by Drea Stein
Phoebe sighed again. Just what had Savannah gotten her into?
Chapter 6
Chase Sanders spun around aimlessly in his office chair. He was supposed to be looking over quarterly reports and making some decisions on what to include in the new product line, which, at this point, was looking pretty dismal. But he couldn’t concentrate. Not even the sight of the stiff breeze kicking up whitecaps on the harbor could distract him from thinking about her. The blond at Ivy House. Phoebe Ryan. He should have known the minute he’d seen her, but he had acted like a fool, making all sorts of inane remarks that had probably sounded like cheesy come-ons, which, in a way, had been just that.
The sight of her, it was a bit like staring at a ghost. Except he’d had an entirely different reaction between his legs than fear. Nope, no doubt about it. Phoebe Ryan was almost as much of a looker as her grandmother had been in her day.
Still, that was all it was—a fully physical reaction to her. Her red-blond hair, the splay of freckles over her nose, the light blue eyes, the long, strong body. The way she had glanced at him coolly, obviously put out by his presence, but keeping her cool. She’d been wary, wondering what his game was. But he hadn’t told her anything beyond the fact that he was interested in the house.
He had at least remembered to offer his condolences, which were sincere. He didn’t hold anything against Savannah. In fact, his entire family just ignored the whole thing. Sort of pretended that Leland had never existed. His grandmother had even remarried, so Chase hadn’t realized that Grandpa Sal was really just a stepgrandpa. And with a different last name than Leland, Chase had gone through most of his life without giving his connection, however tenuous, with Leland another thought.
Well, she’d probably figure it out soon enough, and then the game would be up. Well, the game would be up as soon as she would look at his card. If she ever did. She seemed adamant about not wanting to sell the house, which meant that the Historical Commission would be up in arms. They were naturally distrustful of outsiders, and a blond Californian had them all in a dither. They were afraid the new owner was going for a tear down. So, Chase had valiantly decided to play the white knight and rescue Ivy House from the West Coaster who didn’t know a gable from a cupola.
It hadn’t worked quite as smoothly as he hoped. Phoebe had seemed a bit stuck-up, not melting into his charm. Chase, with some satisfaction, had yet to find a red-blooded female who didn’t give in to it. But Phoebe had just kept looking at him like he had two heads. He was trying to concentrate on paperwork, but all he could do was shuffle around the documents so incoherently and roughly that he knocked over his paperweight, which hit the floor like his jaw had when he first glimpsed Phoebe Ryan.
“That’s a way to make a mess,” Noah Randall said as he walked into Chase’s office, “and not much else. What’s eating you?”
Chase felt sheepish as he looked at his oldest friend. “It’s nothing.”
Noah, tall, slim, with light brown hair, laughed. “Sounds like girl trouble to me. What’s her name? Beth, Bethany?”
“Ha.” Chase gave a halfhearted laugh as Noah threw himself into one of the chairs on the other side of his desk. “It was Bethany and we broke up six months ago.” Chase got up and picked up the paperweight, a solid glass orb with a replica of the schooner America, the winner of the first America’s Cup.
Noah shook his head. “That long? Wasn’t she some sort of model?”
“Wasn’t my type,” Chase answered curtly.
Noah shot his friend a look. Bethany had been a swimwear model and Chase had met her at a photo shoot for the spring catalog. “I didn’t know there was a girl who wasn’t your type.”
“Well, let’s just say she seemed to be more interested in what I could do for her than in my sparkling personality.”
“Wow, sounds like you’re maturing. Good thing since you’re turning thirty in another couple of months and all that,” Noah said with a laugh.
“Very funny,” Chase said, managing to keep the sarcasm to a low boil.
“Are we going to spend all of lunch talking about your love life?” Noah asked, one foot swinging casually off the side of his chair.
Chase gave a half smile. Noah was his oldest friend, and they’d been through a lot of things together, including girls.
Chase shook his head. “There’s nothing to tell.” Once he had grown tired of Bethany, who, like most of the other women he’d dated, seemed more interested in his wallet than him, he’d decided to take a break. It had been refreshing—six months of not worrying about what someone else thought—but a man had needs. And right now, there was a certain blond up on the hill who was occupying more than her fair share of his brain space.
No wonder she had looked at him down her nose. He was dressed like a dockhand. He should have put on a suit and tie, the kind that he kept for meetings, but he’d been so excited when the agent had told him that Ivy House might be available that he rushed up there, sure that fate was handing him his chance.
“I keep telling you: dating models and actresses isn’t the key to lasting happiness,” Noah said, shaking his head, bringing Chase back to his present predicament.
“Just because you’re married now doesn’t mean you’re the expert,” Chase shot back.
Noah gave a small laugh. “Isn’t that the truth? I’ve known Caitlyn just about all my life and been married to her for over a year, and she still surprises me.”
Chase took a long appraising look at his old friend. The surprises must have been good ones because Noah looked happy, at ease. Of course, it was easy to be that way when you were a successful tech entrepreneur, had reconnected with the love of your life, and were expecting a baby.
“Congrats, by the way, for real. I haven’t seen you since you guys announced the news,” Chase said.
He meant it too. He and Noah had grown up in Queensbay together, thick as thieves as kids. Noah had lived in the big house on the bluffs high above the harbor, while Chase, his brother, and parents lived down in town, near the marina.
Noah and Chase had learned to sail on the harbor at the Yacht Club and had hated each other at first sight. That had led to a game of chicken, in boats, which resulted in one boat sunk and the other one in dry dock for weeks. To help pay for the damages and learn a better way of handling their feelings towards each other, their dads made them work at the marina, scrubbing down boats and pumping gas. Since that hadn’t helped their relationship, they decided to settle things the old-fashioned way—with a race. Chase had beaten the pants off Noah, and Noah, always one to use brains over brawn, shook his hand and offered to be his crew for the Club’s Junior Cup. They’d won that year and every year thereafter.
Since then, they’d been inseparable on the water and off, he and Noah making a powerful team. After high school, Noah had headed to college for a couple of years and then dropped out to go to Silicon Valley, California. Chase, too, had gone to college, but spent most of his time with the sailing team, and finally, after a few semesters, the lure of sailing in the big leagues caught up with him.
Chase had focused on racing, on winning, driven by the money it made him. He’d been doing just fine and hadn’t thought much about it when Noah, turned down by his own father, had asked for a loan. Chase and his brother Jackson had scraped together everything they had, and Noah had given them a bunch of papers in return.
And then his dad had gotten sick, and with his brother still in college, Chase had to come home. The family business had needed help and Chase assumed the helm. He’d discovered that the papers that Noah had given him meant he was a part owner of Noah’s company and that had been all he needed, besides his own winnings, to take the family’s boating supply store, North Coast Outfitters, and grow it into an upscale catalog, a chain of stores, and a website catering to the yachting crowd. The success and the hard work it had taken left him with no regrets about giving up his racing career. Sure, a chance at the America’s Cup was probably out of the question now,
but he had a good life, and his father, while not in perfect health, was doing OK.
Chase had his own membership at the Queensbay Yacht Club, a forty-foot sloop in a slip at the marina, which he now owned to boot, and he was the hometown boy made good. There was just one thing missing to make his dream complete.
“Thank you. Caitlyn’s been down with morning sickness for the past three months, but she says it’s easing up. Either that or she can’t stand being cooped up anymore. Watch out, I’m sure she’s planning some sort of party soon.” Noah ran a hand through his hair.
Chase had nothing to say for a moment, lost again in thoughts of Phoebe and her downright refusal to sell the house to him. Well, she hadn’t been subjected to a full-on campaign of his persuasive powers yet, had she?
“Hey there, Earth to Chase.” Noah was looking at him curiously. “OK, from what I can see, your business is doing great, so that means that something else must be bothering you. If it’s not a lady, what is it?”
Chase grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s the house. Ivy House. Would you believe it that Savannah Ryan owned it all these years and left it to her granddaughter?”
Noah shook his head. “I don’t get why you’re so fascinated with that house. You would think the fact that your grandfather once shacked up there with a movie star would make it off-limits for you.”
“Very funny. That’s history. And who cares about that?” Chase pointed out. It had been a scandal over fifty years ago, and because of its tragic ending, it still got dragged up now and then on some entertainment shows. “That house, with the tower, the gables, and the view…Do you know how often these waterfront properties come up for sale? And with that size lot? I’ve wanted it ever since I could remember.”
“OK,” Noah said, nodding, playing along, “So you said the owner is Savannah Ryan? I thought she sold the place years ago.”
Chase shook his head. “Guess not. That’s why all of my offers must have gotten rejected. I guess she didn’t have any kind feelings towards the family. But she’s dead, and now someone new owns it.”
“You know if you want to tear down the house, the Historical Commission is going to have a fit,” Noah told him.
“Well, that won’t be a problem since the new owner swears she isn’t selling.” Chase didn’t defend the house. He had no intention of tearing it down, but he didn’t want to seem too sentimental. Truth was, after poking around there a bit today, he realized that Ivy House wasn’t so bad. Of course, it wasn’t as big as some of the newer bluff homes, but it was big enough, with its distinctive tower and widow’s walk. And it was perched high above the harbor, a guardian overlooking the town and the marina. And he had always loved it, imagined himself owning it from the days when he’d been looking up at it from the water below. Ivy House had been a commanding presence in his life even before he realized the family connection.
“Weren’t the last tenants pretty rough on it?” Noah said.
Chase nodded. “Yup, and the new owner, Savannah’s granddaughter, is from California. No way she’s going to commit to fixing this place up, not if she wants to get back home anytime soon. Or, worse yet, I bet she wants to build some modern box-type thing with a thousand windows.”
Chase focused on one of the photos he’d hung in his office. North Coast Outfitters had grown so fast because of who he was, or at least the image he’d played up. It was a picture they’d used in last year’s catalog: Chase at the helm of a sleek racing yacht, the seas foaming and looking rough around him. He could remember the feel of power, the sheer strength of the boat beneath him, the sense of rightness. He’d always felt the same way about Ivy House, the way it watched over the village with a quiet dignity, even as its condition took a turn for the worse.
“Savannah Ryan has a granddaughter?” Noah said with a low whistle. “Now that I find hard to believe.”
“Well, believe it because here she is.”
He turned his laptop around to show Noah. He’d been doing a little internet research on Phoebe.
Noah’s eyebrows shot up in appreciation. “Wow, so that’s Savannah Ryan’s granddaughter. Nice to know sometimes the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Noah pursed his lips as he thought through things. “Wait a second. Isn’t there a problem? Since her grandmother and your grandfather were married, does that mean you two are related? That could be a little weird.”
Chase shot his friend a withering look. “We’re not related. Leland left my mom behind when he ran off with Savannah Ryan, and she already had a kid. So, there’s no weirdness there and no blood relations. I guess we’re like stepcousins or something.”
Noah laughed. “Weird, no, but trust me, the media would eat it up. If they got wind that the two of you were even talking. And that Phoebe was living in that house. I can see the headlines now.” Noah held up his hands as he intoned, “The Romance of the Century, Part Two.”
“I’m not interested in her. Just the house.” Chase groped for words. There had been an unmistakable spark between them, but she had stayed curiously immune to his teasing, to his flirting. Phoebe Ryan was a cool customer, and well, dammit, if he didn’t like a challenge, which had to be the reason why the thought of her kept distracting him.
“Well, that should be fine then. She probably has to head back to Los Angeles soon though. That is sort of your type, isn’t it? Someone who isn’t looking for any sort of long-term commitment?” Noah said.
“We will see,” Chase paused. “She flat out told me she wasn’t interested in selling the house. Her house, she called it.” Maybe that was what was bothering him, the fact that Phoebe had never even seen the house Chase had loved since he was a kid and was now getting all possessive about it.
Noah smiled. “Well, hearing ‘no’ never seemed to stop you before. Let me know what I can do to help.”
Chase shook his head. “Well, I’m not sure she’s put it together, who I am, you know, since Leland had a different last name and all that.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Kind of awkward, right? Savannah and Leland came to a bad end. Not something I would want to bring up in casual conversation.”
Chase pulled the computer back to him, looking at the picture of Phoebe Ryan. He had done a basic internet search on her and was surprised by the amount of information that came back. First off was the website for her company, Ivy Lane Designs. Apparently, she was some sort of designer.
And then there were a bunch of image results and press releases.
“Isn’t that guy on some TV show?” Noah said, pointing to one of the pictures. Chase looked at the headline.
“Yeah, some cop show. Looks like he and Phoebe are an item.”
Noah pulled the computer back to him. “Hmm, Caitlyn likes that show. She says it’s because of the acting, but I swear, that guy always seems to be taking his shirt off.”
“Lucky for Phoebe,” Chase muttered. The guy’s name was Garrett McGraw and he looked like the standard actor type: tall, dirty blond hair, artful stubble. He and Phoebe looked good together, Chase thought.
“Well, if she has that to go home to, maybe she won’t be so eager to stick around. Come on, it could be a good thing.”
Chase shot his friend a look, but Noah was busy scrolling through something on the computer screen.
“You know, once word gets out that Ivy House belonged to Savannah Ryan, the price will go up.” Noah looked up.
Chase smiled, thinking about the envelope he had given her. “That’s why I’ve made her an offer she can’t refuse.”
Chapter 7
Phoebe stared at the envelope. It had been delivered by a courier service from the lawyer’s office in New York. She had opened the package and first read the typed note from Savannah’s lawyer, the one who had informed her about Ivy House.
Dear Ms. Ryan, your grandmother asked that you get this letter after you had a chance to visit Ivy House. As I understand you have done this, I am now releasing the letter
to you.
The letter wasn’t dated, but it couldn’t have been too recent because Savannah’s script was firm and legible, before her body had been ravaged by the cancer.
My Dear Phoebe,
If you’re getting this, it means I’m gone. I don’t know how much will be left, but I have ensured that I have one thing to leave you. Ivy House. I found it hard to live there after Leland’s death, and after your parents died, it seemed cruel to move you away from the only home you had ever known. But Ivy House was always special to me. It always seemed to have a touch of magic about it. I am told it needs some repairs. And probably some love and care after all these years. Leland Harper was very special to me, and the time we spent at Ivy House was some of the best, though all too brief, years of my life. How it ended with Leland was a tragedy, a twist of fate.
Ours was a passionate affair and our love burned brightly. I do not know if it would have lasted, but he was the love of my life, even though the press had the world believe otherwise.
I know that I have not always been the best mother or grandmother. To be an artist requires a bit of selfishness, I always felt, especially an actress. You belong to your fans and it’s hard to be everything to someone else, especially a child. I didn’t always do right by your father, but he turned out fine—better than fine. My only regret is that he too was taken from this world too soon.
And he and your mother did just fine by you, giving me the most precious gift. I know you haven’t always enjoyed the life you had to lead with me, and, to be frank, I am not sure it suited you. But you did the best you could with it and that is all anyone asks.
So now, when I can bear to part with it, I give you Ivy House. It was a safe port for me and Leland when times were rough. I hope you may find it to be your own safe haven and a place of happiness and magic. While I was there, I found out who I was…I hope it holds the same promise for you.
