Sandcastles Under the Christmas Moon (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 9)

by McKeehan, Vickie

  Sydney spent the first day following Quentin’s advice. She loaded up her backpack and went downstairs to fill up her thermal travel mug with Jordan’s dark roast coffee.

  “Will you be back by dinnertime?” Jordan asked.

  “Probably. I don’t intend to go that far though.”

  “Just be careful once it gets dark.” Jordan grabbed a walkie-talkie out of the utility room. “Here, take this with you. We’ve found that sometimes guests need a little help getting back.” She smiled and held up a hand. “That’s not an insult on your capabilities as an explorer. But it doesn’t hurt to go prepared.”

  “That’s a cool idea. And no, I’m not insulted. I just want some fresh air and a chance to commune with nature to get my head on straight.”

  “Start with the cove then. There’s nothing better than that slow descent into paradise.”

  Sydney did just that. She began by taking a steep set of stairs down to the forty-foot stretch of beach below the bluffs. Treading near the scenic cove, she found a little sanctuary tucked under the rocky cliff. The outcrop of jutting rocks made for a spectacular waterfront. The scene took her breath away and rivaled resorts with much higher price tags. The area had a dock, sporting several dinghies tied up for the guests to use.

  Sydney studied the high tide, weighed whether she could row past the strong current and decided it wasn’t in her favor. She passed on the adventure.

  Reversing her direction, she climbed back up the steep stairs and started following the rim along the cliffs.

  She found a narrow slice of pathway drenched with fall leaves. She strolled past underbrush and wild twisted vines full of ripe blackberries. She stopped long enough to fill up a baggie with the fruit, munching on the goodies during her flight to find and enjoy nature.

  It didn’t take long. A field of Indian paintbrush caught her eye. Again, she dug out her camera phone. After getting plenty of angles she plopped down on a rock and took out her mug.

  Sipping the strong flavor of Colombian brew, she sat there inhaling the ocean air. It held just a hint of eucalyptus floating on the wind. This was exactly the reason she’d left St. Louis. As she took in the landscape around her, she wondered if there would ever be a time she could own a part of the countryside. Because this was a reason to get up in the morning.

  After her break, she came upon a field of wild sage and sweet-smelling rosemary growing tall and plentiful. On a whim she took a picture of it and texted it to Quentin.

  Seconds ticked by before he sent her a reply. Lucky you. I’m dealing with removing Mrs. Claypool’s mole. Hope you’re having a better time. Miss you.

  It made her smile. It also gave her hope. She reminded herself he wasn’t like the other jerks.

  She lingered in that field, watching the sun set until she had to force herself to head back.

  Since she’d missed having supper in the dining room with the Harris family, Jordan fixed her a roasted chicken sandwich on focaccia bread with homemade chutney prepared from rose hips and apples. It tasted like heaven.

  “I wish I knew how to fix tasty things like this. You’re a regular Rachael Ray.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” Jordan kept busy at the stove, putting water on for a cup of tea. “Do you mind if I sit with you while you eat? Nick’s putting the kids to bed, probably reading them Harry Potter for the twelfth time.”

  “Of course not. Take a seat. Listen to me, it’s your house.”

  Jordan smiled at that. “Sometimes I feel like everyone in town should stop by just to catch up on what’s going on, drop in for a visit. We’re a little more remote than everyone else, sitting out here on the perimeter while the rest see each other sometimes every day.”

  “You feel isolated out here?”

  “Not anymore, thank God, not since Nick came. But I never want to feel that isolated again. Not ever.”

  “You should come into town more often.”

  “I try to. But this B&B doesn’t run itself. Oh, I’m not complaining. I love my life. But sometimes my guests are the only thing I have that keeps me in the loop. Did you enjoy your hike?”

  “My legs can tell I went a lot farther than I’d planned. But yes, it was wonderful. You have such a beautiful setting here. From five miles in either direction, there’s nothing but scenic picture postcards.”

  Jordan smiled. “That’s what I love about it.”

  After finishing off the meal, Sydney floated up to her room with a full stomach. It was time for that long soak to relax her muscles. She ran the water in the claw-foot tub, adding a generous amount of bath oil. The fragrance smelled like a patch of gardenias at the height of summer. Jordan had left a pair of sage and sandalwood candles. She lit both and slipped into the bubbly froth.

  As her body began to relax, she thought of Quentin and dreamed about what his hands could do to alleviate her sore muscles. She leaned her head back and imagined him massaging her all over.

  As if she’d summoned Quentin into her tub, her phone dinged with a text.

  You are coming for Thanksgiving dinner, aren’t you? Everyone wants you here.

  That last line lifted her spirits ten feet high.

  In that case, how can I say no? I’ll be there.

  You just made my night.

  You just made mine.

  It went back and forth like that with silly texts for twenty minutes. The whole time her fingers and toes had turned into a prune-like mess. But after finally getting out of the tub, she slathered enough body lotion all over that her skin felt soft as velvet. No wrinkled skin here.

  She put on a pair of silky pajamas and opened the French doors. She crawled into bed feeling coddled and pampered and happy that she’d be spending Thanksgiving with Quentin.

  Her head hit the pillow to the sound of the waves outside. She let the constant surf lull her into a peaceful sleep.

  But around three a.m. something caused her to sit straight up in bed. Looking around the room, she squinted into the darkness to find the reason. But there was nothing to see. For twenty minutes, she tossed and turned and tried to get back to sleep.

  When she realized that was impossible, she got up and threw on a robe. With some reluctance, she went outside to check the balcony. But the veranda held no clues as to what had caused her to wake up. She peered over the railing and down into the courtyard below. She thought she caught a glimpse of someone walking around the maze of shrubs. But it was hard to tell in the dark from such a long distance away.

  That’s when it hit her. Even though she hadn’t gotten a good enough look at the figure, at least not enough of one to give a good description to anyone, she knew who it was.

  Annoyed at the intrusion, she didn’t intend to ignore his rudeness. Ghost or not, she decided to confront him. But she’d need a little caffeine boost to charge up her mad.

  Using the back staircase to get to the kitchen, she spotted the teakettle still sitting on the stove, and turned on the burner. She took down a cup from the cabinet. Now all she had to do was find where Jordan kept the instant coffee.

  But when she turned around she was startled to see Jordan standing in the doorway, watching her.

  “Instead of instant, why don’t I make a pot for the both of us?” Jordan offered with a smile. “Looks like we’ll be up a while.”

  Sydney whirled around to face her hostess. “I may not be fully awake yet but how do you put up with this all the time? How do you handle these invasions of your privacy? Don’t you get tired of all the sightings people report around town about seeing the man you were married to before Nick? It must be hard on you, even hard on Nick, that Scott won’t go away and leave you alone.”

  The smile left Jordan’s face. “My answer used to be fairly simple. You get used to it, or rather him. But to tell you the truth, sometimes it does get a little old. Like now, when he upsets a guest who was clearly sound asleep. But knowing this is his place, his home, his town, should be enough to alleviate your anger.”

  Sydney
dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. “But...he intrudes where he shouldn’t.”

  Jordan let out a sigh. “Maybe if you understand the significance of how Scott’s presence here helps, you won’t be so mad.”

  “You aren’t?”

  “No.”

  “And Nick isn’t either?”

  “Nope. And when our daughter, Hutton, periodically gets a glimpse of her father hanging around, she isn’t scared or upset either.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought of it like that. It’s more than Scott roaming the grounds, isn’t it? He’s here keeping an eye on his daughter.”

  “It’s difficult to explain. The short answer is yes. You see, today Hutton had a bad day at school. One of the kids, I think it was little Tara Albright, said something to hurt her feelings. When Hutton got home from school, she was crying. I suspected this would be one of the nights Scott came around to check on her. He often does that when something’s upset her. He rarely stays long enough to wake her up. But tonight, it seems he woke you up instead. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s…so…sweet. And so sad. And makes me feel like such an ass.”

  Jordan patted her hand. “No need. It was Nick who figured out that every time Hutton ran a fever or caught a cold or had a problem, Scott would hang around more than normal.”

  “Normal. Wow. Try to tell anyone else about Scott and they look at you like you’ve jumped out of an episode from Twilight Zone. Does Hutton always tell you when she’s seen Scott?”

  “So far.”

  “Do you worry that these ‘appearances’ will upset her…later?”

  “She swears to us that seeing her daddy has the opposite effect. She claims he’s her guardian angel. And she adores Nick so there’s no chance that she’s confused about the two of them.”

  “Wow, I wish I had a guardian angel.”

  “Oh honey,” Jordan began. “With Scott around we all have one.”

  Twenty-Two

  At Bradford House, Winona and Stone worked in the kitchen like two professional chefs who knew each other’s rhythm.

  Each time Quentin had opened the front door leading up to Thursday, he smelled cinnamon and cloves or some other exotic spice that lingered in the air. Pies began appearing on the sideboard—pumpkin, apple, and pecan. Cornbread dressing—enough to feed a small army—had been prepped and shoved into huge pans ready for baking when the time was right.

  By Thursday morning the house took on a busy but festive atmosphere. Winona insisted on music playing throughout the house. Since Charlotte preferred jazzy golden oldies, the songs ran from Dinah Washington and Brook Benton to Sam Cooke.

  Stone even had her dancing to Chuck Berry while handling the finishing touches for a variety of side dishes—cranberry salad and fluffy mashed potatoes. Winona refined her own version of creamed spinach and green bean casserole.

  Quentin directed Beckham to get out fancy China from a huge hutch. But when he spotted Buckley start to lift his leg near his masterpiece of a table, there was near panic. “Beckham, that pooch needs a potty break. Now!”

  “I’ll take care of it. Come on, Buckley, let’s go outside. Gram, want to walk with us?”

  Charlotte pushed out of her chair. “Get out in the sunshine? You bet I do. I’ve been cooped up too long.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Quentin saw Sydney standing on the wide veranda carrying a large serving dish. As soon as he opened the door she shoved it toward his belly.

  “My sweet potato casserole. I’ll need an oven to melt the marshmallows.”

  He leaned in, planted a kiss on her lips. “We can handle that. At least, I hope we can. The kitchen’s buzzing like Grand Central Station. I hope you aren’t having second thoughts about being here instead of with your sister.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Hayden will be too. She’s like an amateur sleuth, a Nancy Drew, poking and prodding into my life at every turn. I woke up this morning and asked myself why I’d want to spend the day answering a bunch of nosy questions about us.”

  “That sounds like she doesn’t approve.”

  “Don’t take it personally. It’s because I’ve spent years in the wrong relationships and she knows it. Look, I don’t want to talk about this and ruin everyone’s day. That isn’t fair to Beckham and Charlotte or to Stone and Winona.”

  “It isn’t fair to us either.”

  “There you go. Exactly my point.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  This time Andy and Faye arrived toting a plate filled with marshmallow treats. “You were right. I got a job out of the phone call with Zach,” Andy said with a smile. “He remembered my work before the broken arm. I start Monday.”

  “Congratulations,” Quentin said and shook the man’s hand. “Another reason we have to celebrate. And Beckham’s grandmother is having a good day.” He glanced toward Sydney. “Everyone’s under one roof. I’d say we have a lot to be grateful for.”

  Quentin got his first look at Faye, a brown-haired petite girl with huge brown eyes and a skittish nature. She stood in the entryway looking as though she’d have no problem taking off at the first sign of trouble. “Is Beckham here?”

  “He’s out back walking the dog. Go through the dining room and the kitchen and then out through the slider. Andy, why don’t you take a seat in the living room. Football game is on in there. Beer’s in the kitchen. Dinner should be in about an hour.”

  Outside Beckham and Charlotte had found a sunny place to sit under the pergola near a fragrant magnolia. As soon as he spotted Faye, he waved her over to where they were. “Hey, Faye. Meet my grandmother. And this is Buckley, my dog. Do you have a dog?”

  “No,” the girl said quietly. “But I have a land turtle that I found down at the dunes. He’d tried to build a nest under a rock but got washed out to sea one night during a storm. I decided to take him home with me so it wouldn’t happen again.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  Faye sent him a disbelieving look. “Of course he is. I didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re asking. I feed him leftovers from Isabella’s vegetable patch, the stuff that isn’t good enough for her to give away to people. He’s a herbivore so he eats lots of greens. There’s always a bunch of kale and endive lying around that hardly anybody ever wants. Isabella always lets me have the pitiful stuff that doesn’t quite measure up.”

  “How do you know it’s a male?”

  “Easy. His snout’s different, longer than a female’s. And then there’s the head. The male has a much smaller one. And the male’s claws are bigger, longer, and spiky. The tail’s different, too. You can come see him sometime if you want.”

  “Hmm. Okay. Sure. What’s his name?”

  “Oogway Putney. But I just call him Putney.”

  “Oogway, like from Kung Fu Panda?”

  “Yep. It’s Mandarin for tortoise, you know. And he seems to like eating bamboo shoots, although he doesn’t get them very often. Putney’s grown one whole inch since I found him last spring so I must be doing something right.”

  “Where do you keep him?”

  “My brother made a habitat for him from plans he found on the Internet. I’m thinking of adding another one so he won’t be alone. But if I get a female, she’ll lay eggs all over the sandbox and I’m not sure I can handle that just yet.”

  “But that’d be cool. You’d have a bunch of little baby turtles running around all over the place.”

  “If that happened, my brother would have a fit.”

  Overhearing the conversation, Charlotte smiled to herself. The girl was as socially awkward as her Beckham was. What they needed was a chance to get to know each other better. “I think I’ll go back inside and see if Winona could use a hand in the kitchen.”

  “Want me to help you, Gram?”

  “No, no. You stay here and talk to your friend. I’ll be fine.”

  As the day went on, the grandmothers, Winona and Charlotte, bonded over gardening tips and recipes.

  “That’s so
mething I truly miss,” Charlotte admitted. “Those days pulling up weeds from my patch of lettuce and chasing off the rabbits.”

  “We use chicken wire to keep out the furry critters and a fence dug down six inches below ground,” Stone tossed in. “Only reliable method that works.”

  “He’s right,” Winona agreed. “All those home remedies are a waste. Black pepper and bone meal won’t get the job done. And while we’re at it, you have to know that grandson of yours is a total delight.”

  “So is yours,” Charlotte returned, dragging a spoon through the skillet filled with simmering gravy.

  “Stone, help Charlotte with that pan. Help her pour the gravy into the serving dish. We’re almost ready to eat.”

  Chopin’s luminous melodies set the stage for dinner.

  Even though Sydney did her best to ignore the string of text messages from Hayden, the phone kept lighting up. One reason she’d turned the ringer off. She’d already made the mistake of admitting to her sister that she’d slept with Quentin. And Hayden had given her a tough time about it. That alone was reason enough to avoid her sibling for the rest of the day.

  “So how is your stay going at the B&B?” Winona asked. “Are you enjoying your vacation?”

  Sydney turned a dreamy eye toward Quentin. “Soothing. Your grandson did a good thing by giving me the week off. I didn’t realize I needed a break until it happened.”

  Winona patted her hand. “Quentin often does good things. He’s like his father that way. Like giving up his plans to live in the cannery. Imagine my surprise to learn about the new plans for the hospital.”

  “I thought you’d be upset about it,” Quentin admitted.

  “Why would I? I’ve been here three days. During that time Beckham and Charlotte have convinced me this town is sorely lacking in a medical treatment facility. I expect you to build the best one you can afford.”

  Quentin raised his glass of wine, waited for the adults to do the same. “Here’s to the Douglas Bradford Memorial Hospital.”