More to Give (An Anchor Island Novel)

by Terri Osburn

  Callie’s ice-blue eyes dropped to the edge of his desk as she considered her answer. After several seconds she said, “Maybe we could find some kind of reset button. Something that will clear out this cloud of awkwardness around us.”

  Sam felt relieved. Dealing with the present, he could do.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  That soft smile crossed her lips. “Ironically enough, we weren’t all that close back then. Back when we were part of two couples who spent a lot of time together, each unaware there was a third couple in the mix.” Her words carried a trace of sadness. “But we were friends. I know you’re now my boss, but maybe we could also be friends again?”

  Friends. Could he be friends with a woman he’d once had sex with? A woman he wanted to have sex with again and who happened to work for him?

  “That doesn’t sound too difficult,” Sam lied.

  The lie earned him a full-on smile. “Good.” Callie exhaled, blowing a lock of hair off her forehead. “I feel better already.”

  So long as one of them did. “Then we’re finished here,” he said. “Now, I believe you have a hotel to renovate.”

  The last guests of the season would be checking out on Sunday, which meant the renovation could begin in earnest on Monday. The first order of business was the exterior of the building, and for that Callie needed workers familiar with stripping paint and getting it back on, in a hurry, but properly. No shortcuts or sloppy work.

  Where was she going to find that? Surely there were other weathered buildings on the island that required maintenance. In a fishing village, there must be someone with the skills she needed. But who? Callie considered asking Sam, but if she couldn’t take the first step without him, what tone would that set for the rest of the project?

  Then she spotted Will’s business card on the pegboard she’d installed the day before. Offering to show Callie around the island might not have been the same as offering insight for the project, but then, the renovation of the Sunset was as important to Will as it was to Callie. Maybe more so. Callie dialed the number before she could chicken out.

  Will picked up on the second ring. “Destination Anchor. Willow Parsons speaking.”

  “Good morning, Will. This is Callie Henderson over at the Sunset Harbor Inn. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Not at all. What can I do for you? And please don’t tell me this is bad news.”

  “No bad news here,” Callie was happy to relay. “But we’re starting the renovation on Monday, and that means I need a workforce on short notice. I need someone who knows how to handle the exterior first. Do you know who could do that?”

  If they’d kept to the original schedule and stuck with a completion date in the late spring, Callie could have taken as much as a month to bring in the right team. She no longer had that luxury.

  “I know the exact person you need,” Will said.

  “Really?” Callie had expected her to have to think about it. Maybe toss out a couple of names for consideration. Then again, on an island this size there might not be multiple candidates for this sort of thing.

  “Yep.”

  When Will failed to elaborate, Callie asked, “Where can I find him?”

  “Probably on the front porch,” Will said.

  “The front porch of what?”

  “Your hotel. His name is Bernie Matheson. He and Olaf play checkers over there.”

  Callie sat back in her chair. That curmudgeon outside her door could not be her only option. “I’m not sure he’s the person I need. The exterior of this building is going to need a complete revamping—”

  “He’s your guy,” Will said with finality in her voice. “Bernie is a native and knows everything and anything that has to do with construction, carpentry, and repairing what the elements do to buildings around here. If you want the best, you want Bernie.”

  Scrubbing a hand over her face, Callie wallowed in frustration and dread for five seconds. Then she wrote Bernie’s full name on a Post-it. “Sounds like you’re right. I guess I need to head out and have a talk with him, then.” Remembering his toothless checkers adversary, she asked, “What about Olaf?”

  “He’s a bit slow,” Will said, “but I’ve seen what he can do with a piece of furniture. Whether he’s building it himself or fixing up an older piece, his work is amazing. Floyd sells it up at the Trading Post if you want to check it out for yourself.”

  No wonder they’d offered to help out with the renovation. But Callie never would have thought her grumpy welcoming committee would turn out to be her go-to guys for this job.

  “Then at least I don’t have to go far,” she said. Now she had to hope the men were willing to do more than offer casual help. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “Call anytime. And that invitation is still open,” Will said. “My friends and I are meeting at Opal’s bakery tomorrow around noon. Stop in, and I’ll introduce you.”

  Since Henri and her mother were heading off the island before nine in the morning, Callie would be free the rest of the day. Though she’d need to start placing orders for the reno, a quick break for lunch wouldn’t hurt anything.

  “That would be nice. So long as I’m not intruding.”

  “Of course not. Opal’s is on Silver Lake Drive, near the harbor. A few blocks before the Anchor Inn on the right, coming from your direction.”

  Callie pulled out the tourist map she’d been using to find her way around. “Got it,” she said, circling Opal’s on the map. “Noon tomorrow, then?”

  “One thing,” Will said. “If you have any finer sensibilities, you might want to leave them at home.”

  “Excuse me?” Callie asked.

  “You’ll understand when you meet Sid. See you tomorrow,” she said; then the line went dead.

  Callie had expected Will’s friends to be women, but that had been a silly assumption on her part. She couldn’t help but wonder who this Sid guy was, and what was so offensive about him.

  As Sam passed through the lobby on his way to lunch, Rosemary Withers marched through the front doors of the Anchor Inn. Jaw set and her bushy brows nearly touching, the woman appeared ready for a fight in a floral-print dress that looked as if orchids were attacking her.

  Sam sighed. This was not his day.

  “Good morning, Rosemary,” he said, employing his most charming smile. “Nice to see you, as always.”

  “I’ve told you before, those big-city charms won’t work on me,” his archnemesis barked in her bulldog way. “I hear you’re starting renovations on the Sunset Harbor Inn. Why haven’t I been consulted?”

  As president of the Anchor Preservation Society, Rosemary Withers took it as her duty to protect and preserve anything and everything deemed “historic” with her life. Or at least with her formidable personality, which was as daunting as a merciless firing squad.

  Sometimes Sam thought he might prefer the firing squad.

  “We’ve finalized the plan only today, Rosemary,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re not tearing the building down or adding on to it. This is a surface makeover to change the look and atmosphere, but I can assure you we fully intend to preserve the historic aspects of the facility.”

  “William Thomas erected the first walls of that building in 1911,” she charged on, as if Sam hadn’t spoken and didn’t know the history of his own property. “That makes the center structure more than one hundred years old and impales upon us the need to preserve that history.”

  Sam wouldn’t have minded being impaled with something right then.

  “And preserve it we shall,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Sam bowed. “I’m on my way out.”

  Rosemary persisted. “I’ll need to see the plans.”

  Breathing deeply, Sam silently counted to ten. Since the Anchor Inn had been built in the 1960s, Rosemary had been
a thorn in his side about the color scheme only, as the building needed to blend well with the historic sites around it.

  He could see the Sunset Harbor Inn was going to be more of a fight. A fight Rosemary would enjoy a great deal more than he would.

  “As I said, the improvements to the Sunset Harbor Inn are cosmetic. The structure is not being altered in any way, so you have nothing to worry about.” Placating he would do, but Sam wasn’t about to give this interfering old woman the power to approve or disapprove of his plans.

  With narrowed eyes that accentuated the deep lines across her forehead, Rosemary stared him down. “What color?”

  With a triumphant glare, Sam said, “Same as it was before. Blue gray.”

  Her response was a huff as she pulled her quilted purse tight against her shoulder. “I’ll have my eye on the project and expect to be consulted if any structural changes get added later on.”

  “Of course,” Sam said, more affirming the fact that they both knew she’d be watching and not that she’d ever be consulted.

  Rosemary continued to stare until her face suddenly softened and she almost smiled at him.

  Almost.

  And then she exited the building, leaving Sam staring after her. What was she up to now? But then he knew. As Rosemary traveled everywhere via bicycle, Sam hoped he could reach the inn before the pushy old biddy did.

  CHAPTER 8

  Staring at the inside of her office door, Callie took several deep breaths in an effort to channel every ounce of inner confidence she could muster. Olaf had already said he and Bernie would help with the renovation. Heaven forbid they not get to play their daily game of checkers.

  But now she needed them to take a larger role. To become team players and see her as their leader.

  In other words, she needed to charm them into believing they would be in charge.

  As expected, she found her quarry on the porch, huddled around their ancient checkerboard. Olaf was playing the red checkers and seemed to be winning. He’d ordered Bernie to king him with a joyous chuckle as Callie approached.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, shooting for a cordial tone. “Enjoying your game?”

  “What do you want?” Bernie said, eyes glued to the board as he rubbed his chin between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.

  So much for a smooth approach. “I wondered if I might talk to the two of you about the renovations for the hotel. Olaf mentioned before that you’d be willing to help with the work.”

  “Then we can play on our lunch hour,” Olaf said, flashing his gap-toothed grin. The twinkle in his green eyes stirred Callie to imagine he might have been handsome in his day. “You said that would work.”

  “Yes, I did.” Callie hedged, unsure of how to proceed. “But you see—”

  “You can’t change your mind now,” Bernie said, granting Callie his rarely given attention. “So what are you hemming about?”

  Straightening her shoulders, Callie blurted, “I’ve been told you’re the best person to handle the restoration of the exterior. Is that true?” she asked Bernie.

  The grizzled islander scratched one ear, drawing attention to the gray hairs growing out of it. Callie returned her focus to his watery blue eyes. “I know more than most when it comes to fixing what the weather breaks down around here. If that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Do you believe we can save the shingles?” If Bernie didn’t give the answer she needed, Callie wasn’t sure what they would do. But instead of giving a yes or no, he rose from his seat, shuffled down to the end of the porch, and examined a few shingles that were exposed to the elements.

  He rubbed a hand along the peeling surface, scratched, and even sniffed. Returning to the checkerboard, Bernie said, “We can save ’em. She’ll need a lot of scraping, but we can get the old girl back to new again.”

  Callie exhaled as relief washed over her. “Thank goodness.”

  Jumping one of Olaf’s checkers with his own, Bernie said, “We’ll start in the spring.”

  “We can’t wait that long,” Callie argued. “The entire renovation has to be done by Christmas.”

  Olaf snorted. “Then you’d better bring back the blessed child, because that would take a miracle.”

  She aimed for the one thing she knew neither man could ignore. “Then we’ll have to find a miracle, because this hotel will be renovated and open for business the weekend before Christmas. I thought you were the men for the job, but I’ll have to find more skilled and knowledgeable islanders in the village.”

  “There ain’t nobody got my skills and knowledge. You can search all the way up the Banks and you still won’t find anyone who knows what I know.”

  Thank heaven men never outgrew their egos.

  “Good,” Callie said, as if she and Bernie were in perfect agreement. “We’ll start first thing Monday morning. I’m assuming you can find the manpower we’ll need?”

  Bernie crossed his arms. “It’s short notice, but I should be able to find a crew.”

  One down. One to go.

  Callie turned her attention to the man on her right, flashing her brightest smile. “There’s a great deal of furniture inside that could use a master’s touch. Is it true that you have a way with such things?”

  Olaf actually blushed, sending pink crawling over his forehead to disappear under his fishing cap. “Well,” he said, “I don’t like to brag.”

  Callie caught Bernie rolling his eyes but remained focused on her prey. “If I found the right fabrics, could you repair and refurbish the furniture?” She added an extra incentive. “We’ll happily supply your name to any guests who express an interest in purchasing a one-of-a-kind piece of their own.”

  The twinkle gained several watts. “That sounds like a good deal to me.”

  “You’ll still pay him,” Bernie said. The words were a statement, not a question.

  “Of course we will.” Callie resisted the urge to pat herself on the back. “Then we have a team. Bernie’s in charge of the exterior improvements, and Olaf, you’re in charge of the furniture. We’ll create a workshop right here on the premises.”

  Before Olaf could answer, the chime of a bell sounded from somewhere behind Callie, but it wasn’t the front door this time. Bernie leaned to glance around her, then ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, mumbling a profanity.

  Curious as to what or who could cause such a reaction, Callie scanned the parking lot and found an elderly woman barreling toward the porch steps, looking like a flower-bedecked Wicked Witch of the West come to take her dog. The bicycle even had a wire basket on the front.

  The new visitor pulled to a stop to the left of the stairs, threw a nylon-covered leg over the seat, and leaned the yellow bike against the railing. Tapping her hair into place, she pulled a quilted bag from the basket, pulled it onto her shoulder as if strapping on a weapon for combat, then stomped up the stairs.

  “Are you the stranger Mr. Edwards brought to town to fix up this hotel?” she asked upon arriving on the top step.

  Callie nodded, struck speechless by the enormous orchids engaged in a botanical skirmish all over the woman’s dress. She almost expected petals and shredded leaves to fly into the air around her.

  “Are you aware that the first walls of this structure were erected more than one hundred years ago?”

  Having done her homework when she’d found the ad for the open position, Callie nodded again.

  “And are you aware that we take historical preservation very seriously on this island?”

  As she’d also researched the island as a whole, Callie knew there was an Anchor Preservation Society in charge of protecting the island’s past. Perhaps she’d underestimated their dedication to the cause.

  “My name is Callie Henderson,” she said, extending a hand. “And you are?”

  “The spawn of
Satan,” Bernie mumbled behind her, garnering a pinched-face look from their crusading visitor.

  “My name is Rosemary Withers, and I am president of the Anchor Preservation Society. I’ve come to review your plans for the renovation of this hotel.”

  Callie had faced historical societies before and knew full well what one could and could not do with older properties. As they were not tearing down, altering, or adding on to the current structure, Ms. Withers had nothing to worry about where this particular renovation was concerned.

  Callie also knew Sam should be the person dealing with this situation.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Withers.”

  “Mrs.”

  “Excuse me?” Callie said.

  “It’s Mrs. Withers. I was married for fifty-two years, and the fact that Wilford Withers has proceeded on to meet his maker does not make me any less of a Mrs.”

  Nodding, Callie considered for the first time in her life that perhaps Evelyn Henderson wasn’t the most difficult woman on Earth.

  “My apologies. Mrs. Withers. I’m sure if you speak with Mr. Edwards—”

  The woman cut her off. “I spoke with Sam before I came here. I’d like to see the plans.”

  There would be no plan sharing without direct orders from her boss.

  “Would you like something to drink, Mrs. Withers?” Callie ushered the woman toward the entrance. “I did read up on Mr. Thomas, who of course was the person behind the birth of this structure more than a hundred years ago, but I’m sure that your knowledge of the man and the building would put my meager research sources to shame.”

  Gray eyes turning softer, Mrs. Withers accepted the subtle compliment with the predictable amount of preening. “I would enjoy a cup of tea after my long ride over here.” As Madame President stepped into the lobby, she said over her shoulder, “I’d grab a notepad, dear. You’ll want to take notes.”

  Of course she would. Callie smiled and nodded, ordering Jack, who thankfully was manning his station, to bring them tea as she herded Mrs. Withers into her office.

  Sam cursed under his breath at the sight of the bright yellow bicycle leaning against the railing in front of the hotel. How the hell had she gotten here so fast? Maybe she hadn’t beaten him by much. If he hurried, there was still time to get inside before Rosemary ate Callie for lunch.