by Irene Hannon
“Be careful.”
“Always. Talk to you soon.”
With a nod, he closed the door and moved back.
She started the engine and drove away, flashing her lights in farewell.
He lifted his hand in response, watching until she turned the corner.
Seconds later, Greg pulled out of his driveway and followed her down the street.
Once both cars disappeared, Ben strolled back to Skip’s house, giving the neighborhood one more inspection.
No sign of Nicole.
Where was she?
He wished to heaven he knew.
Because nervous as her presence had made him for the past five days, her absence was more disconcerting. At least while she was parked in front of his house or following him, he knew what she was up to.
Now?
It was anyone’s guess.
Unless Lexie or her crew had spotted her somewhere and were willing to give him an update.
It was worth a call, anyway.
23
“That should wrap up tonight’s meeting, unless anyone else has another item to discuss.” Marci surveyed the eight members of the lighthouse committee seated around the conference room table.
“I have nothing to add except to say I think this is moving along splendidly.” Father Murphy smiled at her. “On behalf of all of us, I want to thank you for taking on this project—and commend you for the tremendous results we’re already seeing from your crowdfunding appeal. This wired world we live in is astonishing.”
“I agree that the ability to reach huge numbers of people in our short window was a godsend.”
“A perfect word.” The priest’s smile broadened.
“But without everyone’s efforts, we’d never have gotten this far. I wouldn’t have tackled the project alone. BJ and Michael lined up the volunteer crew for the restoration work. Eric handled all the legal stuff at warp speed. Rose has gardeners far and wide chomping at the bit to dig into the dirt up there. The rest of you have been phenomenal too. If ever there was a group effort, this is it.”
“It’s gratifying to see so many people rally to save a town landmark. It would have been terrible to lose a structure that was a beacon of hope for decades.” Charley linked his fingers on the table.
“I think everyone realized that once it became a real possibility.” Marci tapped her papers into alignment. “I’ll keep you all informed of the donation tally by email. Other than that, why don’t we all continue with our various jobs and meet again next Wednesday?”
After a murmur of assent, everyone stood and began filing out.
“Marci, do you need me to stay for any further discussion tonight?” Greg joined her at the head of the table.
“No—but I’ll be in touch later in the week to talk more about the job, now that everyone has put their stamp of approval on you. And if donations keep coming in at this rate, we might be able to put you on the payroll sooner rather than later.”
“Don’t stretch the budget until there’s some cushion. Uncle Sam is taking care of me for now, thanks to this.” He indicated his leg. “Not that I want to rely on government assistance forever, but it’s okay for a while.”
“You earned whatever compensation you’re getting.”
He shrugged. “That’s what Rachel says—but I wasn’t raised to let someone else take care of me.” He tucked his file folder under his arm. “If we’re done, I’m going to head home. Rachel’s spent too much time alone these past few months, and I’m trying to make up for that.”
“By all means, go. I’m leaving myself.”
She didn’t have to urge him twice.
Only Charley, who was doing a final circuit of the room and collecting a few stray candy wrappers, remained.
“Another productive meeting, Marci.”
“Thanks. I can’t believe how fast all of this is coming together.”
“You can claim the lion’s share of the credit for that.”
“I think it had more to do with the fact that the threat to Pelican Point was imminent.”
“Could be. It seems sometimes we have to almost lose a blessing before we realize its value.” He deposited the discarded items in the trash can. “Why don’t I walk you to your car? Safety in numbers and all that.”
She slung her purse over her shoulder and squinted at him. Had Ben told Charley about the situation with Nicole?
“I never worry much about being safe in downtown Hope Harbor.” She watched the man for a clue.
“I don’t either. It’s a special place. Other than that vandalism spree a year ago, trouble’s bypassed us for the most part.” His amiable tone and placid expression didn’t suggest he knew anything about the unwelcome woman who’d invaded their town. “But I’m leaving too. Why not walk out together?”
“Works for me.” She picked up her files, and he fell in behind her as she exited the room and walked toward the front door of Grace Christian’s fellowship hall.
Once she secured the lock, she turned to find Charley doing a sweep of the parking lot and the adjacent road. When his eyes narrowed, she gave the area a quick scan too.
As far as she could tell, no one else was around. Nor did she see anything to cause concern.
When she looked back at him, his usual pleasant countenance was back.
“After you.” He motioned toward their cars, which were parked side by side.
“Your mother—or father—taught you excellent manners.”
“Grandmother, actually. And yes, my abuela did instruct me in the finer points of etiquette. We were dirt poor, but wealth doesn’t make a lady. Character does. And she had it to spare.”
Marci studied him.
In all their conversations during the two years she’d been in town, he’d never mentioned his childhood in Mexico.
Strange that he would offer a peek into his past now.
He waited while she got into her car, then touched the brim of his Ducks cap and took a step back. “Drive safe. Stop by for some tacos soon.”
“That’s my lunch plan for tomorrow, if you’re cooking.”
“If you’re coming, I’m cooking.” He winked and circled around her trunk to his own vehicle.
Her thoughts already on the phone call she was going to make to Ben once she arrived home, she put the key in the ignition and turned it.
Dead silence.
She frowned and tried again.
Zilch.
Was it possible she had a dead battery?
But how could that be? She’d replaced it days before she’d set off on the cross-county drive west to become a permanent Hope Harbor resident.
She twisted the key with more force.
Nothing.
Apparently her five-year battery had decided to give up the ghost three years early.
Of all the inconvenient times for this to happen.
With a huff, she peered at Charley through the darkness. He glanced toward her . . . got back out of his car . . . and circled around her Civic again as she opened her door.
“Car problems?” He leaned down.
“It won’t start. I think the battery’s dead. You don’t happen to have any jumper cables, do you?”
“No. Sorry. And Marv’s is closed for the night.”
“I thought he ran a body shop.”
“Also a garage. He has a magic touch with engines. Why don’t I give you a lift home, and he can come by the lot tomorrow morning and jump it for you.”
“I don’t want to take you out of your way.”
“You won’t. I have to pass by Pelican Point Road to get home.”
That’s right. His house and studio were north of town, on the coast.
“Well . . . if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“Not in the least. I’ll treat you to a ride in a genuine classic.”
She eyed Charley’s 1957 silver Thunderbird, its white top gleaming in the moonlight. His vehicle was almost a town landmark itself. Unlike the lighthou
se, however, it was in pristine condition.
“I don’t think I’ve ever ridden in a car this old.” She followed him around the trunk and waited while he opened the passenger door for her with a flourish.
“Not old. Timeless. Wouldn’t want Bessie here to take offense.” He patted the fender.
“Sorry. No insult intended.” She slid onto the roomy seat.
He closed the door and joined her a few moments later. The engine purred to life as he turned the key.
“Sounds like she’s in tip-top condition.”
“She is. But when I bought her, she was a mess. I spent two years restoring her. As with most things—and most people—though, a generous application of TLC worked wonders.”
The conversation shifted to gardening as they made the short drive to her house, and Charley surprised her yet again with his breadth of knowledge on the subject.
“Is there anything you don’t know about?” She shot him a teasing look as he pulled into her driveway.
“Algebra, for one. It baffles me. I’ll get your door.”
She let him. It seemed appropriate after sharing a ride in a stylish car like this with such a chivalrous driver.
Not only did he open her door, he walked her to the porch.
“Thanks again, Charley.”
“Would you like me to give you a lift back to your car in the morning? I could open the taco stand a little early.”
“No. I’ve already put you to enough trouble. I’ll ask Marv to come get me when I call him about the battery—or phone someone else.”
“I doubt Ben would mind swinging by.”
He might—given the woman who was lurking in the shadows.
“I’ll keep that as an option. I’m going to call him tonight anyway to give him an update on our meeting.”
“Sounds like a plan. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” With another touch to his Ducks cap, he strolled back to his car.
Marci waited for him to leave, but once he got in the car, he focused on the dash, as if he was adjusting his radio. Finally she went in, deactivated the alarm, and relocked the door.
By the time she looked out again, he was gone.
After dumping her tote bag and notes in the kitchen, she called Ben.
“I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Any problems tonight?”
“Other than a dead battery, no.”
“Bummer. How did you get home?”
“Charley dropped me off. I’ll call Marv at the body shop in the morning and have him give me a jump.”
“I could pick you up and do that if Nicole continues to lay low.”
“Still no sign of her?”
“No. I talked to Lexie, and she said the patrol officers haven’t spotted her car.”
“I’ll take that as a positive sign. If the coast is clear and you want to swing by tomorrow, that would be appreciated.”
“I’ll give you a call about eight—unless that’s too early.”
“Nope. I’m always up long before that.”
“Is your alarm system armed for the night?”
“Not yet. I’m downstairs.”
“Why don’t I wait while you go upstairs and set it?”
“She really has you freaked out, doesn’t she?”
“You’d feel the same if you were in my shoes.”
“Okay.” She gave him a recap of the meeting as she shut off the downstairs lights. “I’m climbing the stairs now. The alarm”—she punched in the numbers—“is also armed.”
“I hear the beeping. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe.”
“I will too—based on everything you’ve told me about her.”
After a lingering goodbye, Ben ended the call.
Marci put her phone in the charger beside her bed and ambled over to the window. As she’d done the night Ben had attempted to rescue Annabelle, she peeked through the shades.
Same as on that occasion, she saw nothing. The pools of illumination from her security lights were empty. The only sounds filtering through the screen in her open window were the wind in the trees and the plaintive hoot of an owl.
It was a night like any other here in Aunt Edith’s cottage.
But unlike her distant relative, who’d never married, she might not live out her days here alone—thanks to the arrival of an ex-army doctor who’d traveled thousands of miles to claim a surprising inheritance.
And if all went as she hoped, maybe she’d alter the plans for that detached garage she was planning to build from single car to double.
What was that sweet scent?
Rachel gave a contented sigh and snuggled deeper into her pillow.
Mmm.
It smelled like roses.
What a lovely dream.
Her nose began to tickle, and she wrinkled it. Something soft was grazing the edge of her nostril, and she lifted her hand to brush away the . . .
“Happy birthday, sleepyhead.”
Her eyes popped open.
A mass of velvety, crimson petals filled her vision.
She might be in bed—but that heavenly scent hadn’t been a dream.
It was as real as the man whose handsome face appeared above her once he moved the vase of roses aside.
She scrambled into a sitting position and touched one of the perfect petals.
“Wh-where did you get these?”
“Budding Blooms on Main Street. They opened early for me. And there’s more.” He set the vase on the nightstand and disappeared out the door.
She was still gawking at the gorgeous bouquet when he returned with a tray bearing two mugs of coffee, another small vase bearing a single rose, a plate of melon and strawberries, and two Sweet Dreams cinnamon rolls dripping with icing.
“I thought you deserved breakfast in bed on your birthday.” He set the decadent treat on the bed beside her and pulled up the straightback chair that sat against the wall. “With company.”
The room blurred, and she groped for a tissue from the box on the nightstand. Never in a million years had she expected him to indulge her like this on her birthday.
Truth be told, she hadn’t been certain he’d even remember the occasion, after all they’d been through.
“Hey.” He touched her cheek. “No tears today. We have a packed agenda.”
“Like what?” She dabbed at her eyes.
“Like that picnic in Shore Acres State Park I mentioned last week. The gardens there are blooming, our lunch is packed, and Charley told me about a perfect, secluded stretch of beach we’ll probably have all to ourselves for our picnic.”
“Sounds like a perfect birthday.”
“That’s what I’m aiming for. Now let’s eat or these rolls will get cold. I picked them up while they were fresh from the oven.”
Within fifteen minutes, every scrap of food on the tray had disappeared.
“I guess breakfast was a success.” Greg removed the tray from the bed and stood. “Let me get rid of this before the next surprise.”
“What surprise?” She called out the question as he disappeared down the hall again.
“Stay put. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Hmm.
A dozen long-stemmed roses with baby’s breath. Breakfast in bed. A romantic picnic.
What more could he have up his sleeve?
He didn’t keep her in suspense long.
In less than a minute, he returned with a flat box wrapped in silver paper.
“I’d sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ but as my high school music teacher told me, my superb breath control would be better applied to a wind instrument than to voice.” He grinned at her and handed over the box.
“You didn’t have to get me a present too.”
“Yes, I did. Especially this one.”
She weighed the box in her hand. Too large for jewelry, too small for clothing.
What could it be?
“Go ahead. Open it.” Greg sat back in the straightback chair beside the bed and folded his arms.
&
nbsp; She ripped off the paper and lifted the lid.
Nestled in tissue paper, she found a file folder.
She peeked over at him.
He crossed an ankle over his knee. “Remember—good things come in small packages.”
In silence, she pulled the folder free of the tissue and flipped it open.
Inside was a stack of clipped pages. Printouts from various websites, based on a preliminary skim.
University websites.
All of the material in the file related to journalism degrees.
She looked up at him.
He leaned forward to clasp his hands between his knees, all traces of levity gone. “Marci said if the money keeps rolling in, they might be able to get the paid position at the lighthouse up and running sooner than expected. Even if it doesn’t happen that fast, though, we’re not hurting for money. I want you to finish your degree.”
Funny.
She’d been thinking about that lately too. Her work on the Herald had reminded her how much she enjoyed journalism.
“I want to do that too, but I’m in no hurry. I can wait until our life is a bit more normal.”
“No.” He gave an emphatic shake of his head. “We’re not going to push this off. I did some research, and the University of Oregon has a journalism program at the Eugene campus. There are also a bunch of colleges that offer online programs. I want you to enroll somewhere this fall. You gave up enough when you married me. I don’t want your degree to be one more item on that list.”
Her throat tightened, and once again her vision blurred. “You’re wrong.” She took his hand and twined her fingers through his. “I didn’t give up anything. I re-prioritized and traded up.”
His eyes began to glisten. “Thank you for that. But I got the best end of the deal.” He squeezed her fingers and swept a hand over the file. “There are some outstanding programs in there. Please promise me you’ll pick one and do this. I know you already have a job at the Herald, but the credential of a degree will open doors in the future if you want to explore other options in journalism.”
There had been times she’d wondered if he realized how hard it had been for her to walk away from college at the end of her junior year, leaving that dream in limbo to marry him.
Now she knew.
He’d understood far better than she’d given him credit for.
