“We got hoodwinked, Jess.”
Daniel Stone pulled away from the Quinn Real Estate office and glanced at the golden retriever sitting beside him on the front seat. “The old man never said anything about a woman and two children sharing the house with us.”
The dog grunted in reply.
“Not concerned about an invasion of privacy, are you, girl?” Daniel scratched his loyal companion behind her ears as he turned onto Beach Road and pulled into the driveway of the big corner house. “Never mind, girl. We’ll simply ignore our neighbors and go about our business. We may have come east to start over, but that doesn’t mean we want a lot of new people in our lives.”
The truth was that Daniel wanted nothing more than a calm, uncomplicated life. A summer at the beach should have provided him with such a life. Except Mr. Bart Quinn had ruined that possibility.
Why couldn’t he have rented the downstairs apartment to a quiet, retired couple instead of a couple of kids and a woman whose hair—what exactly had Mr. Quinn said? Oh yes, a woman whose hair had dancing red lights in it.
“Why would we care about that, Jess? You and I know no one can ever replace Nikki.”
Dear Reader,
Summer at the beach! What could be more fun than spending two glorious months in the sand, sun and surf? Fun is what Shelley Anderson is hoping to provide for her children when she rents the first floor of Sea View House a year after her divorce. The kids haven’t been adjusting well, and the house is perfect—right on the beach in Pilgrim Cove, Massachusetts, a town that welcomes newcomers wholeheartedly, summerfolk included. At least, that’s what the Realtor tells her when she signs the lease.
She’s not so sure he’s right after meeting Daniel Stone, the man who’s renting the top floor of Sea View House. The man definitely wants to be left alone. He’s obviously less than thrilled by the instant rapport between his beautiful golden retriever and her two active kids.
Welcome to Pilgrim Cove! Or welcome back! The ROMEOS still have all their fingers in every pie, and Matt and Laura (The House on the Beach, Harlequin Superromance #1192) are gettting married. Neptune’s Amusement Park is up and running for the summer season, as is Little League Baseball. So come on down and be part of the action in a place where people know their neighbors and care about them.
No Ordinary Summer is the second in my four-book PILGRIM COVE miniseries. If you missed The House on the Beach, you can order it through eHarlequin or through your favorite bookseller. I hope you enjoy visiting Pilgrim Cove as much as I enjoy writing about life there.
See you on the beach,
Linda Barrett
I’d love to hear from you! Please write to
[email protected] or P.O. Box 841934,
Houston, TX 77284-1934. Check out my Web site
at www.linda-barrett.com
No Ordinary Summer
Linda Barrett
To Pauline and Andrew—
who had the good sense to fall in love,
get married and GIVE ME GRANDCHILDREN!
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Shelley Anderson:
Boston teacher, leases ground floor of Sea View House
Daniel Stone:
Law professor (Harvard), leases top floor of Sea View House
Bart Quinn:
Realtor for Sea View House
Father of Maggie Sullivan and Thea Cavelli
Grandfather of Lila Quinn Sullivan
Great-grandfather of Katie Sullivan
Laura and Matt Parker:
Hero and heroine of first
Pilgrim Cove book
Maggie Quinn Sullivan:
Bart’s daughter, Lila’s mother
Partner in The Lobster Pot
Thea Quinn Cavelli:
Bart’s daughter
Partner in the Lobster Pot
Lila Sullivan:
Bart’s granddaughter and partner
Dee Barnes:
Manager of Diner on the Dunes
Recently married to Rick “Chief”
O’Brien
THE ROMEOS:
Bart Quinn:
Unofficial leader of the ROMEOS
Sam Parker:
Matt’s dad, works part-time with Matt
Joe Cavelli:
Thea’s father-in-law
Rick “Chief” O’Brien:
Retired police chief; married to Dee Barnes
Lou Goodman:
Retired high school librarian
Max “Doc” Rosen:
Retired physician
Ralph Bigelow:
Retired electrician
Mike Lyons:
Retired engineer
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
“ARE WE THERE YET?”
Shelley sighed and glanced into the rearview mirror of her five-year-old Toyota Camry. Both kids were squirming in their seat belts despite the books, tapes and games she had brought. They’d stopped for a fast-food snack along the way, a very infrequent choice when Shelley was in charge. But she wanted to provide Emily and Josh with a fun day. And if that included shakes and fries, so be it.
“Look out the window and tell me if you think we’re almost at the beach.”
Silence reigned for a moment, before Josh said, “Well, the trees are shorter than ours. And there’s sand along the side of the road.”
“I see sand,” said Emily.
“There’s a sign coming up on the right,” said Shelley, slowing the car. “Can you read it, Josh?”
“I know how to read, Mom,” Josh replied, exasperation in his voice. “It says Welcome To Pilgrim Cove. Population: Winter—5000. Summer—Lots Higher.”
Shelley chuckled. A town with a sense of humor. “I have a good feeling about this,” she said. But her son didn’t answer. She glanced into the mirror again and sighed. Josh was as sullen as when they’d left the house. Of course, he’d been hoping his dad would surprise him with a call or a short visit even though it was Carl’s “off” weekend. Finally, Shelley had suggested he call Carl. Josh’s expression had reflected his hope against hope. But in the end, he’d taken the chance and dialed.
Shelley had seen the disappointment on his face and immediately blamed herself. Maybe she shouldn’t have encouraged him to call his dad. It was so hard to know exactly what to do! In the year since the divorce had become final, she’d tried so hard to protect her children. A year of counseling, play-group therapy and keeping their lives and routines as normal as possible. And now Josh was sitting in the back seat of Shelley’s car at the end of a two-hour drive from Boston, his unhappiness visible to everyone. Her son didn’t want to acknowledge “on” and “off” weekends. Josh wanted the family the way it used to be.
She’d been so damn naive when she’d met Carl in the college bookstore. He’d been a confident, ambitious law student aiming for a big career and she, an undergrad working in the store, nose always in a book, mind on her grades. He’d pursued her after their first encounter. Won over her hardworking parents, bringing them hope for their son when her hormone-raging adolescent brother started looking up to Carl as a role model.
And her brother had straightened out, was now married with kids. Carl still took the credit when her folks spoke of those days. He
knew how to play up to her family just as he knew how to play up to a jury.
“We’re on Main Street now,” said Shelley, picturing the map she’d studied the night before. “A very long street that continues down the entire peninsula. Lots of waterfront here. The Atlantic on one side and Pilgrim Bay on the other.”
Josh grunted.
Shelley sighed again. She felt like the head cheerleader of a very reluctant team.
“Come on, Josh. Help me find the place. Quinn Real Estate, on Main, past Abalone Street.” Shelley slowed down again to read signs as they crossed intersections. “Neptune, Conch, Dunes, Abalone!” she recited, tapping the brakes again. “Good. We’re almost there.”
“I see the place, Mom. On the right.”
“Good eye, Josh. Thanks.”
Her son gave a weak smile, and Shelley decided right then to learn every baseball term useful for building a boy’s confidence. She was sure it was the “good eye” that had coaxed Josh’s small grin.
She pulled into a spot in front of Quinn Real Estate and Property Management, as glad as her children to have arrived. Stepping into the sunshine, she closed her own door, walked around the car to help Josh and Emily out on the curb side.
“Okay, troops. Let’s see if Mr. Quinn really does have something we can afford right on the beach.” During their phone conversation earlier in the week, Bart Quinn had been encouraging without making any promises. Shelley was willing to accept any house in the vicinity of the beach, no matter how tiny. An uninsulated bungalow would do. She was convinced a change of scene and a change of activities were what they all needed. A summer at the seashore would certainly provide those.
BARTHOLOMEW QUINN LEANED back in his oversize leather desk chair and rolled it and himself to the large open window. A spring breeze tinged with sunshine and ocean had been teasing him all morning, and he’d resisted its lure until now. He closed his eyes and inhaled the best perfume in the world. If he were a younger man, he’d close shop for an hour and hit the beach in full stride. In fact, he had the urge to do it now. At seventy-five years, he still walked with a spring in his step! Plus a twinge in his knee.
He continued to dream, his mind’s eye like a movie camera, capturing every foot of shoreline on the peninsula. He knew the shore in every season, the ocean in all her moods. The fair ones and the foul. Just as he knew every street in town. He chuckled at the thought. Since he’d lived in Pilgrim Cove all his life, he’d be hard-pressed not to know every street, road and thoroughfare. He’d be a lousy real estate agent to boot!
Finally opening his eyes, Bart stood up and peered out the window. Main Street was quieter today than it was in the middle of the week. Most of the businesses were closed on Sunday—Parker Plumbing and Hardware, the Pilgrim Cove Savings & Loan—but not Quinn Real Estate at the start of the busy season. He and Lila, his granddaughter, had been answering a constantly ringing phone since the beginning of March as people yearned for sunshine and summer vacations after a long New England winter.
Bart sighed with satisfaction. Life had been good to him. His parents had emigrated from County Cork long ago with not even a potato in their pockets, and now their son ran the business they’d established—the oldest and largest real-estate sales and property management company in the county—in partnership with their great-granddaughter! Now, how many families could boast that?
He turned from the window and started to push his chair back to the desk, but a slamming car door made him pause. Bart moved back and stared at the street directly outside. A woman was gathering two children from the back seat of a sedan. He glanced at his watch. Probably his noon appointment arriving at almost one o’clock.
He watched as she bent close to the children, talking or listening, he couldn’t tell. She had a cap of short dark hair, red highlights dancing whenever she moved her head. Then she straightened, took a child’s hand in each of hers and looked up at the sign on the agency’s front door. She didn’t move for a second, in fact, stood very still as though plucking up courage before leading the children up the few steps to the doorway.
Bart shook his head. Poor girl. Could be she’d gotten lost. She certainly looked lost. Lost and scared. But also determined. A not-so-brave mother lioness.
“We’ll see. We’ll see,” he murmured, checking his appointment book for her name before walking out of his office to greet her. He turned right and right again ten feet down the corridor toward the front of the building. The distance to the front door was the price he paid for the corner office with the cross ventilation, and he didn’t mind a bit.
His granddaughter stood at the entrance, already chatting with their visitors and leading them down the hall toward him. “Oh, there he is,” Lila said. “Granddad, this is…”
“Shelley Anderson,” Bart completed, extending his hand to the young woman with the shiny hair. “Welcome to Pilgrim Cove.”
“I’m sorry we’re late,” she began, a tiny frown creasing her brow, a shadow darkening her eyes.
“No matter,” said Bart quickly. “We’re a little slow today anyway. In fact, right now is better for me.” Lila’s astonished expression would have made him laugh if he’d allowed himself to look at her. So he didn’t. Bart knew people, had learned to trust his instincts years ago, and still believed in a man’s gallantry to women. Right now, Bart would have said anything to put Shelley Anderson and her children at ease.
He watched Lila make a beeline back to her office, and then turned toward the boy and offered his hand. “And you are…?”
“Josh.” One word, sullenly given. Limp handshake.
“Fine jacket you have. My great-granddaughter plays baseball, too.”
Now, that got the boy’s attention. His hazel eyes came alive.
“But she’s a girl!”
“That she is, boyo. She’s a girl on second base.”
Bart let Josh mull that over while he turned to the beautiful little girl hiding behind her mother’s legs with her thumb in her mouth. He walked to Shelley Anderson’s side and bent down until his knee protested. “And who’s this little princess?”
A pair of chocolate-brown eyes, as big and round as any he’d ever seen, peeked up at him. Bart glanced up at the mother, but her attention was solely on her daughter.
“Are you Esmeralda Hossenfeffer?” asked Bart with a wink as he looked at the little girl again.
A tiny giggle emerged from behind the child’s thumb. A sweet sound.
“Are you Isabella Farmer-in-the-della?” The gentle teasing came easily to him, a man surrounded by family, where five grandchildren and one great-grandchild had filled his daily life from the moment they’d been born.
The thumb popped out of the girl’s rosebud mouth, and she shook her head fast.
“Are you—?”
“I’m Emily Joy Anderson!”
Bart snapped his fingers. “That’s just what I thought all the time,” he said, pleased to see the spirit hiding inside the child. He extended his hand to Emily, and she took it before disappearing behind her mother again.
Bart centered his attention on Shelley Anderson, who sported a lovely smile as she hugged her daughter. “You have two beautiful children, Mrs. Anderson,” he said.
Her smile widened and she nodded. “I certainly do. They’re beautiful, they’re smart and, well, they’re just the best.” She kissed them each on top of their heads.
Josh made a face. “No mushy stuff.”
“Sorry,” said Shelley in a light, musical tone.
Bart chuckled under his breath. The woman wasn’t sorry at all. No shadows darkened her eyes now; no frowns marred her smooth forehead. And he silently applauded. It was a pleasure to see some confidence overtake the worry he’d seen on her face earlier.
He led the little family to his sunny office and invited them to sit down. He was ready to learn all he could about Shelley Anderson and her children. Not because he was an old gossip with time on his hands. Not at all. In fact, his meeting with this famil
y carried great responsibility.
For twenty-five years, Bartholomew Quinn had been charged with leasing a particular waterfront property on a sliding financial scale when appropriate. He answered to the William Adams Trust, named for the founder of Pilgrim Cove, about his choice of tenants. And so far, he hadn’t missed a step in identifying those who needed a bit of fiscal help along with a respite from daily life. Sea View House provided the answer for folks recovering from emotional exhaustion no matter the reason.
The instincts of a lifetime had awakened when Shelley Anderson had called for the appointment. Now they crackled along every nerve. Sea View House was certainly what she needed; he hoped it was what she deserved.
CHAPTER TWO
THE OLD ROGUE HADN’T missed a trick. Bartholomew Quinn, with his leonine head of white hair and his twinkling blue eyes, had learned all about her—about the divorce, about her job, about the children—in twenty minutes. Shelley glanced at her watch. Correction. Fifteen.
She recognized the Irish in him—she was half Irish herself—and credited his success in drawing her out to both the traditional gift of gab and a long-ago kiss to the Blarney stone.
Of course, Bart Quinn had something she wanted very much. A house on the ocean at an affordable rental. A temporary sanctuary where she and the kids could come to terms with their lives and find some peace. For that possibility, she’d compromise her natural reticence in a heartbeat.
“Teaching is a noble profession,” said Bart, “that doesn’t pay well.”
Shelley chuckled ruefully and nodded. “I haven’t used the word ‘noble’ myself, but I’ve always viewed the shaping of young minds as important work regardless of salary.”
“Even kindergarten?”
“Especially kindergarten!” Shelley could feel her blood heat up. She’d had this discussion in the past with people who thought she was wasting her mind and her time on the babies of the school system. She’d grown used to defending her choice, but was disgruntled every time she had to. She’d expected better of Bart Quinn.
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