My mother’s cheeks went pink, and I wanted to roll my eyes again. Apparently Ryland’s ability to charm Donavan women knew no generational bounds.
“Please, call me Brooke. I have to say, my daughter didn’t do you justice.”
Ryland’s eyes flew to mine, questioning, but if my mother noticed, she didn’t give any indication as she went on.
“She said you’re the best in the field and have enormous talent, but this . . .” Mom spread her hands to encompass all of the hotel. “I saw the before pictures. You’ve worked a miracle.”
Ryland chuckled. “Not done yet, but thanks. I think she’s going to be absolutely gorgeous.” I knew he was talking about the Riverside, but his gaze hadn’t left my face. It felt as though I could feel it against my skin, like a physical caress.
“Will you show me around? Both of you?” Mom reached to take my hand. “I want to see it all.”
And see it all she did. Sometimes I forgot how astute my mother was about—well, about everything. She’d been eighteen and studying interior design when she met my father, who’d just bought his first hotel. He hired her on the cheap, married her two months later, and together the two of them had built the Donavan Hotel brand. Even after their divorce, he still consulted with her on some aspects of design, although she no longer had any formal standing in the company. And she’d met Geoffrey when he’d hired her to handle the interior of new winery buildings.
We ran into Linc in one of the spa rooms. He and my mother immediately struck up a conversation about what we were doing in the buildings formerly known as the stables. The two of them were so absorbed that Ryland drifted into the hallway, motioning for me to follow.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I had no idea she was coming today. It was a surprise.”
He took my hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “Don’t be sorry. Your mom is pretty terrific, and I’m glad I got to meet her.” His eyes drifted down me, taking in the short-sleeved fitted shirt and coordinating skirt. “You’re beautiful every day, but damn, Abby. Those skirts. Are you trying to kill me?”
I pressed my back against the wall. “If my mother and Linc weren’t in the other room, what would you be doing right now?”
Ryland growled low, just under his breath, and when he spoke, it was so quiet I had to strain to hear him. “I’d have my body up against yours, and those perfect tits in my hands. I’d be ravishing your lips, kissing you until you had to beg me for your next breath. And I’d be grinding my—”
“Well, this has been just wonderful.” My mother’s voice rang out from within, and I heard the click of her heels approaching. “Abby? Are you out here?” She poked her head around the edge of the door. “Oh, there you are. I’m sorry, were Lincoln and I boring you two? I’m sure you’re tired of hearing the same old stuff over and over.”
I cleared my throat, hoping she couldn’t hear the pounding of my heart or feel the need pulsing off my body. I didn’t dare look at Ryland, for fear I’d just go up in flames right then and there.
“Um, no, not bored. I just needed to go over a few things for today with Mr. Kent.” I deliberately used the name that I knew drove him wild, and as I said it, I toyed with the hem of my skirt, hoping he was watching. “Are you ready, Mom? If your flight leaves from Orlando at three, you probably need to get back down to the airport.”
“Sadly, that’s true. But now that I’ve been here and seen the Riverside, I’m afraid you won’t be able to keep me away. I’ll have to bring Geoffrey out for a weekend once it’s open.” She beamed at me. “I can see your hand all over this place, Abby. You—and these gentlemen, of course—have done this old hotel proud.”
I felt a surge of gladness at her affirmation. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted my mother to approve of my life now—of my work, of where I lived. It was more important than I’d known.
After she’d hugged both Linc and Ryland good-bye—yes, my mother was a hugger, although clearly that gene had skipped me in the generational gambit—we walked back up the path to my car. I’d just turned the key in the ignition when she laid a hand on my arm.
“Abby, I was serious when I said I’m proud of you.” She hesitated for a beat, and I sensed she was trying to find the right words. “After Boston, I felt so helpless. There wasn’t anything I could do to make it better, to help you. So when the information about the bed and breakfast fell into my lap, I’m afraid I acted impulsively, and afterwards, I wondered if I’d done the right thing or if I’d been motivated by a subconscious, selfish desire to get you away from Colin.”
My head spun, and I frowned, trying to follow the lines of what my mother was saying. “Wait a minute. You knew—how did you know about Boston?”
Mom’s forehead drew together. “Well, first I heard about it from Jana, and then again from Corrine. Did you think they wouldn’t mention it to me?”
I bit down on my bottom lip, trying to make sense of her words. “Daddy’s secretary Jana? And Auntie Corrine? I didn’t even know you were in touch with either of them.”
“Abby.” There was more than subtle reproach in my mother’s voice. “Did you really think I’d let my daughter go off with a man like Colin—yes, even if he is your father—without having a plan in place to watch over things? Jana’s been keeping her eye on you for years. Since I left, in San Francisco. And Corrine and I have always been friends. I’m grateful you have someone like her in your life, if it can’t be me.”
Tears rose in my eyes, and I couldn’t stop them from rolling down my face. “I didn’t think you wanted me. After—after what I did. Staying with Daddy. The way I treated you.”
“Abby. Baby.” She cupped my cheek in her hand. “I never blamed you for that. You were a child, and you made that decision based on information you had and loyalty to your father, neither of which was your fault. I was hurt, and I was sad, but I was never angry. And I hoped, once you were older and could see things a little more clearly, that we might . . . mend fences. Be close again.”
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. “After I found out about what Daddy was really doing, I was too ashamed to go back to you. And by then you had Geoffrey, and you and Jess were making a new life with him. It felt like that didn’t include me.”
“There was always room for you, Abby. You just had to claim it.” Mom sighed. “You have a double dose of the stubborn, you know, from both me and your dad. It took me years of misery before I left him—not because I was afraid or still so in love with him, but because of my pride. Everyone had told me I was fool for marrying this brash kid when I was only eighteen, and I wanted to prove them wrong. That’s why I stayed so long. And then one day I realized all I had was pride—and you girls. The pride was cold company, and the last thing I wanted you both to have as your example of married life was what I had with your father. That’s why I finally left.”
“And that’s why I didn’t tell you about Boston.” I wiped at my cheeks. “I’d made the choice to stay with Daddy, to work for him, and I wanted to prove that I could make a go of it.” I paused as some of my mother’s words filtered into my brain. “You said something about information on the bed and breakfast falling into your lap—what does that mean? Did you have something to do with me getting the job at the Hawthorne House?”
A slightly guilty expression crept over Mom’s face. “I thought you knew. Yes, the woman who runs the B&B down the road from us in Napa—I think you’ve met her—had been out here on vacation, and she mentioned that she’d been talking to people in Crystal Cove who were going to open their own place. She said they were looking for a reliable manager, and since she’s in the business, she was trying to help them out. I’d just heard about everything that happened to you in Boston, so I made the call. I talked to a man who said his business partner had recently passed away, and he and the man’s widow were going ahead with plans to open the B&B. I said that I knew of a very responsible, reliable manager who was currently looking for a new opportunity, and I gave him your name and email.�
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It all made sense now. I’d thought ending up in the Cove had been a fluke, just something that had happened to me. But all the time, my mother had been keeping an eye on me. I wondered if I should resent that fact, but I didn’t. Instead, I felt . . . loved. Cherished, in a way I hadn’t experienced for a very long time.
“I wondered if interfering was a mistake, but it seems as though you’re happy here.” She twisted the strap of her purse between her fingers, and I realized she was nervous.
“I am, Mom.” I covered her fidgeting fingers with my own hand, stilling the movement. “The Cove is home. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. I’m happier here than I’ve ever been. So thank you. I never guessed you were the reason I’m here, but I’m grateful. I have a job I love, good friends and a brand new hotel to live in, eventually.”
“And Ryland?” A note of wiliness crept into my mother’s tone. “He’s making you happy, too?”
I blew out a breath. “How did you figure that out?”
She laughed. “Because I’m your mother. And he looks at you like you’re the dessert in four-course meal. Like you’re the most incredible person he’s ever met.” She nudged me. “Which of course you are. But you didn’t answer me. Does he make you happy?”
I struggled to put what I felt for Ryland into words. Words that were suitable for my mother’s ears, that is. “It’s new between us. We clashed from the minute we met, we fought and we argued . . . until we didn’t. But I think . . . I think it’s good. He makes me feel beautiful and special—and I can trust him. I can be Abby with him, not just Abigail Donavan.”
“I’m so glad for you, honey.” My mother sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “If that’s the case, if this man makes you glow like I’ve seen—hold onto him. Don’t let stubbornness or pride get in the way. The chance for happiness doesn’t come strolling down the road every day. When it does, you have to grab it before it passes you by.”
I grinned. “I think I might do just that.”
“ALL THE PAINT SHOULD BE delivered by the middle of next week, and we’ll have the main building finished in about ten, eleven days. Two weeks, tops.”
I leaned into the railing on the porch, looking over the lawn. “Landscaping is set to get underway about that time, too.”
“Yep. We’re officially on the homestretch now.” Linc stood, twisting his upper body as he groaned. “Isn’t this about the time you take off to find the next one?”
I’d known this was coming. I shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “Nothing on the horizon yet. We’re rolling into the slow time of year, so it’s not surprising. And you know how I feel about this project. I’m sticking with it to the end.”
“How you feel about this project, or how you feel about the lady boss?” Linc smirked. “The one whose bones you were about to jump this afternoon while I was chatting up her mom? We walked out and it felt like I was swimming in—what’s the stuff that attracts us to other people? The crap we smell, but we don’t know we’re smelling it? Oh, yeah, pheromones. It was thick, man. You going to get busy with her, or just keep stringing each other along?”
I gritted my teeth. “We’re just taking things slow, Linc. It’s not always about the wham and the bam, you know. Sometimes a little lead-up time makes everything . . . better.”
He held up his hands. “Preaching to the choir, buddy. You didn’t know me then, but when Sylvia and I first got together, she kept me on the hooks for months.” He smiled a little, remembering, and I realized it was the first time he’d talked about her without the look of pain I’d gotten used to seeing whenever her name came up. If this was a sign of healing, I was glad.
“Then why’re you yanking my chain about Abby?” I rested my hands on my hips.
“Because it’s never been your style. You’re usually all about the in and out, excuse my imagery.” He winked. “I’ve never known you to play along with the hard-to-get game.”
“Maybe no other girl’s ever been worth playing.” My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out of my pocket. When I saw the text was from Abby, I felt the sappy smile curl up my lips.
Are you free tonight? It’s my turn to take you on a date.
Anticipation sizzled through me. I hadn’t been lying to Linc—or to myself—about my slow build-up, but damn, I was ready to move to the next level. Primed and ready.
Sounds like an offer I don’t want to refuse. Where and when, sexy?
“Hey, you listening to me?” Linc’s voice intruded on my happy place. “Or are you going to stand there mooning over whatever the lady boss just told you?”
“Uhh, did you say something?”
Linc released a sigh of exasperation. “Yeah, I did. I said, you’re wrong about there not being any jobs in the pipe. I got a call about a gig in St. Louis.”
“Uh huh.” The phone buzzed again. I couldn’t not look.
Tonight. Seven o’clock. Meet me on the beach in front of the Tide. Comfortable clothes.
I raised my eyebrows. The beach, huh? That sounded intriguing. Evenings were getting a little chilly this time of year, but nothing a sweatshirt wouldn’t solve. Before I could type an answer, she sent a follow-up text.
Oh, and Ryland? Tell Linc you won’t be home tonight.
Hot damn. Tonight was the night, and God, I was so onboard with that, it was ridiculous.
“Of course, usually St. Louis in December would be a little tricky, but apparently this is a unique situation. It’s all interior work they need. Some other company did all the structural stuff, everything on the outside, before they went bankrupt. The owners are in a panic, needing someone to come in and finish up the inside.” Linc crossed his arms over his chest. “Sounds like something just up your alley, huh?”
I couldn’t think about this right now. The idea of leaving the Cove made my stomach clench, and I wasn’t stupid; I knew it wasn’t the job or the weather. It was Abby. It blew my mind that the woman who’d irritated the living hell out of me had become one of the most important people in my life—and we hadn’t even slept together yet.
“I’ll think about it.” It was the most I could give Linc at this point. “We’ll talk later, okay? Right now . . . I’m going home to grab a shower. I’ve got a date tonight. Oh, and Linc, buddy?” I grinned at him as I jumped from the porch to the ground. “Don’t wait up.”
The sun was just beginning to set when I parked my truck in the empty lot next to the Riptide and headed down the path that led to the beach. During the week, the Tide closed at five, and everything was quiet. I could hear the pounding of the surf against the sand as I came up over the dunes.
Just beyond the small hills, Abby sat on a blanket. Her back was to me, and her jet black hair blew in the cool wind. She was leaning on her arms with her legs out in front, facing the waves. A square wicker basket was next to her, and I spotted a bottle of wine, too.
Whether she heard my footsteps or just sensed me, I didn’t know, but she turned, her big green eyes seeking me out. A long-sleeved cotton shirt clung to her chest, reminding me of the small firm breasts beneath, and a long skirt was tucked under her legs. When I caught the expression on her face, the warm gladness at seeing me and the promise of what was to come, I couldn’t get to her fast enough.
She sat waiting for me, tracking my approach. I dropped onto the blanket next to her, my hip bumping up against hers.
“Hi.”
It was lame, but it was all I could manage. Somehow seeing her here, perfect and beautiful and so god-damned desirable, had robbed me of any coherent thought.
“Hi, Ryland.” She turned then, shifting toward me as she curled her legs under the cloth of her skirt, wrapping it around her feet. “I’m glad you’re here.” She lifted up just a little, leaning into me as she touched her lips to mine. It was a light kiss, gentle and tentative, but it broke something inside me. I held her face, deepening the connection and pouring into her all the want and all the need churning within me. When I released her, it was only to lean my forehead in
to hers.
“There’s no place else in the world I’d rather be.”
She smiled, sitting back. “I have food, too.” Opening the basket, she glanced at me over her shoulder. “Not Chinese food, but I think you’ll like it.” Pulling out several different wrapped packets, she began to peel back the foil. “Fried chicken. Potato salad. Biscuits.” She reached back into the hamper and brought out two glasses. “And a really excellent Pinot Grigio I liberated from behind the bar at the Tide.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Why, Abigail Donavan, did you steal this wine?”
She laughed. “Not really. I got permission from Jude, and I left a note for it to go on my tab.”
“Damn. Here I thought I’d really corrupted you.”
She tilted her head. “Not yet. Give it time.”
Oh, baby.
Abby made us each a plate, and I virtually inhaled the food. “God, Abby, this is delicious. Did you make it?”
She smiled. “I did. After Mom left today, I took the rest of the afternoon off, went shopping for all the ingredients, and started cooking.” She wiped her lips with a napkin. “My kitchen was too small, so I sweet-talked Jude into letting me use the one in the Tide. It’s so much easier to make fried chicken in a deep fryer.”
“I wouldn’t know from personal experience, but if this is the result, yeah, I’d have to agree. It’s amazing. And I’ve never tasted biscuits so good. Where’d you learn to cook, Abby?”
She leaned against me, the warmth of her body seeping into my bones. “Lots of places. I made my first fried chicken and biscuits when we lived at the hotel in Atlanta. The head cook there was very patient with me. The potato salad I picked up in Indianapolis. One of the sous chefs had been in the army, and he used to make this stuff by the gallon.”
“So living all over the country had some benefits, huh?” I snagged another drumstick and bit into it.
“Oh, I always loved it. I used to be so excited when we were about to close the deal on a new property in a new city.” She lifted one shoulder. “Until I got older. And then it got a little wearying.”
The Path Page 15
