The Queensbay Series: Books 1-4: The Queensbay Box Set

by Drea Stein

  “It’s been a long time. What, three years?” Jackson offered, by way of apology as Jake stood there, hands thrust in the pockets of his barn coat. Not a hint of a smile lightened his face. Jackson took a breath. He had known no part of this would be easy but he had thought that Jake, of all people, might be inclined to cut him some slack.

  “Five years, Mr. Jet Setter,” Jake corrected him, his hands still stuck in the pockets of his jacket. He rocked back on his feet, as if assessing the situation.

  “Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?” Jackson offered, hoping Jake would say yes instead of turning around and walking out. He probably deserved that, but still he needed to make some amends, and Jake was one of the first on his list.

  “Only a fool would say no to a free drink,” Jake said, hiking himself up on a barstool. “I’ll have the Macallan twenty-year-old, neat,” he told Paulie.

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. That would set him back a pretty penny. “I see your tastes have matured a bit.”

  “Only when someone else is buying,” Jake said with just a hint of acrimony.

  Jackson knew he should flat out apologize, get all of the gooey emotional stuff out of the way, but he was a guy and Jake was his oldest friend, and he just couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

  Paulie poured the drink and slid it over to Jake, who took, raised it and said, “It’s good to see you.”

  “And you,” Jackson acknowledged, and the two of them drank. There was silence and Jake stared straight ahead at the row of liquor bottles lining the wall behind the bar. Behind them was a quiet swell of conversation as the diners at the table ate their meals. Jackson waited, knowing Jake was making a decision.

  “I hear you’ve been busy,” Jake said, finally, as if no time had passed, and Jackson relaxed a bit. He’d been forgiven, at least enough so they could have a conversation.

  “Yes, I’ve kept myself busy. I got placed in jobs all over the world, so I’ve been living in hotels or rental apartments. Couple of months here, a couple there, once a whole year almost in Dubai. I was in New York recently, except for the past couple of weeks when I had to go back to the desert.”

  Jake nodded, but his question was pointed. “You back for good now?”

  “Yes,” Jackson said. “I’m back. I hear you’re going to be starting the renovations on the hotel soon.”

  “Didn’t know you were going to be helping out,” Jake said and there was an edge to his voice.

  “Only if you need me, which I’m sure you won’t,” Jackson said. Jake and Chase had been working together for a while and Jackson hadn’t really thought how his showing up would look to Jake.

  “I see,” Jake said unenthusiastically.

  Jackson knew he should say more, tell Jake the real reason he was back in town, but he was afraid his friend would think he was crazy. It was a bit of a hare-brained idea, but then again he was tired of playing it safe.

  Jake took another sip of his drink but kept quiet. Ok, so Jackson hadn’t expected it to be just like old times. Or maybe he had. But here was Jake, playing it close to the vest.

  “I hear you did a great job fixing up my grandmother’s house.”

  “It will be done in another week, or so, then you can have a real estate agent come in and take a look, get a value on it. Should go for a lot, waterfront and all that. A little modern for most people, but I’m sure you’ll still find a buyer,” Jake said, giving him a sideways glance.

  Jackson nodded. He had worked with closely with the architect on the house plans; to make sure it came out just the way he wanted it to. He’d had Chase handle the constructions details with Jake, because he figured that Jake wouldn’t have taken the job if he’d known it was for him.

  “Chase said you cut a deal on the work, but really that’s not necessary.”

  Jake held up a hand. “I did it for Chase, not you. We do a lot of business together.”

  “Well, thanks. I actually might have a new project for you if you’re interested,” Jackson said casually.

  “I’m not flying off to Hong Kong, or Dubai, or wherever you’re shipping off to next.” Jake’s voice had a trace of bitterness.

  “Nope, this one is local,” Jackson assured him and waited.

  “I might be interested,” Jake said slowly, and Jackson could see the telltale gleam of curiosity in his friend’s eye.

  “It’s the old Sail Makers’ building.”

  “You mean Duane Petersen’s property, the one with the clinic in it?” Jake’s forehead creased in a frown. He twisted so he was facing Jackson, one booted knee propped up on the rung of the barstool. Jackson felt a wash of relief. Jake was a sucker for the old buildings around Queensbay, devoted to bringing them back to life. Jackson knew his real dream was to restore the old Queensbay Show House, a derelict hulk of a building that had once housed a theater.

  “That’s the one. I think the building will be perfect for what I have in mind, I’d love to turn it into an open concept office space, something high end.” Jackson nodded, his fingers drumming on the table in excitement. A new project always got him going and since he intended this one to be personal, it was doubly so.

  “Are you going to keep the clinic there?”

  Jackson frowned, surprised that it had come up a second time that day. “I wasn’t planning on it. Doesn’t exactly fit in with the vision I had for the place. I was thinking retail on the first floor, maybe a restaurant, offices above, or possibly even apartments.”

  Jake gave a laugh and then took another sip of his single malt. “Then that could be an issue.”

  Jackson shifted in his seat uneasily. He thought about the little spitfire who had been in Petersen’s office today. Lynn had been her name. She had a fire in her eye and an intense energy, especially on the subject of the clinic. Memories of their encounter had kept popping up all afternoon, even as he went about sealing the deal with Petersen and handling the paperwork.

  “How so?”

  “Did you look over the building before you bought it? Word is the town council has wanted to condemn the property for a while, since Petersen hasn’t dropped a dime into it for years. But they don’t, just so the clinic will stay open.”

  “I would think the clinic would welcome the chance to get out of there and find some more modern space.”

  Jake gave a quick laugh and shook his head. “I don’t think they can afford to find anything better.”

  “I thought the clinic had an endowment, funding, that all the whole biddies in town were behind it,” Jackson said.

  “Tough economy, plus the old biddies are like that – old. Sure, they’ve gotten some money from a few of the local big donors, but it’s really just a bandage over the open wound. Talk is the hospital wants to take it over, in which case they would probably have the money they need to stay, even if you raised the rent.”

  “Well, times change, don’t they,” Jackson said, finishing most of his drink. He didn’t like to think that his plans wouldn’t work out. He’d just assumed that the clinic would be willing to move, but now, based on what Jake was telling him, that wasn’t necessarily the case. If they wouldn’t go quietly, he’d just have to make them.

  “Not everyone in Queensbay likes to forget the past,” Jake said, and Jackson knew it was a deliberate jab at him.

  “I didn’t forget you. I just…”

  “We were supposed to go into business together, Jackson. You were going to be the brains of the operation and I was going to be the brawn.”

  “You’ve done just fine for yourself,” Jackson pointed out.

  “No thanks to you.” Jake’s voice rose and Jackson was aware that Paulie, at the far end of the bar, had paused what he was doing and was standing at the ready, poised to intervene if things got heated.

  “Look, I had a plan, everything mapped out. And then she…and then she’s dead.” Jackson found himself stumbling over the words, but kept going. “And you know what, I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t be here anym
ore. No one wanted me here anymore.”

  Jackson was aware that he had stood up, pushed off his barstool and was in a tensed, ready position as if for a fight.

  But Jake’s quarterback bulk stayed right on the barstool while he eyed him. “That’s not true. I was there for you.”

  Jackson ran a hand over his face. He couldn’t explain it to anyone, couldn’t quite explain just how much Ashley’s death had cost him.

  “But I get it.”

  “You do?” Jackson asked, not trusting the hope that was creeping in.

  “Yeah. You said it. You admitted that you went off the rails after Ashley died. I get it, I would have too. But dude, you just picked up and ran—didn’t talk to us, any of us, for years. We knew her too, you know. We were all friends. Not all of us blamed you for what happened, you know. Or we didn’t care. We wanted to stand by you.”

  “Thanks,” Jackson said, quietly, taking a deep breath. Yup, this was going to be harder than he thought, but better to get the subject of Ashley over with sooner than later. “I just couldn’t, the memories….” He stopped. He was done lying, he had to tell himself. Ashley would always be a part of the past, but she couldn’t take away his future anymore.

  “I understand. And I’m glad you’re back, whatever the reason.” Jake clapped him awkwardly on the shoulder and Jackson decided he didn’t need to say anymore, and that if it wasn’t quite the truth, at least it wasn’t a lie.

  Jackson nodded. “Thanks.” And then to change the subject, “So you think I’m going to have problems with the clinic? The director, Sadie, seemed very understanding about the whole thing.” Or, if not understanding at least she didn’t seem too upset. Perhaps she was imagining a nice retirement.

  Jake laughed. “It’s not Sadie you have to worry about. It’s Lynn.”

  “You mean a brunette ball of energy about this big?” Jackson held his hand out about chest high.

  “That would be her. Lynn Masters. She works there, has for a while, and it’s become her pet project. I don’t think she’s going to take the closing lying down.”

  Jackson thought back to the woman he had met. Her brown, intense eyes, the way she had stared him down, even though she was half his size. Even her clumsy exit had been saved by the fluid way her body moved, dodging the glass wall and finding the door at the last minute. Jackson had never given much thought to how a woman would look in scrubs, but he had to admit Lynn had worn them well.

  He shook his head. Maybe she would calm down, accept the news gracefully. If she was worried about losing her job, perhaps he could find a way to help her with that, call on some connections. She’d said she was friends with Chase and Phoebe, so there had to be a way to make this turn out right for her. Yes, he thought, all he needed was to make sure Lynn was taken care of and she would be no problem. Most women were fine like that.

  Jake was gazing at him, a speculative look on her face. “She’s a nice girl, you know….”

  Jackson shook his head. “Don’t even go there.”

  “It’s been five years, my friend.”

  Jackson looked deep into the amber liquid in his glass. “That’s what my mom says, as if it matters. I didn’t come back here to get into a relationship. I managed to dodge them over seven continents so I think I’m safe in Queensbay. After all, nobody in this town would touch me with a ten-foot pole.”

  Jake shook his head. “Maybe. Of course, some people do have long memories. But you have a thick skin, right?”

  Jackson felt his stomach sink. He had wanted to think that time would have made it easier, maybe even had people forgetting about it, but now Jake was warning him that might not be the case.

  “Thanks for the notice. I’ll be sure to put on my elephant hide when I go out there.”

  Jake nodded and pursed his lips. “There will be talk, you know. Some people have long memories, but I think if you just try to be nice, you know.”

  “I can be nice,” Jackson said, surprised.

  “Sure you can be, but most people remember you as an arrogant prick with a fast car, a baseball scholarship, and fuck you attitude.”

  “And as a murderer.” Jackson pushed his drink away.

  “Police said it was an accident,” Jake said.

  Jackson nodded. It had been one giant accident—his relationship with Ashley and the car crash had only been the icing on the cake.

  “Try telling that to the Morans,” Jackson said.

  “Doesn’t matter; just keep your head up high,” Jake said.

  “And that’s the best bit of advice you can give me?”

  Jake shrugged. “Yup. I don’t have much else. I’m a single guy, working construction who still uses my old bedroom as an office.”

  Jackson laughed, knowing that Jake’s humble act was mostly that. Queensbay Construction was doing a fine business since Jake had officially taken over the family business.

  “Single? You mean Darby Reese turned you down again?” Jackson said, referring to Jake’s old prom date.

  “Turned me down? She went and married another man. She and Sean Callahan are going to have a baby any day now.” Jake shook his head but Jackson could tell he was genuinely happy for the couple.

  “Who knows, maybe there’s a fish in the sea for you? We are, after all, on a harbor.” Jackson raised his own glass in a toast.

  Jake gave him a lopsided smile and they tapped glasses.

  “What about you? Ever thought of, you know…?”

  “What, girls? Dating?”

  Jake nodded.

  Jackson gave a bitter laugh, thinking of Helen’s last email to him. “I have dated. Even had as you might call them, relationships; but I’m just not the marrying type.”

  Jake laughed. “Funny, and I always thought you’d be the first to settle down.”

  Jackson shook his head, “Let’s just say I don’t believe in happy endings anymore.”

  Jake nodded, took a sip of his drink, and Jackson did the same, wondering why all of sudden an image of Lynn Masters flashed through his head. He gave a shake, as if to clear the thought from him. Getting involved, caring, was the last thing he needed right now.

  Chapter 8

  Lynn was nursing her disappointment over a glass of red wine at Quent’s Pub, absorbing the cocoon-like feeling of the very British atmosphere. Quent had an accent that could only be described as vaguely British but was an avowed anglophile when it came to décor. His pub looked like it could have stepped out of a small town on the rugged Scottish coast, with its burnished wood bar, cozy red leather booths, dark green walls and dartboards. He kept the theme going with a menu of pub food, songs from the British invasion on the playlist and a full range of beers from across the pond.

  As cozy as it was in here, with a small fire going and the low hum of conversation, Lynn was just about ready to go when she saw Tory Somers walk into the pub with what looked like the entire North Coast Outfitters softball team. They were loud and boisterous, but she managed to catch the other girl’s eye and Tory came over.

  “Did you win?” Lynn asked. She and Tory had met when she’s agreed to donate her time to redo the clinic’s website and they had managed to squeeze in a few social outings like coffee and a few runs together into their busy schedules. Tory was head of technology at North Coast Outfitters, the local clothing and accessories business owned by Chase Sanders.

  “Yup, beat Queensbay Construction two to one.” Tory had light brown hair that was always a perfectly streaked blond, summer or winter, so Lynn had to guess most of it was artifice.

  “Good for you.” Lynn knew that the rivalry between North Coast Outfitters and Queensbay Construction was good natured but intense.

  “Yup, it means that drinks are on them tonight,” Tory said with a smile, and then she turned her attention to Lynn. “Killer boots, by the way. But aren’t they a bit much for a drink at the pub? And if you’re trying to pick up men, might I suggest online dating over hooking up with a barfly from the local dive?”

>   “This ain’t no dive,” Quentin, the owner of the aforementioned dive, stood before them, shaved head glistening, arms folded across his chest allowing the massive biceps in his arms to ripple. “It’s a fine family establishment.”

  “Yeah, we’ve heard it all before,” Tory waved Quent’s objections away. “We’ll have two pitchers, please.”

  Quent laughed. “And whose tab is this going on—yours on the other team’s?”

  Tory flashed a smile. “Not ours. Their star slugger didn’t show up. Made it that much easier for us to bury them.”

  Quent let out a rumble, which for him, passed as a laugh.

  “And get my friend here another glass of whatever she’s having.”

  Lynn was about to protest, but decided that it didn’t matter. After all, she was trying to drown her sorrows.

  “Why the fancy duds?” Tory asked, leaning over the back of the barstool, taking in Lynn’s dark jeans and v-neck silk blouse.

  “I had a date,” Lynn said before she realized it. She had vowed to keep her date with Nate to herself.

  “What, you on a date? Do I get to meet him? Is he in the bathroom?”

  “No, we said goodbye at the restaurant. I came home and decided that it was too nice a night to go home and drink by myself.”

  Tory shot a look around at the empty barstools surrounding Lynn. “I don’t mean to bring my over precise computer developer brain to the situation, but you are, in reality, alone.”

  “No,” Lynn corrected her, “not to bring my overly literal medical mind to the table, but there were twelve other people before two softball teams came in. Technically, I’m surrounded by people, and therefore I am not drinking alone.”

  “It was that bad, huh?” Tory said in sympathy, taking a seat on one of the barstools.

  Lynn took another sip of her wine and looked over when she felt the pull of Tory’s intense gaze on her.

  “Oh no you don’t. Look you can’t drop a bomb like that and then go back to calmly drinking your wine like you were making small talk about the weather.”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Lynn started to say, and then in spite of herself, she laughed. “Ok, so he took me to Salsa Salsa.”