A Northern Romance: Atlantic Island Romances (Retro Romance Book 1)

by Liz Graham

  Conor looked over the small crowd. Where was Seamus? He’d promised to be here, to use his considerable talents of persuasion. She was surprised he hadn’t shown yet, for he loved an audience. She glanced at the clock. It was six o’clock.

  ‘Better get this started,’ she called. ‘I’ll keep it short, so it won’t take long. I know you want to get home for dinner.

  ‘As most of you know,’ she continued. ‘A group of us are interested in starting an artist’s retreat in the old logging base out past the airport. The place has been empty since the seventies, yet the buildings are still in good enough shape for use.’

  She stopped and looked around the room.

  ‘They used good lumber back then.’ someone commented. ‘They built things to last.’

  ‘True,’ Conor said, smiling. ‘The four buildings and the land were signed over to the Crown Assets Disposal department of the provincial government at the time, and since then have been standing empty. I figure if we don’t come up with a use for them, they’ll just rot into the ground so it’s better to use them for something that will contribute to the town‘s economy.’

  There were some murmurings from the back table nearest the window.

  ‘So why an artists’ retreat, Conor?’ a man asked.

  ‘Yeah, there‘s not much money in art,’ his neighbor agreed. ‘Aren’t artists poor?’

  Someone laughed and mentioned Seamus’ name as an example

  ‘Uh huh,’ Conor said. ‘That’s right. Artists do tend not to have much money. However, we’re going to have this set up to attract people who do have money, who want to learn to draw or paint, or hook rugs, anything.

  ‘It’s a perfect place for it,’ she continued. ‘And people will pay to come here to the wilderness setting. It won’t be luxury accommodations, but we’ll be looking for the people who don’t mind a bit of roughing it.’

  Doc Oster cleared her throat.

  ‘We can advertise in Europe,’ she suggested. ‘Many Germans would be thrilled to come here. A lot of Europeans already come to the West Coast for skiing at Marble Mountain, and for picking chanterelle mushrooms up the coast in the fall.’

  ‘Will the base hold enough people to make it worthwhile?’ a woman asked. Conor recognized her as June Peckford, who owned a large B & B out by the airport. The land in question abutted her own.

  ‘Probably not,’ Conor admitted. ‘Not once we really get going. And that’s another contribution to the local economy, because people will be looking for beds.’

  As the discussion wore on, the crowd grew quite excited with the idea, and not necessarily for the sake of the promotion of art. The airport, the grocery stores, all the other tourism businesses would all profit if this took off, Conor pointed out, so although the retreat itself would not be a huge money maker, the benefits would spread throughout the region.

  She took care to note that as this would be a non-profit outfit, any jobs created directly by the retreat would not be the typical minimum wage.

  ‘The wages for the cleaners and the cooks have to be decent to insure good workers and loyalty,’ she said. ‘It’s hard to raise a family on five dollars an hour.’

  The arduous prospect of work involved in beginning such a venture quickly lightened as each person at the meeting volunteered to take on some of the work. Conor herself with Doc Oster decided to take care of the government side of things - getting permission to use the land and buildings, and looking for any government funds which might be available to assist them.

  She looked over at the doctor, a happy expression lighting her features as the crowd took their time leaving, lingering to discuss their ideas before they walked into the chill evening. The spring sun was still bright in the sky, but the evening wind off the water was cold.

  ‘Looks like we’ve got the local support we need,’ she said to the older woman over the buzz.

  ‘It‘s good to get as much of the community involved as we can,’ Doc Oster said, nodding her head yet frowning at the same time. ‘For I can foresee some difficulties.’

  ‘Difficulties?’

  Before the doctor could reply, the glass door swung open and a blond male head hesitantly peeked in. Devon’s tall frame filled the doorway.

  If she’d been aware of how her face softened at the sight of him, and of the glow which lit her eyes when their eyes met, she would have wiped her face of emotion and coolly turned her back on him. But he filled her vision, and everything else in the room faded away. Conor left Doc Oster and moved through the room towards him.

  ‘Hi,’ she said then stopped, uncertain of how to proceed.

  ‘Hey Conor,’ he said with relief. A warm smile flooded his face, that special warmth which years ago she had believed was for her alone. ‘I’m surprised you‘re still open, but I’m glad.’

  She stood and stared at him, trying to swallow the growing lump in her throat.

  ‘We’re closed,’ she replied abruptly, then saw his questioning glance at the crowd now waiting to go out the door.

  The two stepped away to allow people access to the exit.

  ‘This was a meeting,’ she said. Soon they were the only two left in the store.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, looking at his scuffed boots.

  ‘Did you want something?’ she asked him after a pause. ‘There‘s not much left on the shelves.’

  Devon looked at her uncertainly, then his face cleared.

  ‘Bread, you mean,’ he said with relief. ‘Of course, this is a bakery, isn’t it?

  ‘No,’ he continued. ‘I didn’t come to buy anything. I wanted to talk with you. There wasn’t much chance yesterday.’

  ‘Melissa was in a hurry,’ Conor said in the coldest tone she could muster. She stood for a moment further by the now closed door, then relented. ‘Come in and sit down,’ she invited.

  After they’d taken places at the closest table, he drew a deep breath.

  ‘I don’t know where to begin,’ he said, meeting her eyes with a plea.

  Conor thought for a moment. So much to say, but where to start? And perhaps some things were better left unsaid, especially as he and Melissa seemed to be an item now.

  ‘What was the meeting about?’ he asked, easing into the conversation.

  She was grateful for the small talk. Perhaps they could just start a new friendship from this point, without stirring up the past.

  ‘We want to open an artist’s retreat in the old logging base,’ she began, and proceeded to tell him the details.

  Devon was entranced.

  ‘This could be the start of a big thing,’ he said, resting his elbows on the table, his face aglow with the idea. She caught herself thinking he was even more attractive than he’d been five years ago, if that was possible. He appeared to have aged a bit in that short time, the lines on his face more pronounced as if carved into his golden boy looks. His hair was shorter these days and no longer had the sheen that a good cut and expensive product had given his immaculate ponytail. Now, it was windblown, as if he’d combed it after his shower then totally forgotten its existence for the rest of the day.

  He’d changed somehow, from the rich young kid with the world in his pocket.

  ‘Would you like to see the site?’ she asked, hesitantly, glancing out the window. There would still be lots of daylight to show him the buildings and, she hated to admit it, she was loath to let him out of sight. He looked so darn good!

  ‘Would l?’ he exclaimed with the old exuberance she remembered, ‘Let’s go!’

  His exit was interrupted by a loud beeping. He took a small black box out of his pocket and examined it, his face clouding over just a little. He hesitated a moment before looking back up at Conor.

  ‘That’s my pager,’ he said. ‘Do you mind if I use your phone?’

  She’d heard of pagers, but never seen one before. Of course, he was a doctor, and was probably being called back to the hospital. She nodded toward the phone on the wall behind the counter.

  ‘Exc
use me for a minute,’ he said.

  She tried not to listen to the murmured conversation, but that was difficult in the closed space of the bakery.

  ‘That was Melissa,’ he said to her, hanging up the receiver. ‘You know, she might not be a bad person to get on board with this project, with her government contacts.’

  Conor gritted her teeth as she put on her coat and gloves. She didn’t intend to have anything to do with Melissa if she could help it, even if it meant never seeing Devon again. Locking the shop behind her, she looked around the unpaved parking area at the side of the road.

  ‘Where’s your car?’ she asked.

  ‘Back at the hospital,’ he replied. ‘I walked from there.’

  They took the bakery van. Conor slowed when she came to June’s B & B, turning left along a dirt road almost hidden in a stand of trees. The lowering sun cast streaks of red, gold and purple through the northern clouds.

  ‘It’s beautiful here,’ he murmured. ‘The whole area.’

  She nodded agreement.

  ‘I see why you came back,’ he continued.

  ‘This, and other reasons,’ Conor said, flashing him a grateful smile. ‘Let’s just say l was called back suddenly, and never got around to leaving again.’

  ‘Strange how life works out,’ Devon said, relaxing back into the seat as the van moved through the darkening woods.

  ‘I always thought I’d be a practicing cosmetic surgeon by now,’ he continued as he stared out at the bushes they passed. It was slow going now on the old unpaved road. ‘Instead, after graduation, after you… Well, I spent a few years abroad.’

  Conor glanced at him in the dusk.

  ‘You‘re surprised to hear that?’ he asked, and laughed. ‘So was everybody else. Do you know what I actually heard my mother say to Uncle Hebert one day?’

  ‘What?’ she asked, noticing that it was no longer Mum.

  ‘She said ‘He needs to get this out of his system’,’ he said, perfectly mimicking the moneyed St. John’s accent. ‘Well, l guess I got something out of my system over there.’

  Conor pulled slowly down the dirt track to the old base houses. The headlights swam around the overgrown parking lot, lighting the four two-story clapboard buildings. The paint had long fallen off the wooden siding, but the buildings were sturdy.

  ‘Holy crap,’ Devon said as he swung down from the van. To their left was a small pond. To the right, buildings stood in a curved row in the huge field, an unexpected opening in the blanket of woods which covered the land. They were silhouetted against the sun. No lights shone in the windows, and no curtains graced the dark holes.

  ‘This is huge.’ he said. ‘And out here in the middle of nowhere…’

  Conor took on her flashlight and walked to the nearest square building. It was, or had been, a duplex of two large houses attached by one wall.

  ‘It was all built by the logging company,’ she said, sliding her hand on the metal stair rail as she climbed the steps to the front doors. ‘These were the management houses. They used the site for about thirty years till they closed the logging industry up here. Can you imagine the expense they went to building all this?’

  They peered in through the broken glass of the nearest window.

  ‘There’s been a little vandalism over the years,’ Conor noted. ‘But not as much as you might expect for an abandoned site so close to town. The kids all think it’s haunted.’

  Devon shivered in the cool evening breeze as he looked around the empty base.

  ‘It is a little eerie here,’ he said. ‘In the dusk, it looks like a ghost village.’

  ‘Not for long,’ Conor replied with determination. ‘Can you imagine this place in the summer? There’ll be people, and cars, and life here again.’

  She looked up at him, her face aglow in the half-light. He caught her by the shoulder, and pulled her gently toward him.

  ‘Conor,’ he began, looking into shadows cast on her face by the setting sun. ‘We need to talk.’

  She held herself, breathless, unmoving in his arms. His nearness excited her deep within, and she could feel his body responding to hers. How easy it would be to forget the past five years of pain and heartache, to relax in these arms as innocently and as easily as she had once done. A familiar thrill ran up her spine and her hands moved to touch his hair. Its softness encouraged her to run her fingers through its length, beginning at his neck and moving up.

  Devon groaned and pulled her even closer. He bent his head down to kiss the top of her head, his arms easily encircling her small frame. Her hands met around his neck and she exerted the slightest pressure, then reached her face up to find his searching lips.

  The headlights of a car flashed upon them suddenly from die direction of the old lane leading to the base. Instantly the two bodies parted, Conor pushing against him in her surprise, almost leaping to the other side of the porch.

  ‘It’s just kids,’ she said, looking for her breath again. ‘Kids coming out here to drink beer.’

  But she could tell by the flash of gold from the vehicle in the remnants of light from the sky that no kid owned this car. The occupant thrust herself out of the sedan, and slammed the door behind her, almost stumbling on the gravel in her effort to reach the two. Conor and Devon walked slowly down the porch stairs to meet her.

  Melissa stood on the ground looking up at them, her arms huddled around her slim body to ward off the cold. She was wearing a Nordic sweater which played off the grey in her eyes delightfully, but it didn’t break the wind in this open space.

  ‘Well, this is certainly the backside of nowhere,’ she said. ‘What did you call me all the way out here for?’

  She looked demandingly at Devon. The woman had so far managed to totally ignore Conor’s presence.

  ‘I didn’t call you out here,’ he said, with a hint of annoyance in his voice. ‘I just said…’

  ‘This place is spooky,’ the woman broke in, shivering as she looked around at the tall empty buildings.

  ‘Since you’re out here, anyway,’ Devon said, sending a glance to Conor which might have been apologetic. It was too dark out for her to be sure. ‘Why don‘t you let Conor tell you her plans for the place? You could be a big help, I think.’

  Conor set her small mouth in a grim line to cover the confusion she felt. Her heart was still beating hard with the passion which had flooded her, and every atom of her being cried out with the frustration of that almost-kiss which hadn‘t been. She tried to gain her composure, but it was hard with Melissa there. The other woman stood expectantly in the path of her car‘s headlights, a disdainful look on her perfect features as she stared at Conor.

  Melissa was the last person on earth from whom she would ask assistance for this project which was so close to her heart.

  And what was with Devon? Conor could have sworn he too felt the passion between them just moments ago. What was he playing at? He could have gotten a job anywhere in the province, in the world, yet he’d chosen to come to this isolated town to be with Melissa.

  He hasn’t changed, she realized with a rising ire. Not at all. He was still the rich kid, the golden boy, who knew he could have his cake and eat ii too, any cake he wanted. And any woman he wanted.

  Her passion changed to rage, and then just as quickly to disgust. These two, this couple bred from the old money of St. John’s merchants, had been well taught in the art of using people to further their own whims. Their forebears had amassed their great fortunes getting rich off the backs of the poor fishermen. That was how the whole pack of them operated.

  But Conor, too, could play that game. Why not use Melissa’s contacts to further her cause as Devon had suggested?

  She forced an ingratiating smile on her face as she approached the other woman.

  ‘We’re planning to create a community run artists’ retreat here,’ Conor said in as pleasant a voice as she could manage as she explained the broader points.

  Melissa’s face screwed up at the thoug
ht. ‘You mean get people to pay to come and stay here?’ she asked, looking about the old base. The headlights of her still-running car lit the arc of buildings, magnifying the dead dark spaces of the windows and causing the buildings to loom in the dusk.

  Conor swallowed the bile which rose in her throat.

  ‘Just think,’ she urged. ‘A wilderness setting like this would be a great draw for people who live in cities.’

  Melissa’s eyebrows drew together in what Conor unkindly interpreted as an unaccustomed effort to think. The blonde woman looked around again at the open space.

  ‘It won’t take a lot to bring the buildings up to code, make them fairly comfortable,’ Conor continued. ‘They were really well built to start with.’

  ‘But…’ Melissa continued to look about her. ‘Why an artist’s retreat? Why not something that’ll attract big bucks, like a resort for the uber-wealthy? That crowd are always looking for something new.’

  Conor looked at the other woman in bewilderment for the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

  ‘Making money’s not the point,’ she said, simply. ‘Besides, the government wouldn’t just give it to a private interest – this is Crown Land now.

  ‘And we’re looking for something which will benefit the whole community,’ she reminded Melissa, as gently as she could.

  ‘Hmm,’ Melissa grunted in reply. ‘There could be potential here.’

  She narrowed her eyes and looked around again. Conor couldn’t resist sneaking a quick look at Devon, only to find him already watching her with a look that almost spoke of tenderness.

  Setting her face firmly against him, she turned away.

  Melissa had had enough of standing in the cold spring night.

  ‘Come on, Devon, I‘ll give you a lift back into town,’ she said. ‘And give me a hand getting over this ground.’ She held her hand out to Devon, who came to her side.

  SEAMUS NOISILY CLEARED away the dinner plates as Conor remained sitting at the kitchen table, looking off into space.

  The kettle whistled as he finished placing the last newly washed plate on the dish rack and he let the tea brew as he wiped each surface clean.