Sea Rose Lane

by Irene Hannon

  “I like those rules.” She knitted her fingers in her lap. “You need to know some context first.”

  “Context is always helpful.” He leaned against the wall behind him, stretched out his legs, and crossed his ankles. “Ready whenever you are.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ll try to condense the first part as much as possible. I grew up in a military family. My father was—is—in the army. He’s stationed in Europe now, but when I was eight, we lived in Japan. My mom died not long after he was transferred there, and my dad didn’t feel equipped to raise an eight-year-old girl alone.”

  “No other siblings?”

  “One brother ten years older, who was away at college. We went through a series of nannies the first few weeks after we lost Mom, none of whom worked out for various reasons. Dad finally sent me to live with my maternal grandparents near Memphis. His rationale was that he wanted me to grow up in a more normal environment.”

  The man had shipped a grieving eight-year-old halfway around the world to live with virtual strangers? How could a father do that? Being overwhelmed in the beginning was understandable . . . but couldn’t he have adjusted to the new normal instead of ceding his parental duties?

  He toned down that reaction, though, keeping his inflection sympathetic and nonjudgmental. “That transition had to be tough.”

  “You know, it wasn’t after the first couple of weeks. Of course I missed Mom and grieved for her for months. Dad . . . not as much. I didn’t see a lot of him, anyway. An army career isn’t always conducive to family life. And Gram and Gramps wrapped me in love. To say they were the salt of the earth would be a gross understatement.”

  Were. Past tense.

  “Are they both gone?” He gentled his voice.

  “Yeah.” Her breath hitched, and she swallowed. “Gramps died eight years ago. I lost Gram two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” He touched her knee.

  She inspected his hand resting on the worn denim of her jeans, and for a fraction of a second he thought she might lay hers on top. Instead, her knuckles whitened and she slid her twined fingers an inch farther away.

  “Thank you. It’s still hard after all these months. I email my father and brother—who lives in London with his wife—and talk to them on occasion, but Gram and Gramps were my family.” She shot him a quick glance. “I’m getting to the hardest part.”

  “Take your time.”

  He left his hand on her knee, giving her his full attention while she told him how her grandmother had suffered a broken hip that left her with a bad limp and kept her housebound.

  As she recounted the older woman’s struggle to remain independent, it was obvious the situation had been hard on both of them. He and BJ might be new acquaintances, but there was no doubt in his mind that she’d fretted constantly over the state of affairs back in Tennessee.

  When she paused, he massaged her knee through the sturdy denim. “Being far away must have been hard for you.”

  “It was.” She focused on the flats he’d been working on, where a pleasing, peaceful landscape was taking shape on the blank canvas. “I stayed with her for two weeks after her surgery and squeezed in as many quick weekend trips back as I could manage. I also tried to convince her to relocate to LA—but Tennessee had always been her home and she didn’t want to leave. She ended up selling the house and moving to a retirement center, which was a disaster . . . as I told the Helping Hands board.”

  He listened as she repeated the story she’d shared with the board.

  “So that experience gave you the idea for the Helping Hands program. Since you couldn’t help your grandmother, you’re trying to help some of the older residents here avoid her fate.”

  “Yes.” She leaned forward, every muscle taut. “But you’re missing the key point. It wasn’t that I couldn’t help Gram. I chose not to.”

  He furrowed his brow. “You went home for her surgery. You made weekend trips back. I’m sure you talked with her often. What more could you have done from the West Coast?”

  “That’s just it! I didn’t have to stay on the West Coast. Memphis might not be as glitzy as LA, but there are architectural firms there. I could have moved back in with Gram and gotten a job at one of those. It would only have been a forty-five-minute commute to the city. Or I could have done what I ended up doing here in Hope Harbor—started my own business. But I was too enamored with my life in LA, and making a name for myself in a prestigious big-city firm, to consider that possibility.”

  He stared at her. She felt culpable because she hadn’t thrown away everything she’d worked for to go home and play nurse?

  “Do you honestly think your grandmother would have wanted you to make that kind of sacrifice?”

  “No. There wasn’t a selfish bone in her body. But the point is, it shouldn’t have been a sacrifice. Gram and Gramps took me in when I needed a stable, loving home. They put me first. Always. No parent could have lavished more love on a child. Yet in Gram’s hour of need, I wasn’t there for her. If I had been, I know she’d be here today.”

  She blamed herself for her grandmother’s death?

  Whoa.

  That was heavy.

  But as far as he was concerned, her guilt was misplaced.

  “BJ . . . I think you’re being way too hard on yourself. You’d invested years building your career. Walking away from that would have been . . .”

  “The right thing to do.”

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

  “It’s true, though. Especially since I ended up leaving LA and starting over in a small town less than a year after she died, anyway. I could have done that a couple of years sooner and been there for Gram.”

  “So coming to Hope Harbor had nothing to do with her situation?”

  “Not directly.” She edged away, forcing him to remove his hand from her knee and sending a clear message: her rationale for relocating to this town was not a topic she intended to discuss tonight.

  One more missing piece in the intriguing puzzle that was BJ Stevens—and he wanted that piece too.

  Let it go for now, Nash. Tomorrow is another day . . . and another set-construction session.

  Prudent advice, even if it taxed his patience.

  “I still think you expected more of yourself than anyone else would—but I do admire how much you cared for your grandparents. I also understand why this program is important to you . . . and I have to believe there’s a way to get it off the ground.”

  Her posture relaxed a hair.

  Smart choice to leave a discussion about the reasons behind her relocation for another day.

  “So what I told you about failing Gram. . . it didn’t change how you . . . there’s still electricity?” An anxious note crept into her voice.

  “Oh yeah.” He smiled. “Lots of it. But . . .”

  She searched his face. “But what?”

  Good question.

  “You’re different than anyone I’ve ever met.” He chose each word with care. “I never expected to find a woman like you living in Hope Harbor. To be honest, it’s kind of knocked me off balance. My plan was to spend two, three weeks here regrouping, then plunge back into the legal fray. Now . . .”

  “You’re confused?”

  “To put it mildly. That’s why I want to go slow and easy. You’re in the midst of getting your business established here, and I don’t want to barge into your life, make a connection—and leave. Until I know where I’m headed, it’s safer if we play this hands-off while we get to know each other. I could end up taking a position on the other side of the country . . . and I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

  Her eyes began to glisten again, and she dipped her chin to fiddle with a pouch on her tool belt. “Thank you for being honest . . . and considerate.”

  She didn’t have to say it for him to know the last guy she’d been involved with hadn’t been either—and this woman deserved better.

  “Can I make you a promise?�
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  She lifted her chin. “What kind of promise?”

  “A simple one. No matter where I end up, we’ll still be friends.” Even if ignoring the electricity between them killed him—which it might. Holding back when every instinct in his body was urging him to pull BJ into his arms was taxing his self-control to the limit. But loving—and leaving—wasn’t the path to friendship.

  “Thank you for that.” She laid her fingers on his hand. “It means a lot to me.”

  Their warmth seeped into his skin, up his arm—and into his heart.

  “You’re welcome. But don’t tempt me, okay?” He flicked a glance at her hand.

  She snatched it back. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I liked it. However, while I have great discipline, I’m not Superman.” He rose and took a step back from temptation. “You ready to close up?”

  “Yes.” She stood too. “Let me gather up my stuff. I’ll meet you at the door.”

  He crossed to the light switch, waited until she joined him, and plunged the room into darkness.

  Outside, the last lingering rays of sun faintly illuminated the western sky.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at your dad’s.” BJ stopped beside her truck.

  “Yeah—and here again tomorrow night.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Listen . . . I want you to know how much I appreciate you trusting me with your story. And I’m going to give your Helping Hands program some serious thought. There has to be a solution.” He hitched up one side of his mouth. “I may even say a few prayers.”

  “It couldn’t hurt. Where two or three and all that.”

  She reached for her door, but he beat her to it. “You aren’t going to slug me if I try to use the manners my mom taught me, are you? Some women are insulted by niceties these days.”

  “No.” She climbed up into the cab. “I appreciate courtesy. See you tomorrow.”

  He waited until she backed up and pulled out of the high school parking lot, then ambled over to his rental car. It was far too early to go to bed, and his dad was having dinner with a friend tonight. The house would be empty and quiet and . . . lonely.

  Why not take advantage of the little remaining light and go to the beach for a while? Some of his best ideas had come to him there. It was possible a solution for BJ’s problem would pop into his mind as he contemplated the towering sea stacks that had been shaped by ferocious storms but had never succumbed to them.

  Besides, if nothing else, some beach time would give him a chance to unwind after the last turbocharged half hour.

  And if watching the waves crash against the sturdy stacks didn’t help him regain his equilibrium, a dip in the chilly water should cool him down and clear his head.

  At least until the next time he found himself in the presence of the most attractive architect on the Oregon coast.

  12

  “You’re welcome to ride along if you want a change of scene, Stone.” BJ grabbed the truck keys off the sawhorse in the second-floor suite.

  “No, thanks.” He eyed the beam of light streaming through the drywall-dust-streaked window. “I’m planning to sit outside and soak up some of that sun while I eat my sandwich.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Especially in light of his history. “Enjoy.”

  He acknowledged her comment with a wave and went back to work on the baseboard he was fitting into position.

  “You ready, Luis?”

  “Yes.” He brushed some sawdust off his jeans and followed her down the stairs.

  BJ peeked into the living room and dining room as they passed. No sign of Eric. And since John hadn’t cooked this morning, she’d had no opportunity to spend any time with his son.

  But she’d wanted to.

  And that wasn’t smart.

  Eric had been right last night in the scene shop when he’d suggested they proceed with caution.

  Problem was, she could see potential for a lot more than friendship between them—and she wanted to explore it.

  Now.

  Even though she’d known Eric for only a week.

  Even though she’d bumped romance down to the bottom of her priority list—particularly where charismatic high achievers were concerned.

  Even though she’d been burned once by moving too fast with one man who fit that description.

  Swiping back some rebellious strands that had escaped the French braid she’d fussed with this morning, she lengthened her stride. This was ridiculous. She was thirty-four! Too old to let electricity or hormones or silly daydreams undermine her judgment. Eric’s slow-and-easy plan was much more prudent than rushing into a relationship. Where would she be if she let herself fall for him and he left town for greener pastures . . . as he surely would?

  The answer strobed across her brain: bereft and brokenhearted. And that was not in her plans. Been there, done that—and once had been plenty. She needed to . . .

  “Are we not taking your truck?”

  At Luis’s puzzled question, she jolted to a stop. Spun around. He stood by the passenger door ten feet behind her.

  Blast.

  This was the reason she needed to rein in her emotions. Romantic fancies might be fine in fairy tales, but they could throw you totally off course in real life.

  She marched back to the truck and climbed behind the wheel. Thank goodness this errand was nothing more than an excuse to get Luis to Charley’s for lunch rather than some task that required her full concentration—like the work she’d done last night on Tracy’s house plans, after sleep had proven elusive.

  Hmm.

  She puckered her brow, put the truck in reverse, and backed out of the driveway. Better recheck those measurements tonight—and make certain she hadn’t put the water pipes in the closet instead of the bathroom.

  For the next few minutes, however, she needed to concentrate on her noonday mission.

  “Would you mind if I swing by Charley’s before we hit the building supply center, Luis? I’m getting kind of hungry, and . . .” Her cell phone rang, and she pulled it off her belt.

  Eleanor.

  Odd. The woman usually didn’t bother her during the workday. Unless . . . could it be another emergency? Had the bathroom door gotten stuck again?

  With a quick glance in the rearview mirror, she signaled and pulled over to the shoulder. “This shouldn’t take long, Luis.”

  “I am in no hurry.”

  As she braked, she put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Eleanor. Your name came up on my screen. Is everything okay?”

  “N-no. I can’t . . . I think it’s . . . I fell and I . . . I can’t get up.”

  BJ’s pulse skyrocketed. “Did you call 911?” She punched the speaker button, shoved the cell at Luis, and peeled off the shoulder in a spray of gravel.

  “No. I don’t want an ambulance. They’ll haul me to the h-hospital, and I might never c-come home again. Like Sarah.”

  BJ had no idea who Sarah was, but it didn’t matter at the moment. “Why don’t you let me call them? It would be better if the paramedics checked you out.”

  “No. I’m not hurt. I just c-can’t get up, thanks to this aggravating arthritis. I’m sorry to bother you during the workday, but if you could possibly swing by and help m-me up, I’ll be fine.”

  Arguing about 911 over the phone would be counterproductive. Based on the quaver in the woman’s voice, she was already upset. Delaying the decision five more minutes couldn’t hurt.

  She hoped.

  “I’m on my way, Eleanor. Take some deep breaths—and don’t move.”

  “I couldn’t even if I tried. You remember where the key is, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Hang in there.”

  “There’s not much else I can do.”

  The line went dead.

  Luis returned the phone. “Who is this Eleanor?”

  Zooming around a motorist with an out-of-state license plate who seemed to be more interested in taking in the sights than reaching a destination, BJ gave him the basics.<
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  “Falls are bad. Does she take a medicine to thin the blood?”

  “I have no idea. Why?”

  “In a woman her age, a break here”—he indicated his hip—“is possible. They can cause bleeding inside if the blood is thin.”

  BJ’s heart skipped a beat, and she pressed harder on the accelerator.

  Four minutes later, she pulled into the driveway, slammed on the brakes, and sprinted for the planter filled with geraniums.

  Once she had the key in hand, she opened the door and strode toward the living room, where the two occupants of the house spent most of their waking hours.

  On the threshold she paused. Eleanor was sitting on the floor, eyes closed, her back propped against her recliner. She was a bit paler than usual but otherwise appeared to be in decent shape. Methuselah was curled up beside her, chin resting on her leg while she stroked his fur.

  “I’m here, Eleanor.” She spoke softly. The woman didn’t need someone startling her after all the trauma she’d already been through.

  The older woman opened her eyes. “My. You must have flown.”

  Her voice sounded stronger now, and less shaky. That had to be a positive sign.

  Didn’t it?

  BJ crossed the room and dropped down beside her. “I wasn’t far away. Are you hurt?”

  “No. It was a silly little accident. Methuselah ran in front of me, and I stopped too suddenly and lost my balance. I didn’t go down hard, so that ugly walker served a useful purpose. If you could give me a hand up . . .”

  “Please . . . may I come in?”

  BJ swiveled on her heels. Luis stood on the threshold of the living room.

  Of course! The perfect person to evaluate this situation.

  “Yes.” She pivoted back to the older woman. As far as she knew, Luis had told only a few people he was a doctor, and it was his choice whether or not to share that information. This would have to be handled delicately. “Eleanor . . . Luis works with me. He’s great at construction, but he also knows a lot about medicine. It might be smart to let him assess your condition.”

  The older woman adjusted her glasses and peered at the stranger in her home. “Have we met?”