by Clay, Verna
Leo had called and said he had something important to discuss, but he couldn't get away from his restaurant. When she'd asked if his news had anything to do with their previous conversations about a corporation wanting to purchase a portion of the public beach to build a world class resort in their beloved town, his sigh had affirmed the answer, and she'd agreed to come to the restaurant to discuss the latest developments.
When she'd arrived, Noah had said his grandfather was in the basement due to plumbing problems, so she'd met him there and sat on a stair to wait for him. After he'd finished the task of vacuuming water, he'd started up the stairs and she'd risen, but he'd motioned for her to stay put and then sat beside her. They had discussed the latest development in the resort saga and she was about to leave, when their eyes locked and she'd allowed him to kiss her. The kiss had become fiery and passionate, and even now, Gabby relived the feeling. However, rationality on her part had intervened in what could have gotten out of hand, and she'd run from Leo.
Since then, he'd called several times and left voice messages because she hadn't answered when she saw the caller I.D. He'd also come to the B & B twice, but both times she'd grabbed her car keys and insisted she had errands to run. And two weeks ago, he'd left a final voice message saying she wouldn't hear from him because he was giving her space.
Gabby's hands tightened on the arms of her rocking chair. The "space" he'd given her hadn't changed anything. He was constantly on her mind, and most nights, she dreamed of being in his arms. She had never been a shy woman and loved the art of lovemaking, which had kept her husband very happy, but since his death six years earlier, she hadn't been on either the giving or receiving end of any romantic relationship. She had thought her memories would be sufficient.
And there was the crux of her problem. Beside the basement kissing incident, there was another memory that wouldn't go away—Leo kissing her when she was a young woman. They had somehow ended up together in a boathouse at the marina and the kiss had just happened. The problem was that she had recently married and Leo was engaged to her husband's second cousin, one removed, Loretta Hope. After that she'd avoided Leo and even become antagonistic toward him. When her husband had questioned her about it, she'd flippantly said, "He's arrogant and I don't like him." The townspeople, however, had chalked it up to an on-and-off feud between the Hope family members that had begun back in the 1920s, and she'd never contradicted that belief.
Tears stung Gabby's eyes. She had to get Leo out of her system once and for all and she had a plan. But could she convince him to have a one night stand with her?
The way she figured it, they'd have an overnight fling to satisfy their hormones, and then she could settle into her old age.
8: Michael
Michael Wainwright drove his Mercedes Cabriolet to the parking lot across from City Hall in Somewhere and groaned. He counted eleven protestors of every age carrying picket signs, and knew who their leader was—Victoria Patterson. The very talented artist that he had commissioned four paintings from had morphed from a demure, humble woman, into a fierce opponent of his proposed resort. He almost grinned when he read the sign she was toting.
SOMEWHERE'S COUNCIL
NEEDS TO SEND WAINWRIGHT RESORTS SOMEWHERE ELSE.
He sighed and exited his car only to be met by angry shouts.
"There he is!"
"He's trying to murder our town!"
"We don't want you here!"
"Take your corporate money and leave!"
Michael approached the group and stopped in front of Vicky. "Clever sign."
She lifted her pretty green eyes to his and replied caustically. "Have we convinced you to leave yet?"
He smiled. "No."
She turned to the protestors and shouted, "Wainwright Resorts leave our town! Wainwright Resorts leave our town!"
The protestors joined in the rant as Michael skirted around them and entered City Hall. He had a meeting with a council member who was onboard for the resort, another that was almost onboard, and a third that needed to be persuaded. The remaining two, making up the five, refused to meet with him. If he could get the vote of the undecided members he was meeting with today, his resort was one step closer to fruition.
He approached the information desk to check in and within minutes the councilman who wanted the resort came to greet him. "Welcome, Mr. Wainwright. The other members are in the conference room."
Michael greeted the small, rotund gentleman and followed him down the hallway. The City Hall building also housed the library and neither department was very large. Since discovering Somewhere, Michael had been amazed that it hadn't been developed more, and if he had to describe the town in two words, it would be delightfully charming. So charming, in fact, that he'd bought one of the homes on Ocean Boulevard.
From his research he knew that the last time any corporate development had been allowed in Somewhere had been in the 1980s, when land was sold to a developer and parceled off for high-end homes that some of the townspeople were still angry about. At the time, however, it appeared to be the only solution to a fiscal crisis. The selling of the land had generated much needed funds and the high property tax and spending habits of wealthy homeowners, had kept the town in the black since then.
Further research had revealed that the founder of the town, Oliver Hope, had parceled the land into three sections in 1920, giving his identical twin sons opposite ends of the cove and the center to a trust that would be governed by the town's council, hence, their ability to sell a portion of the public beach. And now that the "old-timers" on the council were either dying or retiring, and more progressive leaders had been voted in, Michael thought he had a chance of getting his foot in the door before other developers arrived.
He entered the conference room and shook hands with the man and woman he needed to persuade.
Vicky was livid. Michael Wainwright acted like destroying her town was a game. The way he smiled and bantered was atrocious. She glanced around her group of protestors and wondered if there was anything more they could do to stop the building of a resort in Somewhere.
Faith Bennison, a new resident in town who had become a close friend, and Sandy Gutierrez, a longtime friend, walked over. Sandy said, "What are you thinking, Vicky?"
Faith lowered her sign. "Yeah, what are you thinking? You've got a calculating look on your face."
"I sure do, because I've been pondering how to expand our influence."
"And–" Sandy prompted.
Vicky slowly smiled. "My summer help at the museum has gone back to school, but I'm sure I can get a replacement for a day. How would you like to take our protest to Portland?"
Faith's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"
"You betcha. Wainwright Resorts' corporate office is there and maybe we can gain momentum by exposing our cause to a larger audience."
Sandy grinned. "Vicky, I think you've hit on something phenomenal. If the media picked up on the plight of disappearing small towns in America, we might have a chance to stop this resort."
Vicky and Sandy waited for Faith's response.
Faith lifted one hand in the air for a high five. "Count me in."
9: Assistant
Sunny handed the crutches she had been using for the past few days to Noah and slipped into his car. She couldn't believe she was riding in a red vintage mustang. The kid had to be filthy rich, or at least his grandfather was.
Noah put the crutches in the back seat and then sat behind the steering wheel and backed out of the garage. Since the day he'd shown her the casita, they hadn't talked much, because she'd mostly stayed in the lovely guest house. Over the past few days she'd watched television, read magazines, surfed the internet on her cell phone, and slept. It had been a long time since she'd relaxed in such a lovely space without having to be on guard from advances from foster fathers or their sons, and even foster boys. But now she was getting bored and wanted to move on with her life.
The first evening in the casita,
Noah had brought his grandfather over for introductions and then telephoned for pizza delivery. His grandfather, who insisted she call him Leo, was very nice, but she remained wary. She'd met nice, older men before, who had eventually revealed a hidden agenda. An agenda she wanted nothing to do with. Somehow, miraculously, throughout nine years of hell, after her parents had died in a commercial plane crash, she'd remained a virgin. Of course, no one would believe her because of her badass, streetwise persona, but she didn't care.
Since that first evening eating pizza with Noah and Leo, she'd only encountered Leo one other time while sitting outside enjoying the ocean view. He'd sat on the deck chair beside her and said, "Sunny, I want you to know you have nothing to fear from me or Noah."
Without turning her head she'd responded, "I'm not afraid of anyone."
He hadn't answered for a long time, but when he did, he'd merely said, "Good." They'd sat a little longer in silence that hadn't made Sunny uneasy, and finally he'd said, "Gabby is a wonderful woman and I believe you'll love working for her."
"I haven't had an interview yet. Maybe she won't hire me."
He'd laughed. "If there's one thing I know, it's that you'll soon be working at Hope Bed & Breakfast." After that, he'd stood to leave and wished her a pleasant day.
Sunny stared out the car window as Noah drove past the lovely homes on Ocean Boulevard, the boulevard he lived on, and suddenly felt sad. Even if she got the job, she knew from experience that all good things came to an end. In a few weeks, maybe sooner, she'd probably be on a Greyhound bus headed for parts unknown.
A few minutes later they reached the intersection of Main Street and Noah turned right, made a quick illegal U-turn in the middle of the street, and pulled to the curb of the lovely Victorian home that Sunny had walked past before injuring her foot. He grinned. "That U-turn is our secret."
Sunny couldn't help her snarky reply. "Wow! Living dangerously. What's next? Are you going to run a yellow light?"
Noah surprised her when he chuckled and said, "You have a great sense of humor."
The momentary distraction was over and Sunny now willed the butterflies in her stomach to be still. Even before entering the home, she knew she desperately wanted the job. If she got it, she could pretend this place was her home. Maybe she could even spend Christmas here and imagine that she belonged somewhere…in Somewhere. She inwardly smiled at her creativity as Noah got out of the car and retrieved the crutches.
The front door opened and a lady with silver hair pulled into a long braid lying over her shoulder, with a white flower behind one ear, stepped onto the porch that spanned the width of the house. She was wearing some kind of purple muumuu tie-dye dress.
Noah handed Sunny the crutches and grinned. "That's my Aunt Gabby. Her parents were full blown, love-and-peace, flower children. And the stories she can tell will blow your mind, especially the one about meeting Hendrix."
"She met Jimi Hendrix!"
"Yep, when she was a child; ask her about it some time."
Gabby met them on the walkway of the flagstone path and said, "Welcome Sunny and Noah. J and J baked apple fritters this morning that are out of this world. Come on in."
While Noah waited for Sunny to crutch up the ramp, he said, "J and J are the cooks Jennie and James Pierson."
Gabby held the door open and Sunny entered a home that was beyond anything she could have imagined. The walls and woodwork of the entry were lavender, green, and yellow. Yep, this lady is a hippie for sure.
Noah grinned as if he'd read her mind.
Leaving the foyer, they entered a hallway spanning the length of the house with a parlor and library on their right and a large dining room on their left. Gabby said the parlor was also a check-in station for guests. She ushered them into the library and then sent Noah to the kitchen to get the tray J and J had prepared. As he left the room he rubbed his hands together and said, "I can't wait to taste those fritters."
Gabby invited Sunny to sit on the couch and then sat across from her in a chair resplendent with yellow sunflowers. The couch was upholstered in contrasting blue irises; another chair was red roses. Sunny had never seen so many colors in so many combinations in her life. Other chairs, just as bright, were placed around the room in conversation klatches beside tables brimming with fresh flowers. On three walls, bookshelves stretched to the ceiling and Sunny wondered if there was a rolling ladder like she'd seen in the movies. She scanned the room and saw it in a corner.
Gabby said, "We have to watch the little ones when they're in here. They love climbing the ladder, and if there's two or more children…" She laughed. "…it's a disaster. One of your jobs will be to keep an eye on any loose little people."
Sunny blinked. "Are you saying you're hiring me?"
"Of course. Is there any reason I shouldn't?"
"N-no. It's just that I expected to fill out an application and go through the hiring process."
Gabby waved a dismissive hand. "You can fill out the application later." She smiled sweetly. "Now, tell me about yourself and how you came to be in Somewhere."
10: Broken
Vicky sat at the small table in her sitting room penning ideas for the upcoming protest in Portland of Wainwright Resorts. Momentarily pausing, she set her pen down and stared out her window at the darkening sky. If someone had told her a few weeks ago that she would be the leader of a protest movement, she'd have asked them what they were smoking.
Thinking back to the day that had changed everything; the day Baxter and Faith had told her something so impossible that she'd been on the verge of ordering them to leave her home, she shook her head. Her friends had proclaimed they had a message from beyond the grave. Baxter swore that he'd talked to Owen, her twin brother who had drown at the age of nine, and that he'd received a message from him. The message being that his drowning wasn't her fault.
Vicky had always blamed herself for his death, but when Baxter had told her things known only to her and Owen, she'd been dumbfounded. And when Faith added her encounters with Owen and his dog, she'd collapsed emotionally and revealed the story from her point of view.
Afterward, Faith and Baxter had shared their own emotional turmoil. Faith's was because of the loss of her husband and son. Baxter's because of his divorce. After that, the three of them had begun the healing process by deciding to leave the past behind and move forward.
And now I'm heading up a protest group to keep big business out of our town.
A sudden crash in the museum that she'd locked and closed for the day, electrified the hair on her arms. She jumped to her feet. "What the heck was that?"
Remembering the crash from a few nights previous and the continuously rocking bassinet, she stared at her door, reluctant to investigate. You ninny. If you can head up a protest against someone like Michael Wainwright, you can find the source of the crash. The security alarm didn't go off, so stop worrying.
She lifted her shoulders, stood taller, pushed a shoulder length wisp of hair from her cheek, grabbed a hammer from her junk drawer, and walked out of her room. She descended the servant stairs into the kitchen, glanced through the shadows, and then passed into the dining room, scanning it too. Then she ascended the main staircase to the second floor and entered Rose's bedroom first. Staring into the room she saw nothing out of the ordinary and moved to the next room, Belinda's. She scanned from the doorway and immediately knew what had happened. A pretty lavender pitcher had crashed to the floor. A chill raced up her spine. How could a pitcher jump out of a basin that had rested on the same sturdy table for years?
She hurried back downstairs and into the kitchen. Grabbing a dustpan and broom, she purposely kept her mind from going wild with speculations of something unearthly. It was only when she started ascending the stairs that the thought she'd been trying to suppress, broke free.
If Owen reached out from the grave, is it possible for someone else to do the same thing. Is a dead person trying to tell me something?
11: Proposition
With her heart in her throat, Gabby entered Seafood Heaven and waited for the hostess to greet her.
"Hello, Mrs. Hope. Would you like me to seat you or are you joining someone?"
"Hi, Debbie. How's your mother and father? I haven't seen them since graduation."
"They're just fine. In fact, they're leaving on a Caribbean cruise tomorrow. Mom said it'll be the honeymoon they never had."
"How exciting! Give them my best. Now, about lunch, no, I'm not meeting anyone. Could you let Leo know I'm here and that I'd like to speak with him?"
"Oh, sure. Just give me a minute." The young woman that Gabby had occasionally babysat when she was a toddler picked up an in-house telephone and punched a number. Apparently, there was no answer, so she punched another number and asked, "Is Mr. Constanzo in the kitchen?" While Debbie listened to a response, Gabby felt close to hyperventilating. Debbie said into the phone, "Would you let him know Mrs. Hope is here and wants to see him?" She hung up. "Someone in the kitchen will track him down."
"Good. I'll just sit over there and wait." Gabby nodded toward a long couch along one wall. Just then a group of young adults entered the restaurant and Debbie greeted them, acknowledged their reservation, and cheerily asked them to follow her.
Gabby stared at her dyed blue leather, lace-up the calves sandals chosen to match her flowing, blue gauzy skirt, and had second thoughts about the white peasant blouse printed with huge blue flowers. She didn't have time to worry about her choice of clothing though, because she heard footsteps and glanced up to see Leo walking through the dining room. She almost ran out the door. The idea she was about to propose was insane.
Leo's smile was warm and welcoming. "To say I'm shocked would be an understatement."
