Return to Magnolia Harbor

by Hope Ramsay

  “Look, whatever the reason, I’m grateful you came back. You saved my life. Now I owe you an enormous debt,” he said.

  “I don’t want you to feel indebted to me.”

  Her answer was so irritating. Of course she didn’t want something like that. Who would? He pressed his lips together as they made their way to his towel. He collapsed onto it, grabbing his eye patch and pulling it over his head and into place before meeting her gaze. He was so pathetically vain.

  Jessica stood there before him, her T-shirt and khakis dripping onto the sand. She hugged herself and shivered. Her lips were turning blue, and his shame redoubled.

  He jumped up, his leg complaining as he put weight on it. “You’re cold,” he said, snagging the towel from the beach and shaking out the sand in one motion. He draped it around her shoulders, gripping the edges as he pulled her a fraction closer.

  He looked deeply into her eyes. Today they were the color of the bay—an angry gray. “I have this feeling, Jess, that you are here to annoy me for some higher purpose,” he said in a gruff voice, too many emotions too close to the surface.

  “Higher purpose?” she said in a shivery voice. Her bottom lip trembled, and he pulled the towel closer around her shoulders. He wanted to pull her into his arms and keep her warm.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “I think you’re good for me.”

  Her eyebrows reached for her hairline. “How? By daring you to climb the steps to the top of the lighthouse? God, I don’t like you very much, but I don’t want to be the reason you kill yourself.”

  He stepped back. “I wasn’t trying to—”

  “I know. You were just being stupid. Were you being stupid that time you told those stories about me? Or when the football team called me a slut in public? Because those stories hurt me. So, let’s be clear, I’m not here to save you or redeem you. I’m here to build you a house.”

  She stood there, the picture of a pissed-off woman, staring at him, water droplets trickling over her pale skin and spiking in her eyelashes. She was trembling, but whether from anger or cold he couldn’t tell.

  And he was utterly confused by what she’d just said.

  “What stories?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “The ones about me and Colton.”

  “What? I didn’t make up any stories. I—”

  His explanation was cut off when Cousin Sandra hollered from across the lawn. “Topher. Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done?”

  He looked up.

  Sandra flew across the lawn as quickly as her senior legs could carry her. And right behind came Karen in close pursuit. Ashley and Jackie, each loaded down with towels, followed at a slower pace. And behind this vanguard trailed assorted members of Ashley’s quilting group.

  “Topher, are you all right?” Sandra called. “Jackie came into the kitchen hollering about how you were drowning and Jessica was saving your life.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I had a cramp.”

  “Good God,” one of the women bringing up the rear said. “Jessica, how could you have risked your life that way? You should have called 911 or something. Don’t you realize that man could have taken you down with him?”

  Topher turned toward Jessica with a lifted eyebrow. It was true, what the woman said. In his momentary pain and panic, he had almost taken her down.

  “My grandmother,” she muttered. “She doesn’t think I’m terribly capable.”

  “She’s wrong about that.”

  He tore his gaze away from her and gave his cousins the best smile he could muster as they came flying down the stairs to the beach. He braced for impact as they showered him with hugs.

  * * *

  Granny descended upon Jessica like the supreme allied commander of the senior brigade. The old woman took the beach and issued multiple orders while the rest of the Piece Makers sprang into action.

  Several of the women took Topher off to Rose Cottage, while Granny and Aunt Donna wrapped her in towels and pulled her up the steps and across the lawn toward Howland House, following after Ashley.

  “Honestly, Jessica Ann,” Granny said. “I don’t know what you were thinking. You could have died out there. Don’t you have any sense at all?”

  Donna patted her back as they made their way through the rear door, up two flights of stairs, and into Ashley Scott’s bedroom on the top floor of the inn.

  “Get out of those wet things before you freeze to death,” Granny commanded.

  “Um…” Jessica looked from Granny to Donna to Ashley.

  “I’ve got something that should fit you,” Ashley said, opening one of her dresser drawers and pulling out a pair of basic gray sweatpants with the word “ARMY” written in black down one leg. A matching gray hoodie sweatshirt followed.

  “You’re dripping on the floor, Jessica,” Granny said. “Are you in shock or something? Get out of those clothes.”

  It never failed. Her grandmother always managed to make her feel small and stupid. She shucked off the towel and started pulling off her soaked T-shirt.

  “Um, why don’t we give her a little privacy,” Aunt Donna said, grabbing Granny by the arm and pulling her toward the door.

  Granny tried to evade Donna’s grasp, but Jessica’s aunt was having none of that. “I think we all know your thoughts on Jessica’s decision to save a drowning man, Barbara. Now, why don’t we go downstairs and have a slice of Ashley’s German chocolate cake? I’m sure Jessica can manage to change clothes without us.”

  “I don’t like German chocolate cake,” Granny said.

  But Donna had a height and weight advantage and muscled Granny from the room.

  When they were gone, Jessica turned toward Ashley. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Ashley laughed. “For what? Saving my cousin’s life? Honey, don’t let your grandmother get you down. Barbara is one of the sourest people I’ve ever met. I don’t think we’d ever be friends except that she was one of the original members of the Piece Makers, so…” She picked up the sweatpants and held them out. “There’s a bathroom down the hall.”

  Jessica took the clothes and headed toward a small bathroom tucked under the eaves. She closed the door, shucked out of her wet clothes, and toweled off.

  “So why were you here?” Ashley asked through the door. “I thought you presented your plans this morning.”

  “You knew about that?”

  “I saw you go into the cottage with a portfolio, and I know he’s hired you to design a house for him.”

  As Jessica pulled on sweatpants, the reality of the situation tumbled down on her. No way she was escaping the gossip this time. She may have rescued him, but she had no illusions that she’d end up the hero of this story. Granny would tell everyone what a fool she’d been to jump in the water to save him. Granny would also make sure that the entire community knew that she’d personally warned Jessica not to help Topher build his house because he wasn’t able to live on his own. Lord help Jess if Ashley ever found out that her thoughtless comment the other day had pushed Topher out into the bay to swim.

  A deep, familiar shame pooled inside her. She could see how all the blame would eventually end up on her shoulders. Because it always did.

  “What I’d like to know is why you came back this afternoon,” Ashley said.

  Jessica pulled the hoodie over her head and stared at her pale face in the bathroom mirror. Should she be honest?

  What else could she be? She truly believed in the scripture verse about the truth setting you free.

  “The truth is, we had a disagreement,” she said. “I came back to try to salvage the situation.”

  “Oh, well, arguing with Topher isn’t surprising. He’s been an ogre recently. What did you disagree about?”

  “My designs. I didn’t give him what he wanted.”

  “Also not a surprise.”

  Jessica opened the bathroom door. “Why do you say that?” Jessica asked.

  Ashley was leaning against the wall, her arms cros
sed over her breasts. She looked worried. “Topher wants something he can’t have.”

  “Oh?”

  “He wants to go back to when everything was easy. Back when we were kids, my uncle John, Topher’s grandfather, had big plans for a house out there on the island where all of us kids could sail and play and have fun. Topher wants to go back to that time, and who the hell wouldn’t? But childhood has come and gone, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Jessica said, even though she didn’t understand at all. Topher’s childhood sounded idyllic. Not at all like her own, where she’d been required to walk the straight and narrow, speak softly, and behave. But then she’d always known Topher was a spoiled brat.

  “Look, I know you mean well,” Ashley said in a kind voice. “But even Uncle John never dreamed about living alone on Lookout Island, and after what happened today, surely you can see why it would be foolish for Topher to live out there alone.”

  A wellspring of familiar guilt bubbled inside her. “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

  “So I’m pleading with you. If you walk away from this, I might just be able to convince him to give up this ridiculous idea.”

  It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Building out there would be difficult even if he knew what kind of house he wanted.

  And it was even worse than that, wasn’t it? Topher knew his quest was crazy. Hadn’t he asked her that question last week when they’d sailed out to the island?

  And she’d lied to him.

  She could walk away, and Ashley Scott might praise her. It might be wise to get on Ashley’s good side because she was a powerful woman in the community.

  But no. Acquiescing would be wrong.

  If Topher wanted to build a house, he should be able to build it any-darn-where he wanted to. It wasn’t anyone’s choice but his. And maybe swimming was a good thing for him. Maybe he’d get stronger. Maybe he would be able to climb to the top of the lighthouse one more time.

  Or she’d just put a GD elevator in the thing so he could go up there and brood, if that’s what he wanted to do.

  She met Ashley’s intense and worried gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I do understand. But I’m not going to walk away from this project. If Topher wants a house, he should have one.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jessica took the long way back to her car, through the Howland House rose garden, intent on swinging by the cottage to tell Topher that she was ready to try again and capture what he wanted in a house.

  But her client seemed to be in the middle of a heated argument with his cousins. His angry voice carried all the way out to the garden.

  She certainly didn’t want to interject herself into that scene. So she beat a hasty retreat.

  The next morning, she awoke to a minor plumbing disaster. MeeMaw’s house was falling down around her ears, so discovering a leak under the kitchen sink wasn’t all that surprising. A week ago, she would have called Colton and asked him to come by and take a look. But that option was now fraught with danger.

  So after drinking a strong cup of coffee out on the porch while simultaneously consulting YouTube plumbing videos, she determined that the problem was a leak in the P-trap. She could fix this herself.

  She put a Tupperware container under the drip and headed into the office. She’d swing by Wright’s Hardware on the way back from work to get the supplies she needed.

  She settled in at her desk and pulled up her business plan, a document she hadn’t looked at in more than six months. After she’d finished the Akiyama project and it had scored a write-up in a local newspaper, a steady stream of projects had arrived at her doorstep.

  But the buzz had died and her prospective clients had dried up. Topher’s project would tide her over, but she still needed to think about what came next.

  She worked on her plan for an hour, and then, when ten o’clock rolled around, she picked up her phone and called Topher. Of course she got his voice mail.

  She left a message, asking him to call her back to schedule a time when they could meet and discuss where the original plans had gone off the track.

  She was about to turn back to her business plan when the sound of her front door opening pulled her away. The door closed and rapid footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  So it wasn’t Topher. No way he could climb stairs like that.

  Her office suite was a medium-sized loft without any walls at all. She had plans, once funds became available, to partition the space to make it feel more finished and cozy. But right now Blackwood Designs consisted of her desk, an executive chair, a CAD workstation, a plotter, and a small round conference table with four chairs.

  She hadn’t hung any artwork or any of her degrees or accolades. In short, her office looked as if she’d moved in a month ago. Which was nothing but the truth.

  There wasn’t anything she could do about that now, so she stood up and pasted her best business smile on her face, hoping that the fates had sent her a new client.

  But the fates had not done any such thing. Instead, they’d sent her a nightmare.

  Caleb Tate reached the landing and turned, his blue eyes running over the space that she’d stolen away from him. What the heck did he want? Was he here to harass her for that?

  Or something far worse. A frisson of icy fear climbed up her spine, sending her muscles into fight-or-flight reflex. This full-body terror was nothing like the confusion Topher’s touch had unleashed yesterday.

  She’d never been in any danger with Topher. The same could not be said about this situation.

  “Nice work stealing this space from me,” Caleb said, plopping down into the side chair and then propping his feet up on her desk.

  She wanted to scream at him, but she sat there breathing hard until she could control her voice. “I didn’t steal it,” she said, and then regretted the remark. She had to remember that this man sat on the design review committee for the new City Hall. She was required to suck up to him.

  Yuck.

  Her defensiveness earned her a cold smile that didn’t quite reach Caleb’s eyes. She sat down and folded her hands in front of her, her knuckles going white with tension.

  “Can I help you with something?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I’m trying to get in touch with Topher Martin. I thought maybe you had his phone number.”

  Now, there was an interesting dilemma. A week ago she would have said that Caleb and Topher belonged together like arson and larceny. But now, looking into Caleb’s astonishingly handsome face, she wasn’t so sure.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in her best sweet Southern-girl voice. “I don’t give out client numbers.”

  He leaned forward, muscles straining through the expensive-looking worsted of his suit jacket. “Come on, Jess. Topher and I go way back. We’re buds.”

  Yeah, and if you were still buds, you’d have his number. But she didn’t say that. She smiled. “I’m sorry, it’s a policy.”

  He leaned back, studying her office. “So, how many people do you employ here?”

  “It’s just me.”

  “Really? And all that rent you’re paying, huh?”

  “I’ve been successful. I just started my business and—”

  “I’m not entirely sure the review committee for the City Hall design will be impressed by a one-woman shop.” His cruel stare was loaded with subtext.

  She got the message. She knew a bully when she saw one. Her own father had sometimes been this way, speaking a silent language full of stares and innuendo. He’d domineered Momma the same way. Using just his words and his disapproval. From what she’d learned over the years, he’d been the same way in business. Lots of people had shown up for his funeral, but he hadn’t gotten many glowing eulogies.

  “Representative Tate, I know you—”

  “You can call me Caleb,” he said with another oily smile.

  “Caleb. I know that you and Topher were once friends. But I’m sorry. I can’t give you his number. For a lot of reasons, he values his priva
cy. And even if he didn’t, it’s against my policy.”

  “Yeah. So, you’ve seen him, huh?”

  “What?”

  “Topher. Is he really messed up?”

  “He’s been injured, yes.”

  “Tough break.” Caleb shook his head. “I just want to send him a get-well card. You understand, right?”

  “I can’t give you his number.”

  “I could get it from someone else.”

  Then do it. She didn’t say that, either. She just continued to smile, even though the corners of her mouth were starting to ache. “I’m sure you could. Now…” She stood up, hoping the guy would get the message.

  He stood up too and looked at his watch. “So, uh, it’s almost lunch. You doing anything?”

  Oh my goodness. He was hitting on her? Ew. “I’m sorry. I’m busy. Maybe some other time.” She inwardly cringed. She could forget about the City Hall project if it required her to suck up to him. And maybe if she didn’t win the bid, she’d have a moment when she could get up in his face and tell him in excruciating detail exactly what she thought of him.

  He stepped around the desk, coming close enough for her to smell his sweet cologne. The scent made her want to rush right into the bathroom and hurl.

  She stepped back. “I think you should go,” she said, a tremor in her voice.

  He grinned, his teeth so white they had to be caps. “You might want to think things over, Jess. I could be very helpful to you and your business. I have connections.”

  He turned and strode from the office. It was only when he’d turned his back that she realized he was losing his hair.

  * * *

  Wednesdays in late August, after school started for the year, were slow at Daffy Down Dilly. So slow that Kerri thought about closing the shop on alternate weekdays.

  On the other hand, if she closed midweek, she’d have nothing to do. It wasn’t like she had a child to raise or a bunch of hobbies to pursue.

  The business had become her life.

  So she sat behind the checkout counter reading a copy of Essence. She’d already caught up on her bookkeeping, submitted her merchandise order for the fall season, and deep cleaned the entire shop.