by JoAnn Ross
It’s just menopause craziness. She’ll be back.
Because although he’d throw himself off Mount Olympus before admitting it, the simple truth was that Ben had no freaking clue how the hell he could survive without her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE MANNION CHRISTMAS TREE farm was located about thirty-five minutes out of town on a road that twisted in sharp switchbacks. The evergreens lining the edge of the road created a green tunnel, and the road was striped with rays of stuttering sun that managed to slip through the bank of trees and clouds.
Every so often the trees would open up to a waving green meadow where white Sitka valerian bobbed like sailboats riding the harbor tides, and ferns were uncurling new frothy green fronds. Because it had been so long since Brianna had experienced the absolute, total silence that could be found here on the far northwest corner of the country, she didn’t listen to any of her audiobooks. Nor did she try to search out a radio station. Instead, as she continued through the trees, around tree-fringed jetties and past tumbling creeks, the only sound was the hiss of the tires on the wet pavement and the swish, swish of the wipers clearing the splash of raindrops from the windshield.
She slowed for a herd of magnificent Roosevelt elk, some just calves, that had emerged from the screen of trees. As many places as she’d been, nothing could ever replace these sights and sounds of home, and while waiting for the elk, who were taking their own sweet time, to cross in front of her, Brianna felt like Dorothy waking up back home in Kansas from bright and glittery Oz.
She passed a farm, its acres of colorful flowers and freshly tilled dark brown earth dotted with young, spring-green plants surrounding the blue clapboard house that had given Blue House Farm its name. Just beyond the farm, she took a fork in the road, and past the old abandoned logging skid road, seemingly endless acres of conical blue-green fir, bright pine and spruce trees came into view. Rising up from the center of the trees was a bright red barn with Mannion’s Family Christmas Trees, est. 1983 written on the side with white paint. Below that was Delivery or Cut & Carry.
Although it was still raining, she cracked open her window to breathe in the familiar pungent scent of fir and earth along with a faint tinge of salt riding in from the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
The road dead-ended at a pair of red gates leading to the farm. The fact that they were open suggested her parents were waiting for her. A fact proven out as soon she’d reached the end of the road leading to the white two-story farmhouse with ruffled fiery-red-and-yellow tulips blooming in front of the wide wraparound front porch.
The apple-red door opened and her mother, wearing jeans, sneakers and a black T-shirt stating, I’m not Superwoman. But I am a high school principal. So...close enough, came running out. Her smiling face was framed with a wild cloud of coppery curls brightened with strands of silver. Brianna, whose hair was as straight as Washington rain, had often envied her mother those curls. At the same time, Sarah Mannion had always said that Brianna was the lucky one to have that golden slide of hair that didn’t frizz up like Little Orphan Annie’s at the least provocation.
“You’re finally here!” She gathered Brianna into her arms for a huge hug that she hadn’t even realized she’d needed until now.
“I told you when I called that I ran into Kylee and Mai,” she said.
“We’re so excited about their wedding,” Sarah said. “Jim Olson—you remember him, he was a few years behind you in school—is providing the flowers from Blue House Farm next door. He started out with organic vegetables, but recently added flowers for the wedding business.” She waved toward the tulips. “These bulbs are from his farm.”
“They’re stunning.”
“Aren’t they? They’re called Flaming Parrots. As soon as Kylee saw them, she decided she had to have them for her bouquet.”
“They’re perfect.” As bright and colorful as the bride who’d be carrying them.
“That’s the same thing I said... So, are you going to be able to come back home for the wedding?”
“I am. I also have something else I want to talk with you all about.”
Brianna had held off telling anyone that she was returning home for good because she hadn’t wanted to get her mother’s hopes up. There’d always been a chance, she’d considered, that once she was on that ferry, she’d suffer doubts and perhaps even change her mind. Before her mother could ask what was up, Brianna turned to her father.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, daughter.” The lines extending from John Mannion’s blue eyes, which had provided the gene for her own, crinkled at the corners as he gave her a slow, easy smile. He’d always been the calm to her mother’s seemingly unrelenting energy. “It’s about time you found your way back home.”
He gathered her into his arms, and although she knew it was silly, Brianna felt her eyes sheen. How many times had those strong arms held and comforted her? Too many times to count.
She’d always felt safe here. Which, she realized as the thought hit like a lightning bolt from a clear blue sky, was why she’d had to leave. Even when she’d come home from college during vacations, going on and on and on about her big plans, she’d understood that just as her parents had provided the anchor for her life, they’d also encouraged her to spread her wings. Which she had. And now, like the swallows returning every year, those same wings had flown her back to Honeymoon Harbor.
Two rescued Australian shepherd mixes, Mulder and Scully, came racing out of the house, circling around the group, herding their family like they were the cattle they’d been bred to gather. She’d always had dogs growing up, and now, as she crouched down to pet these, she wondered if getting a dog of her own would put off potential guests.
A moment later, Brianna decided she didn’t care. The entire point of buying Herons Landing was to finally design a life she loved. To follow her heart and not her head. And if anyone was put off by sharing space with a dog, well, she could survive without their business.
Her mother glanced over at the car, with its back seat piled with suitcases and boxes. “Are you moving again?”
“Good guess.” She also wondered what it said about the rootlessness of her life that all her possessions fit into the back seat and trunk of a car. She’d always been prepared to move at a moment’s notice. Now, by buying the landmark Victorian house, she’d made a one-hundred-eighty-degree lifestyle change.
“John, start bringing Brianna’s things in,” her mother instructed her husband. “I’ll send Quinn out to help.”
“Just the two suitcases,” Brianna said. “I can deal with the rest later.” In the next day or so, when she moved into Herons Landing.
“So, where are you off to this time?” Sarah asked as she linked her arm through Brianna’s and walked toward the house, the dogs close on their heels, noses nearly pressed against the back of her leg. If she attempted to break away, they were ready to circle and bring her back into the fold. “Chicago? Maybe your dream of New York? Even London?”
“Nope.” She paused, waiting for a tinge of regret and felt none. At all. “And I’m not dodging the question, but I’d rather share the news with everyone at once,” she said.
“You know I hate suspense,” her mother said. “I bite my nails to the quick every election night.”
“Yet Dad always wins.” He’d been mayor of Honeymoon Harbor nearly all of Brianna’s life. He always joked that he was stuck in the job because no one else would take it, but everyone knew that he loved the position.
The house she’d grown up in was both the same and different.
The rooms, which had once all been different colors, were now painted in neutrals that provided a perfect backdrop for paintings she recognized as her uncle Mike’s work. The heavy bark-brown leather chesterfield couch with its thick rolled arms and high, deeply tufted back that had held up to five children had been replaced by a more modern but s
till comfortable-looking sloped-arm, pillow-backed sectional. It, too, was leather, but in a red shade lighter than rust but not as bright as a fire engine. Instead of the brown tweed rug that had easily handled puppies and rambunctious boys, the couch sat upon a lightly looped rug in shades of oatmeal, brown and taupe, the design reminding Brianna of Persian tiles. All the old heavy hand-me-down furniture her parents had inherited when they’d married had been updated to lighter pieces that made the rooms she passed through look larger.
“I love what you’ve done.”
“Caroline Harper talked me into taking a design class at Clearwater CC,” her mother revealed. “You know she studied at the South Carolina School of Art and Design.”
“I remember hearing that.”
“Well, she says that I have a natural talent I owe to it to myself to pursue. And I’ll have to admit that I’ve always enjoyed puttering around the projects on the house. It’s mostly online, with a weekly Saturday morning in the classroom. I’ll be retiring after this school year, and since so many friends have asked me to help them with their decorating, I thought I’d try hanging out a shingle.”
For as long as Brianna could remember her mother had taken classes at the local community college, covering a range of topics from archeology to art history. All while working as an English teacher at Honeymoon Harbor High School (taking extra summer courses at UW as she worked her way up to principal), running a lot of the farm business, planning the Christmas tree seasonal celebration and raising five children. Why would anyone have expected her to sit home and knit once she retired?
“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Brianna followed her mother into the kitchen and watched as she took a platter of breaded chicken from the wide Sub-Zero refrigerator and turned on the six-burner gas range. When Brianna had been younger, there had been one refrigerator in the kitchen and two additional ones out in the garage in order to keep enough food on hand to feed all the growing Mannion boys. Despite her mother’s protests, Burke had insisted on using a portion of his NFL signing bonus to remodel the kitchen.
“I’ve worked at some hotels that paid big bucks for designers who didn’t do half as good a job as you could have.” Brianna was grateful her mother had never taken her up on an offer to visit the Midas. Although a part of her had wanted to show off how far she’d come, she’d also been concerned that the amount of gilding might have put her into cardiac arrest before she’d gotten across the lobby.
“Seth told me his parents are separated. Are you and Caroline going into business together?”
“Oh, no. She’s hoping to travel. If she can talk Ben into retiring. I was there the night they met and remember how hard he fell for her. I hope they work things out.”
“I hope so, too.” Personally, now that she was home again, Brianna would be happy to stay right here in Honeymoon Harbor forever. On the other hand, except for a short trip to Disneyland, she couldn’t remember Seth’s family ever going anywhere, so she suspected Ben Harper wasn’t all that big on the traveling plan. “Can I help?”
“No, everything’s done but the chicken. I wanted to wait to begin cooking it until you arrived.” She took out another platter and a bottle of wine. “You can pour us both a glass.”
“Sure.” The wine, which she recognized as a very good label, was from one of the Oregon wineries going to screw tops. She twisted it open and poured it into the glasses she retrieved from the open shelves. “Will Dad want one?”
“No. He’ll be having one of Quinn’s beers. The Jack Sparrow Rum Ale won a medal at a national craft brewery competition last month.” She said it with the same pride she’d always shown for her children’s accomplishments. And her students’. Although there had been times growing up when it hadn’t been easy having your mother as school principal, Brianna couldn’t think of anyone more suited to the job.
“I’ll admit I was surprised when I heard about Quinn making such a drastic career change.”
“He’s happy as a clam.” Oil sizzled as the chicken thighs and drumsticks entered the pan. “Confidentially, although I never said anything, because your lives were your own business, I always suspected of all my children, you and he would be the ones of my chicks who’d return home. But I suppose, if I’d given a great deal of thought to it, I would have expected him to set up a small-town law practice.”
“I guess he wasn’t into property disputes, divorces and defending teenage mailbox bashers, which is pretty much what legal life exists of here.”
“As ideal as it may seem from the outside, like any other community it has its problems. I see students who’re obviously not getting enough to eat. And others who are taken from unstable homes due to neglect or abuse. And although it’s less common than the larger cities, there’s a fair amount of bullying.”
“Which has always occurred,” Brianna said, thinking back on Jolene Wells, a girl in her class who’d earned an undeserved reputation only because she’d grown up in a trailer outside of town with an alcoholic dad who’d been convicted of theft and a mother who was rumored to be a prostitute. Although Jolene hadn’t been one of Brianna’s closet friends, they were friendly, and once Gloria Wells, Jolene’s beautician mom, had insisted on giving her a free cut and blow-dry after she’d invited Jolene to her fifteenth birthday party.
Being that the Mannions were unofficially Honeymoon Harbor’s first family, that had shut down the gossip. For a time. She’d heard Jolene, who’d left town before high school graduation, was living in LA, doing makeup for movie stars. Which was yet more proof that you could probably never predict anyone’s future.
“Well, at any rate, it’s cool my brother’s going back to the family’s roots.”
“You talking about me?” Brianna spun around at the sound of the deep voice, her face breaking into a huge smile as she viewed her older brother standing in the doorway, a suitcase under his arm.
“We were,” she said.
“All complimentary,” their mother assured him.
“That’s good to hear.” He shot Brianna a look. “Why don’t you come up and see what Mom’s done to your room?” he suggested in a mild tone that didn’t fool her for a minute. While everyone might consider Quinn the easiest-going of the Mannion brothers, he was also the best at getting you to talk about things you’d rather not. Which undoubtedly had made him an excellent lawyer and probably served him well when he was working behind the bar of his brewpub.
“So,” she said brightly as they headed up stairs lined with photos of first communions, school photos, graduations, sports, Christmas festivals and all the other family events that she’d never properly appreciated while they were happening. “Mom tells me your new beer is winning medals.”
“No point in doing something if you don’t do your best. Can I take from all that stuff you’ve got crammed into that shiny red car that you’re not here for a short stay?”
“Aiden’s supposed to be the interrogator in the family,” she complained. Her brother, a former Marine, was, the last she’d heard, an undercover cop in Los Angeles. “Especially now that you’ve given up cross-examining people for a living.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t still enjoy it from time to time. And you’re dodging the question.”
“Okay.” She blew out a breath. “I wanted to talk to you alone anyway. About my plans.”
She stopped in the doorway. The honey pine furniture was still there, but the walls had gone from the pink-and-white-striped wallpaper that had been on the walls since her freshman year of high school to the blue-green color of beach glass. The crazy Leonardo DiCaprio, Luke Perry and NSYNC collage that had taken up an entire wall behind the bed had been replaced with an oversize scenic photo of the Sequim lavender farms overtop an eggshell-color shiplap. The bedding was no longer a riot of colorful flowers, but an inviting mix of white, ivory and cream.
“Oh, wow. I am so stealing this idea for one
of my rooms,” she said, more to herself than her brother. It was the perfect retreat, giving off a calming aura that would encourage guests to relax as soon as they walked in the door.
“Your rooms?” He put the suitcases down on the wide-planked wood floor.
“That’s what I wanted to talk about. But first, I have a question. Was it hard moving back home?”
“Not at all.” He arched a brow and gave her that same stern big-brother look he’d shot her back when she’d been fifteen and he’d caught her climbing up the apple tree to her bedroom window. She’d been coming home from a party she and Kylee sneaked out to at a sprawling waterfront house. The rich boy who lived there had put out the word that he was throwing a bash while his parents were away in Hawaii. Fortunately, they’d decided to leave before the police showed up after a noise complaint, so she’d gotten busted only by her brother. At eighteen, Quinn had pretty much been allowed to come and go as he wanted. “Is that what you’re doing? Coming home?”
“Yep.” Each time she said the plan out loud, it sounded more real. And after going through the house, both exciting and a bit daunting. Okay, more than a bit. A lot. “I’m buying Herons Landing. And turning it into a B and B.”
“Huh.” He rubbed his jaw as he considered that idea. “You may want to talk to Seth Harper about that.”
“I already have. He showed me through the house before I came here.”
“You don’t waste any time.”
“Seeing him wasn’t planned. I spotted Kylee and Mai at the park and stopped to talk with them, and he drove by. When Kylee spilled the beans, he agreed to give me a tour.”
“Did he mention that two other owners gave up on the place?”
“Well, the first ones were arrested, so I’m not sure they gave up by choice,” she said. “And it’s possible the ghost scared off the other.”
Quinn literally rolled his eyes. “Yeah. That’s undoubtedly the reason.”
“Skeptic.” She conveniently ignored the fact that she didn’t believe in the ghost, either. Though the supposedly widowed fisherman’s wife could be an attractive marketing aspect. She’d have to give that some thought. “Anyway, as you already know, he’s done amazing things to the exterior.”