See You at Sunset (13 page)

“Oh no, please don’t. That would jack up your blood pressure for sure,” Holly said. Just the idea was no doubt sending
her
blood pressure up through the roof.

Florence gave a smile that suggested Holly was still a silly eight-year-old girl with skinned knees who didn’t know much at all. “On the contrary. I just know all the support will cheer me up. And in any case, would you rather I showed up at the store every day? Because that’s what’s going to happen if I don’t keep busy fighting Night Owl.”

Her aunt had always been a tough negotiator, and Holly knew when she was beaten. “Fine, as long as you don’t overdo it,” she said in a resigned voice.

“Now what about all those plans you have for the store?” Florence said. “Beatrice told me she just happened to see some drawings you’ve been working on.”

“Florence!” Beatrice exclaimed. “You weren’t supposed to say anything!”

Crap.

“Why don’t we just park that discussion for a few days,” Holly said with a placating smile. “We’ll see how you’re feeling then.”

“Oh, bosh!” Florence snapped. “You really think I’m going to be able to rest knowing that you’re plotting some kind of… revolution? I know very well where you’re coming from, Holly. You made yourself quite clear last summer. You think we’re just a couple of old fogies who want to keep living fifty years in the past.”

“I never said any such thing,” Holly said. Okay, she’d thought it, but she’d jump off the high bluffs on the other side of the island before admitting it.

Florence waved away her protest. “Holly, dear, just tell me. If my damn heart doesn’t kill me, all this suspense will.”

“You’d better go ahead, Holly,” Beatrice said morosely. “You know how she gets.”

Florence’s faded blue eyes narrowed to slits behind her glasses as she silently radiated disapproval of her sister and niece.
Wimps
was what Holly could clearly hear her thinking.

Resigned, Holly stood up. “All right, let me get my sketches.”

She retrieved the set of drawings from her room. When she returned, Florence was at the kitchen counter, screwing the top back onto a fifth of Johnnie Walker. As Holly watched in horror, her aunt picked up a glass containing two fingers of whisky and started back to the table.

“You’re certifiable,” Holly said. “You know you shouldn’t drink while you’re on antianxiety and pain medications. You’re going to end up flat on the floor.”

“Yes, Dr. Tyler,” Florence said sarcastically, “but as Rhett Butler famously said, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.’” She raised the glass as if toasting. “Scotch is the best treatment for anxiety. Always has been, always will be.”

Holly was appalled but figured it might at least soften Florence up a bit while she presented her ideas.

As it turned out though, Florence’s face looked pinched and her thin cheeks were flushed through the entire presentation. Holly wished she’d put her foot down and refused to talk about it at all.

“These are just preliminary ideas,” she said. “The details can wait until you’re feeling better.”

“Oh, phooey. I feel fine. This is doing the trick.” Florence held up her glass approvingly. Then she pointed down at the sketches. “Aside from the fact that those changes look like they might turn our store into some kind of tourist trap, there’s the minor matter of cost. I appreciate all the work you’ve done, Holly, but you know we could never afford anything like that. We don’t make enough profit these days to even buy that fancy coffee machine you’re talking about.”

Holly had planned for that response. “Aunt Florence, Aunt Beatrice, you’ve never wanted to let me give you anything, but this time you really must. I’ll beg if I have to. Since Mom and Dad died, all the giving has been from you to me, so it’s high time for me to finally give something back. Believe me, I can afford what this would cost, and nothing would give me more pleasure than to do this for you.”

She meant every word—no one was more important to her than her aunts. Holly had made an excellent salary for years, had saved a good deal of it, and still hadn’t touched a cent of the military insurance payout she’d received after Drew’s death. There was no better way to spend her money.

“Please let me do this for you,” she pleaded, her throat going tight with all the love she felt for them. “For
us
. I’ll be devastated if you say no.”

Beatrice turned and looked at her sister with a steadfast gaze. Florence held that look for several moments, but then let out a sad little sigh. Holly knew how hard it was for her to ignore the generational legacy of self-reliance and pride that all the islanders valued so highly.

“You’re far too generous, dear,” Florence said, “and you should be worrying about
your
future, not ours. After all, you’re starting your own business. But we love you, and we’ll certainly think about everything you’ve said. Yes, we’ll think hard, won’t we, sister?”

Beatrice gave a mournful nod, obviously not terribly hopeful.

Holly didn’t blame her. There was too much wiggle room in Florence’s reply, so it was time to double down on the guilt.

“I hate to have to say it,” Holly said, “but my plan might be the only way for the store to survive. If I can’t do something to help you save our family treasure, I’ll feel like a complete failure.”

And as tired as the old store was, she did feel like the historic Jenkins General Store was a Seashell Bay treasure. It was hard to imagine the island without it.

Florence pushed herself up from her chair with grim determination. “You certainly shouldn’t feel that way, dear. But we’ll talk later. Right now, I could use a little nap.”

When Holly moved to help, Florence waved her off. “I’m not dead yet.” She took a few slow steps to the patio door and peered out at Micah, who’d used the extra few days her aunt was in the hospital to forge ahead with the new porch.

On arriving home, Florence had grudgingly accepted that the project was too far along to turn back. Holly had formed the distinct impression that her aunt was in fact secretly pleased that Micah had taken charge.

Florence pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. “My, my, that Micah Lancaster looks even better without his shirt on, doesn’t he? Quite a treat.” Then she cut Holly a sly grin.

“Nice, Aunt Florence. Real nice,” Holly said sarcastically.

The hell of it was, Florence was totally right.

After her nap, Florence had pulled Beatrice into the living room for a discussion of Holly’s plans. Not wanting to intrude, Holly had headed upstairs to her room, although she’d been tempted to sit at the top of the stairs and eavesdrop. She’d barely managed to restrain herself.

But her self-discipline utterly failed when it came to staring down at the construction project going on behind the house.

Or, more precisely, staring down at Micah in all his half-naked, sweaty glory as he labored on the new porch. Even though it was almost dusk, he was still working away, doing all the heavy slugging involved in mixing and pouring concrete to set the new support posts. The rays of the setting sun lit up his bronzed body like it was gold. Holly was mesmerized by the flex and bulge of his biceps as he easily lifted big sacks of sand, his cargo shorts riding low on his narrow hips. He turned his back to her, his massive shoulders gleaming with perspiration, every gorgeous muscle lovingly outlined as if by a master craftsman. She had to resist the insane urge to drag him out of sight behind the house and lick every square inch of his awesome body.

Get a grip, you pervert.

Ever since their dinner a few nights ago, Micah had kept a bit of a distance between them, which she hadn’t expected. Oh, he was as friendly as always, but his focus was firmly on the job and not on her. Holly would frequently slide open the door and ask if she could get him something to drink or help him in any way. The answer was usually yes to a drink but no to her assistance. He seemed determined to do most of the work himself, although he’d finally promised she could join him in hammering down the porch floor once they got the support posts and beams underneath squared away.

Naturally, she’d offered to help with that too, but he’d given her a firm no, telling her that Ryan was coming over tomorrow to lend a hand. Maybe he thought she was too much of a wimp or a city girl to get her hands dirty. That had her mentally wincing. She’d known for a long time that Micah had a thing for her, and she realized that in some weird way she’d come to emotionally depend on his feelings for her. The notion that he might think less of her, for any reason, was more disturbing than she cared to admit.

She sat down on her bed with a sigh. Life was getting way too complicated, and her growing feelings for Micah weren’t making things any easier. It was time to end her trip to Seashell Bay as soon as she could. Now that Florence was settling in at home, Holly figured she might be able to make her getaway in time to avoid really creating friction with her new partners. It would take maybe a week or ten days to get most of her ideas for the store moving forward—if her aunts agreed—and then Florence and Beatrice would have to take over. Florence would be champing at the bit to get back to work by then anyway. And even if Florence wasn’t up to full speed, Morgan had said she’d be happy to help out at the store, since she wasn’t teaching until later in the month. There was no one as organized or better able to whip the place into shape than Morgan.

For now, Holly simply had to keep her head down, work on the store, and ignore Deputy Lancaster as much as possible—especially when he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

She was getting her laundry ready to do a load, when Beatrice called up the stairs. “Holly, we’re ready to talk again now.”

When she joined her aunts in the living room, Florence and Beatrice were sitting primly on opposite ends of the sofa. Holly took one of the wingback chairs and tried not to look as nervous as she felt.

“We’ve come to a decision,” Florence said, pushing her glasses higher on her nose. “As much as I hate to admit it, we’re scared to death that the Night Owl permit might get approved. And we aren’t so old-fashioned or naïve as to think it won’t mean we’re in a lot of trouble.”

Encouraged, Holly nodded.

“So yes, we’ll accept your generosity—just this once,” her aunt went on, giving Holly a tight smile. “Though we’re terribly ashamed to have to take your hard-earned money.”

“Well, you shouldn’t feel that way, Aunt Florence. You shouldn’t ever—”

“But we’re not in favor of everything you want to do,” Florence interrupted.

Frig.
It wasn’t like she’d presented her aunts with an all-or-nothing, take-it-or-leave-it deal. But her ideas did hang together. “Okay, such as?”

“Putting in a deli counter and even one of those ridiculously expensive coffee machines might make some sense,” Florence said. “I suppose that’s the sort of stuff people want these days, even here on the island. And we were going to get rid of the DVDs anyway at some point.”

“Good, that’s good,” Holly said.

“But we’re just not comfortable with the idea of making the general store cater more to tourists than to our own people. We won’t have room for our regular stock, and our loyal customers won’t be able to find what they want. Then they’ll start going somewhere else—like to Night Owl.” Her aunt’s mouth quivered a bit. “If, God forbid, they do get their permit.”

Holly took a deep breath. “Okay, I get your concern. I think we can keep most of the same products, though we’ll need to reduce the number of brands.”

She explained her ideas in more detail, and the aunts rebutted with what they could live with and what they couldn’t. After a half hour of pushing and pulling, they reached a cautious consensus. Holly’s biggest concern at this point was the potential for backsliding when she left the island, but they’d just have to cross that bridge when they came to it.

Finally, Florence gave a satisfied nod. “Good. Now there’s just one more thing we need to talk about.”

Holly bit back a groan. “Yes?”

“The thing is, dear,” Beatrice said apologetically, “we can’t see how the two of us could possibly put all those changes into place. Especially if Florence isn’t completely up to scratch for a while. So—”

“So the only way we can see all this working is if you’re able to stay here long enough to see the changes through,” Florence finished.

Holly swallowed hard against the sensation that her stomach had decided to take a stroll up her throat. Stay long enough to see the changes through? That would probably take several weeks—maybe even a couple of months if they expected her to line up all the new suppliers. And there was no way that could work for her. Not with her New York partners breathing down her neck and her Boston firm expecting her back too.

“Aunt Florence, Aunt Beatrice, I’m so glad you’re going to do this. And I’m sure I can get almost all the basics in motion while I’m still here, like contracting for the necessary renovations and the new equipment.”

“I hear a
but
coming, don’t I?” Florence said.

“Well, I do have to get back to Boston soon, and I have to meet my obligations to my new partners in New York too.” Holly forced a smile, even though she felt panic rising inside her. “I’m balancing quite a few balls here. I’ll do as much as I can by the time I have to leave, and Morgan is willing to help you as much as she can after that. I’ve already discussed it with her.”

Florence’s eyes pinched shut for a moment, as if a wave of pain had passed through her. “Holly, Morgan’s a wonderful girl, and she certainly knows how to run a bed-and-breakfast. But she’s not you. You’ve been helping with the store since you were a little girl. You know the business inside out.” She glanced at Beatrice, who looked ready to cry, then heaved a huge sigh. “Oh, well, I suppose if you have to go, you have to go. Beatrice and I will manage. We always do.”

God, talk about the mother of all guilt trips. Did she think her life was complicated before? Now she had to completely steer her aunts through this crisis without blowing the deal with her new partners. All she could do now was pray that somehow she could make it work in the time she had left on the island.