by Lacey Baker
“I’m going to do just fine on my own.”
“Without a father?” Lorrayna asked, raising a thick brow.
Drew sighed, scooped up the daisies, and slowly slipped them into a Waterford crystal vase. “I lived a good portion of my life without a father,” she said under her breath. “Or at the very least without a good father.”
“When are you going to tell him?” Lorrayna continued, thankfully not having heard Drew’s last comment.
“Today,” she replied to her mother’s stark question.
“Then you’d best fix that sour attitude of yours or he’s going to be on the first bus back to Baltimore.”
“He’s Parker Cantrell, Mama. He’s probably already got one foot on that bus back to Baltimore,” she quipped.
Chapter 2
“You’re disgusting,” Savannah squealed, pushing Parker and his sweat-riddled body away.
Parker laughed as his lips finally made contact with his baby sister’s perfectly made-up face. One of his biggest childhood joys had come from harassing Savannah. It was amazing that years later he still received the same pleasure from hearing her high-pitched, ultrafeminine scream.
“You love me and you know it,” he said, moving away from her for the moment. He went to the sideboard in the dining room, where there was always a pitcher of iced tea or lemonade and iced water for the B&B’s guests. He poured himself a glass of water and gulped it halfway down before turning to see where Savannah had gone.
“You think every female loves you,” she was saying as she used a napkin to dab at the cheek where he’d no doubt left remnants of his sweat.
“And you’re liable to tear your newly built knee apart with all that running you’ve been doing,” she continued.
“Running is good therapy for my knee, thank you very much.” He finished his water. “And all the females do love me,” he joked.
Savannah frowned, an action that still didn’t mar the pure beauty she’d been blessed with. She was five years younger than Parker, but he’d been the first of his brothers to see the change in the little kid they’d all dismissed for far too long. Everything about Savannah had blossomed at once; in the span of one summer, she went from the annoying little brat of a sister to the cute and curvy girl who lived in the big yellow house at the end of Sycamore Road. That’s precisely what he’d overheard Frankie Myers and Tim Johnson calling her one day when they’d been playing basketball at the park. By the time Parker finished with those two, they knew her name was Savannah and that if they so much as thought about her curvy body again, they would regret it.
The evolution of Savannah had not stopped that summer. Each day she had seemed to come further into the woman she was meant to be, and although Parker had been proud to see her on billboards and in magazines, the protective brother in him had waited for the moment some idiot guy hurt her. Because that would be the day Parker Cantrell, homicide detective, went to jail for murder.
“You’re such a jerk. All guys are jerks!” she said vehemently.
Parker stared at her another second without speaking. Something told him that day had finally come.
“Are we talking about a particular guy, or jerk, should I say?”
She’d taken a seat in one of the cherrywood dining room chairs and crossed her legs so the big skirt of her dress fanned out around her. She looked as if she were posing for a picture, the pale blue dress she wore giving her sun-kissed skin an alluring sheen and those slanted eyes giving him the once-over.
“No. I am not talking about any jerk in particular. All of you share your piece of the jerk pie happily,” she snapped.
Wow, she was in a mood today.
And if the mood was related to a man, Parker really wasn’t the one to talk to Savannah about it. She normally went to Quinn with those issues because, in her words, “he has more class than you and Preston.” Parker didn’t agree. Although Quinn was the oldest, and he and Preston, as twins, tended to share the same outlook on things such as relationships, he didn’t see how that made Quinn better than them. Four months ago, all three of the Cantrells were against formal, long-term relationships. Now, it was Preston and Quinn who were about to take the plunge into marriage. Parker was still holding on to his bachelor card, with a death grip!
“Well, he’s an idiot to have done whatever he did to put that look on your face,” Parker told her, hoping that would be enough to get this conversation over with.
“Who’s an idiot and what look does Savannah have today?” Michelle asked, coming into the dining room with a fresh pitcher of water in her hands.
“Savannah does not have a look and Parker’s the idiot for insinuating I did,” Savannah huffed.
“Good, because we have a busy day today. The parade starts in an hour, then we have that picnic lunch to deliver to city hall for that big town council meeting with the Redling brothers, and then we need to be down at the pier an hour before the festival begins tonight.”
Michelle talked as she moved. She’d pulled a cloth out of her apron pocket and wiped the sideboard down before replacing the water. Then she’d turned and wiped the dining room table, which hadn’t really needed any wiping. She was straightening chairs and giving them the rundown of today’s schedule all at the same time. A better multitasker Parker had never seen.
“Why do we have to cater the Redling brothers meeting?” Savannah asked with another frown. “They’re our competition, remember?”
“For one, they paid us,” was Michelle’s reply.
“And for two, it’s much better to keep your enemy close,” Parker added. “What better way to find out what they’re up to than to be at the meeting?”
Savannah frowned. “But we’re cooking for the meeting, like hired help.”
“You don’t cook a thing,” Michelle told her. “And we’re not just cooking, we’re also serving, because those Redlings think they’re so smart and so much classier than we poor townsfolk are. They wanted a fully catered lunch, table service included. Which means the three of us, me, you, and Raine, will be in the same room with them, serving and listening.”
“And tomorrow morning she’ll cook us waffles, scrambled eggs with cheese, and scrapple as we all sit down to hear your recap of said meeting,” Parker added, his stomach growling at the mention of Michelle cooking breakfast.
Parker would have loved his oldest sister anyway since they shared the same blood, but the fact that she was almost as good a cook as their late grandmother earned her a very special place in his heart. If ever he did consider settling down with a woman, she’d have to be able to cook. That didn’t make him some kind of chauvinist, he just liked to eat good food and was sadly inept at preparing it for himself.
“I see the breakfast menu has already been made,” Michelle announced with a chuckle.
Parker only shrugged. “With Quinn and Preston out of the house, I’m the only man left, so I figure I’ve moved up on the totem pole enough to make breakfast suggestions.”
“You’re not the only man here. Mr. Sylvester is right down the hall doing Lord knows what in that room,” Savannah added. “He’s been out and about a little more frequently lately. Have either of you noticed that? And when he comes out he smells like some god-awful cologne. I think he bathes in it.”
Of course, Savannah was frowning. Parker laughed as he moved closer to tweak her nose. “Nothing’s ever good enough for you, is it, sunshine?”
“Leave Mr. Sylvester alone. I think it’s good that he’s getting out. I was afraid he’d rot away in that back room thinking about Gramma. She wouldn’t want that for him. So if he’s getting out and living his life, I’m happy for him. And he loves my waffles,” Michelle added with a satisfied smile.
Savannah stood, huffing once more. “Yes, everybody loves Michelle’s cooking. And they love how wonderful Quinn is with the patients down at the clinic. Drew’s mother is even raving about Preston’s help in that lawsuit she was trying to pursue. And you, the famous Double Trouble Cantrell
brother, can do no wrong, especially since you ran your bike into a tree and busted up your knee. I swear, living in this house is like living under the Sweetland Perfection Umbrella.”
She stormed out of the room before Parker or Michelle could say anything to her. Instead they looked at each other in question.
“She’s getting worse,” Parker said quietly, shaking his empty glass so that the ice cubes clanked together.
Michelle sighed. “I know. If she holds whatever is bothering her in any longer, she’s going to explode.”
Parker was shaking his head. “And that’s not going to be good.”
“No. It’s not going to be good. And it’s not going to be easy. Whatever happened to her hurt her deeply. She’s running from something, and she’s afraid to confront whatever it is. I can’t stand to see her that way,” Michelle said quietly.
For all they fought like cats and dogs, Michelle loved Savannah, probably more than any of the rest of her siblings, since she’d practically helped Gramma raise her.
“I know. Raine’s worried and frowning because she doesn’t know how to help her,” Parker said.
Michelle gave a slight smile. “Raine’s always worried and frowning, Parker, you know that.”
They both chuckled.
“It’s good to be back home,” he said suddenly.
Michelle stopped moving and folded her arms over her chest. She looked so much like Gramma, Parker couldn’t stand to look at her sometimes. Her mocha skin tone, high cheekbones, and warm smile did something to him each time he saw her. It brought back memories, and those memories were painful. He loved his sister, but damn, he wished she looked more like their mother or even their father, just not Gramma.
“It’s good to have all of you back home. Now that Preston and Quinn are staying, I can’t help but hope the rest of you find your place here.”
Parker hadn’t said all that. Even though of each of his brothers, he was probably the only one who’d arrived in Sweetland without a definite date to return to the city and his job, and without a longing to do so, either. “I don’t know about all that,” he told her. “And you shouldn’t get your hopes up. Savannah’s always wanted to fly away, and I do have a job in the city.” For whatever that was worth, he thought.
“I know. But whatever Savannah flew away to before is what hurt her so bad she’s scared to leave here now. I’m hoping she’ll finally wake up and see she could be happy right here in Sweetland.” She moved to stand in front of Parker then, cupping a palm to his still sweat-damp cheek. “And you, there’s something going on with you, too. But if there’s one thing I know about this brother of mine, it’s that he doesn’t run from his problems. He faces everything head-on and then pushes it right out of his way. It’s just a matter of time before Sweetland opens up a place for you, too. Just watch and see.”
Michelle left him alone then, with her words wafting through the air as only homegrown advice can. Michelle was much wiser than her thirty-four years. She was stronger and more independent than any of them had ever had to be. And she’d found her place in Sweetland while the rest of them had moved on. He admired her for that, wanting to know if what she had could be bottled and stored for later use, because right at this moment Parker had no idea where his place was. No idea at all.
* * *
The Labor Day Festival was one of Sweetland’s more subdued celebrations, if there was such a thing. In comparison with Bay Day and the winter wonderland makeover the town endured for the entire month of December, this was the calmest. For that reason it was also Drew’s favorite.
She’d dressed in a comfortable coral-colored sundress that cupped her breasts, then fell loosely to her ankles. Her sandals had a three-inch wedge heel that was both fashionable and easy to walk in. After twisting her hair into a French braid she prayed was neat as well as stylish, she grabbed her small purse, slipped on her sunglasses, and headed out the back door. Because she lived on the floor above her shop, she parked her car in the back driveway. Well, it wasn’t actually a driveway since the majority of her yard had been converted into her personal garden, but there was still enough room for her to pull in her old blue-candy-colored Fiesta.
As soon as she started the engine, Drew switched on the air-conditioning. This summer had been particularly hot in Sweetland, with more than thirty days of consecutive ninety-five-plus-degree temperatures that had forced everyone to spend a small fortune in electric bills trying to keep air conditioners and fans running. It had been especially hard on Drew, as she’d also had to deal with morning sickness. She was secretly hoping for fall to make its appearance with much cooler temperatures.
The drive down to the dock was short, and before she had a chance to really enjoy the cool interior of her car, she was pulling into the parking lot beside The Crab Pot. In her purse she’d put a handkerchief, one that had belonged to her grandfather. She pulled it out and traced her finger lovingly over the black monogram a second before using it to dab at the dampness on her forehead.
After pulling down the sun visor, she flipped the mirror upward to survey her face. “He’s going to think you’re a sweat-riddled lunatic if you don’t cut it out,” she warned herself.
Then she took a couple of deep, steadying breaths. She closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer.
“Just let me get through this. Everything will be fine once I get this over with,” she began. “And please, if he’s going to be an ass about this, let him keep it to himself.” She clenched and unclenched her fists. “I don’t know how civil I’ll be able to remain if he doesn’t.”
Before someone could walk by and catch her talking to herself, Drew climbed out of the car and headed down to the dock, where people had already begun to gather. Normally the pier looked slightly deserted, as only three restaurants occupied the space that stretched for almost two miles before dropping off into the Miles River. Charlie’s Bar & Grille, The Crab Pot, and Amore Italian Restaurant were the only waterfront places to eat in Sweetland, but Drew suspected that would change soon. Sweetland was growing in both tourism and development. And both were adding to the success of her flower shop, so she wasn’t about to complain.
Today the pier was decorated in red, white, and blue. Earlier, Mr. Flannery had brought her and her flowers down, and she’d decorated the U.S. flag float that remained stationary at the east entrance to the pier. Additionally, she’d designed eight large potted arrangements that were placed in measured intervals up and down the wood-planked walkway, with balloon bouquets attached to them. There were also booths set up along the pier so that it looked more like a carnival than a festival. Some booths held games, while others sold corn dogs and fried dough. One booth in particular, which Drew made a mental note to visit at some point this evening, advertised delicious fried sweets. She’d been tempted by their sign, and her stomach had growled—even though she wasn’t sure whatever fried sweets they sold were going to sit well with her newly temperamental digestive system.
The day couldn’t have been prettier, with picture-perfect sunshine amid a clear, cotton-candy-blue sky. Someone said the weather had cooled down because they were expecting a thunderstorm later that night, but as Drew continued to walk, she couldn’t really tell. The air was still stifling, and she suddenly wished for one of those over-the-top fans her mother liked to carry around.
“Aren’t you looking pretty as a peach,” Marabelle Stanley said as she cut right in front of Drew’s path.
Drew had been so focused on tonight’s objective and getting to the nearest stand offering the coolest drink, she hadn’t even seen Sweetland’s gossip duo approach. Huge error on her part.
“Thank you, Mrs. Stanley,” she said, mustering up the nicest fake smile she could.
Marabelle Stanley was a short, round woman with raven-black hair and a buttery skin complexion. She was married to Sam Stanley, an ex-Marine who preferred to spend his twilight years sitting on the back porch of his house rather than traipsing around Sweetland socializing
as his wife did. Marabelle’s partner in crime was Louisa Kirk—the woman who was now staring at Drew as if she could see right through her sundress to the small protrusion at her waist that had already started to grow, hence the reason she was forced to do what she had to do tonight.
“Actually, you’re looking a little pale. Are you feeling all right, dear?” Louisa asked to Drew’s chagrin.
Both these women made her uncomfortable. They were old enough to feel justified in saying whatever they pleased, whenever it suited them, and just evil enough to think what they said mattered to whomever they chose to say it to. Normally, Drew avoided them like the plague, and she inwardly berated herself for not being more careful today. She’d known they would be here; there wasn’t a function in Sweetland they missed—whether or not they were invited.
“I’m feeling just fine, Mrs. Kirk. And how are you this lovely evening?” Years of living in a town only a fraction bigger than Sweetland had prepared her for the cattiness-with-a-smile mentality here. And in the time since she’d been here, she’d had to put on her own shield only three or four times. And most of those times had been in the company of these two women.
“All our hard work is paying off. It’s nice to see the townsfolk enjoying the event they barely have time to plan for,” Louisa immediately began. “That’s the problem with young folk, they never want to put in the work it takes to make something special. Always looking for the easy way out or a shortcut of some type, never considering that hard work might actually lead to something good. You know what I mean, don’t you, Drewcilla?” she asked her pointedly.
Louisa was a couple of inches taller than Marabelle. Her thick, broader build added to her more intimidating demeanor, and her heavily made-up face made for a cooler presentation whenever she was around. She too was married to a veteran, named Granger, who didn’t like being with her any more than Stanley did Marabelle.