Libby reaches to take her hand. With a loving squeeze she says, “I can’t even imagine.”
“I’ll see something that catches my funny bone and think, I can’t wait to tell Tom. Or I’ll wonder how his day is going and then I’ll remember.” Her shoulders sag with the weight of her new reality.
“You were a couple for over forty years. It’s got to be hard to remember who you were before that.”
“It happened way too soon, Libs. It’s part of the reason I’m so determined to get the boys settled. Life can be far shorter than we ever imagined, and I want them to feel that kind of love for as many years as possible.”
“I’d like the same thing for Addison. Careers are wonderful and important, but they don’t take the place of a life partner. I’m pretty sure Addie thinks I’ve wasted my life because I never worked outside the home.”
Ruby scoffs, “You’ve raised more money for pediatric cancer than anyone I know. Before that it was Alzheimer’s, and before that it was something else. You’ve more than had a career, you just never got paid for it.”
“Well, I’m ready to become a full-time grandmother while I’m young enough to get down on the ground and play with babies. It’ll be all the more fun if my grandbabies’ other grandma is you.”
Addison
I roll over and take time to stretch every finger and toe. I had a fantastic dream and I want to linger in its wake before consciousness chases it away.
I dreamed I was dancing with Roediger Bainbridge in a statuary garden I toured at Versailles a couple of years ago. A string quartet was playing, and the breeze smelled like gardenia blossom. I wore a beautiful gown reminiscent of another time and Roediger looked like James Bond in his tuxedo. As I savor every detail, I suddenly remember more.
Roediger gazed deeply into my eyes with such smoldering intent I knew it was only a matter of seconds before we were lip locked. As he leaned in, I closed my eyes to relish the anticipation of the moment. That’s when the first egg hit.
Brogan Cavanaugh was leaning against a grecian goddess statue holding a basket of eggs that he was leisurely throwing at us.
“What are you doing?” I screamed.
“Making breakfast,” he answered. “Things were looking so hot over there I thought I’d fry up a couple of eggs.”
“Why, you son of a …” I started to say.
He dropped his basket and practically sprinted at me, pulling me into his arms before I could knee him in the groin, crippling his ability to father children. He kissed me like a sex-starved pirate in one of those trashy romances. It was so delicious my traitorous body practically melted as sheer longing consumed me. My limbs went limp like cooked noodles, and a need greater than I’ve ever experienced shot straight to some pretty interesting places.
Damn, I’m not all hot and bothered because of Roediger. Brogan Cavanaugh did this to me! The thought jolts me into consciousness and immediately sours my mood. I’m going to have to redouble my efforts to maintain distance from my childhood tormentor. He already has a history starring in my nightmares, I’m not about to let him invade my dreams.
Aunt Ruby wouldn’t tell me why she needed my help last night at dinner, claiming I needed a good night sleep before we talked business. I confess to being more than a little curious. So far, the Willamette Valley Lodge is perfectly gorgeous with nary a decorating crisis in sight.
After getting dressed, I decide to do a little exploring on my own. Down in the great room, I discover a coffee and pastry bar for guests who don’t want a full breakfast in the restaurant. There must be nearly a hundred people making use of it.
There are probably more than a hundred being served in the restaurant. If this is diminished business, I can’t imagine what the place looks like when it’s fully booked. The hostess seats me at a recently vacated table by the window with an extraordinary view of the valley and river below.
“Hi there, my name is Carly and I’ll be your server this morning. Can I start you out with some coffee?”
I look up to see the waitress is a pretty woman about my age. “Black tea, please.”
“Sure thing.” Then she informs me, “Our special this morning is Marionberry crepes.”
I hand her my menu. “That’s what I’ll have.” I’m a firm believer in getting a restaurant’s specials. It’s been my experience they try harder with them than with the standard fare they serve day in and day out.
After she walks away, I scan the crowded room and conclude most of the diners are families, not just couples. There are a lot of kids with their parents and grandparents. How nice for them that they’re sitting in a luxurious lodge being served rather than eating burned pancakes over an open fire.
The reason I went into interior decorating was my love for making things beautiful. I specialize in decorating hotels and resorts because I adore staying in them. I design rooms that I want to sleep in and spaces that make people feel special. There’s nothing like a bit of luxury to do that.
When Carly comes back with my tea, I ask, “How long have you worked here?”
“A little over two years. I moved home to help my folks. I thought I’d only be here a short time while I looked for another job, but it turns out the hours and pay can’t be beat.”
“Are you always this busy?” I want to know.
“Our guests like to eat early so they can get out and start enjoying the amenities.”
“I meant is the lodge always this full?” I clarify.
“We’re in peak summer months right now, so we’re probably near capacity.” She looks like she’s really thinking before saying, “There are a couple of slower weeks before the holidays kick off and another short lull right after them. Other than that, we’re pretty packed.”
My mom made it sound like business was lagging and that I was an integral part of helping her friend keep the doors open. That’s obviously not true. Not only is the lodge beautifully decorated, but business is booming. Questions race through my head like a swarm of caffeinated bees.
From my vantage point, I watch as a group of young children climb onto a cluster of boulder-sized rocks near the river. They jump off with their arms stretched wide like they’re trying to catch the wind and fly. A line of horses trots behind them carrying guests of varying ages. Then there are the paddle boarders gently floating on the river. It’s an idyllic summer scene.
When my crepes arrive, I practically drool at the heavenly aroma. The first bite has me groaning out loud. Marionberries are a type of blackberry that were cultivated by Oregon State University in the nineteen forties and fifties. They’re sweet, tart, and huge. I used to eat them by the bucketful when we camped near any bushes. I forgot about that until now and the memory softens my irritation a bit.
I usually do my best to show some restraint when dining out, knowing full well that restaurant portions are almost alway double what a meal should be, but this morning I practically lick my plate clean. I anticipate that irritation alone will help me burn the extra calories.
When I ask for the check, I discover Aunt Ruby is comping my meals, so I leave Carly a hefty tip before venturing outside to explore more of the Willamette Valley Lodge. I decide to make the most of my time here and so long as I can avoid Brogan that shouldn’t be too hard to do.
Chapter Ten
The Mothers
“Are you ready to hear about my plan?” Ruby asks while lacing up her New Balance walking shoes.
Libby pulls her hair back into a ponytail and eagerly replies, “Lay it on me.”
“You know those cabins where we used to house summer employees?” she asks with a devilish gleam radiating from her eyes.
“Yes …”
“I want Addison to decorate them so we can rent them out.” Ruby bends over to double knot her shoes, leaving Libby open mouthed wondering at her friend’s sanity. Ruby continues, “I thought we’d walk up there and take a look.”
“Oh, Rubes, I don’t know. You know where Addie stands on camping. I�
��m not at all sure this is an area she’ll be proficient in.”
“That girl camped every year of her life until she was seventeen. She’ll be great. Plus, the cabin where Brogan is staying is near the cabin I’m going to have Addie start on. I figure she and my son are bound to run into each other a lot when she’s working up there.”
Libby shakes her head uncertainly. “It’s either going to work like gangbusters or it’s going to fail so spectacularly our children will never speak to us again.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take, how about you?” But she doesn’t wait for Libby to answer; she reaches out and grabs a hold of her friend’s arm and pulls. “Come on, let’s go exploring.”
Brogan
After passing out like the dead last night, I wake at seven to the sound of chirping sparrows outside the bedroom window. I love the sound of surf, but there’s something about birdsong that triggers the best rest. I rarely sleep this late at home when I get to bed by eleven.
Billy’s dinner was outstanding as usual. He keeps it simple by frying the fish in vegetable shortening and only using salt and wild herbs to season it. Last night he sautéed a bunch of fresh dandelions greens to go with it.
The smell of coffee hits my nose and I realize my part-time roommate must have come in and made a pot. I head out to the makeshift kitchen where there’s a refrigerator but no oven or microwave. Just a deep sink, a small wooden countertop, and a camping stove.
“Hey, Billy.” He’s pouring a cup of coffee into a tin mug.
“Morning,” he says.
“Where’d you stay last night?” He doesn’t usually volunteer much in the way of conversation unless prodded.
“I have a lean-to up by Jefferson Falls. It’s nice and private. Not near any of those hiking paths you folks have up there.”
“Just you and Bigfoot, huh?”
“He’s better company than most.” I’m not sure if Billy has ever met Bigfoot in person, but he claims to have had several sightings. Folks in this area are split on whether they think there really is a giant hairy creature living in Oregon. The closer you get to the mountains though, the more believers you find.
Billy sips from his coffee cup. “You want to go fishing later? I thought I’d try to get some trout.” Most people fish at dawn, but Billy doesn’t think that’s sporting. He says the fish deserve to wake up and have a fighting chance.
“Sounds good. Let me check in with my mom first. I want to make sure she doesn’t need me for anything.” After all, she is the reason I came home.
“Ask her if she wants some for the restaurant. If I have a good haul, I’ll drop some by.”
“Will do. What are you up to this morning?”
“Looking for cougar activity. They’ve been spotted in the area. Thought I’d track ‘em and see if I could find their dens. Those mamas can be pretty vicious when they have babes to protect.”
“You’ll tell Dale up at the lodge if you find any, right?”
“Course.”
“I’m gonna head up to the falls and take a quick splash before going to see my mom. I’ll meet you back here at noon if I’m going to fish with you.”
If you didn’t know Billy Grimps personally, you might wonder about him. He has a mountain man kind of vibe, meaning he’s not always clean and he definitely marches to his own tune. But he’s honest folk and in my book that’s all that really matters.
After throwing on some pants, I grab a goji bar out of my backpack and head out for a swim. Walking through these woods as a kid, I swear I caught glimpses of Native Americans in full costume. I even fancied I occasionally caught sight of a T-Rex looming over the trees.
Time doesn’t seem to exist here and the longer you spend, the more the timeline blurs. I wouldn’t be surprised if Billy still thinks he’s my age.
A doe crosses the path in front of me, seemingly unconcerned that she’s not alone; hawks soar in the sky above; and squirrels and other assorted woodland creatures busily go about their day. The closer I get to the falls, the more I’m convinced it’s time for me to move home.
I don’t see Billy’s campsite up at Jefferson Falls, but if he says this is where he’s staying, then this is where he’s staying. Billy has become a creature of the forest, and as such he blends in, only showing his face when he wants to.
Jefferson Falls pours into Copper Creek, which is my favorite place to swim. The water is so clear you never lose sight of your feet. There are also plenty of large rocks situated like small islands in the water which are perfect for sitting on and contemplating the beauty around you. I like to come up here because it’s not as populated as the bigger falls in the area.
After stripping out of my clothes I jump straight in, knowing full well the degree of chilliness to expect. It immediately loosens the cares from my body and carries them down stream. I can see why Billy chose this lifestyle. There are worse things than being alone in the woods, and not many that are better.
I lie on my back and stare up at the treetops framing the ethereal blue sky and marshmallow puffs of clouds. With my ears underwater, I’ve missed hearing someone approach, but I feel eyes on me. I look up to see who has invaded my space, and a smile washes over my face when I catch a glimpse of the person enjoying the view.
There’s not much I can do to hide my natural state, so I call out, “I see you’ve come to join me for a swim after all.”
Chapter Eleven
The Mothers
“I just got off the phone with Bob,” Libby tells her friend as they sit down in the restaurant for lunch. “They closed the deal early and he wants me to join him in Amsterdam for my birthday.”
“NO!” Ruby yells so loudly that patrons at nearby tables turn to look at the source of the commotion. “Tell me you’re not going.”
“I’m going,” Libby says with an economy of words a holy man who’s taken a vow of silence would appreciate.
“Why? I thought we were a team here?”
“Ruby, once my daughter knows what you want decorated, she’s liable to start walking to the airport. She’s more likely to see the project through if I’m not here. If I’m gone, she’ll be too embarrassed to walk out on you.”
“I’ll help you pack.”
“I’ll be back after Amsterdam. I’m not abandoning you for the entire time.”
After unfolding the linen napkin and placing it on her lap Ruby adds, “No stopping off at home first. Come straight back here.”
“Absolutely,” Libby responds. “After all, by then Addie will know why she’s here and she’ll be in too deep to just walk away.”
Addison
“Take your clothes off and jump in,” he invites with a flirtatious intonation that causes me to stagger backwards.
The glorious bronzed god in front of me is none other than Brogan Cavanaugh. And he’s naked. Ho-lee heck. I should dispel him of the notion that I’m here to join him, but darn if I can force a sound out of the constricting column of my throat.
“Come on, I won’t bite.”
My traitor of a brain says, “What if I want you to?” Thank goodness I don’t say that out loud.
Brogan stands up in the water and walks toward me lithe as a jungle cat. I can either run, which is the logical thing to do, or I can stay put and see what happens. As much as I want to flee, my legs don’t seem to get the message.
The closer he gets, the more my stomach feels like it’s ground zero to an attack of warring butterfly armies. For some reason, I visualize them wearing little helmets and carrying spears.
Brogan finally seems to realize he’s only wearing his birthday suit and turns around to grab his pants, “What a butt!” the devil on my shoulder exclaims. I wait for the angel on my other shoulder to talk some sense, but she doesn’t. Instead, she agrees, “Yummy!”
“I’m surprised to see you out here,” Brogan calls out. He has one pant leg on and the other still dangling in the air.
“Why wouldn’t you expect to see me here?”
He pulls up his khakis and looks around. “I know how much you hated camping and thought maybe that extended to all of nature,” he says teasingly.
“I go outside every day in New York,” I tell him. I’m not about to let him get my goat.
“Yeah, but outside in New York City isn’t really nature. Traffic backed up for miles, horns honking, bustling sidewalks, that’s not the great outdoors.”
“Have you heard of Central Park?” I ask doing nothing to hide the annoyance in my voice.
“Do you spend any time there?”
I like to walk from the zoo to the model boat pond on Fifth Avenue. Then I head up to Madison Avenue and pick up a currant scone at my favorite breakfast place before walking back across the park to my apartment. While I usually only do this once a week, I don’t tell him that. “I’m there every day,” I lie.
“You and thousands of other people,” he replies while looking around to illustrate the pristine privacy of our current location. Just him and me. In the woods. Alone.
“Well, being that my job is in New York City, I suppose I’ll just have to make do.”
“My mom mentioned that you travel all over the world to design resorts and hotels. That doesn’t sound like New York City to me. My agent and publisher live in Brooklyn, but I don’t.”
“Well, bully for you.” This man is more annoying than an itch you can’t reach in the middle of your back.
“I’m just saying, you should be able to do what you do and live anywhere.”
“Then lucky for me I’m exactly where I want to be.”
We’re locked in a death stare that neither one of us seems to want to break. People magazine wrote an article on Brogan a few years ago that I read in the dentist’s office—heaven knows I wouldn’t have paid actual money to learn about his life otherwise. The article referred to him as a man of mystery. While happy to discuss his books and writing process, he does not talk about his personal life. When asked about his engagement to long-time girlfriend Emma Jackson, Brogan simply said that if and when a wedding occurred, he wouldn’t be the one to share it with the press.
Love is a Battlefield (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 1) Page 5