I never noticed that tip in my innkeeper’s survival guide. I’m just happy to have a day off. I might take a walk on the beach or drive up to Newburyport. And I have a ton of e-mail to answer,” she added, staring at the full inbox on her screen.
“I vote for the beach,” Claire replied quickly. “You rarely set foot on the shore. And living only steps away from it, you should make time for a walk on the beach every day. Starting this morning,” Claire advised decisively.
Liza doubted she would have time for a walk every day once the inn grew busier, though it was a lovely goal. “Good idea. But I’ll feel better doing a little work first and saving the beach for my reward.”
“I think you ought to go down now. The air feels heavy to me. There’s rain on the way.” Claire nodded to herself as she dried a heavy skillet with a dish towel.
Liza hadn’t heard any official predictions for wet weather, but Claire’s forecasts were practically infallible. If Claire said the air “felt heavy,” Liza had no doubt a drop or two would fall before the day was over.
“Okay, you’ve convinced me.” Liza shut down the computer and grabbed a sweatshirt off the chair. Even if it didn’t rain, it was a chilly, breezy morning, and the beach would be even cooler. “I won’t be long. If Daniel comes, tell him to check the bottom step on the side porch. A b
oard is loose. And I finished that list of repairs he wanted. Please tell him not to leave until I get back?”
“I doubt he’d do that,” Claire said with a knowing smile. “But I will get him started on the step.”
Liza waved briefly and left the inn through the back door. She knew this information would be relayed without fail, but not until Daniel had been served coffee and some home-baked treat. Claire had made banana nut muffins that morning for the guests and had doubtless saved a few for her favorite handyman.
Daniel was the inn’s go-to Mr. Fix-It for just about any ill or crisis that struck the old building. Though even from the first, he had been so much more. Liza often joked that she inherited him along with the property, since he had worked for her aunt as well. They met the morning after she arrived from Boston, armed with a plan to clean up the inn and turn a quick sale. Daniel helped her see the potential in the magnificent old building . . . and the possibilities of life on this remote but beautiful island. Liza had not stayed on Angel Island because of Daniel but, looking back, she knew their attraction and budding romance had definitely swayed her.
As they grew closer and the first spark grew into a true and steady love, Liza realized there were really no words to describe her feelings for him. Their relationship was an unexpected gift and a glorious blessing—a precious part of life she had never expected to find and now couldn’t imagine living without.
Claire had known Daniel even longer; they were good friends. He dropped by nearly every day, whether there were repairs to attend to or not. His visits were a cheerful break in Liza’s routine, especially in the thick of tourist season, and often the only time the couple could spend together for days at a stretch.
Liza walked down the gravel drive then strolled across the wide lawn in front of the inn, heading toward the wide, open view of the ocean. The salty sea breeze was bracing, but she found the air heavy, as Claire had said.
She crossed the road in front of the inn, heading for the steps that led down to the beach. She stood at the top a moment, taking in the spectacular view of the wide sky and ocean. The water was a deep blue-green color that also foretold a storm brewing. A stiff breeze rushed banks of clouds across the horizon and stirred up whitecaps on the waves.
She came down the long flight of wooden steps, feeling the wind push against her body. It was hardly ideal weather for a walk, and she wondered if she should turn back and take up Plan B: answer e-mail and drive to Newburyport. But the last few steps were in sight. She soon reached the bottom and kicked off her shoes to walk the shoreline barefoot.
The sweatshirt had been a good idea. Liza pulled it on and zipped it up to her chin as she began walking. This outing would not last very long, she quickly realized. But it felt good to get some air and feel the wind whip through her long hair.
The sea was so changeable; it had so many moods and personalities. Sometimes it was smooth as glass, with waves that rolled in as gently as a mother rocking a baby’s cradle. Other days, like today, the waves were fierce and wild, crashing to the shore like miniature explosions, foam and spray flying in all directions.
Liza followed the lacy edge of white foam on the shoreline, feeling a cold sting on her bare skin. She loved the sound of the ocean’s hollow roar and the feeling of the tide sucking the sand beneath her feet.
The shoreline stretched ahead; the gentle curve that ended at a rocky jetty was completely empty this morning. Not even a loyal jogger or surf caster in sight. The ocean was empty, too, except for a bold white sailboat.
A sleek boat, white with blue trim. Liza guessed it was over thirty feet long. Still, the water was so rough, it bounced out on the waves. Did the mainsail come down . . . or had it fallen down? It was hanging slack, the lines tangled, and she guessed the sailor had hastily decided to motor in to shore. That would be the wise choice. Even in the few minutes since she had come down the steps, the sky had grown darker, clouds massing low and gray over the water. Thick, slate-colored clouds now covered the sun, and the air grew much cooler.
Liza marched on, hands dug into her sweatshirt pockets. She rarely had a chance to spend any time on the beach and was determined to stick it out. It didn’t have to be a perfectly clear sunny day for a person to have a good walk along the shore . . . even if most of her guests thought it did.
As if responding to her thoughts, a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. A fat, cold drop of rain struck her cheek. Then another.
Liza stopped in her tracks and laughed. “Okay, I get the point,” she said out loud to the ocean. “I give up . . . I’m going back.”
Maybe I’ll come back later, around sunset. It should clear off by then. Maybe Daniel will come with me, Liza consoled herself as she turned back toward the inn.
She brushed some damp strands of hair away from her face and looked out at the horizon, wondering if she would see lightning. The wind had picked up more; the ocean was rocking, dark and angry.
She watched waves peak to breathless heights, then curl and crash, like walls of water crumbling before her eyes. Liza was mesmerized by the sight. She suddenly noticed the white boat again. Her heartbeat quickened. The vessel had made little progress toward the shore. It seemed stuck out in the choppy, wild water, and now it seemed the main mast had cracked, hanging like a broken toothpick, canvas and lines crumpled on the deck.
With her hands cupped around her eyes, Liza could just make out the figure of a man clinging to one side of the deck as the boat was tossed up and down, and tilted dangerously to one side and then the other, as if it had lost all direction and balance. Perhaps the motor had failed or the rudder had broken off?
The man was in big trouble, no question. Liza ran down the beach and waved. She wanted him to know someone had spotted the boat and would get help. But she didn’t know what to do . . .
There was a skiff at the bottom of the wooden steps, but even if she could move it into the water on her own, she could never row out through the waves and rescue him. She pulled out her phone and dialed the inn. Claire answered on the second ring, and Liza took a deep breath.
“There’s a boat on the water that’s in terrible trouble. A sailboat. I can see a man on board. I think it might capsize any second—”
“Good heavens. Keep your eye on him,” Claire said quickly. “I’ll get Daniel. We’ll be right there.”
Claire hung up and Liza stashed the phone in her pocket. It was raining steadily now, and the drops got in her eyes as she stared out at the sea. She pulled up her hood without taking her eyes off the white boat.
Sucked into the curl of a huge wave, the boat was suddenly hidden from view. Liza held her breath, trying desperately to spot it again as the wave rose and fell. She squinted, looking for the man’s orange life jacket and praying he hadn’t been washed overboard.
Please God . . . where did it go? He hasn’t sunk completely, has he?
Then she saw it, a flash of orange balanced on another rising peak and then tossed down again, like a toy in a bathtub.
That poor man. He was still close to the boat, she realized. He must have been clinging on for dear life. Or maybe he had tied himself to the boat, as some sailors did in rough weather, though that practice could be just as dangerous as falling overboard.
It seemed an eternity as she waited for help. Finally, she heard footsteps running down the stairs. Daniel came first, racing toward her across the wet sand. He wore a yellow slicker and carried binoculars.
“Where is he? Can you still see him?”
Liza pointed, shouting into the wind. “He’s still afloat. Or at least the boat is. About eleven o’clock from where I’m standing. I saw him in the water a little while ago, but I think he may have pulled himself back on board. He’s wearing an orange life jacket.”
Daniel was already checking the waves through the binoculars. “I see it. I see the man and . . . someone else. Or maybe that’s just a
nother life jacket? No . . . there’s someone with him—a child, maybe?”
“A child? Oh no, that’s awful!” Liza’s heart sank. A child out in that boat? She sent up a desperate plea for God’s help.
“Help me get the skiff in the water,” Daniel shouted. “Claire called the Coast Guard, but they won’t get here in time.”
Liza ran to the boat rack right behind Daniel. He already had the skiff off the rack and was dragging it toward the shore. Claire came down the steps and met them. She helped Liza pick up the far end of the boat, and they stumbled over the sand to the shore and then into the water, until they were almost hip deep.
“Hold the boat steady while I get in.” Daniel had already tugged on an orange life jacket and grabbed one of the oars. He handed Liza the binoculars before jumping in.
Claire and Liza held on to the back of the light boat while the surf swirled around them, trying to claim the vessel before Daniel could settle himself.
“Give him a good push,” Claire shouted as Daniel started rowing. The women turned the boat toward the waves and bore down, pushing him forward. Daniel rowed with swift, strong strokes, miraculously cutting through the water. The skiff rose up and over the crashing surf and headed out to the flailing sailboat, straight as an arrow sent toward its mark.
Liza gripped Claire’s arm as they made their way out of the rushing waters and onto the sand again. She suddenly needed both the physical and emotional support.
“Don’t worry. Daniel knows what he’s doing. He’ll be okay,” Claire said quietly, as if in answer to Liza’s unspoken worries.
Liza had felt relieved at the sight of Daniel rushing to the rescue of the sailor, but now feared for his safety, too. How many stories had she heard about people who tried to help drowning victims, only to be pulled under and lost as well?
Don’t think about that now, Liza told herself. We have to help that man . . . and the child. There was no question about it.
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