by Clay, Verna
"Do you…" She started over. "Do you think we could speak privately for a moment?"
Leo's expression turned to one of concern. "Of course; let's go to my office."
Gabby followed Leo through the kitchen and into the hallway beyond it. Remembering their kiss in the basement, her heart galloped. What she was about to propose went much further than a kiss.
Leo opened the first door in the hallway and waited for her to enter. Inside, she sat on a padded chair in front of his desk, and because there were no other chairs in the room, he started to pull his swivel one from behind his desk to sit beside her, but she raised her hand. "No. Stay at your desk." He studied her for a second and then sat down. The way Gabby figured it, the proposal she was about to make was almost a business arrangement, and Leo seated behind his desk seemed appropriate.
She stared at her hands and after a moment of silence, raised her head, met his gorgeous baby blues, inhaled deeply, and said, "Leo, I would like to propose an arrangement that may…um…satisfy both of us."
He frowned slightly and leaned forward into golden sun rays filtering through the only window in the room that made him seem ethereal, untouchable. His black hair, with touches of gray at his temples, was still thick and shiny, while her once dark brunette hair had turned completely silver. She moved her gaze past Leo to a picture on the wall. It was of him and Loretta on their wedding day, and although ten years older than Leo, Loretta had always seemed younger than even Gabby. Gabby almost lost her courage.
Stiffening her spine, she met his gaze again. "Although I've told you many times I feel nothing for you…it's a lie."
Except for a flicker in Leo's eyes, his expression did not change.
Before she could chicken out, she forged on. "But don't get the wrong impression. What I feel for you since we kissed on the stairway is purely physical. And I believe that's what you're feeling for me." She glanced away. "So what I'm proposing is that we both satisfy our overactive hormones by spending the night together out of town. And…and…"
"Sleep together?" he offered.
She jerked her gaze back to his ocean eyes and nodded. "Y-yes. After that we can continue our lives as friends and put this feud that everyone thinks stems from our spouses' ancestors, behind us." She lowered her lashes and waited for his answer, knowing he would refuse and tell her she was crazy.
After a moment that stretched to eternity he said, "All right."
Gabby released a breath and lifted her lashes. He wasn't laughing. "You mean you're not going to tell me I'm crazy?"
"Of course not." He smiled slightly. "I'll do anything to help you find peace." Then he became serious again. "When and where do you want to go?"
"I hadn't thought that far ahead."
"Then why don't you let me choose a time and location, and I promise it will be far enough away that we won't run into prying eyes."
Gabby was at a loss for words. Leo was actually agreeing to her crazy proposal. Finally, she said, "Okay."
Leo took charge of their conversation. "After I make arrangements I'll call and let you know, and then we can decide where to meet so you're not seen leaving town with me."
His words made Gabby feel awful, like he was the black sheep of the family, but she didn't know what to say to make it better. They stared at each other for a moment and then she stood, feeling a little woozy, and chided herself for acting like a schoolgirl. Clutching her purse tightly to her chest, she said, "Okay. I'll wait to hear from you." She hesitated a moment, expecting Leo would stand, but he didn't. Instead, he said, "Would you mind showing yourself out? I need to catch up on some work while I'm in my office."
"No, no, not at all." She bit her bottom lip and then stuttered inanely, "Thank you. I'll…I'll see you soon."
Numbly, she headed back through the kitchen, bid goodbye to the workers, escaped through the dining room, entered the foyer, said goodbye to the hostess, and thought, I can't believe I just propositioned Leo. And he accepted!
After Gabby left, Leo placed his elbows on his desk and his head in his palms. Never had he expected Gabby to propose such an arrangement, and he'd wanted to shout with joy. Finally, she would realize how much he loved her and how happy they could be together. But to play his best hand, he'd kept a poker face and rudely remained in his office when she left. Gabby was a woman who liked challenges, and pretending to be hard-to-get could work in his favor. At least that's what he hoped. He grinned.
12: Friend?
Sunny fluffed the pillows on the queen size bed in the Queen Elizabeth room, stepped back to view her handiwork, and grinned. She never got tired of making the lovely bedrooms of the B & B presentable, especially this one. She turned in a circle looking for anything she had missed. Dusted—check, vacuumed—check, bathroom scrubbed—check, mirrors polished—check, trash emptied–check.
Finally satisfied, she opened the door to leave and almost pinched herself. Was she dreaming? Not only had she landed a job she loved, but she was actually living in this magnificent home. When Gabby had said her son had taken up residence at Stone House on the northern peninsula after refurbishing it, and invited her to live in Baxter's old room on the third floor, Sunny had decided she was living in an alternate reality. Rarely did good things happen to her and she'd wondered when the dream would end. But now, a week later, she was actually starting to relax and believe in miracles. Her foot had healed perfectly, she had landed a wonderful job, and she had a place to call home. Of course, she didn't discount the notion that her luck could change at any time and she would be back on the street, but, for now, she pushed that unpleasant thought aside and focused on her lovely evenings with Gabby and the B & B guests. Just yesterday, she'd followed Noah's suggestion and asked about the Jimi Hendrix story.
Gabby had laughed and said to Sunny and the young couple sitting on the porch with them, "It was really quite by accident. My parents had brought me to an impromptu concert and when they were distracted by a flower vender, I decided to explore…without their knowledge. I was only six and soon realized I was lost. I started crying and running through the crowd looking for them, and then this nice man knelt in front of me and asked what was wrong. I sobbed that I'd lost my mommy and daddy, and he took me by the hand and said, "Don't you worry, sweetie. I know exactly how to find them. We then went to the huge stage where a band was playing and after they finished their song, he walked to the front of the stage with me. Everyone started clapping and yelling, which was scary, because all I wanted was to find my parents. I remember him saying to the singer, "I need a minute, Mick. Then he asked my name and said into the microphone, 'Gabby has misplaced her parents. Are you out there?' Right away my mom and dad started waving and yelling." Gabby chuckled. "My father and mother loved retelling the story, and years later I found out that my rescuer was Jimi Hendrix and the singer Mick Jagger. My best remembrance, however, is being lowered off the stage into my father's arms."
A voice interrupted Sunny's musings. "Sunny! Are you up there?" called Gabby.
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Come on down! You have a visitor!"
Sunny's heart skipped a beat. The only person who ever stopped by to see her was Noah.
She stepped to the edge of the landing and looked down. Noah was in the hallway talking to Gabby. He glanced up, saw her, and waved. She nodded and headed for the stairs.
Although she had distrusted him when they first met, she now thought he was a nice enough kid. And even though she was only a year older, she was keeping him in the "kid" category. She would always be grateful to him for landing her this job, but that was the extent of her feelings.
Noah was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, grinning. "I asked my aunt if you could be excused for a while and she said it wasn't a problem. She said you're one of the best workers she's ever had."
Sunny liked his last sentence, but not his first. "Why would you want me to be excused?"
"Because I want to ask you something."
Sunny's heart slammed her chest. W
as she wrong about Noah? Was he about to propose something to repay him for his kindness? She'd been propositioned before and hated it. There was only one way to get rid of him if he did that—cut him to shreds with her words. She'd tell him in no uncertain terms that he was a turn-off scumbag, and he'd better leave her alone or she'd tell his Aunt Gabby.
He said, "Get your jacket. Let's go for a walk on the beach."
"Okay. It's on the coat tree by the door." So that's how he wants it—alone on the beach. Is he ever in for a rude awakening if he says something inappropriate.
A few minutes later they crossed the street to the B & B's private beach and began walking south along the shoreline. At the sign indicating they were entering the public beach, Noah said, "How's your foot feeling?"
"Doesn't bother me at all."
"How do you like your job?"
"I like it."
"Do you like your room at the B & B?"
"Yes." She stopped walking and turned to face him. "What do you want from me, Noah?"
He frowned. "I don't want anything from you."
"Then why all the questions? Are you trying to rub in the fact that you got me this job?"
Noah glanced at the ground and Sunny thought, Gotcha! When he glanced up he was chuckling. "I should have known you'd find some way to ruin a beautiful day, but I won't let it happen. I'm on to your game now. You treat people like crap because you're afraid of them. You're afraid to let anyone into your lonely world." He blew a breath, squatted, and glanced up at her. "The reason I came over was to ask you to the Christmas Prom at my school." He lifted a hand. "Don't say anything. You have several weeks to decide." He rose. "Come on. Let's go back to the house."
13: Portland
Vicky parked Mama Pink's, pink van, at the curb several blocks from their target location—the International Headquarters of Wainwright Resorts, Inc. Such was the traffic that it had taken almost an hour to snag this parking space. Using her debit card to pay for the maximum amount of parking time, she turned to the group of just four women who were helping her test the waters for a larger protest, and said, "Okay, everyone, we've been through some dry runs, but just in case, are there any questions?"
Harriet, one of the waitresses at Mama Pink's Diner, said, "My sign tore when I pulled it out of the van. Who has the tape?"
"I've got it in my backpack," said Harriet's daughter, Julie.
Faith Bennison said, "My backpack has our sandwiches and snacks, so if anyone gets hungry before lunchtime, I've got plenty of food."
Sandy Gutierrez, owner of Bathing Suits Galore Boutique, said, "Thanks, Faith." To Vicky she said, "I'm really nervous. Would you repeat our chant one more time?"
"Of course, hon. I'll shout, 'Wainwright Resorts wants to ruin our town. Will we let it happen?' and you'll shout, 'Never!' Then we'll all yell, 'Michael Wainwright leave Somewhere alone! Go somewhere else!' Then we'll repeat the same thing. We want to be sure and get his name out there so everyone knows who the enemy is."
The group affirmed their understanding and then, with Vicky in the lead, headed toward the imposing midrise housing the offices of Wainwright Resorts on the top floor.
Although Vicky thought she had prepared herself for an undertaking completely foreign to her personality, she suddenly realized she was shaking. What if the police were called? What if they were harassed? What if they were spit on? From all accounts, Michael Wainwright was an upstanding businessman and well respected among his peers, employees, and customers. His resorts were some of the finest in the world and he was known to be generous to charities. He was conscious of the environment and used "green" materials whenever possible. He was also listed among the top 100 most sought after bachelors.
That last accolade slipped into Vicky's mind and she forced it back where it belonged, in the dust of memories. To think that she had actually been interested in him made her cringe. He'd probably laughed at her friendly overtures and blushing spells. A man such as he would never feel attracted to her and, with that in mind, her determination to get him out of Somewhere renewed itself.
They reached the building and everyone in the group looked to her for direction and leadership. Her renewed determination gave her courage and she began calling out instructions. Within minutes they held their picket signs high and began marching on the sidewalk in front of the glass entrance to the fancy building. She yelled, "'Wainwright Resorts wants to ruin our town. Will we let it happen?"
"Never!"
"Michael Wainwright leave Somewhere alone! Go somewhere else!"
Michael was making last minute modifications to a presentation he was preparing for his board members regarding the probable resort in Somewhere, when his intercom buzzed and his long-time secretary Leticia said, "You're not going to believe this, but security just called and said we've got protestors picketing at the entrance."
Michael grinned. "Let me guess, they're from Somewhere and their leader has a chip on her shoulder."
"They're from Somewhere, but as for this gal with a chip, wouldn't know about that. Do you want me to call the police chief and see if anything can be done?"
"No. I want you to go down and take their Starbucks orders, and take a couple of assistants with you. Also, you and the assistants order whatever you want for yourselves."
There was silence and then Leticia said, "You're kidding, right?"
"Nope. Not kidding."
"What if they refuse to order anything?"
Then go to Starbucks anyway and order enough drinks for them, but make sure the drinks are large and fancy. If they still refuse them, set them on the curb and come back to your office."
Leticia cleared her throat. "Yes, sir, if you say so. Do you want anything?"
"No." Michael walked to the bank of windows overlooking the city and watched the commotion below. Several bystanders had surrounded the picketers who were marching in a circle. A few minutes later he noted Leticia's gray hair as she stepped to the small band of women. Two of her assistants waited in the background for instructions. A black haired woman stopped walking and faced Leticia. As expected, she soon began motioning wildly with her free hand, while her picket sign bobbled in her other.
Michael grinned.
Leticia waved toward her assistants and the three of them started in the direction of Starbucks, only a few doors away.
The protestors went back to the business of protesting while bystanders watched the circling parade. After maybe fifteen minutes, Leticia and company returned with drink carriers. When they reached the protesters, Vicky again waved her free arm wildly and Michael could only imagine the raucous. Never in his wildest imaginings had he believed she could stir up so much trouble. He chuckled because he really liked her in spitfire mode.
He returned to his desk to continue reviewing his presentation and waited for Leticia's return. Several minutes later there was a knock on his door and he called for her to come in. Leaning back in his chair he said, "So, what happened?"
Leticia closed the door. "As if you weren't watching from the window. They refused the drinks, of course, and the leader said you were a loathsome-scum-of-the-earth-lying-carpetbagger and if you were standing in front of her she'd toss the mocha frappuccino in your face."
"Hmm. I expected her to be a little less colorful than that."
"Are you going down to talk to her?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"Are you afraid you might end up with egg…er…ice on your face?"
Michael stood and walked to the window.
Leticia, who at times acted like his surrogate mother, continued, "Am I detecting fondness for the lady?"
He put his hands in his pockets. "She's going to lose her battle to keep my resort out of Somewhere, so even if I was fond of her, it would be for naught. She's going to hate me for the rest of her life."
He heard Leticia open the door to leave, but before the door closed she said, "Sometimes enemies become the best lovers."
Vicky lay in bed staring at
the shadows on her ceiling. Her day in Portland had drained her both physically and emotionally. And when she thought about Michael's employee wanting to take their Starbucks orders, she was outraged all over again. How dare Michael David Wainwright, III, treat their cause so flippantly? The man had everything money could buy: homes all over the world, yachts, and beautiful women at his beck and call. He was a jackass.
He'd even had the audacity to come down from his high tower to greet everyone. Of course, that was about the time the reporter and cameraman showed up, and when she'd asked Vicky why she was protesting, Vicky had suddenly become tongue-tied, so it was Michael, himself, who jumped in to explain he wanted to build a resort in Somewhere, but some of the townspeople were against it. The reporter had then started interviewing him about his world class resorts. When she'd finally stuck the microphone back in Vicky's face, Vicky had only gotten out, "He wants to ruin our town," before the reporter jerked her microphone back and said, "And that's what's happening today in downtown Portland. This is Maxine with–"
A loud noise interrupted Vicky's angry musings and she jumped upright. She jerked her housecoat on, grabbed the hammer she now kept on her nightstand, and hurried to the second floor. Anger at Michael gave her courage and she wanted to know what the hell was going on in the museum. She marched to the bedroom that had belonged to Belinda Hope and jerked the door open. She flipped on the overhead light and studied the room. Everything seemed to be in order. Then she noticed the desk had been moved about two feet from where it had been.
The hair on her neck stood up and she lifted the hammer, scanning the room for an intruder. Unless someone was hiding under the bed, there was no one there.
Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground and quickly gazed under the bed. There was no one. She stood and walked reluctantly to the desk, and when she reached it, she glanced down and almost screamed. Someone had written one word on the old blank parchment using the quill pen and inkwell.
