by Melody Anne
“This will only be a couple weeks, Sherman,” Cooper warned. “I mean it. No stretching it out.”
“It’s only until your mother finishes with her guesthouse remodeling, then the friend can go there,” Sherman assured him.
For some reason Cooper wasn’t feeling all that assured.
“I don’t want any sob stories at the end of this about how Mom’s place isn’t ready. If it’s not, then one of my siblings can take over having a house pet—I mean guest,” Cooper told him.
“Dang, Cooper, you’re in a bear of a mood tonight,” Sherman said.
“Yes, I am. I’ve had delays all day, and I need to blow off some steam,” Cooper said.
“Then I won’t hold you up any longer. Take it easy, kid. It’s okay to have some time off, especially when you own the company.”
“Would you sit back in an office with your feet on solid ground if you could fly?” Cooper challenged.
“No, of course not,” Sherman conceded.
“Well, I can’t quit flying either. I do this because I love it, not because I have to,” Cooper said for what felt like the hundredth time.
“I know, kiddo. But you could cut back,” Sherman said.
“Yeah. I might agree to do that,” he said with a chuckle. He could always fly his private jet. She was a beauty.
The two hung up, and even though Cooper knew the chances of seeing Stormy again were pretty low, he still rushed from the building and looked around outside. Hadn’t he just told himself it was pointless?
Surprisingly, he did spot her, but it was too late. She was getting on a bus, leaving the airport. The entire walk back to his car, he couldn’t shake his disappointment at missing her. He hadn’t actually gone on a date yet with Wolf’s cousin so he wasn’t committed or anything.
Maybe he would just ask Stormy out on a date, take her to bed, and then get over his odd obsession. Maybe this was all because she felt like someone he knew, or should know.
His fingers rubbed once more against the locket in his pocket before digging out his car keys.
One thing Cooper knew about himself was when to fight his feelings and when not to. If the obsession was still running through his brain in a couple of days, he was certainly going to do something about it.
That settled, he sat down, turned his key, and pressed his foot against the gas and smiled as the motor purred.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Leaning her head against the window, Stormy decided there were much better things to do in a day than apartment and job hunt. She was exhausted, hungry, and trying desperately to be positive and not feel that her life was going downhill fast with the brakes severed.
The bus stopped a block from her apartment and she slowly stepped off and then threw her bag over her shoulder and began moving toward home. She passed the park, and though it was late, she automatically looked toward the bench Sherman often sat at when he left the café.
When he wasn’t there, she felt the smallest bit of disappointment. She was exhausted and really should want nothing more than to get to her apartment, hopefully by elevator, and then go straight to bed. But she was also sad and would love to talk to Sherman, knowing she’d surely feel better. It was late, though, and the chances of him being at the café were low.
“Are you going to just pass on by without a hello?”
Sherman’s voice startled her out of her reverie, and she looked over at the corner table, seeing him sitting there in the darkest spot, a cigar in his hand, and a smile on his lips.
“I didn’t expect you to be out this late,” she told him, moving to the warmth of the outside heater.
“You know I can’t go home too early. Then I’d fall asleep and miss my late-night show,” he told her. “Come on over here and keep me company while I smoke this cigar my buddy Joseph gave me.”
Though Stormy was exhausted, she was more than happy to do what he asked. “I’ve always loved the smell of a good cigar,” she told him.
“Yes, it’s one of my last few vices,” he said. “And the waitresses leave me alone to smoke them out here as long as no other customers complain. Now, take a load off and let me run inside and get you a soothing cup of tea.”
“You don’t need to do that,” she said, but he had already put down his cigar and was moving toward the front door.
Stormy waited a few minutes, and then Sherman was back with a tray holding a teapot, a cup, and some cream, honey, and sugar. She quickly fixed herself a cup.
“Thank you,” she said as she held the warmth between her fingers while taking calming sips of the sweet brew.
“I love the company,” he assured her. “How was your day out on the town? It seemed to be a long one,” he said.
Stormy sighed. “It hasn’t been the best couple of days. I have to be out of my apartment in two more days, still with no prospects, and I was fired from my job yesterday because of a horrible customer. I spent all day searching for a place and a new job and came up with zilch.”
“Ah, sweetie, that job was beneath you anyway,” Sherman said as he patted her leg.
“I really should have finished school. But then my dad . . .” she trailed off, not wanting to think about that horrible time in her life. Instead, she sat there finishing her cup of tea and quickly refilling it to keep warm while she doodled on the napkin in front of her, effortlessly creating a pattern of star-studded dangly earrings.
“You’re young, Stormy. You have plenty of time to figure it all out,” he told her before leaning in and checking out her design.
She folded the napkin and put it away, instantly embarrassed.
“What is that you’re trying to hide from me?” he questioned.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I waste a lot of time doodling when I should be being more productive,” she said with a laugh.
“It didn’t look like a waste of time. It looked beautiful,” Sherman said.
Her cheeks flushed at the praise, but she wanted the subject changed.
“This hasn’t been the best week and I am trying to get back on my feet, but it seems every time I start to rise, my feet are getting kicked out from under me again,” she told him.
He eyed her for a minute and then thankfully let the matter of her sketching patterns drop.
“There’s always a bright side, darling, to everything. Sometimes the journey to get to the light just takes a bit longer than at other times.”
“I love that you always look for the rainbow in the middle of the storm,” she said. “I’m already feeling like I can stand again.”
And unbelievably she was feeling better. All it had taken was sitting there and drinking tea with Sherman while he puffed on his cigar. Maybe it was a special herbal blend that was soothing her nerves. Whatever it was, she was grateful he’d been there.
“I think I might have a solution to one of your problems, Stormy,” Sherman suddenly said.
“I didn’t come here for you to try to fix things, Sherman. Just talking with you has made me feel better,” she said as she leaned over and patted his free hand.
“I know you don’t like to ask for help, but I have connections, young lady, and it would be a real insult to me if you didn’t accept what I’m offering,” he said more sternly than she’d ever heard him speak before.
“Well, I guess I can at least hear you out,” she told him.
Stormy was sure she wouldn’t be accepting whatever it was he planned on offering. She couldn’t take advantage of their friendship.
“I know of a great little two-bedroom cottage that’s sitting all empty and alone,” he said, making her heart thump. This might be something she wouldn’t mind accepting if it were affordable.
“I’m listening,” she said. What if it were truly great, though, and just outside her budget? That wouldn’t end her day on a positive note.
“It’s a beautiful place with sweeping views of Puget Sound, all the fog your heart could ever desire. The cottage sits on the property of my relative, and the house
is just up the hill so you wouldn’t feel as if you were in the middle of nowhere, but you’ll also have privacy,” he said. “And it’s all yours, if you want it.”
The idea of living right on the water in a place where no neighbors were pounding against her walls was a dream she’d never imagined coming true. But as all dreams had a tendency of shattering when you opened your eyes, she was leery. There would be no way for her to afford such a wonderful place.
“I guess the big question is how much does the person want for rent? I don’t have a terribly large rent budget, Sherman. There’s not a lot I can afford.” Stormy refused to make eye contact as she told him this.
She hated talking money with people, especially someone like Sherman. No, he didn’t flash his money around, but she knew he was far from poor. She didn’t know what exactly he had, but she was sure it was enough to never have to want for anything.
“I think this just might be in your price range, Stormy. The person who owns the property is gone a whole lot and has finally figured out that it’s better not to leave the grounds unattended,” Sherman said. “And with you about to be homeless, it works out best for all parties concerned. As a matter of fact, there’s no rent. You would just take care of the house, make sure no one is coming in when the owner is gone, and maybe stock up on some supplies for when they are back.”
She looked at him with suspicion.
“This seems a lot like a handout to me, Sherman,” she told him.
With innocence shining in his eyes, he held up his hands in surrender. “It’s nothing like that, I swear,” he promised her.
She still wasn’t sure about this. Things that were too good to be true had a tendency to come back and bite her on the ass.
“Who’s this home owner?”
“It’s my nephew. He really isn’t home much at all and you probably won’t even see him—which is why he needs someone living in the guest cottage. But at least I can vouch that your landlord is an upstanding citizen.” Sherman told her.
“Oh. I don’t know why, but I just assumed the owner was a woman,” Stormy said, unsure if she wanted to live so close to a man, even a man related to Mr. Sherman.
It wasn’t that she was a man-hater or anything, but wouldn’t people talk if she moved to his property, make assumptions of who she was and what she was doing there? It mattered to her what people thought about her, though she knew that was stupid. They weren’t living in the olden days.
“I assure you my nephew is utterly harmless,” Mr. Sherman said with a laugh.
“I wasn’t thinking anything other than that,” she quickly said. “It’s just that people . . .” She trailed off. She knew her reasoning shouldn’t be uttered aloud. He didn’t comment, but continued to prod her for an answer instead.
“How about it, Stormy? Help ease my conscience and take this one favor. If you hate living there, you can always move when you have a little bit saved up,” he told her.
Was this charity? Maybe, but he really wanted to do it, so that made it okay, didn’t it?
“That’s a good point,” she said. She wanted to say yes so badly, but still . . .
“You’re a kind soul, Stormy, and I wish you’d allow me to do more for you,” he told her, again patting her hand.
Stormy was speechless at his generosity. She was torn over what to do. She certainly didn’t want to be a charity case, but it sounded like this was legitimate. Besides, it wasn’t like she had a whole heck of a lot of options in front of her. She was going to be homeless in less than forty-eight hours if she didn’t accept this.
“All right, I’ll take the place, but only if I’m not going to be a burden, and if your nephew lets me know, with a proper amount of time to move, if our arrangement isn’t working for him,” she said.
“It’s a big piece of land. I really don’t see any problems occurring, but if it makes you feel better, we can write something up,” Sherman said with a smile, handing her a piece of paper with the address on it. “Here’s the key.”
“You were pretty sure I was going to do this then,” she said as she laughed, holding the address and the key for a moment before putting them in her pocket.
She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. This man was her guardian angel.
“Do you need help with moving?” Sherman asked, kind enough not to comment about how quickly she had caved.
“No. I already spoke to my coworker, and she has an old, roomy Volvo to help me. There really isn’t all that much to move,” she told him.
“That’s good, but promise to call me if you need help,” he insisted.
“I will, Sherman,” she said, suddenly choking up. “You have to promise me we aren’t going to lose touch because I’m going to really miss you,” Stormy said before standing up and then reaching out and giving him a warm embrace.
“Well, my dear, I’ll miss you, too, but this change will be good for you. Just be sure and take care of yourself,” he said, sounding slightly choked up himself. That had to be her imagination though. “And yes, we will see each other often. Someone has to make sure my nephews behave so I come out there weekly. Now, you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow, and my old bones need some rest.”
He looked down and glanced at his watch before his eyes widened. “My golly, it’s going to be nearly midnight by the time I get home. I should get going, and so should you, lest you turn into a pumpkin. Or maybe it’s the motor coach that turns into the pumpkin. In either case, Cinderella, this old dog needs to get going.” Sherman patted Stormy on the back; her arms were still wrapped around him like a child who wouldn’t let go.
“Thank you again. Good night, Sherman.” With that, the two squeezed each other one last time and then Stormy rushed off toward home while he watched her safely cross the street.
There was now an extra spring in her step as she looked forward to her upcoming move. She was going to have trouble getting to sleep, even though she was exhausted down to her very bones. But she was moving to a real house, and things were now most certainly looking up.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The two men stomped through the trimmed grass in their newly purchased black clothes, hoods over their heads, thinking they were being quiet, but their steps and voices could probably be heard two blocks away.
“Quiet down or we’re going to get busted,” Sherman whispered in anything but a quiet tone.
“I am being quiet. You’re the one making all the noise,” Joseph responded, excitement clear in his voice.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Sherman said with the tiniest hint of an apology in his words.
“If you’re going to be a proper meddler, then you have to do what has to be done,” Joseph told his friend as they stopped in front of the quaint cottage.
“Such a shame, though,” Sherman said, but his lips were turned up in anticipation.
“Do you have the wrench?”
“Of course I have the wrench, Joseph,” Sherman told him with a roll of his eyes.
“Where is Cooper off to this time?” Joseph asked as Sherman took out his key and opened the cottage door.
“I think Atlanta. All I know is he’s gone,” Sherman assured Joseph.
The two men stepped inside the quaint cabin and went over to the kitchen sink, then slowly sat in front of it after opening the cupboards.
“What do we do now?” Joseph asked as he looked at the pipe and then at Sherman.
“We just undo this bolt right here and turn on the water,” Sherman said with glee.
“Well, get on it before someone comes and busts us,” Joseph said as he rubbed his hands together. “And make it look like a faulty bolt.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Sherman grumbled before he slowly bent and began undoing the pipe. “Damn this old body. I used to be able to get up and down so fast.” He cursed as his knuckle hit the pipe and instantly bruised. “Got it!”
With triumph, the two men stood, helping each other up as they turned the fauc
et on, not too high, but enough to flood the floors.
When water began dribbling out of the cupboard, the men high-fived and then quickly made their exit from the cottage.
Safely back in their car, they needed to brag of their deed to someone, so they called their good buddy Martin who was having his own matchmaking delights in Montana. The man, of course, was jealous of their masterminding tactics.
“Tomorrow will be a good day,” Sherman told Joseph.
“I only wish we could be there to see Cooper and Stormy together,” Joseph pouted.
“Oh, we will, my friend . . . at the wedding,” Sherman said with a confident grin.
With a smile, they drove off. Anyone who might say they’d lost their touch in their old age certainly didn’t know the men well at all. They were in the primes of their lives as far as they were concerned.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As promised, Amy arrived at Stormy’s apartment bright and early the next morning. Stormy’s spartan lifestyle offered little resistance to the big move.
Her low-income life had ingrained in her the ideals of simple living. She kept possessions to a minimum, not out of some obedience to a pious and minimalist lifestyle, but more out of the necessity of tight spaces. Not only that, but until she’d been ten, her parents had dragged her all around the world, so packing had to be kept to a minimum.
The largest and most difficult of Stormy’s items was her futon, which was used exclusively as a bed. In fact, this was Stormy’s only piece of furniture, aside from her milk crate nightstand.
“I hate this old thing. It’s not the most comfortable, and I’m more than ready to leave it behind,” Stormy said with a smile. “I’m moving into a cottage, so even if it isn’t furnished, which I forgot to ask Sherman about, I’m sure it has soft, plush carpet.”
“Smart thinking, but the rich people like their decorating, so you probably will have one of those Monarch Vispring beds with something like three thousand springs in it.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” Stormy said.
“Yeah, cause it’s priced at about fifty thousand bucks,” Amy told her.
