Sara coughs, making us both shift our attention to her. “Speaking of boat, Ben, Bart Davis got his out already and wants someone to give her a good run on the lake. It’s still chilly, but it’s a nice enough day. Take Jenna for a spin.”
I try not to smirk, but it’s fun to watch her have a loving hold on someone else besides me.
Ben doesn’t give a fight. He excuses himself to the closet where he grabs my coat and returns. “Ready, fearless?” He tosses me my school bus yellow Columbia jacket my parents got me as a going away present.
I stand up. “Excuse us, Sara.”
She waves us off. “You kids have fun.”
With my coat zipped, I face the pasta maker. “Bring it, Mr. Big Ideas But No Action.”
Ben says little on the way to the Davis dock. At the boat, he prepares for launching and verbally walks me through the tasks.
“Hull is a nautical term for bottom.” Ben keeps giving me Boating 101 terms, unaware my interest is rock bottom. He removes the tarp and what he calls securing straps. He goes to the compartment where the safety vests are and tosses me a water-stained orange one to put on. He’s like a flight attendant for the seas, pointing out all the parts. “Bart gave me a set of keys a few years ago. Means a lot that he trusts me.” He checks the gas gauge. “Gas is below half a tank, but contains plenty for a quick ride.”
I roll my eyes. “Good. Whatever you do, make sure we don’t get stranded.”
He doesn’t immediately answer, but removes the ropes from the dock posts and lifts one. “Bowlines are the ropes that keep the water vessel dockside, in the front.” He turns toward me. “I hope this isn’t too much detail for you. I guess, I think you’re new at this, kind of like how you think I’m new at the grocery business.” He keeps a straight face. After a few seconds, he winks.
Oh, those velvety chocolate eyes. I fold my arms against my chest and try to look offended, but I chuckle. “Okay, you got me. I can get carried away. I’m excited about your store plans, but I won’t interfere.”
“Really? Can I get that in writing?” He shares a two dimple grin and revs up the engine and backs us out.
I tug on my lifejacket. I’m about to ask about the water temperature when Ben puts the boat in a gear the equivalent of warp speed. Bart’s water machine assaults the waves head on, making me regret I ate my ziti at the same speed.
Fifteen minutes later and the equation of choppy waters, wind, ziti, and speed, sum up my stomach’s thoughts that this is not good. At. All.
Ben’s back is to me, so I can’t read his facial expressions and get a clue of what he’s thinking. He’s probably enjoying the wind on his face and the familiar scenery while my internal organs flip with each wave. I bend my head between my knees, a stream of vomit ready to feed the fish.
“Beeeeennn!” Screaming his name only seals my doom. I heave ziti over the side of the boat, and I’m messier than Ben was eating the stuff. My lifejacket and sleeves wear pasta remnants. This is beyond bad.
Weird thing is, I still hang over the side long after the ziti left the building. I don’t have the strength to pull myself up. The heaves just keep coming. For a couple seconds, I see myself collapsing head first into the water.
Seems like the whole sickness lasts an eternity, but it’s most likely two minutes. The boat lurches forward and then stops. I bang my chin on the side, groaning.
Ben turns to me. “Jenna? What hap—oh, no.” Ben moves to my side, to find me protecting my chin and covered in sickness. He backs up a couple steps, displaying a couple shades of green of his own on his face before turning around.
I draw from the little energy I have left and push myself to a standing position. Exhausted and woozy, I sway as if the boat is still in motion. “Please take me back. Slowly.”
Ben pivots back with an old towel in hand, extending his arm so I can grab the used cloth for a wipe-off. His expression is as sour as my stomach as he mumbles, “Just great. Now I have to spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning up Bart’s boat and lifejacket.”
I hear the words, but they take a second to register. As soon as the light bulb goes off, I lurch toward him. “You’re worried about the boat? How about the passenger?” I flail my arms. While you’re flying through the waves like we’re on a cop show, I’m gushing all over the place. I don’t have any extra clothes with me, and who knows how far we are from my house. But do you care? No. You’re only worried about Bart’s boat.”
Ben doesn’t move.
I speak through clamped teeth. “Take me home.”
His own seasickness shade transforms to Hulk green. “Home, right. As in my grandmother’s old home she’s rented to you. Where my grandfather’s Bronco is. For a job you won’t stay at in a place you don’t belong.”
I narrow my eyes and fight the temptation to come at him full throttle with my repulsive sweater and lifejacket. Lucky for him those smooth, brown eyes take an edge off bodily harming him. Yet, I still take a verbal lunge. “You confuse me with your past. You know, the girlfriend that couldn’t get off the mountain fast enough.”
That barb hits a nerve. He starts to speak but stops himself before a real sound comes out. After three attempts he closes his eyes, breathes in, exhales, and opens his eyes. “I don’t want our evening to end this way. I’m sorry I thought about the boat more than you.”
Maybe it’s the rough seas or my smelly clothes, but I’m not ready to make nice. I refuse to answer him, so he sighs, pivots, and returns back to the front. He turns the vomit machine back up and maneuvers at a crawl.
I pout the entire ride. I refuse to believe his words. I belong. I repeat my mantra until Ben guides us to the dock where Carla, in uniform, waits. Our scowls greet her. Leaning over, she sees the boat. As soon as Ben cuts the engine Carla lends me a hand and helps me out.
“Do I want to know?” she asks.
“Interrogate him.” I throw down the lifejacket, point at Ben, and stalk off toward Sara’s to retrieve my keys. Finding my dignity isn’t as easy. I look back one final time. Carla hands Ben the lifejacket with two pinched fingers. As I walk, I hear every word.
“I’m here on business, Ben. Howard Wheaton called in and said he saw someone on the lake driving like a maniac and he was pretty sure it wasn’t Bart. Look, Jenna’s not out to destroy the area or you. And if you think she’s Trish 2.0, that’s not true either. Give her a chance.”
“She doesn’t belong. Take a look at the side of the boat. That proves it.”
I slap an angry tear off my cheek and mutter to myself the first thing that comes to mind.
“He is such a pain in the bottom. Oh, wait. A pain in the hull.” And way too handsome for his own good.
Chapter Seven
Five minutes after I stalk away from Ben on the dock, Sara fixes me up in her living room with a clean sweater and a bear hug. “He was raised better than this, you know.”
“I don’t mean to disrespect your grandson, but every other person in this town has been gracious about my moving here. Even Kyle Swarthmore, who most people don’t count as a real citizen because he lives in New Jersey most of the time.” At least Ben’s ab muscles were inviting to admire.
Sara cuts me off. “I bet he has. Forgive my sarcasm. I gave Kyle a spanking years ago, and there are still days I want to do it again because of his arrogance.” She shakes her head and sighs. “But here we are, and I’m cleaning up a young lady with hurt feelings. God is dealing with Ben, and he’s fighting it. That doesn’t make him right or excuse anything. I pray you’ll be as gracious to him as everyone has been to you.” Sara pats my arm, handing me a loaf of banana bread to take home.
If that’s Sara’s bribe for me to be nice to Ben—done.
Three hours later, I’m enjoying a generous sample of the bread when someone raps at the front door. I take my time reaching it, putting down the bread from my hand while I chew on the last bite. Out of habit, my right hand reaches for the non-existent chain on the door. “Right. Country living.
No barriers.” I crack open the door just enough to see Ben holding up a grocery bag.
“Grandma cleaned your clothes.” He has all the excitement of a root canal patient. He’s wearing the same Giants cap from my first day in town, and a tuft of hair is falling onto his forehead.
Angry as I am, he looks adorable.
I swallow, open the door wide, and try to match his tone. “She could have given them to me at church or at the center.” I take the bag, hoping to hear an apology. No way will I look at him. But those strong arms. Attached to that muscular chest.
“That’s what I thought. Trust me. She insisted.” He turns toward the driveway, and I start to shut the wooden entry when there is resistance. Ben’s hand is on the knob, covering my knuckles. Wouldn’t be surprised if steam comes off the round handle.
“Wait. Look. I haven’t been as…helpful as I could be with you.” The feelings Ben expresses increase my rising body heat. My temperature and mood is in conflict with the gentle hand on top of mine, which only hours before recklessly steered the boat.
“Carla said something earlier which really struck a chord. You’re a double whammy for me, Jenna. You work at a place my grandpa loved so much, where someone else I cared for, a lot, worked. Those people disappeared from my life. I wanted the center to close forever. You need to know I still do. Nothing personal, but I get sick when I think about the senior center. I’ve taken it out on you, and that’s not fair. I’m sorry about that.”
His hand is still on mine. He’s sincere, but still, I remember the offenses—-Mad at me for throwing up. Yelled over the flower box. Pitched a hissy fit when Sara offered me John’s Bronco. Get a counselor already.
I remove my grip on the doorknob. “I’m sorry my presence makes you ill, but I know God sent me here, and I like it. I love my job and the people. I plan to stay and direct the center for a long time. I won’t let anything get in the way of that.” Not even that broad chest.
Ben chuckles, a low tenor laugh, which packs additional surge to my rising temperature. “I know you will. Maybe we can call a truce with the exception of senior center business. You have a great heart, Jenna. I’m not disputing that.” His voice remains deep.
My throat is beyond dry from ingesting all that banana bread without a glass of milk. “Well, thank you for that. Peace between us would be nice.”
He smiles, and those adorable dimples pop out. “Great. Oh. Jenna?”
“Yes?” The dry banana-bread crumbs are making it hard to talk. Or is it Ben’s kindness taking me by surprise?
“Grandma packed you another loaf of banana bread.”
Bart Davis gives a sly smile as soon as he walks into the center. I slink down in my chair, mortified he knows I let loose all over his boat.
“So I guess the boat works.” He winks.
I smile, offering him a seat. “Yes, it definitely does.”
He sits next to Fred and Janice Beebe. They’re helping me create a shopping list for the Memorial Day picnic.
“Do we have the picnic before or after the parade?” I chew on my pencil.
Janice sighs. “We’ve never had a parade. Usually everyone is coming from Albany or Utica, so they attend those parades first, and then travel here.”
Standing up, I push my hands against the table. “What about the veterans who live here full time? Don’t they receive any honor?”
“I’m a Navy vet, and I usually receive a nice certificate in the mail from the mayor.” Fred looks to his wife, who nods.
I look around and snap my fingers. “That’s it. We’re having a parade. I don’t know who to call, but I’ll start with Sara. She’ll know.” I put my hands on my hips. “It doesn’t need to be a big, expensive deal, but the schools could make a float, Carla drive her cruiser, have the fire truck follow her, and then our veterans walk in uniform. We can end it here and have a picnic for everyone in the community. It will be a great way for everyone to see the center and its potential.”
Bart, Janice, and Fred look to each other. Janice pokes Fred in the ribs with her elbow, giving him a sly-looking grin.
Shirley is suddenly at my side. “Need my help?”
How does that woman know exactly when to show? “Soon. Especially on the day of the picnic. Let me get things started. I’ll ask Sara for suggestions. Then I’ll go to JB’s with my grocery list and tabulate the expenses. Maybe businesses will chip in, and we can list them as sponsors.”
Shirley’s eyes light up through her thick glasses. “This is going to be amazing.”
Janice smiles. “You know, for a city girl, you know how to bring a small community together.”
I know it’s not the most professional move, but I spring away from the desk and give my seniors a hug.
I’m still grinning when the slow automatic doors open for me at JB’s. List in hand, I’m ready to take notes when I hear Ben’s raised voice.
“Pastor Craig will be eulogizing me before you own this store.”
I duck behind a tomato display and see Kyle Swarthmore, waving papers in his hand. He’s in a business suit, hair slicked back, looking all corporate as he graces Speculator Falls’ Routes 8 and 30 Four Corners with his presence. Looking like a fish out of water doesn’t seem to bother him as he lets out a haughty laugh. “I have a source who tells me you want to expand. No bank will take you and your grand plans on. You’ve lost so much, Ben. Sure you want to take that risk with your grandfather’s store?”
I hear a gasp and realize it’s from my own mouth. I feel my cheeks warming and wonder if they are turning ten shades of red.
Footsteps approach.
“Who is that?” Ben asks.
I side step to the aisle, and give a sheepish wave. “Where are the grape tomatoes? Every picnic needs grape tomatoes, don’t you think?” I hold up my list, as if either man might be interested in looking at it.
Kyle smiles as if I haven’t heard him just threaten Ben and the store. “Did I hear you say picnic? For the senior center? I love your entrepreneurial spirit. See that, Ben? Jenna’s been here a short time and already thinks outside the box.”
Lord, help Ben hold his temper. I rush an answer in an effort to reduce the tension. “I’m, uh, actually thinking about hosting one for the people of Speculator Falls after we have a Memorial Day parade. I brought my list to create a budget.”
Ben continues his Kyle stare down, but the mogul leans over to look at my list. I inhale a whiff of his cologne, something musky.
The suit-wearing businessman smiles. “This looks like a very sensible inventory. Tell you what, I’m spending an extended time in the area.” He shoots a quick glare at Ben before continuing. “If you don’t mind, I’d love for you to get me a copy of this. I’ll fax it to my assistant and have her cut you a check. You’ll have it by the end of the week.”
I nod, words having trouble finding their way out of my throat. “What a surprise. I was going to recruit sponsors.”
“Let’s do it this way. I’ll also pay for all the paper products and have Marissa design a take home cup that says something like Speculator Falls Senior Center.’”
I wait for him to insist we mention his name. “That’s generous of you. Thank you, Kyle. I still plan to create a budget to make sure everything is accurate. With that, I guess my work here is done…”
“Kyle and I are done, too,” Ben says. “Jenna, if you need help, Noah is going to finish unpacking the grape tomatoes and should be able to assist you. If not, I’ll be in my office. Call if you need anything. Kyle, good day.” Ben turns on his heel and walks to the back of the store.
Kyle clears his throat and raises his voice. “Ben, it’s good business sense. I have the means to buy this place, and I have an interest.”
I look toward Ben’s office and see him standing in the doorway, arms folded. Looks like he’s gritting his teeth in response. “You always have an interest in things that belong to me, but this time, you won’t get anywhere.”
Chapter Eight
&
nbsp; Two weeks to Memorial Day. My first big event as director.
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s going to be fantastic. I mean Pastor talked the parade up during announcements, and Brooke’s still handing out fliers.” Sara nods in the pastor’s wife’s direction.
Carla holds up a flier. “I plan to put a poster on the bulletin board at work.”
“It’s going to be great. Used to be everyone had to drive into Albany, Saratoga, or Lake George to celebrate. Now, we have your parade.” Will pats me on the shoulder while Sara and Carla continue to agree.
Tempting to get an ego with this group.
Shirley clears her throat. “You know, with Kyle footing the bill for this shindig, we better do this right. I went ahead and booked a meeting tomorrow at Jack Frosty’s. Need to make sure we have everything ready. He’s likely to bill you if he doesn’t like what he sees, you know.”
Ego’s in check. Thanks, Shirley.
Monday afternoon, Shirley brings her ever-present clipboard to Jack Frosty’s. Wendy Simmons, the assistant manager, greets us at the entrance and leads Bart, Janice, Fred, Will, Pastor Craig, Brooke, Sara, Shirley, and me to a round table for our meeting.
My trusty assistant opens her two pocket folder. She produces a stack of upcoming senior center events place cards. “Wendy, a large percentage of your customers are seniors. You should put them on each table. The seniors made them.” She hands them to the middle-aged woman with jet-black hair.
“What a wonderful idea. My pleasure. I think your gang is all here so, have a great meeting. Left menus out for you. I recommend Jack’s mac and cheese.” Wendy winks, leaving us at our table.
I lean in close to Shirley. “You mean there really is a Jack Frosty?”
“Heavens no. Cute name to sell ice cream back in the day. Just a coincidence the cook’s name is Jack Muldoon. C’mon. You can have your dinner later. Let’s get down to business.” Shirley gestures for me to take a seat.
Entrusted (Adirondack Surrender Series Book 1) Page 5