“Using the horses would make the parade more rustic,” Bran offered, just to get a rise out of Sissy, which wasn’t difficult whenever she was in a snit, which was practically all the time.
But as usual, Sissy was ready for a fight. “Then you clean up the streets, Bran. Horses leave shit in their wake. And nobody cares about rustic or quaint. I’m sick of hearing that. Pelican Pointe still languishes in the backwoods. God, will you people ever be able to leave the ’80s behind for good?”
“The kids like the horses, Sissy,” Murphy pointed out.
“The horses are tradition,” Wade reminded. “Not to mention the parade’s more fun when the kids who don’t own horses get to decorate their bicycles and show ’em off.”
As the argument heated up, so did Kent’s libido. Watching Sissy get all fired up had Kent reaching his hand under the table and rubbing at Sissy’s soft flesh. His fingers inched up Sissy’s bare thighs as far as they could without going all the way in. The forty-eight year old balding, wheeler dealer owned the only real estate office in town and thought of himself as the town’s mogul. Since the early nineties, he’d made a small fortune off the misfortunes of others, buying up foreclosed California property in the area at a low price then selling it at a tidy profit. The man was ruthless and not just in real estate. Years earlier Kent had set his sights on the Phillips property long before old man Phillips had to let it go because of his bad investments. It had been Kent’s bad luck that when the property had eventually been put on the auction block, he’d been out of town.
And to make matters worse, three years ago, he’d missed another chance at it when the Phillips’ grandson, Scott, had beaten him to the punch once again, offering the owners an outlandish price for the place. He might have missed his window of opportunity twice, but he didn’t intend to make it three. From everything he’d heard around town the widow would be out on her ass approximately sixty days after she couldn’t make that bank note on May First. As he saw it, he had four months before that piece of prime real estate rightfully belonged to him. And when that happened, he planned to bulldoze every building on the place to the ground so that he could build a five-star resort and spa in its place. Screw the quaint bed and breakfast angle, he thought now. Scott Phillips might have messed up his plans three years earlier, but by God, he had no intentions of letting it escape his grasp this time. Kent had heard through the town grapevine about the newcomer helping out the poor widow. He had no intentions of letting that happen either. If Nick Harris thought he could save the place from the big bad bank, he had a surprise coming. It wasn’t the bank he needed to worry about. Kent planned on getting that piece of land no matter what or who he had to go through to get it.
At that moment, he glanced out the window and watched as the newcomer climbed out of an SUV and sauntered into Ferguson’s. Good, he thought. Let him do all the back-breaking work in vain. He planned on keeping a close eye on the situation. He really hoped Harris wasn’t putting in too much of an effort to fix up that dump. It was a waste of time and money. If Kent Springer had his way that ramshackle old house had a short lifespan.
Completely oblivious to what was going on across the street at the diner Nick went about his business, picking up the supplies he needed and ordering the materials to patch the roof. Thirty minutes later, in a good mood, he walked through the double doors of Ferguson’s stepping outside into the warm afternoon sunshine, almost giddy at the prospect of a job well done. He couldn’t believe the progress they had made in such a short amount of time. Everyday the house looked a little bit better. He had almost started to believe they’d make the deadline.
He came to an abrupt halt when his gaze landed on a boy of about ten, who sat on the sidewalk a few feet away guarding a cardboard box. Curious, Nick went over to where the boy sat and squatted down in front of him, checking out the contents inside the box.
“What have you got there?”
The boy fixed him a good pout. “Puppies. They can leave their mother now. My mom says I got to find them a new place to live.”
Nick peered into the box. Six lively, wiggly balls of fur, their breed unrecognizable, looked back at him with big black soulful eyes they hadn’t yet grown into. He set down the sack he held and focused on the puppies. “What kind are they?”
The boy shrugged. “Don’t know exactly. Little bit of everything I guess. Got one that’s brown and white, one’s solid brown, one has all kinds of colors.”
“Which one do you recommend?”
Turning sharp eyes on the man, the boy thought he recognized a novice. “You know anything about dogs, mister?”
“Not really. Maybe you can give me a few pointers.”
As the boy began his best pitch, Nick rubbed his jaw, wondering what Jordan’s reaction would be. Without putting much more thought into it though, he decided on the multi-colored one and headed to the SUV.
Arms full of puppy, Nick set the little guy down on the pavement long enough to get the front passenger door open. He set the sack on the passenger seat and was in the process of settling the puppy onto the floorboard, when a passing delivery truck suddenly backfired. The noise sent him into panic mode. At the first tremble, he knew what was about to happen. Loud noises had a tendency to set him off. He leaned on the SUV for support but the shakes took control. For a few moments, he stood there planted where he was, not moving, and did his best to get his breathing under control without success. Self-consciously, he looked around. Finally he managed to shove the passenger door closed before making his way around the other side and crawling behind the wheel. He rested his head on the back of the seat. All the while trembling so badly, he hoped no one had witnessed the episode. He sat there unable to drive until he got his bearings back. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d spent a year in therapy. They’d called it hypervigilance. Fight or flight among returning vets could be difficult to overcome after experiencing the daily stress of war, being on high alert in a combat situation. Some days could be like living in a fog. Other times, the loud noises set off the shaking. Whatever it was on whatever day, the attack left him embarrassed and humiliated. He never knew when or where it might happen.
“You’re gonna be fine, Nick, just breathe.”
Nick hesitated to check out the passenger seat. But there sat Scott holding the new puppy on his lap. “Damn it, will you stop doing that.”
“Cute dog. Jordan’s gonna have a fit, though. But if you play it right, she’ll cave. A little advice here, bro. Play the Hutton angle.” And with that, Scott dissolved into thin air.
Nick scrubbed a hand over his face and once again looked around self-conscientiously to see if anyone had seen him sitting in a car talking to himself.
From his seat in the booth by the window, Murphy saw Nick’s struggle. He glanced around the table to see if anyone else had noticed. Fortunately, they were deep in discussion. No one but him had watched as the scene unfolded across the street. Murphy had heard the truck backfire, and looked up to check out the noise. The last thing he had expected to see was Nick Harris shaking. Murphy felt for the man he was beginning to think of as a friend. He quickly turned his attention back to the round table argument, grateful no one else had witnessed the incident.
Nick had just set the puppy down on the grass in the backyard, watched as the little guy sniffed the ground before hunkering down to pee, when he saw Jordan fly out of the house with Hutton in her arms, as if she’d been watching from the window. Halfway there, she came to a stop. “Nick Harris, you pick that fuzz ball up right this minute, take it back wherever you found it. And don’t give me a sad story about how you never had a dog.”
Spotting the dog, Hutton began to squirm in her mother’s arms. “Down. Ma-ma. Down.”
Jordan set Hutton down to walk. As soon as her feet hit the ground the little girl ran over to the multi-colored puppy, her legs pumping as fast as they could. When she got close, Hutton let out a long squeal of delight and started clapping her hands. The dog responde
d and began circling the baby.
Jordan needed to be firm. “Please tell me this is a joke. That dog is not staying here.”
Nick thought Scott might be right. His best chance was with Hutton. “Look at her reaction. She loves him.” For good measure, he added, “And I can’t take him back. He has no place to stay. He’s homeless.” But he was grinning from ear to ear as he said it.
“And if he stays here, he might not have a home for very long. Did you think of that?” Pleading her case, Jordan pointed out, “Nick, with everything that’s going on, I can’t get the house ready for business, take care of Hutton, and look after a dog. He isn’t even housebroken.”
“We’ll work on that.”
Sensing defeat, Jordan circled both the dog and the baby, who by now had thrown both arms around the puppy. Jordan eyed Hutton’s face. The entire time Nick never took his eyes off Jordan. And in that instant what he saw told him the dog wasn’t going anywhere because Hutton, and now possibly Jordan, had already taken to the furry little thing. Nick plopped down on the grass. Instinctively, the puppy wandered over, followed by Hutton. Nick picked up the little guy to hold him in his lap, and before he knew what was happening, Hutton had followed suit, dropping down across Nick’s lap. For a man who’d never spent much time around a kid, he was beginning to get used to the funny little expressions Hutton made. With a lap full of little girl and dog, he swung his head down to the child’s level. “We have to think of a name for your dog, Hutton. What do you think we should call him?”
The little girl stuck her finger in her mouth, clearly thinking it over. Before long she uttered, “Dog.”
Giving up, Jordan joined them on the grass. Sitting cross-legged, she began to stroke the dog’s fur. “He is kinda cute. Hutton’s dog.”
Touching a little hand to the dog’s head like she’d seen her mother do, Hutton gleefully repeated, “Dog.”
“He may be stuck with that name for awhile,” Jordan reasoned.
“Dog, simple and to the point, I like it.”
“Okay, he can stay, but you brought him, that means you have to clean up after him.”
“Deal.” He leaned back on the grass. As had become a habit around Jordan and Hutton, some of the tension drained out of him. The earlier episode forgotten.
Later that afternoon, Jordan was busy in the laundry room folding clothes. Hutton was doing her best to help. Dog was underfoot. When Jordan turned to put another load of clothes into the washer, Hutton pulled some of the clean clothes out of the basket. The clothing landed on the floor. Quick as a fox, Dog snagged something pink in his mouth and took off into the kitchen. Giggling, Hutton toddled after him.
Taking a new load out of the dryer, Jordan turned to see Nick standing in the doorway, carrying Hutton in one arm and holding a pair of pink panties in his other. “I think you’ve been the victim of a panty raid.” He held out her underwear, a snicker on the verge of his lips. It didn’t escape Jordan’s notice that the man looked completely at ease standing there holding women’s panties.
She laughed good-naturedly, but grabbed for her underwear. “Sneak attack. And he was lightning fast.” Taking the panties back, she realized the pair wasn’t her best. When Nick walked away, she glared at Dog. “Couldn’t you have at least taken something black and sexy, instead of a pair of granny panties?”
Dog didn’t even have the decency to hang his head. He simply blinked those big eyes of his, and hung out his tongue while his tail flopped back and forth on the floor.
When supper was done and Hutton was tucked into bed, Jordan sliced two generous pieces of chocolate cake and arranged them on a tray with a pot of coffee. She carried it to the kitchen table where Nick sat studying the loan documents she kept in a tattered accordion folder.
“I’ve been through the papers. I don’t think you’ll find a loophole anywhere.”
“Hmm, no, no loophole. Are you aware the bank here in Pelican Pointe is only managing the loan? They resold the note to a larger bank out of L.A. more than a year ago before they gave you the first extension.”
Jordan sat up straighter. “I didn’t know that. Is it significant?”
“Might be.” He held out a letter. “The bank here in Pelican Pointe sent you notification when they resold the loan.”
She took the paper, barely giving it a glance. “But what difference does it make who holds the note? It’s been extended out as far as it can be. Right?”
“I was thinking. If we contact the L.A. bank directly we might be able to get a refi, or maybe get the loan extended to the first of September that way you’d have the summer months to take full advantage of the entire tourist season, time to get a healthy cash flow going. I think they’d go for that.”
Jordan blinked in realization. “You’ve done this before.”
“In my former life I was an investment banker.” And work for the largest investment bank in Los Angeles that just happens to hold your note. But he wasn’t going to mention that. She might start asking questions. How could he tell her that the very serious-minded, hardworking financier he’d once been, seemed to have no interest in that life now. In fact, he seemed to find anything to do with the banking business these past few months sucking the life right out of him. While he was trying to come to grips with this revelation, he realized she was saying something to him.
“Why would this L.A. bank give me an extension when the bank here in Pelican Pointe is pressuring me for the first payment?”
“Simple. We bypass the bank here and go directly to the source of the loan. I’ll make a few calls. Have you advertised, Jordan?”
“I’ve been online since January. My sister Ellen got a friend of hers to design a website. And I put the listing in the B & B trade magazines. I started running an ad in the San Francisco paper. The ad will continue through the end of May. It’s costing a fortune, but I have to get the word out somehow.”
“Sounds like you’ve covered your bases then. If we could show the bank in L.A. that you’re booked up at least ninety percent through the summer, they might go for an extension to let’s say, Labor Day.”
She couldn’t help it, hope soared. “Really? The reservations are picking up. I’m getting one almost every day now. And people who have seen the ad are beginning to call, ask questions. They may not be making a reservation yet, but they’re interested enough to call. I don’t mean to pry, Nick, but why are you a former investment banker?”
“Lately, I’ve had some personal issues to deal with, so I took a leave of absence to try and sort things out.” Sensing the perfect opportunity for full disclosure, and before he lost his nerve, he sucked in a breath. “Speaking of that, I think there’s…there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you…to tell you.”
At that moment, Hutton began to fuss through the baby monitor. Before he could say any more, the baby began to cry in earnest. Without another word, Jordan rushed from the room, telling him, “Hold that thought.” She never noticed the look of anguish on Nick’s face or the fact that his hands were shaking or the fact that he’d broken out into a cold, hard sweat.
Or the tears blurring his eyes.
Chapter Seven
At breakfast the next morning there was no mention that their conversation the previous evening had ended abruptly. Truth was Jordan had been up most of the night with a fussy Hutton cutting a new tooth. The last thing on her mind as she stood at the stove scrambling eggs was Nick on the verge of some dynamic disclosure. Instead, her mind focused on the part of the conversation that had been the most encouraging news she’d had in months, the fact that maybe this bank in L.A. might consider refinancing her loan or at the very least giving her an extension. Either one would take a huge amount of financial pressure off her. The last year without Scott’s income had made her a pro at stretching a dollar. But in trying to get a new business up and running there had been plenty of expenses. Not to mention all the materials they had purchased before Scott had ever set foot in Iraq. They were in de
bt then but hoping to open up the B & B only months shy of his getting his deployment notice. With so much work still left to do, the opening hadn’t happened and now Jordan was almost out of money, even after budgeting to the penny. The idea of having to go back to San Francisco broke had her petrified.
Across the kitchen Nick sat at the table watching the intense expression on her face. He didn’t think she was that into scrambling eggs. She hadn’t asked about what it was he’d started to tell her last night. Instead, she looked a million miles away. He took a sip of coffee and absently spread jam on his toast. That is, until he noticed Hutton’s bobbing up and down in her high chair trying to reach the bread he held in his hand. Relinquishing it, he got up to put more in the toaster.
“How’d you sleep last night? I didn’t see you down at the old haunt.”
She recognized the teasing tone, but looked at him in disbelief as she dumped the eggs onto a platter. “You were down at the cove again last night? Nick, you can’t keep this up. At some point you have to get eight hours. You can’t work like a dog around here all day and go without sleep. And Hutton was fussy. New tooth,” she explained absentmindedly.
Ahh, that explained her distracted mood, he thought, before he pointed out, “Then you didn’t sleep either.”
When the phone rang, she strolled over to the corner desk to answer it, rolling her eyes at his comment. But as she picked up the cordless phone there was a twinkle in her eyes. She continued to look at him while going through the standard routine greeting before getting down to thumbing through the reservations book.
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