Ian grabbed for his coffee, feeling as though a tornado had just ripped through the building. But he felt himself smiling. Peggy could charm the rings off a raccoon. In the booth across from him, Commander Neil Bruce, decorated war veteran and Stony Point’s official VFW representative, raised one bushy eyebrow knowingly and gave a half salute. Martha, his diminutive wife, mouthed a “Good morning, Mayor” and daubed her lips with her napkin.
Peggy returned, dropped the Saturday special on his place mat, and slid in beside him. “Speaking of summer people, I suppose you’ve heard about Annie’s surprise tourist,” she said in a hushed aside.
When she seemed ready to fly off again, Ian stayed her hand. “Surprise tourist?”
“A girl whose mother recently died. She’s kind of lost, and she just turned up at Grey Gables. She practically fainted on Annie’s doorstep. Annie brought her to A Stitch in Time for the Hook and Needle Club meeting on Tuesday. She’s really sweet looking, but skinny as a knitting needle. Disgusting is what it is. Bet she never gains an ounce!” She recaptured her hand and gave him a little wave. “Gotta run, but hey, there’s Annie. You can ask her all about it.”
Annie breezed in, wearing something pink and stunning. She gave the crowded diner a roaming glance with those incredible green eyes and caught his glance. He suppressed the urge to smooth his hair as she came toward him.
She’d had that effect on him the minute he’d met her, when she’d first come to Stony Point to make arrangements for her grandmother’s estate. He couldn’t be happier that she’d decided to stay. He was glad they were friends, but was it disloyal to Arianna—especially on her birthday—to feel his heart beat a bit faster at the sight of Annie Dawson?
Annie too had lost someone special to her. She’d talked often enough about Wayne and her life in Texas. She was alone like him, but at least she had a daughter and grandchildren, though looking at her, one would never suspect she was old enough to be a grandmother.
And Ian succumbed. Standing, he pressed a hand across the crown of his head. Not the time for a stubborn cowlick. “Annie, would you join me?”
“Ian, hi!” A pleasant flowery fragrance lingered as she breezed past him into the booth. “I had some errands to run in town this morning, and all of a sudden, a hankering for a cheese danish came over me. I see you’re having the potato scramble. Looks good.”
“A Saturday indulgence,” he said ruefully. “And how are things at Grey Gables?”
“Good. Really good,” she said. “I’m thinking about getting Wally to do something with the pantry shelves. The kitchen cabinets he refinished are beautiful, and I’d like to get everything up to the same standard.”
Lisa, a waitress with a pert blonde ponytail, took Annie’s order in the absence of Peggy who was serving a large party of tourists. Annie ordered tea and the danish without consulting the menu. “Milk please, no lemon,” she told Lisa with a smile.
“It is really great to have you back, Annie.” Ian had worried she might have enjoyed her family so much during the winter that she’d change her mind about coming back to Grey Gables. He’d been relieved when he learned that she’d decided to turn her Texas home into a sort of retreat for returning missionaries. It was like her to do something like that. But sometimes he worried that her enthusiasm to embrace the world made her vulnerable.
“It’s good to be back,” she said. “I’m looking forward to bringing LeeAnn and the kids back to Stony Point. They love it here.” She smiled and glanced away briefly, as though embarrassed by something.
“Well, apparently the word’s getting out about our fair city. I’ve never seen so many tourists.” He paused as Lisa set a pot of tea and the pastry in front of Annie. Ian cleared his throat. “Speaking of tourists, I heard you have a guest at Grey Gables. Are you running a bed and breakfast now?” he asked with a grin.
She raised a delicate eyebrow. “Word gets around.”
“That’s our community. We’re nothing if not close-knit,” he said drily. “I thought you’d like that description, being a member of the Hook and Needle Club.”
“Droll. Very droll. I’m not a knitter, but I guess ‘close-crochet’ doesn’t have the same ring.” She grinned and stirred her tea thoughtfully. “I do have a guest,” she began slowly. She broke off a small piece of danish and considered it before putting it into her mouth. “Her name’s Tara Frasier. She’s a young woman who’s had a pretty rough time and recently lost her mother. When she was going through some things in her mother’s Portland apartment she found some letters. They were from Gram. Tara came to Stony Point to thank her for befriending her mother.” Annie paused and studied the remaining pastry on her plate.
“Well, did you know her mother at all?”
“No. The letters were recent, but I gather that Tara’s mother visited Stony Point as a young woman. She was just fifty when she passed away. Tara’s pretty curious about her mother’s life. I think there’s a bit of guilt there too, for whatever reason. When someone dies, you always think of the things you didn’t do—and the things you did but wished you hadn’t.” She paused, frowning. “Did you know a Claire Andrews, Ian?”
Ian turned the name over in his mind but came up empty. “Claire Andrews,” he repeated thoughtfully. “No. Doesn’t ring any bells.” He searched her face, as though the information might be written there. “How long does your guest plan to stick around?”
“Not sure,” Annie said. “She lost her job. She worked for some sign company in Portland that was downsizing. She said something about staying through the summer.”
“At Grey Gables?” Ian asked, surprised.
“Well, she’s quick to say she won’t impose. She’s looking for a place in town, but she doesn’t have any money, and I have the room.”
He wanted to say she was asking for trouble taking in a stranger, and that he didn’t want her getting hurt. But he knew Annie would balk at that. She’d put herself out on a limb before and nearly fell off. The truth was he’d cut off his own arm before he’d let her get hurt, but he couldn’t tell her that either. “So you think she wants to stick around just to dredge up memories of her mom?” It sounded harsh, he realized. He gave an apologetic shrug. “Doesn’t she have a family or ties somewhere to get back to?”
“She has no family, and as I mentioned, no job. But she’s eager to get work, even part time, here in Stony Point for the summer. She wants to pay her way, Ian. Don’t be so suspicious!” A twinkle in her eye gentled the criticism.
“Just looking out for our fair city, Annie … and for you.” He touched her arm lightly, and then drew his hand back. She said nothing to this, but a little pink spot appeared in her cheek. Ian could feel the heat rising in his own. Clearly, she was becoming more important than was comfortable—perhaps for either of them.
“I saw an ad in The Point for help at Carla’s,” she said. “Tara likes animals. I was thinking that might be something she could do.” Annie gave Ian an inquiring look.
He let his breath out slowly. The flinty woman had earned the nickname by which she’d come to be known. “I’m afraid Carla Callous might be a harder taskmaster than your guest bargains for. This Tara sounds … what’s the word? Fragile?”
“It’s true that she’s not the picture of health, but she may have more stamina than we know. It’s worth a try.” She took a sip of tea and asked, “What do you know about Carla, Ian?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. She came here four years ago and bought the old Bergner place. Paid cash on the barrelhead. She fixed up a couple of the outbuildings, built a raft of pens and fences, and began taking in stray animals. Came with one or two of her own too, I think. Good thing the area is zoned for farming with all that barking and screeching going on. Still, on a quiet day, I’ll bet you can hear the ruckus from your place.”
Ian paused, distracted by the sound of Peggy’s laughter. From the corner of his eye he saw her chatting with a dark-haired man at the coffee bar. He turned back to Annie. “I do know sh
e can’t keep good help. She has a mouth on her that could make a porcupine blush.”
“Hmm,” Annie said, her brows knitting together. “People who act like they hate the world usually have some deep hurt in their lives.”
It was the kind of comment he’d come to expect from her and he recalled his earlier thought about Annie’s tendency to embrace the world. “Everyone deserves a second chance,” she’d said when Harry Stevens had gotten into trouble over his grandfather’s medals. Ian leaned back against the booth. “She’s poured a lot of money into those strays of hers. Someone dumps Fido or Calico on her doorstep in the night, and she takes it in. She’s gathered quite a menagerie.”
“No wonder she needs a bit of help, Ian. You know, the Hook and Needle Club is going to donate proceeds from its next festival for the shelter.”
“Don’t expect a hearty thank-you from Carla Callous,” Ian said.
“That’s what Stella said.” Annie pursed her lips; her eyes softened. “But you’ve got to admit, we owe her something for what she’s doing for the community. Even if it’s not the community she really cares about. And of course, we don’t know what’s in her mind, do we? We don’t know what she cares about.”
“We don’t,” Ian admitted. He paused briefly. “I should add she’s not running a full-fledged city shelter. She doesn’t have a license or anything yet, though she’s working on it. I hear, however, that she’s a qualified veterinarian.”
“Have you taken Tartan there?”
“Uh—no,” Ian said flatly. He’d become more than fond of his patient, sweet-tempered schnauzer with his distinctively bearded snout. “No need to terrify the poor old guy!”
He liked the musical sound of her quick and spontaneous laughter. “Seriously, you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,” Annie said. “I think I’ll drive Tara out there to meet Carla. Can’t hurt.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Ian said with mock seriousness. Then with true seriousness, he said, “Good luck with your mystery tourist, but if you need anything—moral support or anything else, call me.”
“I can always depend on you,” she said, still with a touch of humor, and he hoped, warmth.
“Promise?”
“Promise,” she affirmed.
Ian glanced over to see that Peggy was still engaged in conversation with the guy at the bar. He was a tall, well-built man with hair that hedged his shirt collar. A shiny black lock of hair crept over one eyebrow in the rugged, romantic sort of way he imagined women liked. What little he saw of the face revealed the profile of a man in his late thirties. Ian didn’t recognize the man.
As though the stranger had known he was being studied, he abruptly rose, and without turning to reveal his identity, left the diner, but not before placing a generous tip on the counter and exposing a slow-eyed wink in Peggy’s direction.
“So, are you going to say goodbye?”
Annie’s question jarred Ian. How could he have let one bold stranger distract his attention from her? Not a fair trade at all. “What?” he said distractedly. She had hooked her purse over one delicate shoulder, preparing to leave. “Oh I’m sorry, Annie. I guess I was thinking about something else.” He snatched his check and hers, and stood up.
“Oh, you don’t need to …” she began, reaching for her check.
“Want to,” he said firmly but with a smile he felt down to his feet. “Let me know how your mystery girl gets on with Carla …”
“Calloway,” Annie finished for him, giving him a level look, quickly followed by the laugh he had grown to like so much.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said in a tone meant to prove he had been effectively chastised.
9
“Ouch!” Carla snatched her hand away from the owl’s sharp little beak, dropping the fistful of grasshoppers she had brought as breakfast. She hadn’t been foolish enough to open the cage door with her bare hands, but Gomer had pierced the flesh on her wrist between the glove and her flannel shirt.
She’d found the barred owl behind one of the sheds, its tibia broken and the toes of one foot badly mangled. In its search for prey the bird had likely been attacked and become prey himself. It was no easy task to affect a rescue. She’d thrown her wool sweater over it to keep it warm, knowing it was likely to be traumatized by the action. Wild creatures often died from shock rather than from their injuries. But the bird had survived. Soon she might be able to release it back into the wild.
Slightly smaller than a great horned owl with no ear tufts, Gomer was brownish in color with broad streaking on its breast. Hence the name barred owl. Its length was about twenty inches and its wingspan about forty inches. She’d named it Gomer for no reason she knew, except that he looked like a Gomer. She pressed the napkin against the sore spot where he’d nipped her and glared into the bird’s round face.
“I know you prefer field mice, but talk about biting the hand that feeds you!” She spat the words out, surprised by the level of dismay the creature had evoked. Most of the animals she tended expressed their appreciation for the care she gave them. Of course, they were in large part abandoned domestic animals that people had simply grown tired of.
“You OK?” Vanessa had come in just as Gomer had struck.
“Blamed bird bit me!” she fumed. She pressed a Dunkin’ Donuts napkin to her wrist. “Why aren’t you out cleaning the cages like I told you to?”
“I finished them,” the girl said quietly without looking up. Her drape of dark hair fell over her forehead as she edged toward the door. “I was just going to wash my hands.”
“Well, get me a bandage from the back while you’re at it. And hurry before I bleed to death!”
Carla turned her back to the teenager who had proved to be her best volunteer yet. She’d had a string of them. Most got tired of the hard work involved in handling shelter animals. They quickly got over being charmed by sweet little puppies and kittens, and left her in a lurch.
Vanessa Stevens worked hard and never made excuses for not coming in. She wasn’t lippy either. Not like most kids these days, Carla thought. She bit the inside of her lip, sorry for her outburst. She’d better watch herself if she wanted to keep the girl around. But she had to find a way to get more of the animals adopted. What she really needed was someone with computer skills. She needed a website to help find people willing to adopt her ever-growing menagerie. With her reputation around Stony Point, would anyone answer her ad?
“It’s a wonder anyone hangs around the way you badger them.” Ian Butler had minced no words when he’d stopped by recently. He’d welcomed her when she’d moved into the area and even facilitated her land-grant deal. He didn’t come around much, but she knew he kept an eye on her, like he did anything that had to do with his beloved Stony Point.
“I’m not running a personality contest here, Mr. Mayor,” she’d spouted back. “I’m just trying to help the animals your good people leave on my doorstep anytime they get tired of them.”
She knew abandoned animals didn’t always come from Stony Point’s citizens; more likely they were castoffs from summer visitors or area strays. And she knew he was secretly glad the animals were being taken care of. He hadn’t flung a bunch of rules about licensing and such in her face. He’d been very patient.
Mayor Butler had pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at her. “Nobody’s holding a club over your head, madam. It’s your land.”
“You’ve got that right!” she had huffed and left the handsome mayor standing in the driveway of the country acreage she’d purchased with the last of the Henderson trust fund.
Carla sat down heavily at the makeshift desk with its scattered papers. She kept a log on every animal she took in, and it surprised her now to see how the pile of paper had grown—and how her resources had dwindled. When Vanessa told her she was part of a needlework club and that the group was going to raise funds for the shelter, she’d been even more surprised. What was behind their generosity? People always had ulterior motives.
/> She’d never intended to come back here, of all places. As a child she’d been taken to a lot of resort towns and dragged to places she didn’t want to go. Mostly she was left on her own or with one of the nannies charged with her care and keeping. Stony Point was just another vacation spot for her wealthy family, but here her life had begun. And ended! After that terrible summer, she dreaded even the sound of its name. So what was she doing here? Was it a kind of self-flagellation? Some twisted sense of impending fate? She shook her head against the memory.
When she left home after her degree from William & Mary, she wasn’t sure anyone even noticed. Her father spent most of his time amassing a fortune, and her mother, obsessed with her societies and clubs, found little time for child rearing. What was the point of thinking about it now? They were both gone, her father at the tender age of 55 and her mother ten years later of lung cancer. Carla had been a young woman when they passed away, but she’d felt like an orphan long before their deaths. She fingered her sore wrist.
So what is this, she asked the wary-eyed bird soundlessly, a private pity party? She laughed out loud at her thoughts. At the sound, the owl ruffled its feathers and opened its deadly little beak in alarm. What was it the poet Walt Whitman had threatened? To turn and live with animals? Yes, she recalled the lines from her brief sojourn in English literature. It was the same year she’d fallen in love with Ed. He might have joined her quest if he hadn’t been sidetracked by a face far prettier than hers and taken off for South America on a wildlife expedition. Likely, Edward Mellinger didn’t even remember her anymore.
“This big enough?” Vanessa returned with the bandage. The old chocolate lab with hip dysplasia loped awkwardly behind her. He’d been left at the far end of her property a few weeks before and seldom let her out of his sight. Poor old boy; he’d never be adopted, and he wouldn’t be around long. The dog nuzzled Carla with his wet nose.
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