A staycation turns out to be anything but boring in this acclaimed tale from New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods.
There’s no place like home. At least, that’s what San Francisco paralegal Karyn Chambers kept telling herself when her first vacation in years was ruined. Then she met dangerously handsome auto racer Brad Willis, who proved to her that happiness—and love—are often found in your own backyard!
Originally published in the 2010 Summer Brides anthology.
Sherryl Woods Booklist
The Sweet Magnolias
Stealing Home
A Slice of Heaven
Feels Like Family
Welcome to Serenity
Home in Carolina
Sweet Tea at Sunrise
Honeysuckle Summer
Midnight Promises
Catching Fireflies
Where Azaleas Bloom
Swan Point
Chesapeake Shores
The Inn at Eagle Point
Flowers on Main
Harbor Lights
A Chesapeake Shores Christmas
Driftwood Cottage
Moonlight Cove
Beach Lane
An O’Brien Family Christmas
The Summer Garden
A Seaside Christmas
The Christmas Bouquet
Dogwood Hill
Willow Brook Road
The Devaney Brothers
The Devaney Brothers: Ryan & Sean
The Devaney Brothers: Michael & Patrick
The Devaney Brothers: Daniel
The Calamity Janes
The Calamity Janes: Cassie & Karen
The Calamity Janes: Gina & Emma
The Calamity Janes: Lauren
The Adams Dynasty
A Christmas Blessing
Natural Born Daddy
The Cowboy and His Baby
The Rancher and His Unexpected Daughter
The Littlest Angel
Natural Born Trouble
Unexpected Mommy
The Cowgirl and the Unexpected Wedding
Natural Born Lawman
The Unclaimed Baby
The Cowboy and His Wayward Bride
Suddenly, Annie’s Father
The Cowboy and the New Year’s Baby
Dylan and the Baby Doctor
The Pint-Sized Secret
Marrying a Delacourt
The Delacourt Scandal
Rose Cottage Sisters
Three Down the Aisle
What’s Cooking?
The Laws of Attraction
For the Love of Pete
Praise for the novels of
SHERRYL WOODS
“Sherryl Woods writes emotionally satisfying novels about family, friendship and home. Truly feel-great reads!”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber
“Sherryl Woods gives her characters depth, intensity, and the right amount of humor.”
—RT Book Reviews
A Bridge to Dreams
Sherryl Woods
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
CHAPTER ONE
The fog rolled in, gray and thick, but not nearly dreary enough to dampen Karyn’s enthusiasm. She could barely see the Golden Gate Bridge in the gloomy twilight, but beside her she had shimmering, golden sunshine in the form of at least a dozen travel brochures for Hawaii, from the exciting, sun-drenched beaches of Honolulu to the more private but equally tropical sands of Maui. She’d spent the past hour in the travel agency sorting through the colorful, tempting photographs of places she’d only seen on television. Finally the impatient travel agent had grown weary of her dreamy expression and her indecision and had handed over the entire assortment, suggesting that she take her time before making her reservations.
Karyn intended to do just that. She was going to spend the entire weekend savoring every minute of planning the first real, away-from-home vacation she’d taken in her entire twenty-six years. She was choosing far more than a destination. She was searching for romance and adventure and a dash of excitement all rolled into one seven-day vacation.
As her car began the steep climb up the narrow, winding road to her apartment, the engine coughed and sputtered.
“Come on, Ruby, you can do it. You climb this hill every night,” she reminded the aging engine. The response was a wheeze that would have put a human in the hospital. Karyn felt the first pang of panic. “Don’t you dare give up on me now,” she ordered. “It is cold and wet outside.”
Ruby responded with an apologetic murmur, then choked and died. Karyn yanked on the emergency brake as the car started to roll backward. Then with a familiar sense of resignation, she put the car into Neutral and tried to restart it. Tonight, however, the red Volkswagen did not respond. After several futile attempts to encourage the ancient car back to life, Karyn sighed and rested her head against the steering wheel.
“Why now, Ruby?” she said, admitting that the signs of a permanent collapse were all too ominous. “Couldn’t you have waited another month? Another year? What did I ever do to you except feed you oil and wax you? Is this any way to repay me for taking you off the junk heap and giving you a new coat of paint?”
On the off chance that the car would react favorably to her pleas, she turned the key one last time. Nothing. Not even a muted grinding noise to indicate that there might be a hint of life stirring under the hood. Resigned, Karyn let the car roll to the curb, reset the emergency brake, then got out and went to hunt for a pay phone so she could call a tow truck. Thanks to Ruby’s growing number of quirks, she knew the number at the garage by heart.
“When are you going to give up on this old heap?” her gray-haired mechanic grumbled when he had the car hooked up and Karyn was bouncing along in her all-too-familiar spot beside him.
“One more year,” she said wearily.
Joe, who’d bandaged every part in the car half a dozen times over the past eight years, shook his head. “It’ll never make it. It’s getting too dangerous for you to be out in this thing, especially at night. One of these days you’re going to get stranded after the shop’s closed. Then what’ll you do?”
“Abandon it. Call one of my brothers. Take the bus. Whatever,” she said. It was exactly the same thing she’d said last week and the week before. “Joe, you know I can’t afford a new car now.”
“But you can afford some expensive trip?” Joe knew all about Hawaii. He didn’t approve. “What’s more important? Your safety or a few days away from home in some foreign place where you don’t know a soul?”
“Hawaii is hardly foreign.”
“Might as well be. You have to cross a mighty big ocean to get there, don’t you?”
Karyn sighed. Joe had considered his own move from Oakland to San Francisco risky business. He was even more protective of her than her family was, something she hadn’t thought possible. “I am going on this vacation,” she said with a stubborn glare in his direction. “I have waited a lifetime to save enough money to get away on my own and see another part of the world. I will not give up this trip. Please, Joe, just fix the car this one more time.”
Still grumbling under his breath, he chomped down on his unlit cigar. “Okay. Okay. I’ll do the best I can.”
But on Saturday when Karyn returned to the garage to pick up Ruby, the car was sitting forlornly at the back of the lot in a spot obviously chosen because it wouldn’t block traffic. Joe wore a funereal expression. Even his cigar drooped at a downcast angle. Karyn’s heart plummeted.
&
nbsp; “The engine’s blown,” he said. One thing about Joe—he didn’t waste words or sympathy.
“Can’t you fix it? You’re the best. There must be something you can do.”
“Not worth it,” he said, poking his head back under the hood of a car that apparently had more of a future.
“It is to me. Please, Joe.”
“It’ll cost you more than the car’s worth.”
“How much?”
“Five, maybe six hundred. More if I can’t find the parts in some junkyard.”
The figure represented half of her savings, half of the money she’d set aside over the past year and a half for the long-dreamed-about trip to Hawaii.
“I know you was counting on taking that vacation, but it ain’t worth it.” He even managed to sound vaguely sympathetic, which told her far more than she liked about the state of the car. Joe was a genius with engines. He never willingly sent one to the junk heap. If he couldn’t fix Ruby, then Ruby was beyond repair.
“Use the money to put a down payment on a new car or at least a good used one from this decade,” he urged. “Pick one out and I’ll go over it for you. You can take the trip next year.”
Karyn knew the advice was well-meant and probably sound, but it sent her spirits sinking straight down to her toes. More dejected than she’d ever been, she walked over to the scarred red VW. She wanted badly to kick the tires, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Unlike Ruby, she still had a certain amount of loyalty.
“How could you do this to me?” she said plaintively, taking one last resentful look before gathering the Bay Area maps, sweaters and umbrellas that had accumulated in the backseat. She started across the parking lot. As she reached the gas pumps in the center, she opened her purse, took out the travel brochures for Hawaii, ceremoniously tore them into shreds, then dumped them into the oil drum that served as a trash can. They were only pieces of paper, but as they fluttered away she felt as though she were destroying her dream.
* * *
It took Karyn until the following Friday after work to accept the inevitable. With a sort of grim determination she went to a car dealership she’d passed every day. She walked past the sporty new convertibles, past the serviceable sedans, beyond the new car showroom to the used car lot. She tried very hard to tell herself that buying a replacement for Ruby was going to be exciting, that it would be terrific to drive something that didn’t quit at stoplights and balk at hills. All she could see, though, was the dimming vision of Diamond Head.
“May I help you, miss?”
Karyn sighed heavily and returned to reality, which in this case happened to be an eager salesman who was practically rubbing his hands together in glee at the prospect of making a sale before the day ended.
“I’m looking for a car,” she said without enthusiasm.
He chuckled as though she’d made a terrific joke. “Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place,” he said with so much forced enthusiasm that Karyn reconsidered the possibility of taking the bus for the rest of her natural life. Only the fact that she often needed her car for work kept her standing right where she was.
“Now, we have a real beauty over here,” he said. “Take a look at this convertible. Only a couple of years old, real low mileage. Just right for a pretty little thing like you. It’s flashy. Sexy. It projects a certain image, if you know what I mean.”
Karyn glanced at the bright red car that reminded her all too vividly of Ruby in color, if not in style. Used or not, the car looked expensive. She didn’t want to get her hopes up so she shrugged indifferently. “How much?”
“Well, now, I guess that’s something we’d have to discuss. Why not take it for a test drive and see how you like it?”
“How much?”
“Just look at this interior. All leather and it’s like new. Not a mark on it. Only twenty-five thousand miles on her, too.”
“How much?”
“You have a trade-in?”
She shook her head.
“Hmm.”
“How much?” she persisted.
“What sort of budget do you have?”
“Limited.”
His enthusiasm staggered after her terse response. “I see. Perhaps we ought to take a look at something a little more basic. We have a classic right here, a good solid car. Dependable. That’s important.” He led her to a dull blue two-door the size of a large can of tomato sauce. There was rust around the edges of the door. A dent marred the left front fender. “Nothing fancy, mind you, but reliable transportation. I’m sure we can bring this in on your budget.”
Karyn studied the car without interest, then glanced back at the convertible. If she was going to blow her vacation on a car, why not get something with a little style? Why not go for something that suggested the owner was a daring adventurer, instead of a recently graduated paralegal, who dutifully watered her geraniums every Thursday and took her vitamins every morning?
“Tell me again about the convertible.”
The salesman’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely. Let me get those keys and you can take her for a little spin. Get the feel of her. Once you’ve driven that beauty, nothing else on the lot will do.”
Of course that was exactly what Karyn feared. Her nervousness increased when the salesman put the top down and settled her in the bucket seat behind the wheel. The engine turned over on the first try. The damn thing purred. As the rare, late-afternoon sun caressed her shoulders and the gentle breeze whispered through her hair, a spark of excitement was born. She recognized that spark. She’d felt it gazing at pictures of Waikiki and dreaming of tall, dark, handsome strangers. That spark was very likely to be her downfall.
Back in the salesman’s office, she braced herself to negotiate. He ran through the car’s virtues as lovingly as a proud father trying to pitch his daughter to a blind date.
“You don’t have to sell me,” she said. “Just give me a price.”
He looked crestfallen. Apparently it was not going to be that simple.
“Why don’t you give me a figure,” he suggested. “We can start from that.”
Start from? The phrase had an ominous ring to it. Why not start with the bottom line? “A thousand dollars,” she said finally.
The salesman appeared to be suitably aghast. He shook his head and swallowed hard. “I’m afraid that’s a little out of line. I don’t dare take it back to my manager. He’ll laugh me off the lot.”
“Then it’s your turn. I’ve given you my starting figure.”
“Come on,” he pleaded, beginning to sweat. “Give me something to work with here.”
“I just did.”
“I can’t take that to the boss. A thousand dollars is nothing for a car like that.”
Karyn stared at him and her apathy began to return. She wasn’t going to get the convertible. She would not go into debt for a car, not when she was finally getting on her feet financially. Growing up as she had on the cutting edge of financial disaster had taught her the dangers of living on credit. “Maybe we should just forget it.” She stood. The dealer was surprisingly alert and swift for a man at least thirty pounds overweight. He moved to block her way.
“Wait a minute. Don’t be too hasty.” He flashed another of his thoroughly insincere smiles at her. “I’m sure we can reach an agreement on this, if we go about it right.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, slipping past him.
“But, miss,” he began frantically, running along behind her.
She cast one last, regretful look at the convertible, then turned—straight into a rock-solid wall.
“What’s the problem, Nate?” To her amazement, the wall talked. She glanced up and discovered it also had shoulders. Very broad shoulders, in fact. A deep dimple slashed one tanned cheek at a rakish angle. A scar knit a tiny white thread through one dark eyebrow. The result was uneven, unique and totally devastating. Even though she had no experience with car salesmen, Karyn recognized at once that this had to be the dealership�
�s top gun. This man could have sold Fords to stockholders at General Motors. Those dark green eyes could have seduced her eighty-year-old spinster aunt. His hand rested at the small of her back, presumably to steady her after their encounter. It felt as though she had been touched by lightning. She simply stared, while Nate tried to explain the difficulty.
To Karyn’s dismay tears welled up in her eyes. All she’d wanted was a car. The process should have been no more complicated, if slightly more costly, than buying a toaster. Instead, she’d discovered that it required the skills of a nuclear-summit negotiator and the patience of a saint. She had neither, nor was her purse exactly brimming over with the third necessary ingredient—cash.
“Look, I really think this was a bad idea. I’ll come back another time.”
“You like the convertible,” the wall said, studying her expression.
She nodded.
“What did you offer?”
“A thousand dollars,” she said with a trace of defiance.
Brad noted the stubborn tilt of her chin, but, more important, he caught the shimmer of tears in her huge blue eyes. He was a sucker for a woman’s tears. It had gotten him into trouble more than once. He had a hunch this was going to be another one of those times.
“I see,” he said very seriously. “Can you make it twelve hundred?”
“But…” Nate protested, only to be silenced by Brad’s fierce look. He watched a spark of excitement return to those wide, innocent eyes and felt his heart do an unexpected flip. She glanced longingly at the convertible.
“If I live on peanut butter sandwiches for a while,” she said slowly.
“Fine,” Brad said before she could change her mind or Nate could start whining about the loss of commission. “Nate, take care of the paperwork. Miss…”
“Chambers.”
“Miss Chambers and I will be in my office having coffee. Come and get us when the car is ready. Make sure it’s washed and waxed and that the inside is vacuumed.”
“Certainly, Mr. Willis.”
He watched as recognition dawned on her face. “As in Willis Motors?” she said.
“Heir apparent,” he confirmed, taking her arm and steering her back into the main showroom, down a corridor and into an office that was decorated with plush carpet, mahogany furniture and a wall that featured too many photographs of him standing beside various race cars.
A Bridge to Dreams Page 1
