by Donna Alward
The waitress came and served Abby’s meal. The smell was enough to make her nearly wilt with pleasure. With a smile the woman turned to Tom. “You want a pint of the usual, Tom? Something to eat?”
“I ate at Bryce’s, thanks, Tanya. But a pint would be good.”
So much for getting rid of him, then.
Abby poured a little of her dressing over her salad and speared a circle of cucumber. “I hope you don’t mind if I eat. I’m starving.”
“Feel free.”
She was self-conscious eating in front of him, wondering if he could hear every chew and swallow, but refused to let him take away her enjoyment of the food.
She washed down the cucumber with her rum and ginger and put down her fork. “Tom … may I call you Tom?” At his short nod she continued. “I’m not going to unload the house on an impulse or because someone pressures me.” Tanya came back and served his beer and slipped away again. Abby cleared her throat. “I’m spending the next few weeks evaluating, and that’s all. I’ll be talking to my lawyer and looking at my options, which may include contractors. I’m sure you’re not the only game in town, and I intend to cover all my bases.” She looked squarely into his eyes. “I feel like you’ve ambushed me twice today. It’s not exactly doing you any favors.”
He took a long drink of his beer and put it down on the table. “Since we’re moving to a first-name basis … Abigail.” He sighed. “Look, maybe I seem a little pushy—”
“A little?” She raised her eyebrows, challenging. “You barged into my house an hour after I arrived and now you’ve interrupted my dinner.”
His lips curved. “Okay, a lot pushy. The truth is, I have a thing for old houses and the one you’ve inherited is a doozy. It was and still is a landmark and just needs some TLC. It’s no more complicated than that. The idea of restoring a house like that is a dream come true for a guy like me.”
He was being completely honest. She could read it in his gaze and the passion in his voice. Why couldn’t he have said that earlier? Knowing he had a personal stake in it rather than simply seeing dollar signs softened her a bit.
“All right. I’ll consider your offer. After looking into all my options, of course.”
He turned his glass in a circle on the tabletop, leaving a wet ring. “Thank you,” he conceded. “It’s just that the house is a real treasure. It deserves to finally be looked after. If you don’t want to do it, I’d like to. There’s so much history there, it would be a shame for it to disappear or be covered up.”
“If it’s got such historical significance, maybe it should be a museum.”
His eyes widened. “The town tried to convince Marian to sell it to them for years. She always said no. Said it was supposed to stay in the family.” He looked away. “Or so the story goes.”
The last sip of her drink soured in her mouth. “In the family? That’s odd, considering we never met when she was alive. Family couldn’t have been too important.” She felt tension build at the base of her neck. So the town had pestered Marian. They’d probably approach her, too. She should be prepared for that.
“Maybe she wanted to make up for that by leaving you the estate.”
“It’s not like I can exactly ask her, can I?” Abby replied bitterly. There’d been ample time for Marian to connect with Iris or even Abby, but she never had. Not once. The idea of selling it outright and being well shot of it had a certain allure. “Look, as I said, I’ll consider your offer. I can’t promise more than that.”
“That’s all I ask.” He sat back in his chair and she examined his face once again. Did he really have to be so good-looking? It wasn’t fair. Maybe it made her shallow but it was harder to say no to a man like Tom than it would be if he were short, fat, and balding.
But it was more than just good looks with Tom. He was so sure of himself, so confident in his abilities. She envied him his self-assurance. It came naturally to him, while she had to work at it every day.
She cut into the rest of her sandwich with vigor, Tom be damned. She was hungry and she was tired and she was starting to come around to his way of thinking and didn’t want to. If she hired him—and it was a big if—he would be at the house all the time. She would see him on a regular basis. She would be tied to him for weeks. And while the idea of being tied to someone like him was attractive, in reality it would be trouble. He was interested in her house and that was all.
And wasn’t that a laugh. Someone was interested in her for her money when all her life she’d barely had two pennies to rub together. It was why she had to keep a clear and logical head about this whole thing.
“What do you do, Abby? For a job, I mean?”
She finished the last crumb of French bread and pushed her plate aside, feeling ridiculously giddy that he’d called her Abby instead of Abigail or Miss Foster. “I’m a teacher. Kindergarten and grade one.”
His smile widened and his eyes gleamed. “Of course you are.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you look like a teacher. Sound like one, too.” He tapped the rim of his glass. “Do you read?”
She smiled then. “I would hope so. Being a teacher and all.”
His lips twitched. “I mean for pleasure.”
“Constantly.” The admission came quickly. Reading took her away from reality. Taught her new things and took her places she could only dream of. As a kid she’d always had her nose in a book.
“What did you think of the library?”
“It’s amazing. Every wall is lined with books. They really need to be evaluated and that’s beyond my expertise. I should have a friend of mine from Halifax come over. Even without the books, there are all those solid mahogany cases and the old silk settee and there’s one particular pie-crust table that caught my eye.”
She realized she’d gotten slightly carried away.
“So now you understand,” he said softly. “The house is to me what the library is to you.”
“Old and dirty?” She tried to make a joke but it fell flat, because his words rang true and they both knew it. He’d known exactly where to hit her for maximum impact.
She was still planning on putting it on the market, but she understood the draw. There was something special about that library that called to her. It felt like … home. Damn him for playing on her emotions.
Loud voices came from the bar area and Tom’s brows pulled together in a frown. When Abby turned around, she saw the waitress arguing with the man who’d been playing darts. “You’re cut off, Rick. Sorry.”
Rick’s reply was succinct and made Abby’s ears burn. “Friend of yours?” she asked quietly.
“You could say that.” He sighed. “Rick Sullivan. I grew up with him. He hasn’t been the same since coming back from … well, wherever he was deployed. No one’s said.” He finished off his beer and stood. “Maybe I’ve given you something to think about, anyway. And Abby?” He paused by her chair. “Don’t forget to enjoy yourself a bit while you’re in town. Do some shopping. Go out for a sail. See what the town has to offer. You might end up liking what you see.” He put his hand on her shoulder as he passed by. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she murmured, her pulse hammering from the innocent touch. His assessment that she looked like a schoolteacher had stung and there had been none of the longing looks tonight that a girl knew meant a guy was interested. But it didn’t stop the warmth that went through her at the feel of his fingers on her shoulder. Or the way his last words had been absent of any hostility or sarcasm. It had been a genuine invitation, a welcome to the town. An invitation she was almost inclined to accept.
She turned in her seat, watching him approach Rick, his size blocking the other man from view for a few seconds. She couldn’t hear what they said, but a minute later they went up to the bar. Tom pulled some bills from his wallet and squared away the tab, and then they left together, Tom walking behind while Rick weaved his way to the door. He was a good friend, helping this Rick guy when it would have
been just as easy to mind his own business.
A few minutes later Abby motioned for the waitress to bring the bill. Tanya came to the table to clear the dishes, but surprised Abby by saying, “Tom looked after your dinner and said to tell you welcome to town.”
“He did what?” She hadn’t expected that. And she might have thought he was trying to buy his way into her good graces but she got the impression that despite their rocky beginnings Tom had more integrity than that. It was a nice gesture.
“You’re the one that’s inherited the old Foster place, right?”
“That’s me.” She put on a thin smile.
“Big job sorting it out, I expect. Especially seeing as how it’s been empty for so long.” The woman patted Abby’s hand—what was it with all the physical touching around here anyway? “You should head over to Breezes someday for breakfast,” Tanya chattered on. “The old-timers over there will fill your ears about how that house is full of ghosts.” She departed with a friendly smile.
Abby picked up her purse and sighed. Ghosts? She shook her head. Just one more thing she didn’t need right now.
CHAPTER 5
Abby took Tanya’s advice and headed over to Breezes Café at nine the next morning, searching out breakfast and a Wi-Fi connection to do some research. Morning light poured through the wide windows, casting a cheery glow on the patrons. A local radio station played in the background. More than one person entered and was offered a wave and was called by name. If Abby was looking for Jewell Cove Headquarters, it appeared the café was it.
Once she’d ordered a bowl of oatmeal and a coffee, she booted up her netbook and opened her browser. With a sinking heart she realized Tom was annoyingly right. She ate rather absently as she went through the list of contractors in the area and the reviews for each one. At least on paper, he was the best around. Only one other company came close to impressing her, but when she gave them a quick call to see if they could provide her with a quote, she was told that they could maybe slot her in around October.
Tom had her over a barrel and, what was even more aggravating, he knew it. It was either hire him or sell it to him.
She was browsing through Tom’s site, looking at refurbishment pictures, when someone cleared their throat beside her table. “Excuse me, Miss Foster?”
The man was probably in his early fifties, with a rough complexion that spoke of years spent in the wind and sun. His thinning hair was an interesting blend of gray and blond—what she thought might have been quite attractive at one point but had since been salt-bleached by the sea.
“I’m Abigail Foster.” She held out her hand.
He shook it and his palm was rough. “Luke Pratt. I’m the mayor of Jewell Cove.”
This man was the mayor? He looked like he’d just stepped off a fishing vessel.
“Won’t you sit down?” she offered, pushing her nearly empty bowl aside.
“Thanks.” He slid into the booth across from her and smiled. “How are you liking our town?”
She gave the only answer possible. “It’s lovely. Small and friendly. Everyone seems to know who I am already.” It was a bit of a backhanded compliment, she admitted to herself. A little anonymity would have been nice. But Pratt only smiled widely at her.
“And the house? It’s a right beauty, isn’t it?”
Was there a right or wrong answer to this question, too? “It’s definitely something. A little worse for wear.” She gave him a small wink. “A diamond in the rough, perhaps.”
His florid complexion seemed to redden even more. “That’s a fine way to put it,” he agreed. “Your great-aunt Marian took a lot of pride in her place until she got sick. It’s a shame that it’s fallen into disrepair.”
Abby suddenly remembered what Tom had said about the town pressuring Marian to turn the house into a museum. Was that the reason for the warm welcome this morning?
“I’m sure it’s nothing that some paint and elbow grease can’t fix.” She lifted her chin a touch. “It was built to last, just like the Fosters, wouldn’t you agree?”
Why she felt the sudden surge of family pride, she didn’t know. But she met Luke Pratt’s gaze evenly.
A spark of admiration glinted in his eye. “I would. It was Jedediah Foster’s pride and joy—at least that’s what the records say.” A small smile touched his chapped lips. “We sea captains are made of sturdy stuff.”
“Fisherman turned mayor?” she asked politely, a bit charmed despite herself.
“Captain Luke Pratt, retired U.S. Navy,” he clarified. Was it just her, or had his shoulders straightened ever so slightly when he said it? “So Miss Foster, what are your plans for the house?”
Niceties out of the way, she affected a nonchalant shrug. “I haven’t decided yet. I only just arrived yesterday.”
“That’s good news.”
“It is?”
He rested his hands on the edge of the table. “Why settle on something so soon when there are options to consider?”
“And you’re going to tell me about one of those options, naturally,” she responded, curling her fingers around her coffee cup.
“Have you been inside the house?”
“Of course.”
“Then you know how much history is there. The house is important to this town—as a landmark and a testament to the long history here. It would be perfect as a museum. Both to preserve the history and, of course, as a tourist draw to our town.”
“Didn’t you approach my great-aunt about this years ago?”
He sat back. Abby mentally thanked Tom for the heads-up; this certainly wasn’t due to any communication on Marian’s part but Mr. Pratt didn’t know that. Without intending to, Tom had given her the upper hand. Or at least helped her level the playing field.
“Well, yes. Not me personally, of course. But previous councils…”
“And her answer was always no.”
“She might have said something about the house remaining in family hands.”
Abby kept hearing that and it puzzled her each time.
He cleared his throat. “What we’re proposing isn’t to buy the property from you. It would still remain yours—just like Marian wanted. But we’d propose renting it from you. In keeping with Foster tradition, we would ensure that the articles inside were family pieces and not random articles brought in as indicative of the period. It would, in all ways, remain Foster House.” He smiled. “Or as the locals know it, the House on Blackberry Hill.”
There was that name again. “And would you be paying for the renovations needed to make it happen?”
He paused.
“Of course not.” She answered her own question. “You want me to pay to fix it up and then hand it over to you, am I right?”
“We would be paying rent,” he insisted. “The historical significance alone—”
“Which I appreciate,” she relented. “Tell me, Mr. Pratt. Sentimentality aside, why didn’t you just offer to buy the house?”
Sharp blue eyes met hers. “The town can’t afford to buy it outright.”
“Which is no surprise,” she said. She admired his forthright manner, admired how he’d approached her today, even though she was starting to feel ambushed at every turn.
Then again, if Mayor Pratt looked like Tom this conversation might have gone very differently. She couldn’t ignore the fact that last night their banter had felt the tiniest bit like flirting.
“I just arrived in town, Mr. Pratt, and I don’t even know what needs to be done to the house. It would be premature to say I know what I’m going to do because there are too many unknowns.” The man didn’t need to know that she still figured selling it was the best idea. “But I’ll keep your proposal in mind.”
He nodded. “That’s all I can ask,” he said kindly. “I hope I didn’t overstep by approaching you so soon…”
“Don’t apologize. You were clear and to the point. That’s refreshing.”
Pratt slid out of the booth and held out his
hand. Abby got up too and shook it. He gave her fingers a friendly squeeze. “You’re quite like your Aunt Marian, you know. Not so much in looks, but you’ve got her backbone.”
The way Abby was feeling about Marian’s lack of contact with Iris’s side of the family, she wasn’t sure if she should take that as a compliment or an insult. She decided compliment, because it had clearly been meant that way.
“Thank you, Mr. Pratt. I’m sure we’ll speak again.”
He nodded and waved at a few locals as he left the coffee shop. Abby sat back down as the waitress came back to warm up her coffee. She wondered how Pratt had known to find her here. She could sense several pairs of eyes on her and tried to ignore the conspicuous feeling that crawled over her skin. No doubt someone had tipped him off and he’d hustled over here from the town hall or wherever the mayor’s office was.
She looked back at the website she’d been browsing—Tom’s—and knew she really didn’t have a choice. Keep it, sell it, rent it to Jewell Cove—it had to be renovated before any option was viable.
With a sinking heart, she realized she was going to have to call Tom Arseneault.
* * *
Tom rested his hand on the railing of the deck overlooking the quiet cove as he waited for his burger to finish grilling. Other than the occasional car passing, there was no sound except the quiet lapping of water on the pebbled beach below. On a soft spring night like tonight, he was one hundred percent satisfied that he’d made the right decision, moving here. The cozy cottage was nestled in the trees and a grassy slope led down to the calm waters of Fiddler’s Rock.
Josh was coming home to stay. Tom had been thinking about that a good deal since hearing the news. He didn’t have a good feeling about this picnic his mother and cousins were planning. He agreed that he and Josh had to find a way to coexist. Jewell Cove was not a big town. They had the same family, a lot of the same friends. But throwing them together at some big welcome-home gathering might just blow up in everyone’s faces.
He’d skip the whole thing if he could, except he knew someone would come out here and drag him if he tried it. The only thing to do was show up for a little while and try to stay out of Josh’s way. Keep on the down low.