Читать книгу: «The Inn at Eagle Point», страница 2

Trace scowled at his father’s departing back, then turned to the stack of folders sitting neatly in the middle of the huge mahogany desk that took up most of the corner office. Right on top sat one with a large, ominous red sticker pasted on the front.

He sat down in the leather chair behind the desk, his wary gaze on that folder. Curiosity finally got the better of him, and he flipped open the file and stared at the first page.

“Oh, hell,” he murmured as he read it: Possible notice of foreclosure—The Inn at Eagle Point. Owner: Jessica O’Brien.

He knew Jess O’Brien, but it wasn’t her image that immediately came to mind. It was that of her older sister, Abigail, the woman who’d stolen his heart years ago on a steamy summer night, then disappeared without even a goodbye. Over the years he’d told himself it was ludicrous to cling to such an elusive memory. He’d tried to chase it away with other relationships, most of them casual, but even a couple that had promised a deeper intimacy. In the end, he hadn’t been able to shake his desire for someone with auburn hair, laughing eyes and a daredevil spirit that matched his own.

Now he was supposed to decide the fate of her sister’s inn? One thing he knew about the O’Briens, they stuck together. If he took on Jess, he’d be taking on the rest of them, Abby included. Was that what had put the gleam in his father’s eye earlier?

He shook off the possibility. His father couldn’t know that he’d been carrying a torch for her all these years. No one did.

Except Laila, he realized. His sister had been Abby’s best friend. She’d even covered for the two of them that amazing night they’d spent together in a secluded cove on the beach. Could she and his father be conspiring?

Damn straight, he thought with a shudder. Maybe he was finally about to get his wish and see Abby again. Or maybe he was about to land in a whole mess of trouble. He wondered if, with Abby involved, he’d actually be able to tell the difference.

An hour later with the inn’s dismal financial figures still in his head, Trace climbed on his bike and took a drive to see the property. He was hoping he’d find something—anything—to convince him to let the loan stand. He needed arguments he could take to the board and his father with total confidence.

Winding along the coastal road, he breathed in the salty air and relaxed as the sun beat down on his shoulders. It was late spring, but there was still the scent of lilacs on the breeze as he rounded the curve by the Finch property. Widow Marjorie Finch, who’d been bent and wizened when he was a boy, loved her lilacs. They’d been allowed to grow and spread until they formed a hedge all along the road. When honeysuckle had grown up in the bushes, she’d attacked it as if it were an alien invader. Her loving attention had paid off. The bushes were heavy with fragrant, delicate blossoms.

To his right, along the narrow strip of land that ran along the beach, ospreys were building their nests back in the same bare branches where they’d built them for years. To his amusement, one intrepid osprey was constructing an elaborate configuration of branches, bits of string and even a strand of yellow police tape on a post at the end of someone’s dock. The owner was going to be ticked as hell to discover that his dock would be off-limits for the rest of summer while the birds of prey took up residence.

Eventually he reached the turnoff to the inn, converted from what had once been a sprawling Victorian home on a pinnacle of land overlooking the bay. The last time he’d been here, the place had been badly in need of paint, its boards weathered by the sea air and harsh winter winds. The Adirondack chairs and rockers on the porch had been in an equally sad state of disrepair. The once perfectly manicured lawn had gone mostly to crabgrass, the gardens to weeds. The Pattersons hadn’t put a dime into the place for years, and the neglect had shown.

Now, though, there was plenty of evidence that Jess had been hard at work remodeling the inn. The exterior was a soft white that seemed to reflect a hint of blue from the nearby water. Shutters were a bold red. The grass wasn’t as lush as it had once been, but it was green and well-trimmed. The azaleas and lilacs were in bloom, and one overgrown purple rhododendron spilled its huge blooms over a porch railing at the back of the house. The inn’s sign had been freshly painted and hung from brass hooks on a new pole at the edge of the driveway. It looked to him as if the place was ready to make a comeback.

Jess’s payment record, however, told a different story. Since taking out the loan a year earlier, she already had a history of late payments, had missed several altogether. She’d spent every penny of her small-business loan, and no opening date for the inn had been set. Her cash flow was nonexistent. She’d already had a couple of formal warnings from the bank. Ever since the credit disaster in the mortgage industry, banks were getting jittery about loans that looked as if they were going bad. On paper, it appeared the bank had no choice except to issue a foreclosure notice. Trace cringed at the prospect.

Even as he sat on his bike in the driveway, the door opened and Jess stepped outside. She caught sight of him and frowned.

“What are you doing here, Trace?” she asked.

Scowl in place, she crossed the lawn, hands on hips, her feet shoved into a pair of rubberized, all-weather clogs from one of the big outdoor apparel companies. Her jeans and T-shirt were splattered with paint—white, plus something close to Williamsburg blue, if he remembered his color palette correctly.

When she was standing practically toe-to-toe with him, her defiant gaze locked with his, she reminded him of another O’Brien with a fiery Irish temper.

“Well?” she challenged.

“Just looking things over.”

“For your father, no doubt.”

“For the bank,” Trace corrected.

“I thought you’d left town years ago, that you wanted no part of the bank.”

“I don’t. I’m just filling in for a few months.”

“Long enough to make my life hell?”

He grinned at that. “Maybe longer.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the house and grounds. “You’ve been busy.”

“It’s taken a lot of work. I’ve done most of it myself to save money,” she said, her chin lifted with pride and a hint of belligerence.

“Might have made more sense to hire people and get it done sooner, so you could open.”

“I didn’t see it that way.”

“Obviously not.”

“Do you want to take a look around inside?” she asked, her expression hopeful, her tone filled with enthusiasm. “Maybe once you’ve seen how great it looks, you’ll be able to go back and tell your father to be patient.”

“It’s not that simple, Jess. I know he’s warned you that you’re getting too far behind. The bank looks at the bottom line, not at whether or not you’re doing a good job with a paintbrush.”

“When did you turn into a hard-ass, by-the-numbers guy like your dad? You weren’t that way when you were seeing my sister.” She gave him a considering look. “Or were you? Is that why the two of you split up?”

Trace stiffened. “You really don’t want to go there,” he warned. “Abby has nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t she? For all I know, you’re absolutely thrilled by the prospect of payback for whatever she did to you. She was the one who broke it off, wasn’t she?”

The comment was not only intrusive, it was insulting. “Dammit, Jess, you don’t know a thing about what happened back then and you sure as hell don’t know anything about me if you think I’d use you to get even with your sister.”

“Really?” she said, her expression innocent. “She’s coming back, you know. She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Trace tried not to let his immediate and unsteady reaction to the news show. “Tell her I said hey,” he said mildly. He started his bike. “See you around, Jess.”

Her show of defiance faltered. “What are you going to tell your father, Trace?”

“I have no idea,” he said candidly. He looked into her eyes. “But I will promise you this, it won’t have anything at all to do with Abby.”

She nodded slowly. “I’ll take you at your word about that.”

As he rode off toward town, though, he couldn’t help wondering if she should. When it came to his conflicted feelings for Abby O’Brien, his word might not be entirely trustworthy.

2

“Where are we going, Mommy? Tell us again,” Caitlyn commanded.

“When are we gonna get there?” Carrie whined. “We’ve been driving and driving forever. I wanna go home.”

“It’s barely been a half hour since we left the airport,” Abby told Carrie, her patience already frayed by the long security line at the airport in New York and the even more tedious wait at the car-rental counter in Baltimore. The flight itself, less than an hour from LaGuardia to BWI in Baltimore, had gone smoothly. The girls had been excited to be on a plane, but now they were tired and cranky and completely uninterested in the scenery as they drove south toward Chesapeake Shores. They might have been pacified by a stop for ice cream or some other treat, but Abby was determined not to reward them for bad behavior just to get a few minutes of peace.

“Why don’t you try to take a little nap?” she pleaded, glancing in the rearview mirror for a glimpse of them in their car seats. “When you wake up, you’ll be at Gram’s, and I know she’s going to have sugar cookies and milk for you. Remember how much you loved those when she baked them for you last time she visited us in New York?”

“I like chocolate chip better,” Carrie grumbled, clearly determined to be displeased about everything.

“Well, I love sugar cookies,” Caitlyn countered. “So I’ll eat them all.”

“No, you won’t!” Carrie screamed. “Mommy, tell her she can’t have all the cookies. Some are mine.”

Abby bit back a groan. “I’m sure there will be plenty of cookies for both of you. Now close your eyes. If you’re this impossible when we get there, you can forget about getting any treats. You’ll be going straight to bed.”

The girls fell silent, but another glance in the mirror revealed them making faces at each other. Abby let it pass. She needed to focus all of her attention on the traffic, which had increased at least tenfold since the last time she’d driven home. She could hardly wait to turn onto some of Maryland’s less-traveled roads.

Unfortunately, the traffic never completely let up. It seemed everyone had the same idea about heading to one of Maryland’s many seaside communities on a Friday night. Once, the only traffic nightmare had been getting to Ocean City or the other beaches along the Atlantic coast, but now it seemed people had discovered the smaller towns on the western shores of the bay, as well.

She pulled out her cell phone and hit Jess’s number on speed dial.

“The traffic is awful,” she said when her sister answered. “At this rate, it’s going to be another hour before we get there.”

“I’ll let Gram know,” Jess said. “I’m on my way over there now. Take a deep breath. I’m picking up crabs and I’ll have wine waiting.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Abby said. “See you soon.”

It turned out to be an hour and ten minutes before she could make the turn into the community of Chesapeake Shores. At last, though, the traffic had eased. She debated going straight to the house, but since the girls were finally asleep, she wound through downtown, getting reacquainted with the Main Street businesses that lined a four-block stretch from the waterfront up to the town square.

There was one visible vacancy, but all the other shop windows were filled with colorful displays. Barb’s Baby Boutique was next to Ethel’s Emporium, which carried everything from souvenirs and penny candy to fancy hostess gifts and locally produced jams and jellies. The Kitchen Store, which sold every gourmet gadget imaginable, was next to Seaside Gifts, where all the items had a nautical theme. There was a designer clothing store, which carried resort wear. And all of the stores had pots overflowing with colorful pansies and trailing vines by the doors and crisp blue-and-white awnings shading the windows. The pansies would be exchanged for bright red geraniums once spring turned to summer.

With her car window open, she drew in a deep breath of the familiar salt air, then heard the soft refrains of an outdoor concert drifting up from the banks of the bay. She’d forgotten about the tradition of free Friday-night performances in the band shell during the late spring, summer and early fall months when the weather drew crowds to the town. It was jazz tonight, a little heavy on the sax, it seemed to her.

She smiled, thinking of the debates she’d once had with her father about the appropriate mix of music for the early concerts. If it had been up to Mick and Gram, every week would have featured Irish singers and dancers.

“Mommy, I hear music,” Carrie murmured sleepily. “Are we going to a party?”

“Nope, but we’re almost home,” Abby told her. “Five minutes and we’ll be there.”

She turned away from downtown and took the shore road to the very end where it began a winding climb up a gentle hill. At the top she made a left into the long driveway that ended in back of a classic beachfront home with a wraparound porch, lots of glass to take in the spectacular bay views and lights shining from every window. Two figures, one spry, the other a bit more stooped, emerged from the shadows on the porch as she pulled to a stop.

“Gram!” Caitlyn shouted, already struggling to free herself from the car seat.

“And Aunt Jessie!” Carrie boomed, trying to get the door on her side open. Abby released the child safety locks and Carrie sprang free, racing across the lawn to fling herself at her favorite aunt.

Jess stumbled back, then caught her niece up in a massive hug, even as Caitlyn reached up to her great-grandmother for a more demure embrace, as if she knew instinctively to take more care with the older woman.

Abby took in the scene with a smile. Why hadn’t she done this more often? Was she truly so busy? Or had she been making excuses because of her mixed feelings about home and the way she’d forced herself to walk away without looking back? Until now she hadn’t realized how much she missed being right here, with the sea breeze rustling through the trees, the sound of waves lapping against the shore and the promise of a whole pile of Maryland crabs and cold wine waiting on the porch, along with whatever Gram had baked that day.

Her grandmother caught her eye and gave her a knowing smile. “It’s good to be home, is it not?”

“It’s better than I expected,” Abby admitted. “How are you, Gram? You look good.” She certainly didn’t look her age, which was somewhere near eighty by Abby’s calculations, though her grandmother wouldn’t admit to it. Whenever any one of them had tried to pin her down, even for the sake of genealogical research, the date of her birth shifted to suit her.

“I’m better with the three of you here for a bit,” Gram said. “Shall we feed the girls first, then have our own meal when it’s quieter?”

“That sounds perfect,” Abby said.

“Why don’t I take them inside and show them their room, then? I’ve put them in Connor’s since he has the twin beds in there. I can’t get your brother to take away a single one of his sports trophies and ribbons, though. It looks as it did when he was still sleeping there himself.”

Abby grinned. “Cluttered and messy, then,” she said. “They’ll love it.”

After the three of them had gone inside, she turned to her sister and gave her a fierce hug. “Now then, are you ready to tell me why I’m here?”

Jess gave her a wry look. “Always eager to cut to the chase, aren’t you? Can’t you even take five minutes to relax?”

“Not if you expect me to solve this problem, whatever it is, in a few days.”

“I think it can wait a little longer. I don’t want to get into it until after Gram’s gone to bed. I don’t want her worrying.”

Abby frowned. “It’s that serious?”

“I told you life or death, in a manner of speaking,” Jess said impatiently. “Come on. I need a glass of wine—maybe two—before we get into all this.”

Judging from her sister’s mood, Abby had a feeling she might need a few glasses of wine herself.

Jess wasn’t entirely sure how she’d made such a mess of things. All she knew for certain was that she dreaded admitting any of it to her confident, successful big sister. Still, when her plans had gone south and she’d realized just how deep a hole she’d dug for herself, calling Abby—the family’s certified financial whiz—had seemed like the only sensible thing to do.

She didn’t want to lose the inn. Even as a little girl, when she’d first seen the sprawling structure less than a mile away from their own house, Jess had imagined herself owning it. Just over a year and a half ago, right before Christmas, in fact, she’d spotted the For Sale sign in front of the inn as she was driving home. Bored silly by her job at Ethel’s Emporium, her heart had immediately done a stutter step. For the first time since she’d come home after college, she could feel a sense of anticipation and excitement building deep inside. This was it, her chance to grab the brass ring, to give herself a sense of purpose, to build the kind of future her family would approve.

Initially, she’d told no one in her family of her plans. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Probably because she’d feared their ridicule or their lack of faith that she could possibly succeed. She was, after all, the baby and the wild child. She’d never stuck with anything for long. Unlike her sisters or her brothers, she’d never displayed a real passion for work, never found her niche. She’d been drifting, and everyone in the family had known it. Worse, they’d expected nothing more of her.

“Oh, you know Jess. She never sticks with anything for long.” How many times had she heard some family member say that, especially her father? When it came from Abby or her brothers, she took it in stride. When Mick said it, it cut Jess to the quick. She’d grown up believing she would never measure up to the high standards he set for all of his children. The inn was her chance to prove him—to prove all of them—wrong.

Fortunately Jess, like her siblings, had a modest trust fund that had come due when she’d turned twenty-one. It had been invested wisely, the amount growing, especially since Abby had taken over managing the account. It was enough, she’d hoped, for a down payment.

Impulsively, she’d made an appointment the next morning with the Realtor. Naively and because she was caught up in the dream, she hadn’t asked to see the books or any other proof that the inn could be operated in the black. She’d done a cursory inspection and found it to be in good shape. After all, one thing she knew about her father and Uncle Jeff, they designed and built things to last. She’d made a conservative bid, which had been accepted at once. The Pattersons were anxious to leave. All that remained was to get the financing in place.

That’s when she should have called Abby, she realized now. Or her father. Even her brothers could have offered sound advice, but, stubbornly independent to the end, she’d handled it all herself. To keep the payments within reason, she’d accepted an interest-only loan for the short term, then planned to refinance once the inn was open and operating at a profit.

Best-laid plans, she thought now, sipping her wine as she waited for Abby to come back from tucking the kids into bed. Nothing had gone as she’d anticipated. The Pattersons had never installed any kind of up-to-date reservation system. The heating and air-conditioning systems were barely functioning and needed to be replaced with something more energy-efficient. While the building itself was sound, the rooms were shabby, the curtains faded, the linens unacceptable. The exterior looked dilapidated, which had been easy enough to fix, but even a coat of paint cost money.

The down payment had depleted her funds, so she’d applied for a business loan, using the inn as collateral. She’d been approved easily.

Filled with excitement, Jess had finally revealed her purchase to the rest of the family. Predictably, Gram and her siblings had been delighted for her. Mick had asked a thousand and one perfectly reasonable questions for which she didn’t have adequate answers. That was when she’d gotten the first nagging sense that she was in over her head.

Then, a few months ago, while she was still trying to complete the necessary redecorating, she’d gotten a letter from the bank pointing out that she was behind on her payments for the mortgage and for the business loan. She’d scrambled to come up with the cash, embarrassed that in her zeal to spruce up the place, she’d overlooked the due dates for those payments. It had happened again a couple of months later. With her funds depleted, she’d missed two payments in a row after that.

That’s when she’d received the warning notice that she was in violation of the terms of both agreements, her mortgage and her small-business loan.

“Meaning what?” she asked Lawrence Riley when she’d called the bank in a panic.

“Meaning with your very spotty payment history, we could start foreclosure procedures. I’ve been keeping an eye on things at the inn. You have no cash flow.”

“I’m renovating. The grand opening is scheduled for July first. I’d hoped to make it by Memorial Day, but it just wasn’t feasible.”

“How do you expect to make these next payments or the ones the month after?”

“I’ll find the money,” she assured him, even though she had no idea where.

“Maybe you should speak to your father,” he suggested. “I’m sure he’d be willing—”

Jess cut him off. “This is my project. My father’s not involved.”

Her comment silenced him, which she thought was a good thing. But then he said, “If I thought your father was backing you, I could look the other way for the short term….”

“Well, he’s not,” Jess repeated. “You’ll get your payments, Mr. Riley. You know what potential the inn has. You know it’s going to be a success.”

“With the right management, yes,” he said. “I’m no longer convinced you’re the person who can accomplish that.”

His condescension and lack of faith infuriated her. She would have told him off, but even Jess was wise enough to recognize her already precarious standing with the banker.

“Please, be patient,” she said instead. “These are good loans, Mr. Riley. You know me. You know my family.”

“As I said, if you want to bring your father in, we can discuss—”

“No,” she’d replied fiercely.

“It’s your decision, of course. I’ll expect the payments on my desk on time,” he said. “Good day, Jessica.”

That conversation had taken place on Tuesday. She’d called Abby on Wednesday, the minute she’d realized there was no way she’d have the money in time. She knew Abby was going to flip out when she heard the kind of deals Jess had made without consulting her, but in the end she’d help her fix things, because that was what Abby did. She made things right. Even when her marriage was falling apart, she’d found a way to keep her equilibrium, stay on track at work and give the twins the kind of attention they needed to get through the turmoil. If she’d handled all that, this would be a piece of cake, Jess thought confidently.

Of course, that was before she’d realized that Trace was part of the equation. She had no idea exactly what had happened between him and Abby all those years ago, but it hadn’t been good. There was a history there, and despite Trace’s assurance that he wouldn’t let it interfere with the bank’s decision, Jess wasn’t a hundred percent sure she could believe him. Nor was she certain how Abby would feel once she knew she’d be dealing with her old flame. It might be better not to mention that at the outset.

When Abby finally joined her on the porch, Jess asked about work, how the girls were doing in kindergarten, whether there were any new men in Abby’s life. Abby finally regarded her with impatience. “You’re stalling,” she accused.

Jess flushed. “Maybe a little, but I did want to catch up. We never get to have a real heart-to-heart anymore. I miss that.”

Abby’s expression softened. “Me, too. But a life-or-death problem tops catching up. Talk to me.”

An hour later, after Jess had spilled her guts and seen the dismay in Abby’s eyes, she wasn’t so sure this was going to be as easy to fix as she’d hoped.

“We can straighten this out, can’t we?” she asked her sister, unable to keep a plaintive note out of her voice. “I know I’ve made a mess of things so far, but when you see the inn again, you’ll understand why I had to do it exactly this way. It’s going to be amazing.”

“It will only be amazing if you can keep the bank from foreclosing,” Abby said direly. “Why didn’t you call me sooner? I would have loaned you the money.”

“I don’t need your money,” Jess insisted. “I can do this on my own. I just need to buy a little more time. A couple of months, max.”

“You have reservations coming in?”

“We’re booked solid the rest of the summer, and we’re starting to get reservations for the fall,” Jess said proudly. “Plus, once word of mouth kicks in about how cozy the place is and how fabulous the food is, that should take care of the rest of the year, at least on weekends. I’m going to offer some holiday specials, too, to try to boost bookings in November, December and even the long weekends in January and February. I really do have a great marketing plan, Abby.”

“In writing?”

“No, but I can put it on paper, if that will help.”

Abby nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Do that. Maybe it’s the bargaining chip you need. First thing tomorrow I’ll meet you over there and we’ll go over all your financials. We can put together some realistic budget projections, then I’ll go with you to the bank on Monday.”

Which meant, Jess knew, that she’d come face-to-face with Trace. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. “I know how busy you are. Once we put everything together, if you need to go back to New York, I can take the paperwork to the bank.”

“It’ll be okay. Let’s face it, I speak their language and you don’t. This is your dream, and you tend to get sidetracked by all your plans. I can talk hard, cold facts and numbers.”

Jess gave in, because she knew Abby was right. She’d get emotional, while her sister could keep her cool. “If you’re really sure it won’t be too big an imposition, then thank you. I’ll never be able to repay you for doing this for me, Abby. I have to keep the inn. I just have to. It’s the first thing that’s really mattered to me, ever. It’s my chance to prove I’m as good as the rest of the O’Briens.”

Abby stared at her with a shocked expression. “What are you talking about, Jess? Of course you’re as good as the rest of us.”

“Come on. I’ve always been the screwup, the hyper one with no ability to focus. You probably expected me to mess this up from the beginning.” The belated diagnosis that she had attention deficit disorder had come when she was ten and struggling in school. From then on, it had been her curse and, all too often, an easy excuse for her failure to follow through on things.

“That is not true,” Abby said, though her expression said otherwise. “Sweetie, you have ADD. We all understand that. Despite that, look at all you’ve accomplished. You graduated from high school near the top of your class. You got your college degree. Those are huge accomplishments for someone with ADD. You’ll figure out how to manage everything at the inn, too.”

“I barely got through college because I kept changing my major. And I’ve drifted through half a dozen dead-end jobs since then,” Jess reminded her, determined to keep it real. “I’m twenty-two and I’ve never even had a relationship that’s lasted more than a few months.”

“Because you haven’t found the one thing or the one person you were passionate about,” Abby argued. “Now you have the inn. I remember how you used to talk about it when you were little. You loved going over there. I was so excited for you when you told me you’d finally bought it.” Her expression turned determined. “Stop worrying. I intend to do everything in my power to see that you keep the inn.”

“Short of bailing me out with money,” Jess reiterated. “I won’t let you do that.”

“Let’s just see how it goes, okay? I have the money to invest in a sure thing and I have faith in you.”

Tears welled up in Jess’s eyes. “I love you, sis.”

“Love you more. Now let’s get some sleep, so we can get started on all this first thing in the morning. What time should I meet you at the inn?”

“Nine?” Jess suggested. She owed her sister one lazy morning at least.

“Make it eight.”

Despite her emotions being all over the place, Jess grinned. “Not bad. You must be relaxing. I was figuring you’d say seven.”

“Watch it, kid. I could change my mind.”

Jess was on her feet at once. “See you at eight,” she said hurriedly, then started down the steps. At the bottom, she turned back. “I’m glad you’re home, Abby, but I’m sorry I dumped all this on you.”

“That’s what family’s for,” Abby said. “Don’t ever forget that.”

Despite her sister’s words, Jess wondered if she’d ever truly believe that, at least where her disapproving father was concerned. Once Mick heard about this, there’d be plenty of I-told-you-so’s to go around.

And once Abby realized that she was going to be dealing with Trace Riley and that Jess had kept that fact from her, Jess was very much afraid she might walk away and leave Jess to fend for herself.

Abby walked into the kitchen shortly after dawn, awakened by the sound of the robins, bluebirds and wrens outside her open bedroom windows. She’d forgotten how noisy nature could be, especially in the spring. As early as it was, she wasn’t surprised to find her grandmother there ahead of her.