Turbulent Intentions

by Melody Anne

  “For fifty thousand bucks, the dang bed better massage me, bathe me, and tuck me in for a good night’s rest,” Stormy told her.

  “No. That’s what the master of the house is for,” Amy said with a wink.

  “I guarantee you there’s no way that’s gonna happen,” Stormy said emphatically.

  Amy gave her a look that said she didn’t believe her, but at least she let the subject drop.

  After the last of her items were loaded into Amy’s full car, the two women climbed inside and drove off, bound for Gig Harbor.

  The drive was typical for Seattle, traffic was bumper to bumper, but they soon found themselves crossing the straits of Puget Sound on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. The point of no return, Stormy thought to herself as she started running over the items she might have left behind. Her mind was eased knowing that she’d taken all that was important to her and anything left wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

  The bridge ended with the entrance to the quaint neighboring town of Gig Harbor. This once bustling fishing and boat-building community now existed as more of a tourist attraction. People from all parts of the Northwest came to enjoy the small shops and attractive parks that adorned the area.

  As she and Amy passed through the small streets, lined with various shops and seafood eateries, Stormy looked upon the busy marina, which was bustling with small sailing ships and some rather nice seagoing yachts.

  The drive through town didn’t take long as Gig Harbor’s population of a little over seven thousand people was only spread over an area of about one hundred square miles.

  “What was the address?” Amy asked as they rounded the corner onto Goodman Place.

  Stormy didn’t respond as she rolled down the window, allowing the crisp sea breeze to blow in. Her eyes were hidden behind a black pair of cheap sunglasses, her brown hair flowing around her face as she inhaled deeply. Her focus and gaze were trained on the surroundings and all the houses lining the streets.

  The homes ranged from older two-story Victorians to modern family dwellings, some even passing as mansions, all with immaculately landscaped yards and varying yard art, including some beautiful fountains.

  She’d always imagined living in such a place, settling down, and establishing roots. A life of travel had been her parents’ dream, not hers, and she could picture herself in a community like this one, getting married and having children.

  She could imagine herself strolling down the sidewalk with a toddler at her heels and a baby in a carriage in front of her. Not far behind them would be their puppy, a beautiful golden retriever.

  With a jolt to her system, Stormy pulled herself from those thoughts. What was she thinking? She was in no way ready or wanting a family yet. She had to take care of herself first before she could even think about settling down and raising a family.

  She didn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone any money in her bank account. It wouldn’t do her any good to have kids when she couldn’t afford to clothe, feed, or diaper them.

  “The address!” Amy called as she waved her hand in front of Stormy’s face to break the enchanted spell that had her staring. “Hello?”

  “Oh right, the address,” Stormy responded while she pulled out the piece of paper Sherman had given her. “7200 Goodman Place,” Stormy said. “Right over there.”

  They pulled up to an ornate gate with a keypad next to it.

  “Whoa! This guy lives alone?” Amy questioned as she pulled up to the gate. They could see the highest peak of the roof at the end of a tree-lined driveway. “It’s really . . . nice—nicer than I was expecting.”

  Stormy opened the car door and stood in amazement at the sheer size of the property, and she wasn’t even inside the gate yet. She didn’t have a response to her friend, so she said nothing. She was very intimidated, to tell the truth.

  “Do you have the code?” Amy asked.

  “I, uh, I don’t know. I didn’t know there was a gate.” Stormy fumbled in her pocket for the piece of paper Sherman had given her. Quickly glancing at it, she found a six-digit code. “Try this.”

  Amy put in the code and the gates quietly slid open. Both girls just stood there and stared for a while before jumping back in the car and silently making their way down the gorgeous stone driveway.

  They pulled in front of the main home. The place was intimidating with its towers rising high into the air and the rockwork stretching endlessly on both sides.

  “Where is the cottage?” Amy asked.

  “I think we need to keep driving down the road. It curves next to the house,” Stormy told her.

  This was a very bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

  Before they went anywhere, Stormy’s phone rang. She looked down and saw it was Sherman calling. Maybe he was going to tell her this wasn’t going to work out after all. She wasn’t sure she’d be upset about that because whoever owned this place would surely know she was an outcast.

  “Hello,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Stormy, darling. I hope I caught you before you arrived at the place,” Sherman said, his voice echoing a bit.

  “I can’t hear you real well,” she told him, pushing the phone tighter against her ear.

  “I’m driving with the windows down. One minute, darling.” He paused and closed them. “There, is that better?”

  “Yes, much,” she said, her eyes still taking in the sight of the mansion before her.

  “Good, good. Did I catch you in time?”

  “We just pulled up,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “Sherman, I’m not so sure about this . . .”

  “About what, darling?”

  “This is so much more than I was thinking. I . . . I can’t take care of this place,” she said.

  “Oh, my nephew has plenty of people taking care of the place. What he needs is a nice girl like you to make sure they’re doing it right,” Sherman assured her.

  Stormy really wanted to run away, but where would she run away to?

  “I . . . uh . . . suppose I could stay,” she said, still unsure.

  “Good. Good. That puts my heart at ease. The reason I’m calling, darling, is because there was a disaster in the guest cottage last night with the water pipes. The entire cottage flooded, ruining the floors. It’s going to take about a week for it all to get repaired,” he said.

  “Oh.” Now where was she going to go?

  “Don’t you fret. The key you have is to the main house anyway. The cottage keys are in the foyer. Just go on inside and you can take the first room you come to on the right at the top of the stairs. It’s all been settled.”

  “Are you really sure about this, Sherman?” she asked.

  “Positive. I’ll be out in a couple of days to see how you’re settling in. I have to run now. Enjoy your evening on the water.”

  Before she could utter another word, the line went dead and he was gone.

  “The cottage had a problem. It looks like I’m staying in the main house for a few days,” Stormy said to Amy.

  “Lucky you!” the girl replied with a laugh. She was trying to make a joke, but Stormy could feel her friend’s jealousy. “Let’s go on in. I’m dying to see the place,” Amy finished as she handed Stormy the purse she’d left in the car, and then rushed toward the front door.

  The path to the entrance from the driveway was made of sparsely placed flagstones, each stone placed on a clean-cut carpet of deep green grass. The beautifully landscaped yard was no less amazing than others they had seen while driving through the small town.

  Stormy moved up the walkway, the sound of rippling water filling her ears as her eyes were drawn to a nearby water feature. The fountain was an eight-foot stone ring encircled with concrete fish. Each figure spouted a thin stream of water toward the center, creating a harmonious sound akin to a babbling brook.

  She peered through the water’s surface, which was littered with broad lily leaves and purple flowers, and noticed a giant orange and black spotted fish darti
ng in the shallows.

  Amy walked over to see what had made her friend smile. There were two fish that kept circling Stormy’s fingertip as she encouraged them to come closer to her.

  “Come on, Stormy, let’s go. I want to see the inside of this palace,” Amy said. “We can play with the fish later.”

  “Fine, just so long as you know that you’re zero fun right now,” Stormy retorted as she grabbed her bag.

  The duo made their way up the beautifully set rock stairs to the front porch, and up to the large double-door entrance. Stormy reached out with the key in her hand, but she stopped, thinking the homeowner might be there and prefer she wait for him to answer.

  Here we go, she thought as she pressed the illuminated doorbell button. The chimes sounded like church bells as she heard them echoing through the inside of the home. They waited for about a minute, and when there was no sound of movement, Stormy pressed the button once more, then knocked on the door. Stormy stood there feeling slightly awkward on the front porch.

  “Don’t you have a key?” Amy questioned as she tapped on the door lock.

  “Yes I do, but I feel kinda weird about using it,” Stormy responded. “Sherman said there were people who worked at the house, so maybe they’ll answer.”

  “Well, I feel awkward standing here,” Amy said.

  Stormy reluctantly placed the key in the lock when no one came after about five minutes. Amy grabbed Stormy’s hand and twisted, unlocking and opening the door.

  “There, I saved you from thinking about it,” Amy joked as she gave her a pat on the back.

  The door swung open and both ladies felt as if they were intruders as they stepped into the home’s large three-story foyer. Directly across from the entrance, a great hallway opened up into what looked like two bigger rooms.

  The foyer displayed an elegant sweeping staircase that rose from the floor as if it had been carved from a single piece of wood.

  Immediately to Stormy’s right was an ornate pair of French doors that were closed against a dimly lit office. Another hallway was beyond that, lined with a few mysterious doors, presumably bedrooms, bathrooms, or closets. To the left of the elegant entryway was the great room, its boundary marked by an enormous archway.

  Polished hardwood floors with plush dark leather furniture formed a U shape around a beautiful fireplace on the far side of the room. On the crafted mantel stood a framed American flag, a model of a sailing ship, and the portrait of what appeared to be a World War II naval aviator.

  As Stormy and Amy pressed forward, they noticed the great room transitioned to a dining room, comfortable yet formal. The dining room and kitchen shared a glass wall that was nothing more than large windows and French doors that opened up to a vast deck overlooking the harbor.

  The home was impeccably decorated with aviation and nautical themes, old family photos, and various mementos. Even with all its elegance and charm, there was something undeniably masculine about the house. A bachelor pad—even if the bachelor in question was impeccably stylish, self-possessed, and fabulously wealthy . . . This place certainly needs a woman’s touch. There aren’t any flowers or throw pillows. But still, I’m impressed, Stormy thought as she continued exploring. This was a house a family could grow in and she had a distinct vision of it someday holding a picture perfect family—complete with children, golden retriever, and minivan in the driveway.

  She moved through the foyer, looking at the pictures along the wall that led back to the kitchen and dining room. And that’s when she froze in her tracks. Amy was nowhere to be found, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she were in the room or not.

  She recognized the man in the picture with three other handsome guys. Taking a step closer to the photo, she gazed at the image of Captain Cooper Armstrong and three other men that were so strikingly similar in appearance, she had to assume they were either brothers or cousins. Stormy continued scanning the photos of them participating in flying, fishing, sailing, and a multitude of other outdoor sports.

  What kind of prank was destiny playing on her? She couldn’t be in the home of the man she had engaged in a one-night stand with, and then who had completely forgotten her. Fate wouldn’t be that cruel.

  Her heart thundered as she stared at the picture, maybe for a minute, maybe an hour. No, she wouldn’t believe that her luck could be so completely horrible. There had to be another explanation. He had to be friends with whoever owned the place. That was certainly it. Didn’t all the rich guys hang out together?

  Yes, she convinced herself, he must just be a friend. Because who in the heck hung pictures of themselves all over their walls? Her heart slowed down as she smiled. Of course it wasn’t Green Eyes’ house.

  “Okay, girl, I know it’s fun looking all over the place, but I found your room and I’m halfway unloaded already,” Amy said, making Stormy jump. “So get your butt moving, and help me finish. I have a hair appointment I refuse to miss.”

  “I . . . uh, don’t know if I can stay here,” she said. Maybe she wasn’t as calm as she’d thought she was.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This is a dream-come-true kind of house. You’re absolutely not gonna leave,” Amy said with an outraged gasp.

  “Do you recognize this man?” Stormy said, pointing her finger hard against the glass.

  Amy looked and then her eyes widened slightly. “Isn’t that the pilot who was such an ass to you at the airport?”

  “Yeah, among other things,” Stormy mumbled.

  “Well, maybe he’s really good friends with whoever lives here,” Amy said. “Guys don’t put pictures of themselves on the walls.”

  Exactly what Stormy had just been thinking. Okay, she was definitely overreacting here.

  “Look, Stormy, you can’t give up this place. You literally have nowhere to go,” Amy reminded her. “I hate to point that out, but it’s the truth.”

  “I can go to a motel,” Stormy said almost desperately.

  “And you’d last a week because your money would run out and then you’d be broke and homeless,” Amy pointed out. “Then what?”

  “You don’t understand,” Stormy tried saying.

  “I get it,” Amy interrupted. “But sometimes we have to put our feelings aside and do what’s best for us, not what we think we need to do.”

  “It’s not his place,” Stormy said. She was more and more sure of that. But still she looked around nervously.

  “Hello,” she called out. There was nothing. “Is anyone home?”

  “Um, darling, if no one has appeared yet, then I don’t think they’re going to,” Amy said with a laugh.

  The only response that could be heard in the house was the sound of a ticking grandfather clock. Maybe it was an omen.

  Amy left Stormy behind, obviously reluctant about doing so. After an hour, she decided to explore more of the home now that her meager possessions were put away.

  Maybe she would find out exactly who resided in the house. She was saying prayers at two-minute intervals that it wasn’t Cooper Armstrong.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sweat dripping down his brow, Cooper pushed himself even harder as he ran along the rocky terrain of the Gig Harbor coastline. A breeze ruffled through his hair, and once in a while a mist would come up and cool him down.

  Still, he ran faster and harder.

  When he stopped at the trail that led back to his property, he pulled off his shirt and wiped his brow. The ten-mile run had been exactly what he’d needed to burn off the excess energy he’d been feeling from being cooped up in small flight decks for the past week.

  Man, he loved to fly, but sometimes it was a little claustrophobic.

  Walking up the path to his house, he made it to the back patio when he stopped, realizing that something wasn’t right.

  Carefully he opened his back door and stepped through. There was the noise again. Someone was moving around his upstairs. The staff was off today, so no one was supposed to be in the house.

  Moving to th
e front of the house, he glanced out the window and didn’t see anything to set off alarms, but then there was that same noise, sounding like shoes scuffling across his hardwood floors.

  Well, if someone was there to rob the place, they’d picked the wrong house. Stealthily, he walked up the stairs, determined to catch the culprit. He was furious when he found his bedroom door open. That was his private space, and no one was allowed to step foot inside.

  Taking a menacing step forward, Cooper stopped in his tracks when he saw Stormy move past his bed and then peek into his private bathroom. What in the world was the woman he’d been thinking about far too often doing in his bedroom? Had his imagination suddenly conjured her up? Was he daydreaming?

  She crossed his spacious floor and ran her fingers along his mocha-colored walls. The natural light filling the room cast a soft glow on her features, and he felt himself growing hard when her fingers caressed his satin drapes as she pushed them aside to peek out onto his large balcony.

  His eyes traveled from her to the centerpiece of his room, his very large and comfortable four-poster California king-size bed. It was made and just asking for him to throw her onto it and mess it up.

  A ray of sun hit Stormy, casting an almost ethereal glow about her. In her white lace summer dress, she certainly looked like an angel. The plans he had for this woman, though, didn’t come down from heaven.

  Never before had Cooper allowed a woman into his bedroom. He took them to hotels or went to their homes, but he didn’t like them to invade his personal space. Surprisingly, even though he had no idea how Stormy had gotten into his house, he didn’t mind her being exactly where she was.

  Shaking his head, he scowled though she couldn’t see him. There was a reason he didn’t invite them back to his house—he didn’t want them after him for his ass . . . ets.

  Then it hit him.

  Uncle Sherman! His eyes narrowed as he realized what the old coot was up to.

  First of all, a so-called family friend needed a place to stay. Then conveniently right before she was to move into the guest cottage, the pipes had burst, causing him a hell of a headache, not to mention the cost of repairs, and the family friend now got to stay inside his house.