Seaside Manor Bed and Breakfast

by Lilly Mirren

  Contents

  Welcome to Emerald Cove

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Excerpt: The Waratah Inn

  Also by Lilly Mirren

  Glossary of Terms

  About the Author

  Welcome to Emerald Cove

  Read the duet in order…

  * * *

  Cottage on Oceanview Lane

  Seaside Manor Bed & Breakfast

  About This Book

  The Seaside Manor Bed & Breakfast has been an institution in Emerald Cove for as long as anyone can remember. But things are changing and Diana is nervous about what the future might hold for her and her husband, not to mention the historic business.

  With no experience to back him up, Ethan Flannigan moves back home to the Cove and takes on the bed and breakfast as a part-owner. Diana’s niece, Emily, agrees to help her aunt and uncle, but the charming man they sold half of the business to does nothing but get under her skin, even if the spark between them is hard to ignore.

  Rebecca Mair is the new cop in town but she’s got a secret she hasn’t shared with anyone else and that secret is about to catch up with her.

  Sarah Flannigan finally has the man of her dreams, but her career is spiralling out of control. With a difficult choice set before her, will she stay in the Cove with Mick and her family, or head back to the city to save her job?

  Please note: This book is the second and final instalment in the Emerald Cove duet.

  Chapter 1

  Emily

  A seagull landed on a half empty plate, abandoned with chips on one side, and a milkshake in a half-full glass cup. The bird flapped as it lost balance, knocking the milkshake over. The glass fell to the concrete tiles below and smashed even as Emily Jones leapt to catch it. She grimaced as milkshake sprayed across her feet and up her black leggings.

  Customers glanced up, attentions attracted by the noise, then looked away again, engaging in conversation over coffee and brunch. Emily wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve, then squatted to retrieve the pieces of glass with careful fingers, piling each shard onto the black serving tray she’d set on the ground beside the spill.

  More seagulls hovered close by, landing on the fence, empty tables, wherever they could find a perch. She waved a hand in their direction.

  “Shoo!”

  They scattered for a few moments, but not longer. She’d have to clear up this mess before they’d leave. She hurried the broken shards of glass to the rubbish bin, then returned for the plates of half eaten food. Birds were fighting over the scraps and she had to flap her hands at them a few times before they moved.

  By the time she’d mopped up the spilled milkshake and wiped the tables clean, there were more customers waiting to be seated. With only two of them waiting tables, she had more than enough to do without having to clean up after a bunch of birds.

  She found the customers seats and took orders, then disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes of peace. She locked the stall door and sat fully clothed on the toilet lid, her face in her hands. How had she gotten here? She’d spent three years in culinary school, had worked in countless kitchens to pay her way, and yet still had thousands of dollars of debt from tuition. She’d landed a job as a sous chef in one of Sydney’s up and coming restaurants. Then, she’d met Callum.

  Everything changed after that.

  He was charming, handsome, and swept her away with his declarations of love and commitment. He’d had weekly gigs at the restaurant where she worked. A singer and guitarist in a small band, his tight jeans and messy hair had women swooning every time he looked their way — and he’d chosen her.

  After losing mum, and never having known her father, he came along at exactly the right moment. She was lonely, vulnerable, and afraid of a future alone — Callum offered her everything she was looking for. He promised her forever, he was there for her and he loved her in a way she had never known before. He partied more than she liked. She was never one to drink much, didn’t touch drugs, liked to go to bed as soon as her shift at the restaurant was done. But he stayed up for hours, drinking, experimenting, joking with his friends. She was sure he’d change if she gave him a chance. He couldn’t live that way forever — he was young and in a band, so it was part of the lifestyle and she could accept it, for now.

  When his band landed a job in the tourist beach town of Coffs Harbour, it hadn’t taken much convincing for him to get her to leave her job and follow him.

  There’ll be plenty of cooking jobs there, he’d assured her. She hadn’t bothered to correct him — she wasn’t a cook she was a chef. There was a big difference. Still, she imagined there must be opportunity for someone with her skills in a place filled with hotels, resorts, and restaurants.

  “You okay in there?” asked a voice. Helen mostly likely, the other waitress. She was no doubt feeling the push with Emily hiding away in the bathroom.

  “Yeah, fine. I’ll be right there.”

  She left the stall, washed her hands, splashed water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She’d never felt so lonely in all her life before. When Callum left for a new gig in Airlie Beach, he didn’t even feel the need to ask her to go with him. She wouldn’t have gone anyway. Not after what she’d found. Not after everything that’d happened between them. Still, she missed having someone around who cared whether she came home from her shift at the cafe. Tonight, she’d walk down the boardwalk, up the street, and over the hill to a single bedroom apartment with no lights on and no one home. For the life of her she couldn’t remember why she’d ever decided to move there, away from everyone she knew. Now, she had no idea what to do with her life.

  Chapter 2

  Rebecca

  Her eyes blinked open, shut again, then opened. It was difficult, the opening part. And when they were open her vision was blurred. She couldn’t figure out where she was. Not at home. Not at the station. Why was she lying on her back? Rebecca Mair squeezed her eyes shut for a few moments, then flung aching eyelids open again, widening her eyes in an attempt to focus.

  Where was she?

  Moving. She was moving. But on her back. The ground beneath her lurched, then turned. She was in a vehicle. Her eyes focused on a face — a paramedic. She’d worked with them often enough to know each of them by name.

  “Steven?” she croaked, then coughed to clear her throat. “What…?”

  He nodded, a smile brightening his tanned face. “Welcome back, Constable. Now stay with me, all right?”

  “What happened? Where am I?”

  “You were stabbed, that’s all I know. You’re on your way to Tweed Hospital. Okay? Do you understand?” His brown eyes fixed on hers, studying her, monitoring her responses. She knew that lo
ok on his face. He was worried about her, checking her vitals even as he spoke.

  She attempted a nod but found that her head was secured in place by tight straps. With both hands she reached up and tried to pluck them away.

  Steven gently lifted her hands away and put them at her sides. “Leave it alone, Bec. We have to make sure you don’t have a neck injury.”

  “I don’t,” she replied.

  He chuckled. “Let us be the judge of that.”

  “Where’s Franklin… I mean the Sarge?”

  “He’s fine, he’s got to take the fella into the station, from what I understand. He said he’d meet us at the hospital when he could.”

  She inhaled a slow breath, let her eyes drift shut. He was fine. She hadn’t let him down, not this time. Memories lurched into her mind, one by one. Not a complete picture, but like a stop-motion animation — one moment at a time that her mind had to piece together to make a scene.

  They’d gotten an anonymous tip about Thad Borseth, the creep who’d been stealing money from the Emerald Cafe for months. He was staying in a run-down cabin outside of town, near the beach. The sarge went in the front, Thad came out the back where she was waiting, and they’d fought. She flinched inwardly, remembering the feel of his fist connecting with her cheek, then the pummelling of her torso.

  With tender fingers she reached for the place, and again Steven redirected her hands.

  “Like I said, you’ve been stabbed. You’ll be sore there for a while. I’ve patched you up as best I could for the ride to the hospital, but you may need surgery. We’ll have to wait and see what the doc says.”

  The hits to her chest must’ve been the knife connecting with her vest, but he’d found the tender place beneath the vest and connected with flesh.

  She inhaled a sharp breath as a flutter of nerves flashed through her. What if he hit an organ? Her head felt light, her vision fading in and out. She could die.

  She didn’t want to die, not yet. Not this way. She wanted a chance to live first, not to spend her only days of freedom in hiding then have her life snatched away from her by a thug, a thief. That wasn’t how things would end for her. Not if she could do anything about it.

  With a defiant grunt, she forced her eyes open and met Steven’s gaze.

  He grinned. “There’s my fighter. Good to see that spark in your eyes again, Constable. You’re gonna be just fine.”

  They were taking her in to surgery. She lay on her back in the sterile hospital room, prepped, ready to go, but with tears in her eyes.

  “Are you sure I can’t call someone for you?” asked a nurse, pausing beside Rebecca’s bed.

  She shook her head, not wanting to make eye contact with the nurse in case she saw the tears. She never wanted anyone to see her weakness, her vulnerability. She was strong, confident, private. That’s all they needed to know.

  The nurse gave a brief nod of the head, then wheeled a silver cart lined with medical supplies out into the hall, leaving Rebecca on her own.

  There was no one to call. No one to tell. She was heading into surgery, might not make it through, and not a single soul in the world cared. How had her life come to this?

  She’d been raised in a loving family home, had plenty of friends, a good life. And now, she was all alone, without anyone to say goodbye as they wheeled her into surgery. Loneliness swamped her like plunging into frigid waters that closed over her head. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t see a way ahead.

  If she died in surgery, whose life would be impacted? Apart from the fact that she wouldn’t show up to work tomorrow, how would anyone even be inconvenienced by the loss? Would there be a funeral, or would she be lowered into the ground by strangers?

  Self-pity formed a lump in her throat and tears blurred her vision.

  “There you are, Proby,” said Franklin as he burst into the room, relief tinging his voice.

  Startled, she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sarge?”

  He stopped beside the bed, clenched his hands into fists, then relaxed them again. Finally, he reached for one of hers and held it. “I’ve been looking for you. They said you were in emergency, then I looked in the cardiac wing… anyway, I found you. That’s all that matters. How’re you feeling?”

  Relief overwhelmed her and she couldn’t speak. She shook her head slowly, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. She knew Franklin well enough to understand that her crying would send him running from the room and she wanted him there. More than she’d thought possible. Having someone with her, even her jerk of a boss who clearly disliked her, was better than no one at all.

  His eyes found hers, softened and he pulled a chair up close to the bed to sit down, without releasing his grip on her hand. “Don’t worry, Proby, you’re gonna be okay. The doc wouldn’t say much since I’m not family, but I can tell. I’ve seen enough people on death’s door to know it when I see it, and you don’t have that look. You’ll pull through, I guarantee it.”

  She nodded, pushed down a sob. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Of course, where else would I be but with my partner?”

  “I know I’m a disappointment, but I try…” Her voice broke.

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not you, I’m just an ass. Don’t listen to me. I’m old and grumpy, and sometimes I say things I shouldn’t.”

  She chuckled, then winced as pain shot through her gut. “Old? Really, boss? You’re only a few years older than I am.”

  “I feel as old as time,” he replied with a wink.

  “Anyway, I appreciate you being here.”

  “Anyone I can call for you? Someone on their way?” he asked.

  She looked at the ceiling, shook her head, lips clenched into a straight line.

  He sighed. “Okay, but you let me know if you change your mind. Because there’s one thing I know about you, Constable, and it’s that out there somewhere are people who care about you. I don’t know why you’ve walked away from them, why you don’t want them here by your side right now, but I know they’re out there.”

  She met his gaze, her throat aching. “How do you know that?”

  He smiled. “Because much to my dismay, you’re pretty darned likeable, Proby. It’s inevitable that there’d be people who care.”

  Chapter 3

  Diana

  Two weeks later

  The caw of a crow outside her bedroom window woke Diana at five a.m. The bird continued its monotone call like a metronome that couldn’t be silenced; it grated on her nerves. Usually crows stayed away, since she had a large number of kookaburras who liked to perch in the gum tree at the end of the garden overnight. Still, it was there, and it had woken her before her alarm. She rubbed her eyes and swung her feet to the floor with a grunt, then pressed the button on her old clock radio to switch off the alarm. She’d let Rupert sleep this morning. Lately he’d looked more tired than ever, dark smudges beneath each eye. The doctor had told them he had to take things easy, but no one had talked about what that really meant — either she had to bear the load of running the business all alone or they’d have to sell up and move.

  One glance revealed Rupert was still sound asleep and her movements hadn’t roused him. He snored softly beside her. Her husband had never been a morning person, unlike her. She was grateful for her preference for the early hours, since as the owner and manager of the Seaside Manor Bed and Breakfast for the past twenty-five years she’d barely had a chance to sleep late more than a dozen times

  Her morning was filled with routines. Shower, dress, hair, makeup. She took an envelope from the drawer where her makeup lived, stared at it a moment, ran a finger over the handwriting that spelled out her name and address, and shoved it into her cardigan pocket with a quick glance over her shoulder — Rupert hadn’t moved, he lay on his side, the covers rising and falling gently with his breath. Then, she donned a pair of comfortable walking shoes and headed downstairs to begin making breakfast. It was the only meal of
the day they served at the Seaside Manor and she took pride in making sure guests would not only enjoy it but hopefully talk about it with their friends. Word of mouth had been her best marketing tool for more than two decades, and her breakfasts were a big part of that. Of course, the pristine beaches and azure waters of Emerald Cove helped as well. They’d never had a problem booking guests, but lately she’d begun turning some away, saying the rooms were fully booked even when they weren’t. She knew she couldn’t manage more than two rooms at a time anymore, especially now that Rupert wasn’t as much help with any of the things he used to do around the place.

  The kitchen was her happy place, and Seaside Manor had a spacious, if somewhat old- fashioned kitchen that let in light through a set of large windows that looked out over the back garden. Dark timber cupboards, a large kitchen island with pots and pans hanging above, and every surface gleaming. She was a stickler for cleanliness.

  Diana flicked the switch on the kettle and stood waiting for it to boil while she gazed out over the lovingly maintained rows of shrubbery, flowers and climbing vines. She spent the afternoons in her garden once the guests had been taken care of and everything was done inside. At that time of day, shade from the large gum tree, a macadamia tree, and a sprawling poinciana drew long, cool shadows across the garden and gave it a pleasant, cozy feel. But now the entire garden hung in darkness, the sun wouldn’t rise for hours yet and a sleepy stillness clung to the landscape. She shivered, tugged her cardigan more tightly around her plump frame, and poured herself the first cup of tea of the day from the steaming kettle.