“I think I can manage. Besides, it’s a beautiful day for a walk.” It was early March, and while slush still lingered on the ground in Manhattan, a warm breeze blew along the Carolina coast, with trees and flowers blooming in the bright spring sunshine. “I’ll see you back there later.” Ginger gave him a cheeky grin as she headed for the door.
“Don’t forget we have a full production meeting at the B and B this afternoon during teatime. They serve these awesome cupcakes with their tea.” Diesel’s voice took on a reverential tone as he mentioned the cupcakes.
The man hadn’t even finished his heart-attack-on-a-plate sandwich and he was thinking about dessert. Life was seriously unfair, she thought as she set a brisk pace toward the bed and breakfast.
* * *
“I don’t think it’s the plumbing. I think it’s the dang dishwasher that’s gone all catawampus on ya.”
Gavin McAlister propped his hip against the large granite island anchoring the kitchen of the Tide Me Over Inn, staring at a pair of ancient work boots stretching out from under the sink.
“I told ya when we put the second dishwasher in, the lines were solid. It’s not my plumbin’.” The voice underneath the sink was a bit defensive, but Gavin was used to the old man’s blustering. Morgan Balch had been working for McAlister construction since Gavin was in kindergarten, and he was the same cantankerous character today he’d been twenty-five years ago. Gavin put up with the old coot because Morgan was the best plumber south of Wilmington and because he knew that behind all the complaining, the man was loyal and honest as the day was long.
“Are you saying I need a new dishwasher?” Patricia McAlister, Gavin’s mother, passed through the kitchen on her way to the inn’s industrial laundry room, her arms filled with used towels. In her mid-fifties, his mom still looked ready to take on the world. Her shoulder-length red hair had faded to a champagne color years ago. Gavin was surprised it wasn’t gray after raising five children, three of them boys born barely four years apart. Soft laugh lines fanned out beside her hazel eyes and a few more wrinkles showed up each passing year, but she still turned heads wherever she went, even dressed as she was this morning in a pair of worn jeans and a gray cashmere cardigan.
“I’ll call in the morning,” Gavin said, reaching down to help Morgan to his feet. “It’s still under warranty.”
“No, I’ll call.” Patricia dumped the towels in the laundry room and returned to the kitchen. “It’s my inn. I’ve been running it alone for over two years. I certainly know how to call a repairman.” She stopped in front of Gavin, waiting for him to disagree, but she was right. She had been running the B and B on her own since it opened, and quite successfully, too. In fact, the Tide Me Over Inn had received a four-diamond rating each year it had been in operation.
“Okay.” Gavin leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “You win. But don’t let them try to sell you a new one. This one’s not even six months old.”
His mother patted him on the chest; she hadn’t been able to reach the top of his head since he was fourteen. “I may not have all the advanced degrees my children have, but give me a little credit for having street sense.”
“Don’t know why you need two dishwashers, anyhow,” Morgan mumbled.
“Because,” Patricia said patiently, as if it were the first time she and Morgan had had this discussion, “on days when the inn is full and we have a large crowd for tea, we need the extra machine. With two dishwashers, I don’t have to stand at the sink all night hand washing. I have other things to do with my time.”
Morgan let out an indignant snort. He’d been a close friend of Donald McAlister, Gavin’s late father, and he wasn’t afraid to voice his disapproval of Patricia’s active social life, especially since it included dating. Gavin’s older brother, Miles, was pretty vocal in that area as well. But his mother had been a widow for more than two years. She was young, attractive, and vibrant, and Gavin didn’t begrudge her a little happiness.
Gavin cut off Morgan’s mumblings before Patricia could take offense. “You’ve only got the couple of crew from the Historical Restorations show staying here tonight. With the rest of them staying in the chain hotel in town where they can smoke, you shouldn’t need both dishwashers.”
Patricia eyed Morgan as he loaded up his toolbox before turning to her son. “Yes, but the whole crew usually comes for tea. And the little soap opera star they brought along apparently has food issues. She asked if she could prepare her own meals here while the show is in production.”
“Soap opera star?” Gavin grabbed a bottle of water out of the two-door Sub-Zero fridge.
Patricia began arranging cookies on a platter. “Destiny Upchurch, from Saints and Sinners.”
“You’re lettin’ that gal stay here?” Morgan asked.
“Why is there a soap opera actress here?” Gavin asked at the same time.
“She’s just the actress who played Destiny, Morgan. I’m sure she’s nothing like the little witch she played on the show. Except for being a bit of a diva about her food, of course.”
Morgan snatched a cookie from the plate. “I didn’t like that girl when she was on the show.”
“Nobody did.” Patricia covered the platter in plastic wrap so Morgan couldn’t pilfer the rest of them. “She was a nasty teenager, always pretending to be sweet and innocent. Then, wham, she was causing trouble for Savannah Rich.”
“Ahh,” Morgan said wistfully. “Now, that Savannah is one sweet gal. Pretty, too.”
“Hey!” Gavin raised his voice in an attempt to regain control of the conversation. “Enough about the soap opera, already.” Morgan and his mother were talking about these people as if they really knew them. He turned to the plumber. “I can’t believe you actually watch that crap. And you, Mom . . .”
“What? I fold a lot of laundry each afternoon, not that I should have to explain myself to my son.” Patricia snapped a dish towel at him. “I like something mindless on the TV while I work and, really, since Bob Barker left, The Price Is Right just isn’t the same.”
“Yeah, I don’t care for that Drew Carey fella, either,” Morgan added.
Gavin rubbed the back of his neck, trying in vain to rein in his annoyance. “Can we fast-forward to the actress here at the inn?”
“She’s a teenager,” Morgan said. “Too young for the likes of you. Anyway, everyone in town knows you’ve got some little chippy up in Wilmington.”
Gavin groaned. Nothing was sacred in a small town, his dating life in particular, which seemed to be the focus of everyone living in Chances Inlet.
Patricia laughed. “I’m pretty sure she’s older than her character on TV.” Still smiling at Gavin, she filled the two kettles. “She’s probably mid-twenties. Kind of cute, if you like girls who are leggy, waiflike, and all angles around the face. She probably got that way by analyzing every morsel she’s ever eaten.”
“Mom . . .” Everyone in the family—and in town, for that matter—said Gavin was the McAlister with the most patience, but it began to fray as his mother continued to evade his question.
“She does have pretty eyes.” Patricia turned from the sink. “They’re very unique.”
“But. What. Is. She. Doing. Here?” Gavin demanded.
His mother had a habit of taking in strays—mostly women who needed a safe place to land. Occasionally, these women came with a crazy husband/boyfriend/father in pursuit. He didn’t want the soap opera diva to be another one of those women. Gavin wouldn’t interfere in his mother’s social life or her efforts to run the inn, but he’d damn sure protect her from herself when necessary.
“Oh, well, her name is Ginger and she’s working with Diesel.”
As if that said it all.
It was Morgan’s turn to groan at the mention of the heavily tattooed managing producer of Historical Restorations. “That guy looks like a little punk.”
“Don’t judge, Morgan.” Not surprising, Patricia stuck up for the producer. “I get the sense there’s
a lot more to Diesel than he wants us to see. Maybe even more than he knows. I don’t think he had a very loving upbringing.”
Which was his mom’s way of saying Diesel was another one of her strays. Gavin’s mother was all about the power of family. She bought into the whole story of the founding of Chances Inlet. As the lore had it, it was the town of second chances and Patricia McAlister believed everyone who wandered into town deserved one.
Morgan let out another snort before waving his way out the back door.
“It’s like I always say: God puts these people in front of us for a reason. We need to help them,” Patricia said softly.
Gavin glanced out of the large box-bay window above the sink. Out in the yard, Lori Hunt, the current maid/kitchen helper at the B and B, who was another of his mother’s strays, played with a pair of dogs.
Patricia followed his gaze. “She may tell me her story one day. But for now, she needs a safe place to stay. And you have to admit, she makes a wonderful cupcake.”
“I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt. Especially you, Mom.”
“She won’t hurt me.”
No, but what kind of trouble would she bring to your doorstep? he wondered.
“Are you excited about the project?” his mother asked, deftly changing the subject. “You’ve been fascinated with Dresden House since you were a little boy. Daddy always said it was the reason you became an architect.”
Gavin took a drink of water as his mother pulled out china teacups, placing them on a silver serving dish. She was right; he’d loved that old house. But what was once a place to play pirates or, later, study classic architecture, now held the key to his escape from this small town. But his mother didn’t need to know that.
“It’s a great opportunity, but it isn’t going to be easy. I’m glad McAlister Construction is doing the renovation, but I’m not looking forward to being followed around by a television crew.”
“Well, you couldn’t afford to do the renovation without those TV cameras and Marvin Goldman footing the bill. And the women will be beating down your door after the first episode.”
Gavin leaned against the island again and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “That’s hardly the purpose of doing the show.” He had enough notoriety in his hometown. He still hadn’t lived down his Bachelor of the Month in Cosmo and that was years ago. Then there was the whole mess with Amanda. He didn’t want any more attention from women trying to fix his love life. It was one of the reasons he couldn’t wait to leave again.
But first, he had to get out from beneath the mountain of debt his father had left the firm buried under. Thankfully, his younger brother, Ryan, played for the major league baseball team owned by America Cable. A few select words by their star second baseman in the appropriate ears, and McAlister Construction had a reality TV show. It felt a little like Gavin had pimped himself out, but the ends would justify the means.
Patricia nudged Gavin’s hip so he’d slide away from the utensil drawer. Humming happily, she pulled out spoons and set them on the silver tray. His mother could easily relate to his obsession with restoring Dresden House. She’d been equally as obsessed about renovating and operating the inn. And his father had, against all odds, made it happen for his wife. Gavin just couldn’t let his mother know what it had cost Donald McAlister.
He bent to kiss her on the head. “I’m out of here. Call me tomorrow and let me know what the repairman says.”
“Don’t you want to stay for tea? It’s Sunday. Or have you got something better planned? Maybe in Wilmington?” she teased.
“I stay out of your personal life, Mom. You stay out of mine.”
“Thank you for that,” she said. “And thank you for stopping by and replacing the screen in Ida Kosten’s screen porch this afternoon. You are a sweet man, Gavin. Just like your father. I don’t know what everyone in this town would do if you weren’t around.”
Guilt licked at him as he walked out the screen door onto the large veranda that wrapped around three sides of the inn, but he refused to let it consume him. His mother and the rest of this town would be making do without him sooner than they thought.
Putting on his Ray-Bans, he headed for his Jeep Cherokee. “Midas!” He whistled for his dog as he punched the unlock button on his key fob.
The big golden retriever bounded around the corner of the inn just as a woman entered the driveway. She was too far off for Gavin to make out her face, but she strode purposefully toward the B and B as if she belonged there. It had to be the soap star. Dressed in black yoga pants that accentuated a pair of long, shapely legs and a hot-pink zippered hoodie that hid everything else, she didn’t exactly fit his mother’s description of “waiflike.” He couldn’t make out her eyes—his mother said something about them being unique—because they were hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. Her blond hair was pulled up in a messy knot that was probably meant to look artless, but it had likely taken her an hour to complete.
Midas skidded to a halt, eyeing both the open Jeep door and the woman obliviously walking up to the veranda. Gavin tensed as he realized the potential for disaster.
“Come!” he commanded. He was calculating the distance to the dog just as Midas bolted for the unsuspecting woman. “Ah, shit!” He raced after his dog.
TWO
There was no time for Ginger to prepare. One minute, she was contemplating the amount of face pancake needed for high-definition television cameras, and the next minute, she was the pancake, flattened to the gravel driveway by a slobbering mass of flying fur.
“Ow!” Ginger gasped as her sunglasses flew in one direction and the contents of her messenger bag flew in the other. She put her hands to her face to keep the dog’s tongue away. Before it could get close enough, however, a large hand reached down and grabbed it by the collar.
“Off!” The command came from the voice at the other end of the tanned arm. Its deep timbre sent a shiver through Ginger’s body. Too bad it wasn’t having any effect on the dog, who seemed to be settling in for a snuggle. Or perhaps a nibble.
“Midas! Treat, treat! Come, Midas!” The dog lifted its head in response to the innkeeper’s voice. Whoever was holding the dog took advantage of its inattentiveness and shoved the animal off. Scrambling to its feet, the dog jogged up the veranda steps in search of the promised treat.
Still flat on her back, Ginger carefully opened her eyes. Crouched next to her was a man dressed in khakis and a black golf shirt. Sunglasses dangled from a cord around his neck. She gazed up into his face and nearly lost her breath for a second time in as many minutes. He had the most amazing mouth. Sensuous lips that looked as if they smiled easily and often sat atop a broad chin with the hint of a dimple. Thick, brown hair, just days past the date of needing a trim, waved in the breeze. Hazel eyes, full of concern, gazed down at her.
“You okay?” Mr. Amazing Mouth asked.
Ginger nodded slightly, but before she could speak, the innkeeper called out.
“Don’t move her until you check her for injuries!”
Sitting up so quickly that she had to groan, Ginger tried to scoot away. Mr. Amazing Mouth’s close proximity was already doing crazy things to her body; she didn’t want to find out what would happen if he touched her.
Too late. He braced a hand on her shoulder to steady her and she felt the heat clear down to her fingertips.
“Whoa, there,” he said. “Take it slow.”
“Should I call the EMTs? Or maybe the sheriff?” The innkeeper stood on the veranda, a cell phone in her hand.
“Oh God,” Ginger mumbled. “That woman already doesn’t like me. Now she thinks I’ll break at the slightest fall.”
“She doesn’t dislike you.” His hand moved to her elbow as he helped her up. “She just thinks you’re a bit obsessed with food.”
Ginger’s head shot up as she gaped at him. Her cheeks grew warm with mortification at the thought of the innkeeper gossiping about her with the handsome stranger. He grinned ba
ck at her and another dimple appeared at the side of his now-even-more amazing mouth. The effect of his smile caused her to sway a little and his grip on her arm tightened.
“And she calls the sheriff about every little thing. They’re . . . involved.” He winked at her. Something about his expression gave Ginger the sense he was uncomfortable about the relationship, though. “You okay?” he asked again.
“Yeah.” Her voice wavered slightly. Stepping back, she pulled out of his grasp before reflexively rubbing the spot where his hand had been. Ginger bent down to retrieve the odds and ends that had spilled out of her bag as he reached over to pick up her sunglasses.
“Huh,” he said, handing them to her. “She was right about your eyes, though. They are unique.”
The comment wasn’t unfamiliar to her; her almond-shaped green eyes garnered many compliments through the years. But somehow, the way he’d said it felt almost . . . intimate. The dog suddenly reappeared, shattering the moment, which, technically, wasn’t a moment. Put a man with a sexy mouth in front of her and Ginger’s imagination tended to run wild. He was just a handsome stranger with an ill-behaved dog. The wife and two-point-five kids were probably waiting in the car.
“Midas.” He pointed toward the open door of his Jeep. “Car.” The dog looked at him solemnly before dropping its head and slowly padding over to the Jeep. An empty Jeep. Ginger surreptitiously glanced at his hands for a wedding ring. Her stomach did a happy dance when she didn’t see one. Not that an empty ring finger meant anything, but she did have eighty-four days to kill and a girl could dream.
“I’m really sorry about that,” he said. “He’s usually better behaved.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t reward him with a treat every time he knocks someone down.” She was amazed she was able to play it so cool in spite of her screaming pheromones.
One corner of the amazing mouth twitched. “He only gets a reward when he takes down a beautiful woman.”
Ginger kept the smile off her face, but it was hard to keep it out of her voice. “Ah, so you’re just using the dog as a tool to pick up women. Maybe I should alert the folks at PETA.”
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