by Tara Randel
All the pain and hard times had been difficult, but had made them both stronger. In her mind, they deserved every bit of happiness they could carve out of life.
“I’d do away with the drama that got us to this point, but I’d never wish us apart again.”
Mitch kissed her neck. “Good answer.”
She turned in his arms, oblivious to the guests around them. “I’m proud to be your wife, Mitch. Here, or any place else on this planet.”
He brushed his lips over hers for a long, satisfying kiss.
“And I’m proud to be your husband,” he said when they surfaced. “As it turns out, Cypress Pointe is an awesome place to live. Especially since you’re here.”
Yes, Cypress Pointe was exactly her dream destination come true. For now, and always. And she was sure she could safely say that sentiment resounded with all the special people gathered here today.
* * * * *
Don’t miss the rest of the charming
romances in Tara Randel’s acclaimed
THE BUSINESS OF WEDDINGS
miniseries:
THE WEDDING MARCH
THE BRIDAL BOUQUET
HONEYSUCKLE BRIDE
MAGNOLIA BRIDE
ORANGE BLOSSOM BRIDES
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Keep reading for an excerpt from SOMETHING TO TREASURE by Virginia McCullough.
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Something to Treasure
by Virginia McCullough
Chapter One
CLUTCHING THE WOODEN PLAQUE to her chest, Dawn Larsen laughed with joy at the sound of applause, along with the loud chant, “Speech, speech, speech.” Tingling with excitement, and almost reeling from a jolt of nervous energy, Dawn stepped up to the microphone to give her colleagues what they demanded.
“And to think I almost didn’t come to the conference this weekend.” She grinned at Barb, the conference chair and her good friend, who stood to the side of the podium. “But thanks to Barb, I’m here. She’s encouraged me every step of the way.”
Dawn held up the plaque and turned it so the audience could see the engraving: Outstanding Public Relations Campaign of the Year. “My clients, the owners of the party planning business, get some credit, too. Party Perfect is a great firm and a joy to promote. And this award is especially gratifying because my peers in public relations have honored me in this way.”
“Two firsts for you this weekend, Dawn,” Barb said, coming to stand next to her. “Your first conference presentation and your first award.”
Once again, the one hundred or so attendees broke into applause. Dawn took that as a signal to end her speech and called out, “Thanks again, everyone.” She gave the audience a quick wave and went to her seat at the panelists’ table, still in shock over receiving the award.
Barb quickly gave the group a rundown of the afternoon programs and then directed everyone to tables in the hall set up for their afternoon coffee break. “I’ll check out the snacks for us,” Barb said before heading out of the meeting room.
Her face still warm with excitement, Dawn stayed put. She wasn’t finished coming down to earth. Gradually, though, her heartbeat slowed and she began to feel like herself again.
She even tried to wiggle her toes inside her black high heels. If her feet could speak, though, they’d beg to be set free from the prison of the shoes. But then she ran her fingers down her opposite arm, enjoying the feel of the silky fabric of her new spring green suit. She chose the perfect color for her fair skin, and for this very occasion, her debut as a speaker at this professional conference. A milestone for Dawn. The award was the icing on the cake.
Finally, her attention back in the present, Dawn noticed a woman lingering in the room. She was occupying herself with looking out the meeting room window. Not much to see from the twenty-third floor, since the glass was being pelted with sleet that blocked the view of Lake Michigan. This April storm had started about the time Dawn had backed out of the driveway of her house in Two Moon Bay, Wisconsin, almost two days ago.
“Hi,” Dawn called out to the tiny older woman with a halo of salt-and-pepper curls. And who was wearing sensible flats, too.
“Hi, yourself,” she said, turning away from the window and approaching the table. “I’m Kym Nation. An old friend of Barb’s. Congratulations on your award, and that terrific talk. And I hung back in the room because I wanted to ask you about that town you’re from.”
Dawn shook the woman’s outstretched hand, amused at the teasing sparkle in Kym’s eyes. She pointed to a chair at the now empty panelists’ table. “Have a seat and tell me what you’d like to know about my corner of the world.”
Kym plunked a thick portfolio on the table. She folded one leg under her as she settled in the chair. “So, you really are from that place with the outrageously cute name, Two Moon Bay?”
Dawn chuckled at Kym’s mock skepticism. “I am, indeed. But people usually call the town’s name charming—or romantic and alluring. Not cute.”
Swatting the air, Kym said, “I know, I’m just joshing you a little. Couldn’t resist.” Her expression becoming serious, she added, “You see, not long ago, I talked to an old acquaintance of mine. He was telling me about his plan to relocate to Two Moon Bay—I had to get my road atlas out and find out where it was.” She paused. “That was a couple of months ago. He might even be there as we speak.”
“Really? Does he happen to have a business?” Dawn asked, more as a joke from one businesswoman to another than a serious question.
“As a matter of fact, he has a tourist business...diving and water tours,” Kym said. “I knew him a few years back when I was based in Key West. We’ve stayed in touch—the occasional phone calls and emails, that sort of thing. He contacted me because he needs some promo help. Brochures, ads, feature stories. And that’s just a start.”
“Tell me more,” Dawn said, curious about the newcomer to her hometown. “It’s true, the party planners are terrific clients, but I’m looking for some fresh challenges.”
“Well, okay, then,” Kym said, her features animated. “He runs scuba diving excursions and much tamer water tours for kids and older folks—anyone of any age who doesn’t want to dive but would like to spend a little time out on a boat. He told me he leased dock space up in Two Moon Bay. He plans to take divers out to some legendary shipwrecks off the coast. That’s his specialty, shipwrecks.” Kym’s eyes sparkled. “I didn’t know there were any wrecks up your way?”
>
Playfully taking the bait, Dawn held up her left hand and ran her opposite index finger along the outside of her thumb. “People describe Wisconsin like a mitten, and this is the peninsula that forms the thumb. Two Moon Bay is along the lower edge of the peninsula. And there are shipwrecks up and down the whole coast—in all the Great Lakes, as a matter of fact.” She made big circles in the air with her index finger.
Kym threw up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it. Seems he was raised on one of those lakes and had relatives who worked on boats way back when. Must have sparked something in him, because he’s been exploring shipwrecks all over the world for years now.”
“Was he a client of yours?” Dawn asked.
Kim paused, frowning. “Not exactly. He had a couple of dive boats in Key West back when my husband and I ran a tourist information kiosk near the docks.” She rubbed at what seemed like an imaginary spot on the back of her hand. Without looking up, she said, “We got to know all the folks doing tours and such.”
Why the hesitation, and why so serious all of a sudden?
“My ex-husband and I got our scuba diving certifications at home and then did some diving in the Caribbean on a vacation once.” Dawn left her discussion of diving at that. Otherwise, she might have meandered into unpleasant memories. She’d only mentioned it to reassure Kym she had what it took to promote a marine business. She trembled a bit inside, but brushed the negative memories out of her mind.
Scuba aside, promoting an outdoor venture appealed, especially now that the cold Midwest winter would soon give way to spring. It wouldn’t be long before the orchards transformed the landscape into clouds of pink and white blossoms and tourists flocked to town.
“We have kayaking and diving businesses operating on the shore in Wisconsin all summer.” In a deliberately amused tone, she added, “By the way, Kym, you wouldn’t believe the number of books written about shipwrecks—just in Lake Michigan alone.”
“So, is it okay if I pass on your information?” Kym patted her portfolio. “I already picked up your press kit off the display table.”
“By all means,” she said. “I’d be happy to talk to your friend. What’s his name?”
Kym stared out into the empty room. “Jerrod Walters.”
Dawn waited, sensing Kym was gathering her thoughts.
“Uh, I don’t want to overstate this, but he’s not...” Kym paused. “He’s not an exuberant kind of guy.”
Hmm...what did that mean? “Could you elaborate on that a little?”
Keeping her gaze lowered, Kym fidgeted with a corner of her portfolio. “Let’s just say he’s known some trouble.”
Dawn released the breath she’d been holding and folded her arms across her chest. “It’s a good thing that’s not a disqualifier. I’ve had a spot of trouble now and again myself.” She expected to see Kym smile at that, but she didn’t.
Despite the woman’s somber expression, Dawn wouldn’t second-guess a referral just yet. Even one new client could mean a solid return on the investment she’d made to come to this conference. Besides, much as she’d enjoyed working with Party Perfect, the thought of a guy with an adventure business whetted her appetite. Hadn’t she come to the conference because she wanted to stretch professionally? This might be the opportunity she’d been looking for.
* * *
JERROD WALTERS PROPPED UP the picture of a wooden steamship, the Franklin Stone, against the wall at the end of the table. He’d had the poster-size print of the 280-foot ship framed and it would soon hang in his office in Two Moon Bay. The original oil painting had never been considered a masterpiece. Far from it. An art critic would laugh at the amateurish rendering of the people and the landscape. But Jerrod didn’t care about any of that. The painting showed the steamship burning like a giant torch out in the lake. Men in two lifeboats were rowing to shore and a smaller boat was headed out to meet them. Jerrod could put himself in that painting and play any of the roles, from the captain who’d ordered the ship abandoned to the fisherman on the shore who spotted the distant flames and rowed out to see if he could lend a hand.
Jerrod knew many facts about the Franklin Stone but hadn’t seen her yet. Few people had, since what was left of her sat on the bottom of the lake sixty feet below the surface. This legendary wreck would soon be the primary site of his diving excursions in his new location. What better way to introduce the site than to have a poster showing what destroyed the ship mounted on the office wall?
A pile of old books about shipping on the Great Lakes sat next to his open laptop, but he picked them up and moved them to a box on the floor. If he kept them in his sight he’d be tempted to lose the day to marine history. Lose another day was more like it. Much as he wanted to keep reading about grain and iron ore tonnage transported on the Great Lakes in the early 1900s, he had a more pressing task.
He rolled his office chair a few feet to his right and spread out the dive site map and navigation chart. He needed to double-check the accuracy of the distances and location of the site map against the course he laid out on the chart showing a section of Lake Michigan surrounding the Door Peninsula. He’d chosen the Franklin Stone because it had all the elements he needed. First, it was well-known by historians and shipwreck divers alike. Resting in only sixty feet of water, newly certified divers could gain a little experience without committing a lot of time. Finally, it was the right distance from the shore of the popular tourist town, Two Moon Bay, to take divers for short day trips. Later, if this new arm of his adventure business panned out, he could add sites at greater depths and distances from shore. Even weekend trips could be part of his future in Wisconsin, but he didn’t want to get too far ahead of himself.
Jerrod had also settled on a second shipwreck, the eighty-foot schooner Alice Swann, not as exciting, but closer to shore in about eighteen feet of water. Some divers bypassed the boat trip and visited the site from the shore, walking in fins until they were able to swim and snorkel the rest of the way. That was certainly possible, but not how he chose to lead his diving excursions.
He eyed the reference book he’d been using to write the script for the day tours he’d run on a converted ferry. If he were a guy prone to easy laughter, he’d certainly laugh at himself. The outside world thought of the physical demands of diving, never the quiet preparation. Looking at him, they’d see an adventurer who’d traveled the world and had trained others to explore reefs and wrecks. But Jerrod liked to think of himself as an amateur archeologist. The site map grids were almost like those used to explore ruins of lost cities. The ships that fascinated him most were indeed like lost cities in miniature.
For sure, his academic interest in the history and lore of commercial shipping on the Great Lakes wasn’t what had built his reputation or his business. He was known for big-sea diving in Key West and the Virgin Islands—and for a time, Thailand. Now, in a matter of weeks, he’d begin taking people down to visit these bones of ships at the bottom of Lake Michigan.
New location, new start. That was the plan.
Although difficult to admit, neglect had led to a shrinking business. At one point, he’d faced the crossroads. He either had to reverse the downward trend of his business or give it up altogether. He’d chosen to stick with what he knew and loved and had launched an aggressive plan to breathe new life into his Key West location. Then he’d added his Two Moon Bay plan to satisfy his own need for a new direction.
As he studied the site map, Jerrod’s thoughts drifted back to the days when diving had dominated everything, including his family life. Adventure Dives & Water Tours had offered both diving trips and sightseeing tours and was more successful than he’d ever imagined. But in a flash, that had all changed, and for a couple of years, he’d let much of the business he’d built crumble around him. It was kept alive only because he had such an able crew. But with renewed resolve, he was approaching his scattered life as if it were a
jigsaw puzzle, and it was time to make the pieces fit together again.
Pushing away from the table, Jerrod stood and grabbed a thick envelope off the nightstand. It contained the handful of listing sheets for rental houses. The cramped hotel suite in Chicago he currently called home motivated him to find two summer rental houses in Two Moon Bay. He needed one house for himself, his little girl, Carrie, and her nanny, Melody, and a second for his crew, Wyatt and Rob.
Maybe being settled in a real home would do the trick and wipe out the lingering anxiety over his new direction. In his rational mind he was certain he’d made the right decisions, but on some days, he had trouble making his heart understand.
His buzzing phone signaled a text from Melody. He read it quickly, to be sure it was just a routine check-in and nothing urgent. Melody and Carrie had left the zoo and would stop for lunch at their new favorite hole-in-the-wall to get a couple of Chicago’s famous hot dogs before coming back to the hotel.
Jerrod smiled to himself. When the rain had stopped, Carrie, who’d celebrated her fifth birthday only last month with a trip to the Lincoln Park Zoo, had wanted to go visit her animal friends. She couldn’t get enough of the zoo families—giraffes, chimpanzees, even lions—that lived in the zoo less than a mile away from the hotel.
Fortunately, the rain and bluster had left them with a cloudy but dry late Saturday afternoon that made it possible for the zoo trip. Jerrod shook his head sadly. In order to give Carrie a real home again, rather than this residential hotel, he’d need to uproot her once more. He hoped she wouldn’t mind, not as long as she still had Melody, who, lucky for him, was willing to make the move with him and Carrie.
In spite of losses and changes no child should have to endure, Carrie was a lively little girl, about as well-adjusted as Jerrod could imagine. That was great, but he was still finding his way to healing from the past. Carrie was the most important part of his present. More than anything he had left in the world, she was his heart.
His phone alerted him to a new email. Nice surprise, he thought when he saw the name, Kym Nation, his old friend. In his mind’s eye, he could see Kym’s welcoming face as she greeted tourists and encouraged them to explore Key West. She and her husband had worked side by side in a kiosk and promoted every Hemingway tour and shrimp shack the iconic little city offered. But they’d eventually gone home to landlocked Kansas City.
