“I fished her out of the bay. She’d gone out on a sailboard and got caught in the current. She would have floated straight out to sea. When I got her to shore, she blacked out.” Luke rocked back on his heels, hoping he’d explained enough.
“My Lord, she could have drowned out there.” Bernice set her gaze on Luke as if trying to decipher his story before she began barking orders. “Go to the storeroom. Get into the old metal gear box. There should be a first aid kit there with some smelling salts in it. We’ll see if we can’t bring her around. I’ll put on some coffee.”
Luke felt his muscles relax. He knew Bernice would take charge of this difficult situation. She’d lived there all her life and raised five children. Nothing seemed to shock Bernice. Why, she’d even taken Beth in when he’d found her asleep in yesterday’s clothes on the doorstep of his shop. Yeah, Bernice was family, he thought, finding the old chest filled with life jackets, miscellaneous pieces of rope and the first aid kit. The kit was covered with a layer of dust, though knowing Ben he’d bet it was well supplied. Ben would have made the perfect boy-scout. He never took a chance of being stranded in any kind of situation.
* * *
Wrinkling her nose up in disgust, Sandra inhaled the stench of ammonia and felt her senses willing her to consciousness. A man and a woman’s voice seemed to be speaking to her in the distance. Where was she? Peering through half closed eyelids, she tried to focus on two blurry unfamiliar faces. As her vision cleared, she remembered the rude stranger. Had he tried to strangle her or worse? Startled, she sprung up to a sitting position. A scream caught in her throat as she stared wide-eyed at the two people looking down at her.
“It’s okay, sweetie. You’re safe here with us,” the woman cooed in a soft, mellow tone.”
Sandra leaned back and surveyed her surroundings. Somehow she’d gotten back to the Sea Breeze. Glancing up at the older woman’s face, she tried to remember if she knew her. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to relax. Her mind wandered back to Ben Harris’ funeral. The woman now standing above her had been there. She had been dressed in all black, a veil had camouflaged her tear stained face. It had seemed evident that she had been more than acquaintance of her father’s. Nevertheless, that didn’t explain what she was doing in her living room.
Relaxing her sore neck into the sofa’s cushion, she stared at the two people hovering over her. “How did I get . . . ? she asked as she watched a broad smile warm the color in Luke’s face. “Oh my,” she vaguely remembered now. “You carried me . . . I’m so sorry. I must have fainted.”
“Indeed you did. Right on top of me, I might add.”
Sandra felt her cheeks flush as she watched a twinkle of mischief form in the depths of his ice blue eyes. Was this the same man who’d rescued her? In the moonlight, his features had appeared sharp, his tone abrupt. She watched his full lips as they pursed and relaxed. Such a sensual movement. For the briefest second, Sandra considered lifting her mouth to the temptation of his.
“It’s not every day a man has a beautiful half drowned sea nymph fall into his arms,” he murmured in a low voice. “Though, I doubt your father would’ve approved,” he seemed to feel obliged to add, breaking the spell.
Sandra bit back her words as the bitterness, born from her childhood rose in her. She didn’t care what her father had wanted. She was a grown woman and perfectly capable of making her own mistakes, now.
CHAPTER TWO
Sandra rolled onto her stomach, swept her pillow over her head and groaned. What was making all that racket? she wondered, trying to decide whether the constant pounding was a remnant of her nightmare or if someone was tearing down the walls. The noise stopped and she snuggled into the covers. Then it all started up again.
The loud knocking was coming from her door she realized and peered out from underneath the downy pillow earmuffs. Squinting at the clock on the nightstand, she read its red digital face. Six-thirty in the morning. Who in the world would knock on her door at such an obnoxious hour? Sandra couldn’t fathom a single thing that anyone could hope to accomplish so early in the morning. She hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet, for goodness sake.
Sitting up on the side of the bed, Sandra swung her bare feet down upon the floor with an exaggerated sigh. Stretching a leg out, she realized how sore her muscles felt. She pulled her foot back under the covers and willed the person to go away. They had to have the wrong address. Every muscle in her body felt like over stretched spandex about to pop.
Through her half opened eyelids, she found herself watching the soft pastel light created by the window curtains mingle around the room. Collect your thoughts. Go answer the door, she instructed herself, recognizing that her current mindset would not get her any closer to leaving her bed. If only she had a nice hot cup of steaming espresso right now. Once more the pounding stopped for a few seconds before starting up still louder.
Steadying herself in front of the dresser mirror, Sandra glanced at her reflection. Her shoulder length hair stuck out in all directions, puffy dark shadows hung under her eyes while an old T-shirt declaring the highlights of Oklahoma hung loosely over her slender torso. She looked terrible. But then, what did it matter? Anyone knocking on her door at six-thirty in the morning got what they deserved.
“Damn it, I’m coming,” she yelled as she frantically looked around the bedroom for something to cover the lower half of her body. Staring down at her suitcase, she realized all her clothes were still packed.
“Okay, okay, I’m on my way,” she called out again over the now continuous knocking as she moved down the stairs. Whoever was causing all the racket was persistent enough. She’d give them that. Hadn’t they ever heard of using a door bell? Then she remembered, the Sea Breeze didn’t have a door bell on either the shop or the private quarters. One of the quainter traditions her father had left her with. From what Sandra could tell, Ben Harris never replaced anything that wasn’t falling apart. It didn’t seem to matter how outdated.
Reaching the source of her irritation, Sandra cracked the door ajar and peered into the plump, rouged face of a woman probably in her fifties holding a large serving tray.
“Honey, are you okay?” the woman asked in an alarmed voice. “I was about to give up on you.” Her gaze fell down on Sandra’s long bare legs. “Oh, I woke you. Should’ve known you’d still be sleeping after the ordeal you went through yesterday.”
“Bernice?” Sandra sputtered out the woman’s name. Of course, now she remembered. Last night. The woman who had come over to help. The woman from the funeral.
An appeasing aroma of coffee and bacon floated Sandra’s way. She inched the door open a bit wider and did her best to manage a smile. “What on earth brings you by at this time of the morning, Bernice?”
The woman pushed the tray out at arms’ length for Sandra’s approval. “One of the advantages of operating a diner, I brought breakfast.” She explained, arching a fine lined eyebrow into a question. Her voice sounded almost apologetic. “Do you feel like eating a little something?”
“Sounds great,” Sandra replied, opening the door a couple of feet.
In reply, Bernice tipped her chin downward and shot Sandra an appreciative grin.
“I needed to get up and get to work anyhow,” Sandra reassured the older woman while her stomach nudged a silent rumble of agreement.
“Come on in,” Sandra told her, opening the door wide in invitation then hesitated and looked around Bernice. “There’s no one else with you, is there?”
“Of course not, who would I bring with me?” she asked puzzled. “Oh, Luke.”
“I thought he might live at the inn and came with you.”
“No, honey, it’s just me.”
“I’m sorry,” she told Bernice, moving away from the door. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just I’m not really dressed.”
“I understand, my dear.” The older woman grinned as if privy to her own joke. “I suppose we all have a bit of modesty in us.”
&nbs
p; Still standing in the foyer, Sandra leaned against the banister and stared after Bernice as she crossed the living area to the dining room. The older woman stopped in front of the dinner table and began to unload the tray’s contents. She couldn’t help having the nervous feeling that she’d just let the real life equivalent to Walt Disney’s Mary Poppins in her front door.
“I’m going to go throw some clothes on. It will only take me a moment,” Sandra told the woman’s back.
“Don’t rush, dear. It’ll all wait for you,” she replied over her shoulder.
Sandra started up the four steps which lead to the bedroom. When her legs began to ache, she stopped and glanced back at the living area until the unpleasant reminder of her ordeal in the bay passed. Holding onto the banister, she breathed in the reality that the Sea Breeze was still here, exactly as she’d left it the night before. It wasn’t the type of room an interior decorator would be proud to display. Her mother would probably think it atrocious. But, the room had a comfortable quality about it Sandra liked. Of course, it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d hated the décor. The fact that the Sea Breeze was hers made it special.
Closing her eyes, Sandra sent up a silent prayer of thanks as she again started to climb the stairs. Soon, she thought, she would have to get the Sea Breeze up and running and running soon. If anything happened to her father’s business, her goals and aspirations would fade into thin air, like last night’s dream, remaining only as a ghost to remind her of her failure.
Sandra reached the top of the stairway. “Make yourself at home,” she called back to Bernice with a smile, knowing that she would. The woman seemed to feel more comfortable in Sandra’s new home than she did. Bernice simply nodded in reply and continued to set the table.
In the bedroom, Sandra grabbed her overstuffed suitcase and placed it on the bed. At her touch, the gold latches sprung to attention releasing their burdened load. Her mother had given the case to her for a graduation present. She had been certain Sandra would land a position which would require her intelligent daughter to jet set around the country. To be fair to her mother, her expectations hadn’t been unreasonable. Sandra had interviewed with several companies for the highly coveted marketing positions. However, they always offered the job to someone else in the end. Most of the time, it had boiled down to who you knew. Not that Sandra couldn’t have gone that route and probably should have. It wouldn’t be the first time her pride had gotten her in trouble. The fact of the matter was the suitcase had never been used.
Sandra examined the top layer of dress clothes. She’d have to dig deep to find a pair of jeans, she thought with a sigh. That unfortunately meant having to hang up her nicer things first.
Opening the folding doors to the closet, she glanced down the clothes rack. Not a single empty clothes hanger stuck out. The closet was full. Full of men’s clothing, full of women’s clothing. The closet was full. Sandra’s mind stalled like a sailboat headed straight into the eye of the wind as she pulled out one of the garments from the mass of women’s belongings. A bright short sleeved floral print blouse greeted her. Who on earth would wear such a thing? It certainly hadn’t been her father’s. The garment was far too feminine of a cut. The answer slammed into her like an exploding bomb. Ben Harris had sported a mistress and it most likely had been Bernice. Bernice Miles had been her father’s mistress. The sensible, somewhat over weight woman with warm brown eyes and plump rounded cheeks, who had breakfast sitting on the table had been her father’s live-in. A second of indignation hit Sandra and fell to the floor. Why was she so surprised? She’d suspected Bernice had been more than a friend to her father. At the funeral the older woman had obviously dressed the part of a mourning widow. Plus, last night she couldn’t help noticing that Bernice knew every inch of the shop so well that she could have organized every cabinet herself. And the way she looked at Sandra. It was as if she were seeking out every feature of Sandra’s face for the slightest trace of family resemblance.
She was Ben Harris’ daughter and they might have had some similar features, but beyond that they had borne no similarities, she told herself, clenching her teeth in irritation. He had been an irresponsible dreamer who left his family to start a half-baked business more than three states away. Sandra, on the other hand, by necessity had always been responsible to a fault, always trying to please her mother while at the same time not being a burden on her stepfather, Charles Daniels.
With a sense of finality, Sandra stepped back and closed the closet. Her head throbbed. Her stomach grumbled. Spreading her clothes out on top of the quilted bedspread, she finally found a pair of jeans and a neat cotton shirt. The outfit was one of the few purchases from Clareyman’s where she used to work. It all seemed so long ago. Yet, if she didn’t get the Sea Breeze running as a profit making business, she would be back there before she knew it. Not that her mother would mind. Carolyn Daniels would get no end of pleasure from gloating over her daughter’s failure. It would simply give her more ammunition to insist that Sandra take a job with her stepfather’s oil and gas company. She doubted that her mother would ever understand why she insisted on living her life on her own terms. Perhaps things would be different if Carolyn Daniels had relied less on others. Sandra thought as she ran a brush through her hair. Her mother didn’t seem to mind the steep price which you inevitably had to pay with dependency. Sandra did. She didn’t want to be indebted to anyone, especially not a man. It didn’t matter whether it was Charles Daniels, a friend of the family or a husband with a slave band to put around her finger. She wouldn’t allow anyone to control her life. Putting her thoughts down with her hair brush, Sandra went downstairs to breakfast and Bernice.
After she finished two helpings of waffles topped with hot maple syrup and butter and her fair portion of bacon, Sandra nestled into the padded dinette chair and stared down at her empty plate. “Breakfast was fantastic,” she told Bernice with a giggle and felt herself blush. “I can’t remember when I’ve ever eaten so much.”
“I fixed it myself,” Bernice bragged. “In the morning, I take advantage of having an open grill by fixing my own breakfast. Truth is Ernie, my cook, is good, but I like my cooking better. Guess most folks have their own ways of doing things.” Her words trailed off as she stared blankly out the window.
She’s wondering what I’m going to do with the Sea Breeze, Sandra thought. In a small town like Fort Walton, news always spread fast among the local residents. If she didn’t tell Bernice now, she’d find out soon enough. She might as well hear it from me, Sandra concluded taking a deep breath for courage sake.
“Yeah, I know what you mean about being your own boss, Bernice,” Sandra began, trying to make her statement sound casual. “I’ll feel much better once I have the Sea Breeze open for business again.”
Sandra watched Bernice’s face turn a pale shade of white. Her usual friendly smile faded as her mouth fell open in astonishment.
“I assumed you’d be selling. There are a lot of interested buyers.” The woman folded her hands on top of the hunter green napkin lying in her lap and frowned. “Sea front property is always at a premium. Why, I’d even . . . thought about buying the place myself. It would make a lovely home. And, it’s . . . so close to my Inn. I can’t offer much. However, I’ve got a small nest egg.” Sandra’s chest tightened in the same sickening fashion it had in her dream. Her home, Sandra thought, I’m taking away this woman’s home. Regardless, she couldn’t sell the Sea Breeze. She couldn’t. Ben had wanted her to have it. The Sea Breeze was hers and it would stay that way.
“I plan to keep the Sea Breeze,” Sandra reiterated, balling her hand into a fist under the table and tilting her chin upward. “Ben Harris wouldn’t have willed the shop to me if he hadn’t wanted me to keep it running.”
“You can’t be serious?” The shrill tightness in Bernice’s words mimicked her shocked expression.
“I am. Not only do I intend to keep the shop, I’m going to make this small business a gold mine. Ben Harris
would be proud of the way I’m going to whip the Sea Breeze into shape. You wait and see.” Sandra glared at Bernice, challenging her to argue with her further.
“Yes,” the woman nodded in cursory agreement, I think Ben would be happy that you’ve decided to stay here with us.” Meeting Sandra’s gaze she added, “However, he wouldn’t give a crab’s ass whether or not you made a huge profit or not.” Her fingers began to fret the edges of her napkin. “You didn’t know your father very well, did you?”
“No, I don’t guess I had that pleasure. But, I’m sure you can tell me all about him,” Sandra spat, feeling the penumbra of her sailboat incident, the night’s ill-fated dream and all her insecurities returning to haunt her. Tears began to crest in her eyes. She was losing her composure. Years’ worth of pent up emotions threatened to erupt. Get control of yourself, Sandra. Don’t let her get to you. She is hurting, too.
Sandra moved to the open window to avoid Bernice’s grief ridden face and the feelings of guilt it induced. She could hear Bernice moving around the table, the rattle of breakfast dishes taunting her for being so soft inside. You shouldn’t be so emotional. What kind of business woman cried over a smart business decision? The Sea Breeze was a business. She would manage it like one, regardless, Sandra silently told herself as she stared, entranced by the sea oats being blown about from side to side by the wind. The same cool breeze caressed her flushed cheeks, helping her push aside her emotions. She turned to rejoin Bernice.
Sea Star Legacy Page 3