Читать книгу The Women of Bayberry Cove - Cynthia Thomason, Cynthia Thomason - Страница 10

WESLEY DROVE HIS Jeep Wrangler onto the gravel road leading to Pintail Point, the home of his long-time friend and Bayberry Cove’s resident artist, Jamie Malone. Wes had been home less than twenty-four hours and there were plenty of people he needed to see, but on this picture-perfect morning with the sun shimmering off the blue water of the sound, it was Jamie he wanted to talk to.

After he determined that Louise Duncan’s black BMW wasn’t anywhere in sight, Wes parked under a couple of tall, sweeping sea pines. He walked toward the houseboat, scanning the yard until he was convinced Louise wasn’t there. Then he fixed his gaze on the picnic table where Jamie’s dog, Beasley, was napping. The long-legged beast opened his golden eyes, crawled out from under the table and emitted a low-pitched bark of welcome. Then he plopped down at Wesley’s feet.

Wesley scratched behind one of the animal’s floppy ears. “Hey, Beas, how are you? Energetic as ever, I see.”

Jamie burst out the door of the Bucket O’ Luck and strode toward them. “Wes Fletcher, I heard you were home.” He held out his hand. “Good to see you.”

“Same here.” Wes resumed a reconnaissance of the property while answering Jamie’s questions about his retirement.

After a few minutes of conversation, Jamie snapped his fingers to get Wes’s attention. “She’s not here, buddy.”

Wes was forced to focus on Jamie’s face. “Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The heck you don’t. I’m talking about Louise Duncan, who stopped by here yesterday after you doused her with what she described as some sort of sewage.”

Wes scrunched up his face. “It wasn’t sewage. It was rusty water from the kitchen pipes. And did she mention that she gave as good as she got?”

Jamie smiled. “Oh, yeah. That was the part of the story she enjoyed telling most.”

Wes shook his head. “She’s one strange woman. Bossy, pushy, demanding…”

“Don’t forget drop-dead gorgeous,” Jamie added.

Wes laughed. “I guess that’s true, too. And determined. She wouldn’t take no for an answer when it came to renting the cottage.”

“We heard. Frankly, my wife, whom you haven’t met, but who is the sweetest woman on this green earth, is a little ticked at you. She was hoping you’d move in with your dad.”

Wes shrugged. “I’ve been given a grant from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration to fund a project on marine ecology. I need to be on the water.”

“Why didn’t you tell Louise that? She might have understood why living at the cottage was so important to you.”

“She didn’t seem interested in anyone’s motives but her own. And have you ever tried to get a word in with her?”

Jamie chuckled. “A few times. Your point’s well taken.”

“So where are the women now?”

“You just missed Vicki. She drove into Bayberry Cove to meet Louise at the Kettle. She stayed at a motel in Morgan City last night, but she’s determined to find a place in town to rent for a couple of months so she can just sort of kick back.”

Wes pictured the Bayberry Cove Kettle at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning. The restaurant would be packed, and he had no doubt who in the crowd would be the center of attention.

LOUISE TURNED ONTO Main Street and looked at the digital clock on her dashboard. Already ten minutes late, she reluctantly slowed to a frustrating, but law-abiding, thirty-five miles an hour and scanned the street for available parking. She settled for a spot two blocks away from the Bayberry Cove Kettle, got out of her car and walked briskly to the entrance.

She threaded her way through the crowded restaurant to where her friend was seated. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, hanging her purse over the back of the chair and sitting down.

“Don’t apologize. I only got here five minutes ago. I took my time, since I remembered it was you I was meeting.”

“Funny.” A pleasant-looking waitress came to the table. “What’s good here?” Louise asked Vicki.

“Everything’s great, isn’t that right, Bobbi Lee?” Vicki said.

Louise gave Vicki a knowing look. So this well-rounded waitress in the red-checkered dress was the notorious Bobbi Lee Blanchard she’d heard so much about, the woman who’d lusted after Jamie Malone for years.

“Not a bad choice on the whole menu,” Bobbi confirmed.

“In that case,” Louise said, “I’ll have two eggs over light, hash browns, wheat toast and a side of bacon. And, of course, coffee—large.”

Vicki ordered scrambled eggs and an English muffin and waited until Bobbi Lee had gone to place the order before she said, “What happened to yogurt and fresh fruit?”

Louise shrugged. “I’m in the country now. Fresh air makes me hungry.” She pointed to Vicki’s bulging belly. “It could be worse. Look what it did to you.”

They chatted about Vicki’s store in Fort Lauderdale, her new house, the wood carvings Jamie was sending to a Boston gallery for a summer showing. “Enough about my life,” Vicki said when they’d finished their meal and were sipping coffee. “Be honest, Lulu. How are you going to stay in Bayberry Cove for two months? You’re going to die of boredom.”

“No, I won’t. I like this town. It’s cute and cozy. With the exception of Wesley Fletcher, the people seem nice. I’ll find things to do. Maybe I’ll help you shop for baby stuff.”

Vicki’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You? Baby shopping? One trip to Infants ’R Us in Morgan City and you’ll be begging for mercy.”

Louise nodded. “Maybe. But I’d like to give the town a try—if I can find a place to stay. I’m not driving nearly twenty miles each way to the motel.”

Vicki set her mug on the table. “Sorry things didn’t work out for Buttercup Cottage. And even sorrier that Wes gave you such a hard time. I’ve never met him, but Jamie’s always told me what a super guy he is.”

Louise arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Believe me, Vic, there are things about him that definitely fall into the super category.”

“Ah…so what Bobbi Lee just told me is true. Commander Fletcher is a hunk.”

Louise smiled. “Close enough. He’s way too clean-cut for my taste, but with a little roughing up, he could be the mountain man of my dreams.”

“Somehow I can’t see a career navy guy turning into Grizzly Adams.”

Louise was about to respond when Bobbi Lee returned. “Can I get you anything else, ladies?”

Louise grabbed the check just as a customer approached the table demanding Bobbi’s attention.

“Hi, Earnest,” she said. “You want the usual?”

“That’ll be fine, Bobbi Lee. Just wrap it up and I’ll take it back upstairs to my apartment. I’ve got a whole day’s worth of bookkeeping ahead of me.”

Louise stared at the man’s balding pate as he walked behind Bobbi Lee toward the counter. “Vicki, did you hear what that man said?”

Vicki tucked a strand of honey-blond hair behind her ear. “Something about a take-out order.”

“Right. An order he can take up to his apartment.” She pointed to the ceiling. “His apartment upstairs.”

Vicki was clearly baffled. “So?”

“This street is lined with two-story buildings. There must be living quarters on the second floor of most of them. All I have to do is find one that’s empty.”

“What are you going to do?” Vicki asked. “Check every building on the street?”

“If I have to.”

“Would you like me to help? I promised Jamie I’d work with him on his exhibit today, but he’ll understand.”

“No. Go on home to that gorgeous husband of yours. I’ll wait and pay the check.” As Vicki stood to leave, Louise looked out the window to the park across the street and grinned. “I won’t need your help anyway, Vic. I know just who to ask.”

WES WAS LUCKY. He pulled into a parking place right in front of the Bayberry Cove Kettle just after a customer backed out. Glancing around at the spots nearest him, he confirmed the absence of a black BMW and couldn’t decide if he felt relief or disappointment.

He opened the door to the restaurant, and Louise breezed through it wearing a midthigh sundress splashed with sunflowers and held up with inch-wide shoulder straps. A flurry of gastric activity began in Wes’s stomach that made him forget his earlier cravings for pancakes and bacon.

She stopped in front of him and locked her mesmerizing pale lavender eyes with his. A shock of recognition—no doubt as profound as Wes’s own—shimmered in her gaze for mere seconds before mutating to an amused familiarity. Nothing seemed to faze this woman for long.

“Well, well, Commander.” She placed a fist on her hip and gave him a self-assured grin. “You clean up pretty darn well.”

His fingers twitched at his side. He resisted the ridiculous urge to salute. He literally was a commander, but he didn’t feel in charge of this encounter. “Good morning, Louise,” he said, reassured by the commanding tone of his voice, at least.

“You look refreshed, Wesley,” she said. “I assume you slept well in your seaside retreat.”

“Very well, thank you.” That was a lie. The window air conditioner in the master bedroom had cranked and hissed in competition with the twenty-year-old compressor in the refrigerator. But outdated appliances weren’t all that had kept him awake most of the night. He was staring at the main reason for his restlessness. “And you?”

“Like a top,” she said. “The motel you so generously recommended had all the amenities of, well…a motel.” She flipped a shimmering column of black hair over her shoulder. “But you’ll be glad to know that I may have solved the problem of my living quarters.”

“Oh?”

She raised her eyes to scan the tops of the buildings on Main Street. “I can’t imagine that there isn’t a room to let above one of these Bayberry Cove establishments. I can be quite comfortable here in the middle of everything that goes on in your little town.”

“That is an interesting solution, Louise. I’m sure you’ll find the nightlife in town quite stimulating. Have you checked with any of the shopkeepers yet about vacancies?”

“I don’t need to go door-to-door,” she answered smartly. “I’ve already made one friend in Bayberry Cove who will be helpful.” She pointed to the park across the street, where an old man sat on a bench.

Wes smiled when he recognized the familiar figure who had occupied that particular bench for most of the last five years.

“He was kind enough to give me directions to Pintail Point yesterday,” Louise continued. “I’m sure he’ll help me find a vacancy. I’ll bet he sees everything from that vantage point. And I’ll bet he knows everyone in town.”

“That’s probably a good bet,” Wes said.

Louise inclined her head toward the restaurant door. “You enjoy your breakfast, Commander. By the time you’ve finished, I’ll have signed a two-month lease, and we’ll practically be neighbors.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Wes glanced at the old-timer in the park. Mason was a tough cookie in most of his dealings, but if anyone could talk him into the lease deal of the century, it was Louise. “Why don’t we meet back here in, say, forty-five minutes, and you can let me know how you made out,” Wes suggested. “I’ll even spring for coffee and promise not to pour any on you.”

Amazingly, she seemed to like the idea. “Forty-five minutes it is.” She gave him a grin and left.

“HI. DO YOU REMEMBER ME?” Louise said to the old man sitting under the sprawling oak tree.

He looked at her with surprisingly clear blue eyes that were still apparently capable of appreciating her obvious attributes. Sliding over to give her room on the bench, he motioned for her to sit. “I may be old,” he said, “but my memory’s as fresh as last night’s dew for things that catch my fancy. Did you find your way to Pintail Point yesterday?”

She sat, then angled toward him with her elbow on the back of the bench. “I did. Your directions were perfect. I’m counting on you knowing every little thing about this town. That’s why I’ve come back for your help today.”

He layered his hands over a thick wooden walking stick and appraised her with an intensity that suddenly seemed strangely familiar. “What is it you need, young lady?”

Louise squirmed on the bench seat just a little, suppressing the feeling that she knew this man as more than just a passing acquaintance from the previous day. It was more than his eyes. Though his skin was creased with wrinkles and slack on his face, she detected a once-square jawline, punctuated by a strong chin that thrust forward with authority.

She told him about her search for living quarters and that she was hoping an apartment might be available in town. He nodded, asked her a few questions about her intended length of stay and her reason for being in Bayberry Cove.

She answered truthfully, and when she’d finished, he thought a moment and then replied. “There’s a small house out on the sound about four miles from here,” he said. “Has a sign above the door that says Buttercup Cottage. I think you’d like it there.”

Louise laughed. “I would indeed, but it seems someone beat me to it. A man is already living there….”

His scraggly white eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Do you know his name?”

“Wesley Fletcher,” she said.

The beginning of a smile curled the man’s thin lips. “So, the boy’s come home,” he said. “I wondered when I caught a glimpse of him going into the Kettle.”

“He has. I tried to bargain with him—”

“Oh, you can’t bargain with Wesley. He’s as stubborn as his father.”

Louise nodded. “So I’ve experienced.”

The old man chuckled. “You’d best leave the cottage to him.” He pointed across the street. “Now, then, see that furniture store? McCorkle’s New and Used?”

Louise nodded again.

“You try that place. I know the upstairs is vacant, and I think it’s in pretty good shape. ’Course, all these buildings are showing signs of age. But I expect that one will do.”

“And who should I see about renting it?” Louise asked.

“Ask for Suzie or Evan McCorkle. They run the place. You tell them that Mason told you to inquire.” He winked at her. “You’ll get the apartment. I guarantee it. Just have Suzie draw up a simple agreement saying you’ll pay three hundred a month for the next two months. Tell her to give you a copy and that’ll be that.”

“Really? It’s that easy?”

“You run along and get your suitcase. It’ll be that easy,” he assured her.

And it almost was. Evan McCorkle, gray-haired, well-fed and a living, breathing folk-art archetype of middle-class virtues, was at first reluctant to rent to Louise. She determined from what she deciphered from snatches of his whispered debate with his wife that Evan thought Louise might play loud music or entertain guests at odd hours.

But Suzie McCorkle argued that she had a good feeling about Miss Duncan, and couldn’t she always trust her feelings? In the end, it was Suzie’s intuition and the mention of Mason’s name that clinched the deal. By the time Louise entered the Bayberry Cove Kettle to meet Wesley Fletcher for coffee, she had a signed lease in her hand. “The place is a bit dusty,” she explained to Wes, “but I can fix it up. And I bought a few pieces of furniture from the McCorkles. I’ll be very comfortable there.”

Truthfully, it would take her a good two days to even make the place livable. The furniture needed sprucing up. The cobwebs alone would fill up a trash can, and the grime on the windows all but obliterated the view of Main Street. But Louise wasn’t about to admit to Wes that any of those details were more than a passing inconvenience.

“Sounds like everything worked out for you even without Buttercup Cottage,” he said, while filling her coffee mug.

“Absolutely.” She stirred her coffee and let a smug grin convey her feeling of self-satisfaction. “And the best part is I got a great deal, and don’t have to write any rent checks to the Fletchers.”

He smiled down into his own cup before leveling a serious gaze on her face. “That’s not necessarily so, Louise. If you look at that document carefully, you’ll see that your rent payments should be made out to Mason D. Fletcher Enterprises.”

Louise darted a glance out the window at the old man in the park. “His name is Mason Fletcher?”

“’Fraid so,” Wes acknowledged. “Your landlord is my grandfather.” When he noticed the puzzled look on her face, he added, “Mason Delroy Fletcher owns these entire three blocks of Bayberry Cove, Louise. So no matter what second-story apartment you chose, you would be supporting the Fletchers.”

He took a long sip of coffee. “And we certainly do appreciate your patronage.”