The call was obviously another potential guest. When she was done, she hung up and turned around with a brilliant smile on her face. “That’s amazing. That was a woman from Cincinnati.” She leaned closer. “Ohio. She saw the ad in the paper when she was on a business trip to San Francisco last week. She wants me to send her some information about holding a retreat here the third week of June for eight people. Four couples, Nick. Can you believe it? She also made a reservation for her and her husband to spend their wedding anniversary here May seventeenth as a kind of trial run in preparation for the retreat.” She sighed with pleasure. “This whole thing may actually take off. Can you imagine that?”
He sipped his coffee, smiling at her enthusiasm, and said, “Actually Jordan, I can.”
Later, as she rolled melon-colored paint on the wall in the hallway upstairs, Jordan heard the whir of a drill coming from the second bathroom where Nick was busy replacing the vanity. Glancing over at Hutton playing with a set of soft blocks in her Pack ’N Play while Dog snoozed like a baby, Jordan thought she could get used to this feeling. She felt more hopeful about things than she had in almost a year. She knew the man down the hall was responsible. An investment banker who hopefully had a little pull with a bank in L.A. Imagine that. And he’d found Hutton a dog. When the doorbell interrupted her optimism, she climbed down off the ladder, went over and picked up Hutton before heading downstairs to answer the door.
Her good mood lasted only long enough for her to peer through the screen door to find her closest neighbor in distance, seventy-year old Edmund Taggert standing on the porch ready for a fight.
When he saw Jordan, he didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “Missy, you are making way too much damn noise again. This was a peaceful place ‘til Scott brought you back here and you started this…this dang remodeling.”
She pushed the screen door back and stepped outside onto the porch. Instead of arguing with the old coot or asking him how in the world he managed to hear every sound they made from a half a mile away, she said simply, “I’m sorry Mr. Taggert, but you know I’m in the middle of getting this place ready to open.”
“Silliest damned notion if you ask me, turning this place into a motel. Don’t know why the city council ever gave you the permit to do such a thing. But you’ve got to keep the noise down. My Bessie isn’t used to all this noise. She’s already tried to run off on me.”
“Sorry, Mr. Taggert, we’ll try to keep it down. Would you like to come in for some coffee?”
“Come in? Missy, you are crazy if you think I’m spending my time listening to that blasted racket while trying to drink a cup of coffee. Drilling and hammering indeed.” Over a half a century of smoking had the old man stopping in mid sentence long enough to wheeze in her direction before he added, “And keep that mutt you got away from my Bessie, he’s a growler.” Having stated his business, Taggert turned to leave.
After listening from behind to the old man’s bitch-fest, by the time Nick came down the steps to give Taggert what for and put in his own two cents man to man, it was too late. He watched as the old man shuffled down the driveway. Nick shook his head, remembering Scott’s claim about the good citizens of Pelican Pointe. Nick had seen friendlier people in L.A. When he looked over and saw the disillusionment on Jordan’s face, he tried for levity. “Who is Bessie?”
Jordan threw him a sly smile. “His ancient cat.”
“I didn’t mean to make more trouble with the dog, Jordan.”
“Trust me, you didn’t. Mr. Taggert owns the organic farm that borders mine. He’s been over here at least fifty times the past two years complaining about something or other. If he isn’t nagging me about the noise, he’s bitching about the condition of the place. Taggert isn’t a happy man. Don’t worry about it, Nick.”
“Nice guy.”
She sighed and said softy, “Taggert and the rest of Pelican Pointe.” Nothing ever seemed to be enough for this town, she thought as she carried Hutton past Nick and back upstairs to resume her painting. But Nick saw the look of disappointment in her eyes. Every time she turned around she had to deal with another problem, some stupid infraction she’d committed against the residents of Pelican Pointe.
It was getting old.
Later that morning, a few minutes after eleven, as Nick stood at the work table he’d set up in the garage measuring laminate flooring, he heard a vehicle pull into the driveway. On the off chance it was another Mr. Taggert-like neighbor come to complain, he intended to head them off before they upset Jordan. Stepping out of the garage, he saw a man get out of a black pickup. When the man looked up, met his eyes, he started grinning at Nick.
“Son of a bitch,” the man said good-naturedly as he shook hands with Nick, and then slapped him on the back in the way of man hugs. “My lieutenant’s really out here in the boonies. When I got your call, I told Sheryl you were probably pulling a joke on me that I’d drive all this way only to have you call and say, ‘gotcha’.”
“No gotcha,” Nick said, as he pulled Ben Latham into a bear hug. “It’s good to see you. But drop the officer shit, though. Okay? Thanks for coming, Ben. I owe you one for this.”
“Nah, we both know that’s not true.”
“How are Sheryl and the kids?”
“Great. Sheryl’s pregnant again. Just found out yesterday. Number three.” Ben wiggled his eyebrows up and down.
“Congratulations. Three, huh?” Thinking of what a handful Hutton could be sometimes, Nick seriously wanted to know, “how do you handle three?”
“Three’s not that much different than having two.” At least Ben hoped that was true. In spite of his doubt about it, Ben gave him a confident laugh remembering something his wife had told him. “You just recycle all the baby stuff, like strollers and clothes and don’t get too hung up on gender-related things and pretty much take it from there.” Eyeing the look on Nick’s face, all of a sudden Ben got curious. “What’s really going on here, Nick? What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“As I told you on the phone, I’ve walked into a mess. Come on, Ben, let’s take a walk. I need to explain a few things.” As the two men took off through Jordan’s flower garden then further out into the backyard away from the house, Nick proceeded to bring Ben up to speed about Jordan’s predicament and the lies he’d told her.
Sgt. Ben Latham had served under Captain Scott Phillips and Lieutenant Nick Harris in Iraq. If anyone could understand the situation Nick found himself in, it was rock-solid Ben Latham. When Nick had finished laying all his cards on the table, he looked straight into Ben’s eyes. “She can’t know that you and I knew Scott. No mention of Iraq. That’s bottom line, Ben. I haven’t gotten around to explaining who I am, how things were in Iraq, how things went down that day.”
“Sounds like a covert op. Imagine here with Captain Phillips’s wife. I hope you know what you’re doing, man. Wouldn’t it be a helluva lot easier if you just told her what happened?”
“You want to talk about that day, Ben? Walk her through what happened to her husband step by step? How about while you’re here you sit her down and have a heart to heart with her about all of it. How’s that? I’ll head into town, grab a beer, and let you take care of it.”
Ben shook his head and held up both hands. “Okay. Okay. It was just a suggestion. I get it. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I’m just trying to help her out. She could use all the help she can get right now, don’t you think?” Nick said nothing about seeing Scott’s ghost, or nightmares at two in the morning, or how he woke up drenched in night sweats. He didn’t say anything about making promises in the heat of battle when a man lay dying in your arms. Besides after months of going to therapy, where he mostly sat and stared at the counselor, he wasn’t sure himself why he couldn’t just talk about that day. All he knew was that he couldn’t do it—to anyone, least of all Jordan.
“Why can’t you just come clean about knowing him? When she finds out the trut
h don’t you think she’ll be a little upset? Women are like that.”
“I might if I thought it would end there. But it won’t. She’d ask questions, want answers. I guess it’s complicated.”
Ben nodded, but clearly didn’t understand the situation. He looked around the yard. “Nice place. It’s a shame about the Captain. You know I’ll do whatever needs doing here, Nick, that’s why I made the trip. Let’s take a look at what we’re up against.”
As they stood in the basement, Ben unrolled the blueprints of the house and wrote down more figures on his clipboard, handed the whole thing over to Nick. “It’s bad. Some schmuck used rubber coated cable. The rubber wiring’s got to go as well as these corroded terminal connectors. And there’s not enough amps for a house this size. I’m surprised she hasn’t had fuses blow before now. With eight bedrooms and five baths if she gets a full house here with people running blow dryers and other small appliances, the wiring’s toast. I can bring the wiring up to code, spread the amps out over two systems, put in a new breaker box, and add a few more outlets in more convenient places throughout the house. It helps to have the blueprints.”
“When can you start?”
“I’m here now.” He grinned. “And Sheryl knows where I am. Might as well get started.” He made a thumbing gesture upstairs and asked, “Is she as good a cook as the Captain said?”
“You can’t say shit like that.” But Nick smiled in spite of the warning. “You’re in for a treat. She’s a helluva good cook.” He slapped Ben on the back again. “You lucked out. Meals are included with the job.”
When the two men emerged from the basement, Jordan was standing at the island counter kneading bread dough. At that moment a timer dinged and she turned to open the oven door. She looked up to see Nick, standing just inside the doorway talking to a tall, good-looking, sandy- haired man with huge brown eyes.
The two stepped farther into her kitchen.
“Jordan, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Ben Latham. Ben this is Jordan Phillips owner and proprietor of The Cove Bed & Breakfast. Ben is your electrician.”
Jordan pulled the quiche out of the oven, set the hot dish down on the counter and wiped her hands on her apron, all in one competent motion. Holding her hand out, she smiled, and said, “Nice to meet you, Ben. How is it you know Nick?”
Ah, Nick thought, right to the sham. Let the lies begin. He didn’t wait for Ben to answer instead, he said, “I handled some investments for Ben a while back.”
As buddies go, it didn’t take Ben long to get into his role. He slapped Nick on the back. “And he did a wonderful job for the wife and me, got a nice little nest egg and college fund going for the kids.” Which wasn’t a lie at all, Ben thought as he sniffed the air, pointing to the steaming dish. “That smells great, by the way.”
Hutton who’d been crawling around on the floor stood up and toddled over to her mother. “And who’s this little doll,” Ben asked, as he squatted down on his heels to get a better look at the baby.
Jordan swung Hutton to her hip. “This is Hutton. You’ll stay for lunch.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Over salad and a bacon and cheese quiche, Jordan found out the two men had known each other for ten years, that Ben lived in San Jose with his wife and two kids, a boy five and a little girl three, and that his wife Sheryl was expecting their third child. And the way the men polished off the entire quiche put an end to the myth that men didn’t eat such things.
After making small talk, Jordan steeled herself to ask the question she’d been avoiding. “Have you had a chance to come up with an estimate?”
Ben exchanged a knowing look with Nick.
When neither man said anything, Jordan sighed, “That bad, huh? Will three thousand do it? I’ve got that much set aside for emergencies.” It would drain her savings account, but the building inspector had insisted she had to bring the wiring up to code in order to open. She didn’t have many options.
“I can do it for two.” Ben already knew Nick planned to foot the bill.
“Really?” Relief filled her. Then she realized he must be giving her a discount because of Nick. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“That’s wonderful, Ben. Thank you.”
To change the subject Ben patted his full stomach and leaned back in his chair. “That was the best quiche I’ve ever had. Maybe you could share the recipe with Sheryl before I leave. You’re every bit as good a cook as I’d heard you were.”
Nick choked on his iced tea.
“I am?” She stared at Ben then over at Nick knowing he must have been the one to sing her praises.
Ben caught his blunder. “Uh, yeah, Nick mentioned it.”
Nick cleared his throat. “Jordan, the wiring job is going to take Ben a couple of days to complete. I was thinking if it’s okay with you he can bunk on the sofa in the studio.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That couch doesn’t have a decent spring left. In fact it’s barely viable for sitting let alone a good night’s sleep. Ben can take one of the guest rooms upstairs. He’ll be much more comfortable.”
“No ma’m, I couldn’t do that.”
Baffled, Jordan asked, “Why on earth not? You’re giving me a discount on the wiring. I can offer you a room for the duration of the job plus meals.”
Ben looked uncomfortably at Nick for help. “I just couldn’t, ma’m. I’m a stranger. You don’t know me.”
“That’s absurd. You’re a friend of Nick’s that’s good enough for me. And I have to get used to having guests in the house anyway.” She stared at Nick in frustration. “Look guys, this is a bed and breakfast. After May One, I’ll have strangers in the house all of the time.”
“The couch is good enough for me, Jordan. But thanks for your hospitality. It isn’t the first time Nick and I have bunked together.” And after two hitches in Iraq he could pretty much sleep standing up.
Jordan shook her head and plucked Hutton out of her high chair. “I’ve got to put Hutton down for her nap. We’ll discuss this later.”
As she left the room, or rather stormed out of the room, Nick started clearing the dishes from the table and Ben got up to help. The purely domestic scene didn’t escape Ben’s watchful eye. He’d never seen his buddy in this kind of role before. Ever. This wasn’t the Nick Harris he had known in L.A. Something was going on and he needed to find out what it was. He chose his words carefully. “It breaks my heart knowing she’s up against so much out here alone. I can see why you came. She’s really something.”
“She is that.” Nick said as a strange sense of pride spread through his chest.
“Little girl looks just like Scott. Has his eyes.”
“She’s the sweetest little thing too, just like her mother. Did you know she’s talking?”
Okay, that told Ben…a lot. Nick was a nice enough guy. They’d been through a lot together even before Iraq. They’d met back in college and remained friends. Ben knew all about Nick’s childhood, at least what he’d been able to pry out of the guy. He’d always felt Nick’s lack of a family life contributed to the fact that he’d never been able to form attachments. But Nick, even on his best day, had never been kid-friendly. For Nick to take an interest in a kid, even Scott’s kid, was a big deal. It seemed to Ben that the committed bachelor looked a lot less committed than he’d ever seen him look. Because they’d acted as each other’s wing-man on numerous occasions long before he’d ever met Sheryl of course, Ben used his astute fatherly voice to tell Nick, “Of course the baby can talk, you doofus. That’s what toddlers do.”
“Yeah, well I don’t have two of them. This is my first.”
Ben shook his head and slapped Nick on the back. “You’ve got a lot to learn, my friend. I’m just the man to help teach you.” He headed for the door. “School is in session tonight after supper. But for now, I’ve got a job to do.”
By the time Jordan came back in, Nick had finished cleaning up the kitchen. “I
like your friend,” she admitted.
“He’s a good guy.”
“You’re telling me. That price is incredible. Discounted no doubt. I just can’t believe you talked him into coming all the way here from San Jose to do the job.”
The guys in his unit would pretty much do anything for each other. How could he explain that to her? And then he realized that he probably didn’t have to. She was after all the wife of a guardsman, one who had given his life in service. She would already know that their unit consisted of men from all walks of life, and the men had spent years training together for not only war, but for any and all civil emergencies like floods and fires. Jordan probably knew that after all those monthly maneuvers were behind them each month the relationship between the men was often more about camaraderie than one of rank and file—and after serving in Iraq together—that friendship had grown tighter.
Without giving anything away, he said quietly, “He knows I’d do the same for him in a heartbeat.” Scott’s image flashed into his head.
Jordan took a long look at the man standing in her kitchen. He wasn’t that different from the man she’d married. Scott had been a successful software engineer, a graduate of Cal Poly who’d gotten in on the ground floor of a video game company that took off. But before all that, he’d joined the Guard during his college days along with a couple of his buddies. And for a guy who pretty much had been considered a nerd most of his life, the Guard allowed him to pursue his love of the outdoors while earning extra money he’d used for college.
A California native who loved hiking the hills around San Francisco, where he worked, Scott had been especially fond of the water. A surfer at heart, Scott had spent most of his days after college graduation in pursuit of a good time, any good time. That is, until a particular warm, sunny day at Ocean Beach where he’d gone to surf. He’d happened upon a beautiful college senior with big brown eyes and honey blond hair, trying to tackle some serious waves. She’d gotten in trouble with the undertow, and he’d pulled a struggling Jordan out of the surf. By the time she’d dried off, he’d cajoled a dinner date out of her. From that point on, he’d been a goner. They’d hit it off and moved in together after she graduated college. Six months later there was a wedding. With marriage came the talk of kids and settling down in Pelican Pointe for real to raise those kids.
Promise Cove Page 11
