Beside a Dreamswept Sea (8 page)

“Of course it will, dear.” Miss Hattie wiped at a splash of water on the countertop.

“Mr. Richards, dismissing Jeremy hardly qualifies as punishment—”

“I understand your position, Mrs. Wiggins,” Bryce gritted out from between his teeth, watching the woman right her toppled chair.

“Mr. Richards?” Caline still stood in the doorway, clasping one each of two of his children’s hands. “I hate to interrupt yet again, but I really do need to get my things out of Miss Hattie’s entryway. They’re blocking the door.” She nodded toward Suzie, then Jeremy. “Do you mind if we go on up now?”

“Not at all.” Bryce fingered his knee. It was swelling already.

“You can’t mean to let the boy get away with this, too!” Mrs. Wiggins snarled, muttered, then girded her verbal loins and cut loose with her rhetoric. “Mrs. Richards, may she rest in peace”—the battleaxe crossed herself—“was extremely explicit in her instructions regarding discipline. Jeremy
must
be punished for this.”

“And he will be. Just not right now.” Bryce raked a weary hand through his hair. “Right now, he’s going to assist Caline with her luggage.”

Caline flashed him a quick smile that set his heart to thumping, then hurried Suzie and Jeremy through the gallery at a good clip, heading toward the stairs as if she half feared Bryce would change his mind and call them back to punish Jeremy now, anyway.

Bryce didn’t much like that, either. But he admired it. The grandfather clock ticked loudly, then chimed once. He did not, however, admire his physical reaction to the woman. And in the things he didn’t like regarding her, this reaction he liked least of all.

Mrs. Wiggins frowned. “I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t oppose.”

“Your opposition is noted.” Bryce reached for the dishcloth, resting on the tile countertop. “Now, you’d best see to Lyssie.”

They’d have the devil’s own time getting all the food out of the child’s hair. Did orange juice stain as badly as chlorine?

Poor Lyssie’d had green hair most of the summer. It’d finally gotten back to normal around Halloween—right
after
picture day at her day care center. His knee aching, he swiped at the high chair’s tray. With his luck, she’d have orange hair for Thanksgiving. His parents would get a real kick out of that. And he’d again feel like a Class A failure of a parent. He blew out a sigh reeking of frustration. “Animal crackers.”

Muttering her feelings on that substitution, Mrs. Wiggins lifted Lyssie from the high chair and then took her upstairs. From the set of her shoulders, he fully expected another resignation before noon.

Miss Hattie jiggled her reading glasses until they settled inside her apron’s pocket. “Animal crackers?”

“Lyssie repeats everything. Jeremy, too,” Bryce explained. “I’m sorry for all this mess, Miss Hattie. I’m not sure what I can do about your rose clippings, but if you’ll toss me that sponge, I’ll get busy cleaning up here.”

“Don’t worry, dear. This will only a take a minute to fix,” She dropped her gaze to his leg, and her smile faded. “But if that swelling is any gauge, your knee’ll take a lot longer.”

Bryce looked down at his gray wool slacks. The fabric stretched tight across his knee. Wrecked for a week. Maybe two. “You’re likely right.”

“Does it hurt, dear?”

“Like the devil’s pinching it.

Vic returned with Collin’s ivory-handled cane. “Here you go, Bryce.”

“Thanks.” Bryce took the cane. A dolphin had been carved in the ivory. Impressed with the craftsmanship and intricate detail, he lifted his brows, rubbed his thumb over its chiseled surface. “Beautiful work.”

“My, but you look debonair.” Her eyes twinkling, Miss Hattie patted at her apron. “As debonair as Collin himself—and he was a handsome thing.”

Bryce looked down at his crumpled slacks, his oatmeal-infested shirt, and his limp red and gray silk tie. “I don’t think handsome or debonair is quite the impression I made on your new guest.” Caline probably thought he was a flake and was afraid to leave his own kids with him.

“I’m sure as certain you made a fine impression. The package is a little worse for the wear, my dear, but the goods inside are intact and as interesting as ever.” Miss Hattie gave Bryce’s freshly trimmed beard a friendly pat. “Speaking of our new guest, would you mind terribly helping her, too? I hate to ask you to deal with the stairs, but I need to get this chicken and cheese casserole in the oven now or we’ll be late for lunch.” Miss Hattie twisted her lips. “Mrs. Wiggins is rigorously attached to her schedules, and I’d rather not upset the dear woman any more today. Still, Jimmy’s busy with Pastor’s car and Vic has to get back to delivering the mail, and Miss Tate has so much—”

“Miss
Tate?”
The grin curving Bryce’s mouth faded and his stomach dropped to his knees. His client Gregory Tate’s ex-wife? The mysterious Mrs. Tate? The stranger Suzie had just referred to as her new mom—maybe? She couldn’t be here. How,
why,
would she be here?
“Caline Tate?”

Miss Hattie nodded, a knowing gleam in her eye.

She looked over to the dresser at the French phone. Maybe here she could find courage and, if Seascape had yet another spare miracle within its walls, those pieces of herself Gregory had slowly stolen from her.

“Here’s your purse, Cally.” The muddy Jeremy passed her handbag.

It was a little worse for the wear, dirt-streaked on the backside. “Thanks.” Caline smiled. Where the endearing-sounding Cally had come from, she didn’t know. But she liked it, too. Grandma Freemont used to call her Cally. She’d died too long ago for Caline to remember that firsthand, but finding the reminder of someone who had loved her unconditionally pleasant, Caline Tate decided that here at Seascape she’d do her best to become Cally again. To find Cally’s dreams.

A flood of warmth flowed through her. Nice. Very nice, but odd. The room was a little on the chilly side. “Thanks for helping me, Jeremy.”

“You’re welcome.” He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and rocked the toe of his sneaker against the rug. His shoelace dragged on the floor.

Suzie, doelike with her large brown eyes, just stared at Cally, to the point that she was half tempted to check the mirror, as much as she hated mirrors, to see if something spotted her face. She studied Suzie’s eyes. No, she wasn’t staring at Cally’s face, but at her carnation. Wasn’t she?

To be certain, Cally took off her hat and unpinned the flower. “Would you like to have this, Suzie?”

“No! Please don’t take it off. Please.”

Why was the child so upset? What had Cally done wrong? “Okay, I won’t,” she hurriedly added. She couldn’t keep her hat on forever, but this seemed important to Suzie and, having wanted a child of her own for so long, Cally wanted to see the girl’s eyes shining with happiness again, as they had been downstairs when she’d been dancing with the postman. Not as they were now, clouded with worry. “Where should I put the flower, do you think?”

“On your shirt.” Suzie pointed to Cally’s lapel.

“Blouse, sweetheart.” Cally dumped her purse on the floor beside the bed, and caught a whiff of her narcissus-scented perfume and Jeremy’s little-boy, earthy scent. It was a pleasing blend. “Guys wear shirts, girls wear blouses.”

Suzie nodded. “Blouse, then.”

Caline glanced at the bed. The blue coverlet looked plush and comfortable. The whole house reeked of comfort. She was going to like it here. And she had the eeriest feeling that something important, something special, would happen to her in this house.

Probably stemmed from all that nonsense Lucy Baker had babbled about the legend of Collin and Cecelia Freeport’s love being so strong it had defied death and still lingered within Seascape’s walls. According to Lucy, Cecelia had been a healer, and Cally admitted that she did feel different here. But how could the love of a couple who’d died shower those here now with the blessings of love and peace as Lucy had claimed? Maybe she was just a romantic at heart. It couldn’t happen, of course. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if even a part of that were true?

Jeremy shrugged. “Put the flower in your pocket, Cally.”

She grinned. “I think we’d be safer with Suzie’s suggestion this time, Jeremy.” The flower in one hand, the pin in the other, Cally frowned down at her blouse. “I always stick myself doing this.”

Bryce hobbled into the room, then deposited her case on the floor near the closet door. “Let me help.”

Cally’s heart took a little dip. He’d changed into a fresh white shirt, navy slacks, and a different but still ultraconservative silk tie that made him look like a guy fresh off the pages of
GQ.
With luck, she’d stop hoping he’d look less appealing in jeans. Imagining denim clinging to his thighs, she felt a warm rush of heat and nixed the thought. Unfortunately, he’d appeal in anything he wore.

“Daddy’s gonna help Cally.” Suzie tugged at Jeremy, looking awfully pleased. “Come on, we can go now.”

“No, I wanna stay here.” Jeremy pulled away. “Mrs. Wiggins is still mad at me.”

Suzie rolled her gaze and gave Jeremy another solid tug. “She’s gonna be mad forever anyway, so what’s the difference? Come on, we’ve gotta get the dirt off you.”

Jeremy frowned down at his mud-crusted jeans. “How come?”

“Because, dimwit.” Suzie gave him a firm yank, then smiled sweetly at Cally and her father. “If only we have the courage to believe, miracles can happen beside a dreamswept sea.”

A shudder rippled up Cally’s back. Her instincts rioted, flashed a warning:
Listen. Take the message’s meaning into your heart.

The feeling burned so strong it nearly buckled her knees. Suzie
had
said something vitally important. Cally couldn’t explain exactly what, but she’d understood the importance at gut level, and she swore she’d listen to it—as soon as she deciphered it. She lacked courage, but if she had it and believed—in what, she had no idea—then miracles—what kind of miracles, she again had no idea—could happen.