Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Other Works Available
About the Author
On the Back Cover
Divining Elise
Granite Lake Romance
Book 4
Jody A. Kessler
Copyright
© 2018 by Jody A. Kessler
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator.”
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www.JodyAKessler.com
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ISBN: 978-1720865254
ASIN: B07CT5VB84
Edited by
CP Bialois
Cover Art & Design by
Sommer Stein
Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Ebooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Granite Lake Romance
Unwrapping Treasure #1
Chasing Treasure #2
Reclaiming Melanie #3
Divining Elise #4
Dedication
To love and all its mysteries
One
“TO ROB, THE ONLY LAWYER in California to walk away from a six-figure salary to make beer for a living!”
“And it’ll be the finest hand-crafted beer you’ll ever drink.” Rob flashed his best cat-caught-the-canary smile, then tapped the rim of his pint glass to those nearest him.
The clink of glasses mingled with cheers and chuckles round the table. Rob’s friends liked to joke about his career change. They couldn’t understand why he would give up his current lifestyle for a startup company. And one so completely different and less lucrative than what he’d gone to school for. Rob observed the group sipping overpriced drinks and slipping back into their routine of discussing business, politics, and sports. Two partners, and friends for the last four years, began a heated discussion on the recent Giants and Rockies game. He’d join in, but they were further down the table and it wasn’t worth yelling to be heard.
The lawyers and execs from Rob’s firm blended into the scene like well-placed props. The sleek, posh atmosphere of The 77 Club, the bar his buddy, Stuart, had reserved for his farewell party, reeked of wealth and entitlement. Clean lines, lack of color, and the modern decor were sterile and uninspired. The 77 Club and every other bar and restaurant in the district didn’t suit his tastes any longer. He wasn’t sure if he ever preferred the business atmosphere. As he looked at his friends and customers inside the bar, he grew more uncomfortable. The tie around his neck felt like a noose. Why was he wearing it? His office was bare. He was done. Today was his final day as a member of the corporate world. The pickup truck he’d traded his Mercedes for sat in the parking garage, waiting to be taken to the mountains. He reached up, loosened the knot, then removed the tie from around his neck. If he had his way, he’d never wear one again. Even at his funeral, he would forego the tie.
How had he arrived at this point in his life? In the heart of the city? Wearing a thousand dollar suit and shoes that made his nuts hide in embarrassment? Of course, he knew the answer. He’d chased the money. He held a degree in law, and the opportunity to make more money than a sheik (well, maybe not an actual sheik) had presented itself when he was too young and too eager. At the time, he’d been incapable of seeing his future as a desk slave. No, thank you. Rob wouldn’t end up a gray haired, stodgy, opinionated, and boring-as-fuck old man with millions collecting interest in some bank account so he could golf on the weekends and lie to himself about what a great life he’d had shuffling virtual money around for forty years.
His thoughts wandered in obscure directions and he considered how many pints he’d drunk. He wasn’t keeping count and why should he? Tonight was his night to let go. To put his past behind him and embrace the future.
Rob picked up his glass of amber ale and finished it. The beer bored him. There was too much carbonation and not enough body. The hops reeked of commercialized farming and lacked subtleties and flavor. For fourteen dollars a pint, he knew he could do better. Black cherry, fig, and wood chips with the barest hint of chocolate. The feel in the mouth should be smooth, yet full, and if he were creating the recipe, he’d go for one-and-a-half finger oatmeal-colored head of foam, but you know, Rob wasn’t here to reconfigure the beer in his glass. He was supposed to be relaxing and enjoying his final hours as a corporate schmuck. However, he couldn’t turn off the brewing side of his mind. Rob had been studying, researching, and experimenting with batches of beer for over two years. He mentally tucked away the ideas for a new ale recipe and shifted in his chair.
“You ready for another beer?” Stuart nodded at his empty glass.
Rob held back a yawn. The night before, he stayed up and packed the final boxes and loaded the trailer for his move to Granite Lake. Tomorrow morning, he would turn the keys over to the new owner of his condo and never look back. His new home with the incredible view of the lake waited for him and he couldn’t get there fast enough. The old biker bar he and his brothers invested in to transform into Black Bear Brewing was coming along at a decent clip. The sooner he was in the mountains and available to work on their building, the sooner he could begin brewing and selling beer to thirsty travelers and enthusiastic locals. He’d proven to himself that he could excel at corporate law, but now he had to master the art of creating exceptional small batch craft beer. Once the brew pub opened, the public would become the Everett brothers’ taste testing jury. Rob was confident they’d be well received.
“No, thanks. It’s time to say goodnight.” Rob rose to his full height of six-foot-two.
“It’s early, man. Have one more on me,” Stuart said.
Rob checked the time on his phone. It was approaching eleven. He’d not only lost track of the number of beers, but also the hours ticking by. “I’m done. Thanks for tonight. It’s been fun.”
“You’re going to meet up with Delaney, aren’t you? That’s why you’re cutting out of here early, isn’t it?”
“What?” Rob’s confusion percolated for a moment before responding. “I haven’t dated Delaney in almost a year.” He wondered why Stuart mentioned her now. Rob hadn’t given his ex-girlfriend much, or any thought, in mon
ths.
“I thought you two hooked up every so often.” Stuart shrugged and reached for his beer glass, found it empty, and set it back down.
Rob shook his head. “Not in a long time.”
There was one night about a month after they decided not to see each other that they had a relapse. She’d been at The Blue Door for the engagement party of her cousin, Michaela, and a co-worker acquaintance of his, Ashton. Delaney looked fantastic. She always did, but that night, Rob couldn’t take his eyes off her. She’d been in a great mood. There was no nagging or sulking and they ended up drinking together, then sharing a cab. Delaney invited him to stay the night. Rob had been drunk. She was, too. That wasn’t an excuse. He recalled the sex, then passing out in her perfectly perfect bed. Everything always had to be just right with Delaney. She fussed over things he didn’t give a damn about. When he woke the next morning and looked at her colorless, flawlessly organized designer condo, Rob wished he’d gone home the night before. Without too many words spoken between them, he said goodbye, made no promises, and never spoke to her again.
“Not sure why I brought it up. I must be confusing you with someone else,” Stuart said.
“No problem. To be honest, I haven’t been interested in anything other than beer and how to make it profitable since I dated Delaney. She didn’t like my hobby. Thought it was too messy and unsophisticated. You haven’t seen her around, have you?” Rob had no idea why he asked. It’s not like he was planning to let her know he was leaving town.
“Not since Ashton and Michaela got married.”
Rob hadn’t gone to the wedding. He had a scheduling conflict or some other excuse to avoid going. Maybe he’d skipped the wedding to steer clear of his ex. The alcohol content in his bloodstream caused some fogginess in his memory.
He realized he’d been standing at the end of the table, stalling.
Rob extended his hand to Stuart. “It’s been memorable.”
“Keep in touch. The wife and I expect an invite to your grand opening and a personal tour of your microbrewery.” Stuart stood and clapped Rob on the shoulder.
“You got it,” Rob said.
Rob left the bar for the last time and strolled down the sidewalk. The balmy city air smelled of asphalt, car exhaust, and the storm sewers beneath his feet. As he neared the all-night taco stand, the scents of slow-cooked meat, chili peppers, cumin, and coriander drew him straight to the counter. He ordered three barbacoa and pinto bean tacos with cilantro lime green salsa in soft shell tortillas to go. The taco stand might be the one thing he’d miss about living downtown, but he’d get over it.
With the paper bag clutched in his hand, Rob picked up the pace to make it home before the tacos turned cold. He’d played this game before. Could he make it home, open a beer, turn on the television, and eat his Mexican food while it still tasted fresh? Regardless of whether he beat the imaginary clock in his head or not, he always won. The food was extraordinary.
The summer weather increased the number of Rob’s late-night strolls for takeout, but the warm temperatures also increased the number of homeless people hanging around at all hours of the night. A shapeless, sexless body sat in the corner beneath the awning by the front door of his building. The man or woman held their head down with chin tucked against their chest. The hood of his sweatshirt cast a dark shadow across his face. A doorman or a maintenance person would usually ask vagrants or loiterers to move on if they lingered for too long, but their presence was rarely an issue.
There was a homeless shelter about a mile from his building, so he saw them regularly. Rob was aware of the shelter when he’d invested in the downtown property and it never bothered him. On more than one occasion, he gave transit fare to someone trying to get to the shelter before their doors closed for the night. Of course, he never knew if they used the cash to catch public transportation, but if he could help one person sleep off the streets, it was worth it to him.
Rob raised a hand to dial the entry code on the keypad to enter the building, but his eyes lingered on the homeless person.
“You doing okay tonight?” he asked.
“No.” The answer came out as a moan. The pile of baggy clothes shifted before the man tipped his face up to peer at Rob. “I haven’t eaten in days. My stomach is aching something fierce.”
“I guess you’ve caught a break.” Rob held out the bag of tacos.
In the lights beneath the entryway, he watched the man look at the takeout bag as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. He pushed his hood back, exposing a head of dark hair speckled with silver. His hand shook as he reached for the food.
“Are you messing with me?” he asked. “Is this your trash?”
“No. These are three of the best tacos this side of the border.”
He peered inside the bag and inhaled. A smile broke across the man’s weathered face. The cracks in his lips looked painful, but his teeth weren’t too terrible compared to some homeless people Rob had talked to.
“My stomach is shrunk from not eating for so long. You share this dinner with me. It’s more than enough and you’ll be saving my life for one night.” He rose from the sidewalk and held the bag out.
Rob wouldn’t take back the food he’d just given away. He gestured for the man to keep it. “Save some for tomorrow.”
The man’s smile spread even wider. “This smells amazing, my friend. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You have a place to sleep tonight?” Rob asked.
“The moon keeps me company and the stars make for a nice blanket.” The man used his free hand to adjust the collar of his sweatshirt. Rob stared at the chain necklace with a silver snake charm at the base of his throat. He didn’t understand why the snake caught his attention so thoroughly, but he couldn’t look away.
“Do you know where the shelter is?” Rob asked, letting the man know there was an alternative to sleeping outdoors.
“Shelter? No. I’m new around here.”
“Catch the number twelve bus and get off at Hamilton and Reeves Avenue. You’ll see the sign on the front of the building.” Rob tore his gaze away from the small silver snake and pulled out his wallet. He grabbed some small bills and handed them over.
The man’s free hand shot out and wrapped around Rob’s wrist. Damn it to hell. Here we go. Rob had no inclination to beat up an elderly man, but he wasn’t going to get robbed, either. So much for being a humanitarian.
The homeless man closed the space between them. Rob was about to knock the man’s lights out and deliver him to the concrete when his words cut him off.
“There’s not enough nice people in the world,” he said. “I see the future, Rob.” His voice had changed from dry and hoarse to clear and direct.
Rob yanked his hand back, but the man held tight like an iron cuff. “Let go. Don’t make me regret giving you a meal.”
“I’ll trade you knowledge of the future for tacos.”
Fucking eh. Drinking multiple pints of beer before this strange encounter may not have been the wisest decision. He jerked his hand again, but Sir-Crazy-Who-Steals-My-Tacos wouldn’t let go. The man’s eyes turned white. Rob realized that he only rolled his eyes to the back of his head.
“There are many changes happening in your life. They’re happening soon. A beautiful girl waits for you. She comes with difficulties and challenges, but you will be up for the task of being the man she needs.” The man’s dark eyes refocused on Rob.
A piercing shiver streaked along his spine.
“You are a lucky S.O.B., but you won’t appreciate it for some time yet.” He laughed. A rough and uncivilized sound that reaffirmed Rob’s assessment of his insanity.
“Christ! Get off me!” Rob yanked his arm away and broke free.
“But don’t be a fool about her. She needs you.”
“Get back! I mean it.” Rob moved to the door and punched in the key code. He yanked the door open and rushed inside.
The homeless man didn’t follow him or move an inch. Ro
b hurried to the elevator and then something struck him. He’d called him by name. What the hell was going on? A prank? That had to be it. And he’d fallen for it. Spectacularly. He spun around and took determined steps back to the front entrance, ready to face whoever was undoubtedly video recording their next viral video titled, Drunk Rob vs. the Fortune Telling Vagrant. His friends and brothers would have a good laugh as they watched Rob’s embarrassment on the internet.
He flung the door open and stepped outside, pissed off but curious. There was no one there.
Two
“COLTON, LEAVE YOUR HELMET ON.” Elise spoke out loud, making sure Colton saw her lips move. She signed with her hands, using ASL to repeat the message. She placed her palms on either side of the soft helmet and leaned down to plant a kiss on his round little cheek.
Her sweet five-year-old pointed at the black motorcycle style bike helmet on the floor of the car, then at his head.
She shook her head, no. “Not in the car,” she said and signed at the same time.
Colton always wanted to wear the bike helmet instead of the scrum cap. In Colton’s opinion, the black helmet looked cooler than the kid’s protective headgear. He tolerated the soft helmet when she insisted he could not wear the harder, bulkier head protection. But the bike helmet held his head at an angle against the booster seat, and with the long drive ahead of them, she wanted him to be able to rest his head and neck comfortably.
Her son’s natural born obsession with vehicles and anything related to wheels or machinery never ceased to amaze Elise. Somewhere, intricately woven into the Y chromosome was the express need to master the wheel. As a female, Elise didn’t fully grasp this male predisposition, but she understood that Colton was fascinated with trucks, construction equipment, and motorcycles. She was okay with this stage of his development, even if it turned out to be his lifelong passion.
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