Last Chance Harbor

by Vickie McKeehan

  He’d almost let her ruin his life. How many times would he have to vow to never make that same mistake again?

  After loading his truck, Ryder switched gears. In the time it took him to make his way to Main Street, he went from Logan’s employee to being part of another, different kind of team.

  The place where he worked covered twenty-five fertile acres of rotating pasture land. Set back on majestic cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean and its rocky shoreline, the farm was home to thirty-six Holstein and Jersey cross-bred cows that produced enough milk to supply grocery store chains all over the state of California.

  Since Nick and Jordan Harris had taken over the operation, it boasted ten full-time workers, including Silas and Sammy Medina. Having been a part of the business for decades, the two men were the backbone of the outfit. No one knew the ins and outs of the organic venture like Silas and Sammy. They made sure the vast vegetable garden kept up a steady prolific pace in a growing season that never seemed to end. The men made sure to meet state certifications and followed through with crop rotation so the soil would never burn out from overuse.

  Their cousins, Ben and Marty, maintained the packing, shipping, and delivery duties. Everyone chipped in when it came to harvesting the long list of seasonal crops that grew in abundance. Kale, spinach, carrots, broccoli, sweet corn, and five different varieties of lettuce, left the farm daily headed to health food stores all over the West Coast.

  With Cord Bennett busy at school, Ryder had taken up the slack. His handy list of chores included the morning and evening milking, the bookkeeping and payroll, along with all the administrative duties Cord didn’t have time to do.

  It fell to Ryder to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks. From tinkering with the solar-powered watering system on the weekends, to researching the best fertilizer methods into the late-hours of the night, Ryder had resolved to return the favor for the buddy who’d saved him from wallowing in a vat of self-pity. Cord Bennett had thrown him a lifeline and he didn’t intend to let him down.

  He’d almost reached the outskirts of town before he realized he’d forgotten to pick up the vegetable seedlings at the nursery he’d promised Silas.

  Shooting a U, he backtracked, pulling into the parking lot of The Plant Habitat before they closed their doors for the day.

  “How’s it going?” Ryder asked the woman behind the counter he knew as Shelby Jennings. He could count on Shelby to always offer up a hundred-watt smile for her customers.

  “It’s going good, honey. You barely made it before we turned out the lights. Long day?”

  “It’s always a long day. Did Silas phone in an order this morning?”

  “He did indeed and you’re here to pick it up. Got seventy-five asparagus starter plants, one-hundred drought-resistant broccoli plants, another hundred hardy tomato plants…” Shelby spent the next few minutes ticking off the entire list.

  After confirming each item, Ryder remembered something he’d forgotten. “Cord wants to add red pears to our line of fruit. Could you order fifty seedlings for starters and then let me know when they come in?”

  “You got it. Caleb can help you load if you want. He’s still around…somewhere,” Shelby said, picking up the microphone to direct her son to the front of the store.

  But Ryder shook his head. “That’s okay. I can manage.”

  Later, Ryder was shoving trays of bedding plants into the back of his pickup when he looked up and gaped at the pretty brunette he’d met just that afternoon at the school.

  “Hey, Julianne, what are you doing here?”

  “I came by to try to talk Landon Jennings into selling me that old gingerbread house around the corner.”

  Ryder stared at her. “The one at the very end of the block before it takes that dog-leg turn up to the lighthouse? That gingerbread house?”

  “One and the same.”

  “What would you do with it?”

  “After I fix it up? Live in it, silly.”

  He whistled through his teeth. “That’s a major overhaul, almost as ambitious as the one at the school.”

  “Oh please, not even close. The yard’s a little overgrown which makes it look worse than it actually is. After re-planking that front porch, putting new shingles on the roof, sprucing up the paint, I’d have a real find. Besides, what most people see as an eyesore, I see as a treasure.”

  “If you say so. I’d go see for myself but I have cows to milk.”

  “Cows? Are you a farmer in your spare time?”

  “How’d you guess? I work two jobs. I live in a house that comes on the property I help maintain a farm.”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  “You too?”

  “You bet. You ever tried to live on a teacher’s salary? It’s not far off poverty level.”

  “Ah, I see what you mean. What’s your second job?”

  She told him about Reclaimed Treasures.

  “Have you ever remodeled a home before? It’s a little different than shining up old things and reselling them.”

  Because that statement wasn’t what she expected, one hand flew out and she drilled a finger into his chest. “If that’s a challenge, I’d like to point out that I don’t need your help. In fact, I don’t remember asking for it. I’m not asking for anyone’s to pitch in. But the next time I reupholster a chair and sell it for a huge profit, I’ll be sure to think of Ryder McLachlan who knows positively everything about what I do after meeting me…twice.”

  He held up his hands in defense. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. I didn’t mean to piss you off by suggesting you were asking for my help or that you even needed it. All I meant was that I’ve done plenty of remodeling jobs and it’s a ton of work.”

  Her irritation faded as fast as it had ignited. But she wanted to set him straight. “Geez, I had no idea. And here I thought it would be a walk in the park.” She rolled her eyes and went on, “So you don’t think a woman is capable of renovating a house all by her little ol’ self? Wow, what century did you time-travel from, Ryder? Let me know so I can avoid setting the time machine for that particular period. In case you haven’t noticed, women do all sorts of jobs that men do these days. Or didn’t you get the memo?”

  He felt his annoyance close to overdrive. “My mother could do any job a man could do, like shovel her own driveway out from under eight inches of snowfall. I watched her do it as a kid.”

  “She must be so proud of her son then,” Julianne said with a snarl.

  “To tell you the truth, she is. I was raised by a single mom, a nurse, a wonder woman in my eyes. My dad was a great guy, too. They were just two opposites who had the misfortune to marry and discover they made each other miserable afterward. It happens.”

  Her disdain ebbed, replaced by the soft spot she had for guys who felt that way about their moms and dads. “So, you were from a one-parent household too?”

  “Didn’t have much choice in the matter. My parents divorced when I was five. Then when I was about ten my father dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of a pickup basketball game with a group of friends from work.”

  “I’m sorry, Ryder.”

  At the sentiment, he narrowed his eyes. “So you came from a one-parent, single-mom outfit, too?”

  “No mother, a single father though. My mother made it clear early on she didn’t want the hassle of taking care of a kid. So she took off. Having a kid always seemed to get in the way of her social life. Anyway, when I was three or four she bolted out of Santa Cruz so fast she never looked back. I don’t even remember much about her. My poor dad kept thinking she’d come back. But after years and years of not hearing from her, he finally wised up and divorced her when I was around eight or so. My dad didn’t have to keep me either. He could just as easily have packed me off for my grandparents to bring up. But he didn’t do that. Even though he worked a lot, he’d take me along on jobs with him. We managed just fine.”

  “Ah yes, all the busybodies who love to preach about how us
kids from divorce are destined for failure should shut the hell up.”

  “Why Ryder McLachlan, do you realize what just happened here?”

  “What?”

  “I think we may have stumbled on something we actually agree on. Imagine that.”

  “We aren’t failures because we didn’t grow up having both parents in the home.”

  “Exactly. Life isn’t perfect. Divorce happens. Kids adapt. Some adults are better at parenting than others.”

  Realization dawned on him. “That’s how you learned to use a drill. Your father taught you.”

  She grinned. “Among other tools. He often took me to work with him. I mostly got in the way until I was around six. That’s when he started letting me use a hammer. John Dickinson is a highly skilled carpenter, always in demand, one of the best in Santa Cruz. Despite the so-called studies, I had a normal upbringing in a loving, nurturing home. It just so happened to be with a single father instead of a mother. The statistics should focus on the fact some women aren’t meant to be mothers.”

  Ryder agreed. “I really hate all that bogus crap that claims children from one-parent, broken homes, are doomed to failure. It’s bullshit. Oh, sorry for my language. Sometimes the Philly side of me surfaces along with my Army background.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m beginning to connect with the Philly side. Those studies defy logic. In my case, my mother wasn’t someone I’d have wanted raising me or influencing my upbringing in the first place. I’m lucky she ditched me when she did.”

  “Why do you suppose they do it?”

  “Do what? Take off?

  “No, why do you suppose all those ill-informed, so-called experts peddle that garbage, telling ordinary folks to stick it out in an unhappy situation? A marriage that breeds a lot of infighting every day doesn’t set a good example for how kids should treat each other down the road.”

  “You want my opinion? I think in some cases those so-called experts scare people into sticking it out. They leave parents too nervous and aware of those ‘statistics’ to start over. It takes courage to begin again. One parent invariably ends up using the kids to justify staying which makes for a miserable home life. Who knows? Maybe some people enjoy the martyr role. Whatever the reason, it’s unfair to the kids though, don’t you think?”

  “That’s the truth. Aren’t people like us the experts—the kids who’ve been through divorce and turned out something other than the wretched serial killers they thought we would be? Both my parents were definitely not a good match. Once they divorced, I didn’t miss the nightly yelling and screaming matches. I was happy things had calmed down. Once they worked out visitation, I got to see both of them in a more serene setting. For the first time in my life I saw them happy, not with each other, but in their own way. It made a huge difference to me.”

  “There you go. Who in their right mind would miss the daily drama of an unhappy parent who just doesn’t want to be there? You know, some of my brightest students are from one-parent homes. I have this one little boy who does math so well he could teach the other kids in his sleep. He and his sisters live with their father. I had his sisters earlier when I first started teaching and all three kids are fairly brilliant.”

  Ryder rocked back on his heels. “So, are we okay here?”

  She smiled. “Sure. Now go milk your cows, Ryder. I need to head back home anyway so I can work on my next pitch to Landon Jennings. And besides, I have to figure out my lesson plan for March.”

  After grabbing a burger at the Hilltop Diner, Troy headed to McCready’s for a beer. Since turning legal, drinking wasn’t exactly something he did often. And tonight it wasn’t a brew he had on his mind but rather a certain gorgeous redhead.

  He hadn’t taken two steps inside the pub when he spotted Bree Dennison. She’d always made his heart do a little flip-flop. It might’ve been her pale blue eyes.

  Clutching the jewelry box he’d made her, he hoped like hell she liked it. He’d taken the time to personalize the top more than he ever had before. He’d carved flowers into the design this time, poppies he’d painted a bright red-orange.

  Troy wasn’t sure why he felt so uncomfortable. After all, the two had gone to school together, known each other since first grade. Why should he be nervous about bringing a stupid homemade gift to a friend?

  Because he wanted to be a lot more than Bree’s friend, he thought as he took a seat at one of the little tables. He sat there waiting for her to make her way over, knew the moment she looked over and spotted him.

  “Well, hello, stranger,” Bree said in her cheery way. Her eyes immediately went to the jewelry box. “Oh, is that for me? Why, Troy, it’s beautiful.”

  “You like it?” He watched as she ran her hand over the intricate petals and knew her reaction was genuine, particularly now that she’d thrown her arms around his neck.

  Troy noticed her eyeing McCready standing behind the bar. As soon as Bree got her chance, she waited for the bartender to pour a drink for a customer and then neatly dropped into a chair beside him.

  “You said you’d make one for me. But this is more detailed than the one you made Abby Bonner. Now I have something to hold my earrings. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. I’m glad you like it.” Why did he feel so clumsy all of a sudden? Despite his inept mindset, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. When she caught him staring he cleared his throat. “Not too busy tonight?”

  “No, but it’s early yet. Are you still renting the little studio apartment over the Harris’s garage at Promise Cove?”

  “You bet. It’s fixed up real nice, too.”

  “I’d love to see your place.”

  “You would? Then why don’t you come out Saturday night? I’ll make you dinner.”

  “Get out! You cook?”

  “Sure. Everyone has to eat.”

  “I’d love to but not Saturday night. I’m working. How about Sunday instead?”

  “Sounds like I’m making Sunday dinner,” Troy said with a grin.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever had a man cook for me before other than my dad.”

  “What about Zach?”

  Bree tittered with laughter which brought a “get back to work” glare from McCready.

  “My brother? Cook? No way. He barely knows how to work the microwave. And I don’t consider that cooking unless I’m starving.”

  She leaned in closer and whispered, “Don’t tell McCready this but that’s what they serve here when our regulars want something to eat other than pretzels. We zap pizza in a microwave. It tastes like rubber and reminds me of cardboard. But folks gobble that stuff up in a pinch.”

  “Then it’s a date and I guarantee it won’t come out of a microwave or taste like rubber.”

  Chapter Three

  By the time Julianne pulled up in the driveway of her little rental back in Santa Cruz it was almost eight. She left the van parked where it was because she could no longer fit it into the garage. With all her “projects” in various stages of fixing up, she’d run out of room there a year earlier. She definitely needed to start liquidating some of her inventory and do something about her “hoarder” side before she booked a moving truck.

  Her mind on the cute little gingerbread house she’d checked out in Pelican Pointe, she snatched the wooden box off the backseat and headed to the door.

  Even at night her eyes drifted to the flower beds where purple and yellow petunias dazzled in the moonlight, spilling over onto the walkway. She imagined her own yard, her own lawn and knew exactly what she’d plant if given the chance—bold purple pansies and celosia with a pop of golden tulips and prairie sun.

  Stepping up to the deck, she had to admit she’d miss the little postage-sized bungalow she’d called home for the last five years. She’d rented the little studio from a friend of her father’s after Danny died. It didn’t have much of a front lawn, but with a nice view of the ocean, she’d never complained about living here.

  As soon as she reached the glass-p
aneled front door and stuck the key in the lock, she realized she’d forgotten to leave a light on. Flipping the switch, she looked around the four walls. The one-bedroom, seven-hundred square-foot space was barely bigger than an apartment. But it suited her just fine. She’d furnished it with cast-offs, upcycled flea market finds and those creative trash to treasures she devoted her weekends to making over.

  She stuffed the keepsake box into one of the cubby holes under the seat bench and spotted the blinking light signaling four messages on her answering machine. Each turned out to be four fellow teachers inviting her to the same book club event next week.

  But one voice was especially biting. Julianne rolled her eyes as she listened to Nicole Cannon remind her again what a mistake it was to take the job in Pelican Pointe.

  Pent-up frustration had Julianne letting out a huff. Why did it seem like certain friends could never be happy about another’s success? Tonight she didn’t need one more ding in her self-confidence. She was already wondering, asking herself almost daily, if she was really up to the task of becoming principal of her own school.

  With that weighing on her mind, she trekked into the tiny kitchen, grabbed a carton of yogurt out of the fridge and sat down at the breakfast table she’d revamped—still stewing over Nicole’s comment.

  Nicole always could make her furious—even as a child. The two girls had grown up living across the street from each other. Competition through school seemed to get in the way of their friendship, building a huge divide between them—pettiness over grades, boys, and friends had caused the two from ever getting truly close. They should’ve been like sisters, Julianne thought now. But Nicole never seemed to be able to share in her happiness over anything. The woman certainly hadn’t been pleased when Danny had entered the picture.

  At the knock on the door, Julianne made her way back into the living room, spotted her petite neighbor, Lindeen Cody, through the glass. Lindeen held a large Tupperware container between both hands. Julianne smiled at the kindhearted woman she’d gotten to know over the years. Lindeen often brought over food.