Sea Glass Cottage (7 page)

“I’ve been thinking about a name for your restaurant too. You guys like to surf, right? You surfers use shortboards, longboards, bodyboards, so what if you called your place, Longboard Pizza?”

Thane and Jonah stared at each other for about two seconds before blurting out at the same time, “That’s it!”

“That’s perfect. Now I can get Lilly Pierce working on the sign,” Thane offered. Reaching out, he took her chin, stared into her eyes. “They don’t look as glassy as they did before when I dropped you off. But you should probably still lie down, get some rest.”

Izzy looked over at Jonah. “Is he always such a worrywart?”

“Yep. He worries about me a lot. When I’m sick with fever, he stays by my bed all night. Do you have fever? He’ll sit with you if you do.”

At that image, Isabella’s heart did an erratic sputter. “No, I don’t think I have fever.”

“Just a concussion,” Thane charged.

“Dad used to get ’cussions all the time,” Jonah explained, patting Izzy’s arm. “Being quiet helps.”

“That’s right, peaceful and quiet,” Thane reminded his son, holding one finger to his lips.

“You’ll feel better soon,” Jonah assured Izzy in his six-year-old voice that tried for a low whisper. “You won’t ever get sick like my momma did and had to go away. I didn’t know her.”

Thane swallowed hard at the sentiment, stared at his son before looking over and meeting Izzy’s eyes. “Jonah, if you’re done eating let’s go take that tour of the lighthouse. Whaddya say?”

Just as he’d hoped his son refocused on that and clapped his hands.

“Let’s go!”

“I’d go with you but…”

“That’s okay. We’ll clean this mess up and get out of your hair so you’ll finally take it easy.”

“Thanks for the food.”

As he started putting away leftovers, tossing the containers in the trash, and wiping down the counter, Thane said, “No problem. Thanks for not suing me.”

Izzy glanced over to see if Jonah was preoccupied. When she saw that he had gone to the window to stare up at the lighthouse, she whispered, “Will Jonah be okay?”

“Sure. For the record, I told him his mom got sick and died and that’s it. He doesn’t know any more details than that. As far as I’m concerned that’s the way it stays.”

“I agree. He’s far too young for details like that.”

“Exactly. Besides, I’d rather keep him thinking that Alyson wasn’t a bad person, simply misguided in her choices.”

“Sounds like a basic plan to me.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Even though it
was still light outside when Thane and Jonah headed for home, Isabella went about her normal routine getting ready for bed. Her knee and head hurt so much that she downed one of the pills Doc had given her.

She’d just slathered cream on her face when she heard a noise that sounded like it originated from outside. Her instincts went on red alert. She opened the bathroom drawer and took out a large kitchen knife she’d stashed there. Truth be told, there were others hidden all around the house, including a semi-automatic weapon tucked away in the nightstand. Walking out to the bedroom gripping the handle of the blade, she almost dropped the thing when she spied a familiar image from before.

Scott Phillips eyed the sharp instrument dangling from Isabella’s hand and responded by sticking both hands in the air. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. No need to be scared of me. I just want to talk.”

Who knew when she’d set foot in Pelican Pointe thinking to find the perfect sanctuary to recover from her past, she’d be having conversations with a dead guy. In this idyllic setting, Logan had never once brought up the fact she might spend her evenings doing so. She’d have to ask her friend about that.

“I’m having a conversation with a ghost, a man who died in Iraq. There’s a park named after you, posthumously.”

“I know. Haven’t you heard? I’m fairly famous around these parts.”

Isabella couldn’t help it, she snorted with laughter. “Full of yourself much?”

“Only on Fridays. You’re safe here.”

“Oddly, it isn’t you who scares me. I’ve seen you walking around…outside. To my knowledge this is the first time you’ve wandered into the house.” She cocked a brow and tilted her head to send him a well-deserved scowl. “Seems to me if a person did that, just came inside when another person wasn’t even home, that would be incredibly rude of that person.”

Scott grinned. “Who me? I’m a gentleman to the core.” All of a sudden his face went serious. “Brent Cody’s a good cop. Remember that when you’re ready. There are plenty of people here who’ll protect you if he comes after you.”

Isabella winced. She didn’t have to ask who the “he” was. But the reminder still made her ill. “I’m sure Brent knows his stuff but he might be out of his league with Henry Navarro. The man’s family has enough money to buy the entire town.”

“Makes no difference. Brent might be a small-town cop now but he wasn’t always. It’d be a mistake to sell him short. Not only that but I’m well aware of what you and Logan have cooked up.” The statement was said simply, with understanding and compassion.

Isabella sucked in a huge intake of breath. Her spine stiffened in denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Can’t say I agree with what you’re doing but… People often go to extreme lengths to…”

Her attempt at denial turned to cold dread. Had she and Logan made some mistake, some misstep that would send an alert to the wrong person? “How could you know that? Are we wearing some kind of sign?”

“Not at all. But for me it comes with the territory. I just want you to know…” Scott’s parting words before he vanished were short and sweet and to the point. “You can trust me.”

Later, as she crawled into bed, his vow stayed with her. Even though he’d tried to be reassuring, Isabella wasn’t completely sold. Trust meant coming up with faith when she wasn’t sure she should rely on anyone but herself. Best she remembered that. She was well aware she couldn’t afford to let down her guard.

Cautious and wary to a fault, she had yet to go out of her way to make friends or become part of the community. So far, she’d been content to keep to herself, tending the keeper’s cottage with minimal interaction toward anyone else. Getting her life together was a damned good excuse to keep her distance. Thane and Jonah, and even Scott, seemed determined to change that.

Whether or not she stayed on the sidelines, it remained an option. Low-key is what she’d sought and what she’d found. Getting dragged into someone else’s dynamics wasn’t high on her to-do list. But she knew firsthand such things were rarely predictable and were difficult to avoid in such a small town. She’d best remember that, too.

As she drifted into sleep, it wasn’t that mantra on her mind at all. Her last subconscious thought flashed a clear image of ripped Thane Delacourt and his adorable son, beaming as bright as the lighthouse in her front yard.

A
fter years of economic downturn, Pelican Pointe was making a comeback, slowly, bit by bit, store by store. With each storefront that filled up along its streets, with each new business opening its doors, with each dollar plunked down within its city limits, the townspeople gained and profited.

From Janie Pointer’s Snip N Curl to Drea’s Flower Shop to Ferguson’s Hardware, stores along Main had already dragged out their Halloween decorations. Images of ghosts and goblins, witches and ghouls, adorned the windows and doors of new businesses and old. Julianne Dickinson had yet to open her resale shop next door to the church. But while some residents were still in the planning stages, there were others who were eager to have their own pizza parlor in the works.

Reopening the school had brought an influx of new people into town. Parents of all different ethnic groups had moved in, enrolling their kids in hopes of nurturing a diverse and vibrant community, a foundation for the future.

What better way to establish that than fostering a new band of community spirit?

Tucker Ferguson knew all too well about community spirit or lack of it. Over the last five years, his father had managed to alienate much of the hardware store’s customer base. Old age had made a cranky man out of Joe Ferguson. Now retired and living in Florida, Tucker’s parents had handed him the reins of a store with a major drop-off in profits. Tucker knew that his dad’s prickly “me” attitude had contributed to the decline in revenue. Men like Logan Donnelly and Nick Harris had gotten fed up with his father’s “what’s in it for me?” outlook and had threatened to drive to San Sebastian for all their lumber and hardware needs. Taking over the day-to-day operation of Ferguson’s Hardware, Tucker had an uphill battle if he intended to change attitudes.

He had a boatyard that required a steady stream of lumber, a new pizza restaurant undergoing a gutted renovation, and residents who wanted to take on remodeling their older homes. He’d be an idiot if he didn’t recognize that the business was right under his nose if someone bothered to nurture it. Tucker was no dummy. He wasn’t about to run anyone off. No one could accuse him of not understanding the benefit of helping people in his own customer base. A lumber and hardware store couldn’t survive for long with a habit of pissing off its clientele. The other half of that equation was working to establish a rapport with other business owners and encouraging goodwill among them.

Tucker intended to do everything within his power to right the ship, to correct the image his father had left him. Going over the books, the first thing was to increase sales and get regulars coming back into the store. He’d already met the owner of the pizza place, reached out to the triad ownership at Tradewinds Boatyard and to Cooper Richmond, who had opened his new enterprise across the street and called it, Layne’s Trains.

From the moment the train shop had opened a week ago, Tucker had done his best to mentor the man who’d made his living as a photographer before coming back to Pelican Pointe. For seven days, Tucker had watched with curiosity as people stopped in to reconnect with Cooper. While his own business lacked that friendly, welcoming spirit, Tucker took note. If Cooper could get a train store to do such a brisk business in a short amount of time, then there was hope for Ferguson’s.

Inside Layne’s Trains, Cooper could have set Tucker straight on that score.

In the week he’d been opened, it had been mostly the curious who had dropped in to shoot the bull. Old-timers who’d known him as a child wanted to see how the boy had grown into a man. No doubt they’d felt the need to see firsthand just how Layne and crazy Eleanor’s son had turned out. Cooper discovered that early on. The nosy ones had pushed him for details about his mother’s arrest for killing his father so many years ago.

Such was his life these days. He’d have to get used to it. But fortunately for him, there were others who had stopped in to meet and greet and pick out a few early Christmas presents. Those shoppers made up for the significant number who hadn’t actually bought anything.

With such measured success thus far, Cooper decided he’d better be able to fall back on his photography skills to pay the bills. So in a corner of the shop, he’d created an area he’d turned into a portrait studio. For the past week, he’d grabbed his camera more often than he’d gone near his trains.

Kinsey Donnelly had coaxed him into taking portraits of her babies. A string of other moms had persuaded him to snap shots of their kids. That idea ballooned when the principal, Julianne Dickinson, had drafted him into becoming the official photographer for school photos. He’d done a number of passport pictures, a couple of engagement shots for Bree Dennison, which had led him to offer to shoot her nuptials. Strange thing was, he actually looked forward to the event. Did that make him a wedding photographer? He didn’t care what people labeled him as long as he could make a living and pay his bills doing what he enjoyed. And so it seemed after years of avoiding his childhood home, Cooper Richmond had come back and fit comfortably into its way of life.

His brother, Caleb, and his sister, Drea, were an integral part of the reason why. All three had tried to put their twisted childhood behind them. Most in town seemed to understand that and had given them space, didn’t ask a lot of stupid questions in the process. Then there were the little old ladies like Marabelle and her sister, Ina Crawford, Myrtle Pettibone, and Ethel Jenkins, who had lavished him with gifts for the little house he’d rented. Within a week, they’d shown up at either the shop or home to bring him an assortment of handmade quilts, crocheted tablecloths, knitted pot holders, and hand-sewn dish towels. But with their generosity of spirit, the women brought a measure of meddling. Cooper knew with each question the guild meant well. He wasn’t convinced all newcomers were treated with the same dose of kindness. Of course, Cooper had an advantage. Most of the women had known him as a kid, known his father and mother. Such was the laidback pace and atmosphere in a small town.

Cooper looked out the plate glass window onto Main and beyond to his sister’s Flower Shop. He caught sight of Bree Dennison as she strolled out with a big smile on her face holding a varied bouquet of flower samples in her fist. Somehow, he knew the redhead had already segued from waitress to business owner. A good sign, he thought now as he studied the comings and goings on the street as people began to mull around.

This early on a Saturday morning Bree was surprised to catch sight of Cooper already inside his shop. She waved in greeting and dashed along the sidewalk to where she’d parked her car.

With a packed house at Promise Cove, Bree anticipated a busy but fruitful weekend. Eager and willing to put in the hours to make sure Tours by Bree succeeded year-round, she had to hustle to make her nine o’clock excursion out to Treasure Island—a trip that had her taking two nerdy geology students from San Francisco State across the water to the little patch of local island so they could take soil samples. 

It had felt so good to give up her job at McCready’s. She’d forever be grateful for Flynn giving her a job, but after two years of slinging drinks, she needed to move on, to start the next chapter in her life.

Her upcoming wedding to Troy had kept her hopping. There was a part of her that just wanted to run off and elope, to forego the more formal ceremony for a simple stand-up routine in front of a justice of the peace. But that urge didn’t last for long. Bree wanted the whole romantic package, the long white gown, the candlelight, the fuss, the ceremonial rite itself and the pomp that went with all the circumstance. She’d even figured out how to cut corners on some of the expense. Her friends were pitching in where they could by offering to help make place cards and other incidentals. She’d opted for getting Emma Colter to make her dress. There were still a dozen things on her to-do list and so far Troy had been a good sport about her obsession with each one.

By the time she reached the old Victorian that doubled as the town’s only B&B, she rumbled down the long driveway going over the plan she’d formulated.

She hoped Nick and Jordan would go for it because it would keep her from having to go on the hook for an added expense of signing a lease in town. Getting married, planning a wedding, and redoing the house, meant she and Troy were on a tight budget. They’d actually sat down and mapped out logistics for their future together—down to the penny.

During the summer they’d put in the sweat equity on the little bungalow on Athena Circle that needed so much work. In between the jobs that paid the bills they installed cabinets, changed out hardwood flooring, replaced tile, and plumbing fixtures. Bree hoped the work would be done by the second Saturday in November. Their wedding day was fast approaching and they were feeling the pressure. Running out of time wasn’t an option. If they somehow missed the deadline, they could always bunk at the house she shared with Zach—the house their father had left them—not exactly ideal conditions for newlyweds but still doable.

Scanning the sprawling grounds of Promise Cove, she spotted Nick and Jordan in the back playing with their kids, five-year-old, Hutton and two-year-old, Scott. The two were busy kicking a ball around the yard and chasing after it.

Gathering up her satchel from the front seat Bree headed around the side of the house to the back.

Nick and Jordan Harris were pretty much like most busy couples with children. They worked hard during the week—Nick at the bank, Jordan waiting on demanding guests at the inn. They tried to use the weekends to cram in as many activities with the kids that time permitted.

As soon as the toddlers spotted Bree, they surrounded her with offers to join in the fun until Nick put a stop to their persuading. “Bree can’t play with you because she has a tour this morning.”

“Can we go?” Hutton asked. “Take us.”

“Maybe another time,” Jordan answered for her daughter. “You wanted to plant seeds in the egg cartons to grow your own beans, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

“And you were going to help your brother make moon sand,” Nick added with a wink.

Bree shook her head. “I don’t know where you guys find the time. Lately it seems like I’m running from place to place with no time to catch my breath.”

Jordan smiled and nodded. “An upcoming wedding and a new business tends to make you feel stretched to the limit.”

“It’s fun putting together the wedding, but at the same time, a lot of hard work. I barely get to see or talk to Troy without us both falling asleep during the convo, which brings me round to my idea.” A little breathless, she blurted out, “It’s a bit unconventional but I need for you to hear me out before you say anything at all. After the wedding, when Troy moves out of the studio over your garage, I’d like to turn that space into my office for the business and pay you rent. That way, I would be here, onsite to ferry passengers out to the shipwreck and the island as well as take them on hikes in the area. It would save me money from having to go on the hook for a lease along Ocean Street and keep me out here on a full-time basis.”

Nick and Jordan exchanged looks. “You don’t have to convince us. It sounds like a plan.”

“Good. I’ve already approached a few of the stores along the boardwalk near the pier to let me leave a stack of my business cards next to their cash registers. Malachi Rafferty thinks I should be able to pick up a few bookings each month that way by word of mouth. Most businesses in town seemed excited about spreading the word.”

“Did someone give you trouble about leaving the business cards?”

“Just one. But he’s left town now anyway.”

“Let me guess. Joe Ferguson.”

“You got it. He refused to let me leave a pack of cards. But his son, Tucker, called me a couple days ago and said it was okay if I still wanted to put them on the counter. So I said sure, left a tall stack there yesterday just to shove it in the old man’s face.”

“Tucker called me yesterday, too,” Nick admitted. “It seems the son understands his father might’ve left him a huge PR problem in his own backyard.”

“It sounds like Tucker’s taking action before it gets too big to overcome,” Jordan added.

“If you ask me, it’s already pretty far out of hand,” Bree stated. “I know Joe pissed off Troy and Zach. They’re both willing to give Tucker a second chance if he realizes the opportunity. What Joe didn’t get is that Tradewinds Boatyard will turn out to be a valuable customer.”

“Everyone in town should be treated like a valuable customer,” Nick declared. “This was a sore spot with me. I could never get Joe to understand that.”

“And believe me Nick spent a lot of time trying,” Jordan said with a smile. “Nick had more run-ins with Joe than anyone else in town. Dealing with that man became tiresome for both of us.”

“Then I guess we’ll reserve judgment until we see if Tucker does anything to improve,” Bree finished.