Thomas Kinkade

by The Inn at Angel Island (v5)

  It was impossible to say, but she couldn’t help wondering.

  They finished their dinner and cleared the table together. Liza wrapped the leftovers from dinner and left them in clear view on the top shelf of the fridge. “Tell Will there’s some food left for him if he gets hungry later,” she said.

  “I suppose,” Peter agreed. “But he shouldn’t act so spoiled. He should come down and eat with everyone else.”

  “It’s been a long day and a big time change. That’s probably screwed him up a bit,” she offered.

  “He’s just brooding. I hope he snaps out of it.”

  “Me, too.”

  They had a lot of work to do together the next few days, but Liza was hoping there was some way she could have fun with Will. She saw so little of him and didn’t want their visit to feel like a punishment or complete drudgery.

  “Well, I’m beat. Guess I’ll go up,” she told her brother.

  “Sure, you get some rest. My body thinks it’s two hours earlier. I’m going to check out those old photos for a while.”

  They said good night, and Peter headed for the front parlor. Liza headed upstairs to her room. She checked her BlackBerry one last time before she got into bed. Thankfully, there were no messages from the office. But there was another call from Jeff.

  She stood by the window, listening to the message. “Hi, Liza. Me again. Hope you’re okay out there. I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking of you. Let me know if I can help. I really mean that. I’m still here for you. Please remember that.”

  Liza sighed and put the phone aside. Jeff ’s soft, deep voice still tugged at her, she had to admit. Maybe Peter was right.

  Maybe she had pulled the trigger too quickly. Was there still a chance for them? Was that what Jeff wanted?

  Liza didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

  She just wanted . . . peace. A peaceful heart. She wanted to be tranquil and accepting of her life. The way Claire North seemed to be.

  She stared out the window at the dark night sky. There were hundreds of stars. She had forgotten how it was out here.

  If only she could squeeze her eyes shut and make a wish and have everything that troubled her right now resolve in the blink of an eye—the conflict at her job, her defunct marriage, dealing with this old house.

  It could never be that easy. That’s why they call it being a grown-up, Liza, she reminded herself. Too bad this place made her wish she was just a little girl again, sitting on the back steps, letting her aunt comb the tangles from her hair.

  If only Aunt Elizabeth were here now, to comb the tangles from her life.

  Chapter Six

  LIZA woke up very early the next day. She showered and dressed, then crept downstairs, trying not to disturb Peter and Will. The coffeemaker had been set up the night before—by Claire no doubt. With silent thanks, Liza took a cup and wandered into the front parlor, looking for her laptop. She still felt stung from being beaten out by Charlie on the shoe account and thought she might work on a few pitch ideas for new clients. She needed a few more sharp arrows in her quiver when she got back to the city. Liza settled herself at the antique secretary and opened the computer.

  Then she stared out the big bay windows to gather her thoughts. It was a damp morning, with a foggy mist rising like smoke off the ground. She couldn’t even see the ocean, just the blurry outlines of trees on top of the bluff. The mist made the landscape look magical, and even more fantastic when a strange sight came into view.

  Liza blinked twice, then stood up from her chair and walked quickly to the window.

  Was that a goat tiptoeing through the fog, munching the sparse weeds on the front lawn? Liza’s eyes widened. Yes, it was. Most definitely. Not just one but two . . . no, three. Three little goats were having breakfast in the ethereal morning mist, right in front of the inn. One was silver gray, the other black with a white chest, and the third, which actually skipped across her field of vision, a creamy buff color.

  Liza could not recall ever seeing goats this close. But she was pretty sure as to where they had come from. What to do about them was the question.

  She grabbed her jacket and scarf off the coat tree, and stepped outside. She moved slowly, hoping she wouldn’t startle them. She quietly shut the front door and noticed that they barely lifted their heads.

  They were very cute, she thought. She had even heard that goats made good pets, though given the chance, she would prefer a dog.

  She walked down the steps and held out her hand. “Hi, little goat. What are you up to?”

  The buff-colored goat lifted its head and walked over to her. Its horns looked very sharp close-up. Liza stood still as a statue as it bumped its head on her leg and nuzzled her hand. Looking for food, she guessed. She pulled her hand back quickly, but that didn’t seem to insult the goat.

  The edge of her scarf was dangling, and the goat nipped on the wool fringe with big white teeth.

  “Hey . . . give that back. You can’t eat my scarf!”

  Liza tugged on one end of her scarf while the little goat tugged on the other.

  I’m losing, she realized, feeling ridiculous—and desperate.

  “Bette, bad girl!” Liza heard someone shout.

  She looked up to see a woman dressed in baggy khaki pants and a red barn jacket hop over the stone fence that bordered the inn’s property.

  Her long dark red hair was tied low at the back of her head and streamed out behind her like a flag. Her cheeks were full and ruddy, practically matching her coat, and her feet were covered by dark green rubber boots. Suitable for wading through mud or a barnyard, Liza realized.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get them. They won’t hurt you,” she shouted at Liza.

  Liza was so startled, she didn’t answer. The goats were startled, too, Liza realized as the naughty Bette finally released the tasty scarf.

  Then the goat stepped back and complained with a loud sound.

  Ba-a-a-h!

  “That’s right. You let that go. I have something for you, don’t worry.”

  The woman pulled a handful of brown feed from her pocket and let the little mischief-maker eat from her hand. As the goat gobbled, the woman grabbed the animal’s collar and held it fast in her hand. Then she took a length of thin nylon rope from her pocket and tied it to the goat’s collar.

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how they got away,” she said with a laugh as she looked up at Liza. “I hope she didn’t tear your scarf. I’d be happy to replace it.”

  “Oh, I think it’s fine.” Liza lifted the end of the scarf and took a look. It was a little stretched out and had a few teeth marks, but she was sure she could wash it out and pat it flat again. “Please don’t worry about it.”

  “That’s very nice of you . . . I’m Audrey Gilroy, by the way. My husband and I run the farm next door.” She nodded her head toward her property.

  “So I gathered,” Liza said with a small laugh. “I’m Liza Martin. My aunt Elizabeth owned the inn.”

  “Yes, of course. Elizabeth Dunne, a wonderful woman. She was such a great help when we first came here. I don’t know that we would have lasted without her. So lighthearted and encouraging.”

  “Yes, she was all of that,” Liza agreed. It was gratifying to hear perfect strangers praise her aunt so lavishly. But it still made her sad, poignantly conscious of her loss.

  “I was so sorry to hear that she’d passed away. I’m very sorry for your loss,” Audrey said sincerely.

  Liza quietly thanked her.

  “What will happen to the inn? If you don’t mind me asking,” Audrey added.

  “My brother and I put it up for sale,” Liza told her. “We both have our own careers, and it seems too much to take on.”

  Why did she feel guilty admitting their plans? Liza wondered. Why did she even bother making up some flimsy excuse? She and Peter had never considered keeping the inn and trying to run it at a distance. But for some reason, Liza felt she had to explain herself. Even to th
e goat lady, Audrey Gilroy.

  “I see. That’s too bad. It’s such a lovely place. But maybe someone will buy it and take it over,” Audrey said optimistically.

  “I hope so,” Liza answered. “It would be great if someone saw the potential in it. I’m afraid it’s going to need a lot of loving care to restore it to its former glory.”

  The silver gray goat strolled over and butted Audrey’s hip, trying to work its muzzle into her jacket pocket.

  “This is Meryl. She’s a little pickpocket,” Audrey said.

  She slipped another tether on Meryl’s collar and gave her a little feed.

  “What’s the other goat’s name?” Liza asked.

  “That’s George. He’s the smart guy. The gang leader,” Audrey explained.

  “Interesting names.”

  “My husband and I are film buffs. We take turns naming the goats after our favorite movie stars—Bette Davis, Meryl Streep, George Clooney . . .”

  Audrey suddenly handed Liza the leads for Bette and Meryl. “Here, hold these a minute for me.”

  Before Liza could reply, she was in charge of the two goats, while Audrey stalked George. The black-and-white goat was staring at them and looked a little tense as Audrey approached. She held out a hand full of feed, and he sniffed the air.

  Then he suddenly leaped across the yard, trying to escape capture. Luckily, he was headed back toward the farm. Audrey pursued him, waving her hands. “That’s right, go along. Go back home, now.”

  With a graceful bound, he cleared the low fieldstone wall.

  Audrey looked back and laughed. “He thinks he’s so smart.”

  Meryl and Bette started wailing, suddenly tugging their leads. They wanted to follow George, and Liza was tugged along.

  “I guess they’re ready to go home, too.”

  “I guess so.” Audrey ran back to help her. “Here, let me get Bette from you. I’ll just tie her to a tree and take Meryl back first.”

  “Oh, I can help you,” Liza said. “I’ll take one, and you take the other.”

  “Are you sure?” Audrey sounded doubtful. “I think we’ve been enough bother.”

  “It’s no trouble. Lead the way. A little goat herding in the morning is good exercise. It’s either that or a jog around the island.”

  Audrey laughed, looking pleased by Liza’s answer. Liza could tell she really didn’t want to leave her goat. As much as she scolded them, she talked to the ornery creatures like babies.

  From what Liza had seen so far, a goat tied to a tree would be pretty likely to chew through its tether before Audrey had a chance to come back.

  Liza followed Audrey across the property and to a low spot on the wall. Liza’s charge jumped over automatically, and Liza quickly followed, careful not to get her feet tangled up in the lead.

  They brought the goats to a large pen, where there were quite a few others. The penned goats brayed up a storm as they saw Audrey and the escapees return.

  “Oh, hush up now, all of you. We have a guest,” Audrey told them. She glanced over her shoulder at Liza and smiled. “You’ve been such a good sport, I can’t send you home without some goodies. Do you like goat cheese?”

  “Love it,” Liza admitted.

  “You’ve come to the right place,” Audrey said. They passed the barn with milking stalls. In the distance Liza saw a farmhouse, a beautiful old building that must have been there since the early 1800s. It had always been stark white with black shutters when she was growing up but had since been painted a charming shade of periwinkle blue, with dark purple shutters and a yellow door. The colors seemed to suit Audrey’s personality, Liza thought.

  Just past the barn they came to another wooden building, painted white, where Liza guessed the cheese was made. Audrey slipped through the red door, and Liza followed. The room inside was cool, as cool as outdoors. The cement floor was painted gray, and there was a drain in the middle. There was a huge stainless-steel tank, studded with dials, pipes, and faucet handles, in the middle of the room.

  Both walls were covered by large stainless-steel refrigerators. Audrey pulled open a metal door and took out a large roll of cheese covered in herbs and wrapped in plastic. Then a chunk of what looked like fudge, also wrapped in plastic. She left the delicacies on a metal table that stood to one side of the front door, which also held a metal scale.

  Then she walked over to a metal shelf on the far side of the room and returned with some bars of soap wrapped in floral paper and two small glass jars containing skin creams. She pulled down one of the baskets that were hanging from the ceiling and packed all the goat-milk-based goodies inside.

  “We just started making skin products. Let me know what you think of them.”

  “That’s too much,” Liza protested. “You’re being far too generous.”

  “Nonsense. You have a party with it or something. Need some recipes?” Audrey asked.

  “No, thanks. I have a feeling Claire will know what to do with the cheese.”

  Audrey quickly wrapped the basket in a sheet of brown paper, then stepped away from the metal table. “One more thing . . . wait right here.”

  She left the room through another door and quickly returned, carrying a large bunch of dried lavender. “Here you go. The cheese is from the goats; that’s from me.”

  Liza laughed, overwhelmed by the generosity. She’d been thinking about coming here for lavender. Now she had an armful. “Honestly, this isn’t necessary . . .”

  “Just trying to thank a neighbor. I appreciate your help. Someone else would have been calling animal control.”

  Maybe that was true, but Liza didn’t think of herself as a real neighbor. She was just . . . passing through. Still, she loved the lavender and couldn’t wait to try the cheese.

  “Thank you, Audrey. I’m going to enjoy all these gifts. And I really liked meeting your goats.”

  “The feeling was mutual, believe me.” Audrey smiled, and Liza had the uncanny feeling that, given the right circumstances, they could be friends. The goat-wrangling redhead was only a few years older than Liza was, she realized, and had a down-to-earth manner that Liza found refreshing.

  She wondered about Audrey’s story, what had brought her and her husband out here to start this unique enterprise. “How long have you been raising goats?” Liza asked curiously.

  “Oh, about five years now. We started with ten goats, and now we’re up to seventy. That’s a good number for a farm like this one. We’ll have to sell some off next year after the kids come. The mothers give birth from January to April, then they give milk until the fall,” Audrey explained. “I was a nurse in my former life, so it helps with the vet bills—all those deliveries.”

  “I can’t imagine it,” Liza said honestly. “Did you always live on the island?” she asked, balancing the heavy basket on one hip.

  Audrey shook her head. “We found this island by accident one summer. We came up to the area to go camping, and all the camp-grounds we knew were filled. Someone told us to come out here to the beach. My husband and I just fell in love with the place. We kept coming back on vacation, and then when this farm came up for sale, we decided to make the big move. It was hard at first,” she admitted. “But we’ve gotten used to it. I could never go back now. But I still do some nursing at the emergency medical clinic in the center.”

  “I noticed that place. Is it staffed by volunteers?”

  “Completely. It’s all islanders with medical experience. You must know Daniel Merritt. I saw his truck at your place the last few days. He drives an ambulance and is trained as a first responder.”

  “Somehow I can picture that,” Liza said. Daniel seemed the type who would be calm under pressure, even in an emergency.

  She could have talked longer with Audrey, but it was getting late. She had to get back to the inn. “Thanks again. I’d better go,” she said.

  “Need any help? I can give you a lift.”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ll just go back the way I came,” Liza sai
d.

  She stepped out of the small building, and Audrey followed. The sun had risen higher in the sky and burned off the mist, leaving a layer of frosty dew. Liza heard her shoes crunch on the brown grass as she headed for the field and stone wall.

  Back at the inn, Liza walked around to the back door and came in through the kitchen. Claire stood at the stove, and Peter sat at the long table, a pile of pancakes on his plate. Thin and golden brown, the pancakes were covered with a layer of sautéed apples. Liza’s mouth watered at the sight.

  Peter’s eyebrows rose as he saw the overloaded basket on her arm. “What is this? Little Red Riding Hood? I thought you were upstairs, sleeping late.”

  “Sleeping? I was herding goats while you were still in dreamland, pal.” Liza stuck the cheese in the fridge and placed the lavender in a white vase she found on the sideboard.

  Peter gave her a quizzical look. Claire laughed. “Did they get loose again? That George is a terror. He could chew his way through a cement wall.”

  “He’s definitely the smartest. Bette is sweet. But she tried to eat my scarf,” Liza added, checking the scarf again.

  Claire brought her a cup of coffee and a plate of pancakes as Liza related her adventure. “Their farm is really lovely. You ought to walk over and see it sometime.”

  “Maybe I will. If I have time,” Peter said, looking unconvinced that a goat farm could be so interesting.

  In fact, he was staring at Liza as if she had imagined the entire thing. In a way, it felt as if she had, she realized. It was definitely a strange, almost dreamlike experience. And it had cast a certain spell.

  “Maybe I’ll get a goat as a pet,” Liza teased him. “I hear they can be very affectionate.”

  “I’m sure your condo board will be interested to hear that.” Peter wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You can try to win them over with some of that cheese.”

  “I probably could,” Liza agreed. She was going to ask if he wanted some of the cheese to bring back to Tucson but was interrupted by a buzz from her BlackBerry.

  The caller ID flashed, and Liza saw that it was Fran Tulley.