Sea Rose Lane

by Irene Hannon

  “Yesterday. I don’t know how far I’ll get with it before I leave.”

  “You beating the bushes for a new job?”

  He busied himself straightening the canvas on the easel. “I thought I’d take a short break first.”

  “Seems reasonable. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble connecting somewhere once you’re ready. Every town needs a good lawyer.”

  Including Hope Harbor.

  The man didn’t have to say the words for Eric to get the message . . . and he wasn’t going to pretend he’d missed the implication.

  “Not every town can offer a lawyer a decent living, though.”

  “Depends on how you define decent—but big-city jobs come with lots of perks you wouldn’t find in a small practice, I expect.”

  “Not to mention generous salaries, bonuses, benefits . . .”

  “And long hours that don’t leave much time for activities like that.” Charley gestured to the easel. “Or for people either, I imagine. But I suppose if you’re always at the office until the wee hours, you might not notice what’s missing at home.”

  “Like what?”

  “Love, for one thing.”

  Eric stiffened. “You seem to have survived just fine without romance . . . or marriage . . . or a significant other.”

  The man smiled gently, crinkles radiating from the corners of his eyes. “Love comes in many forms.” He leaned close to the painting and touched the figure of the woman. “Check your perspective here. Given the composition, I think she needs to be a bit bigger. Good luck.”

  With that he swiveled around and strolled back toward the path that led to the bluff overlooking the cove.

  Eric waited until he was out of sight, then evaluated the roughed-in figure. Charley’s assessment was sound. It did need to be bigger.

  As for the rest of their conversation . . . sometimes the man talked in riddles—and Eric wasn’t going to waste this beautiful day trying to solve them.

  Nor was he going to let Charley’s insinuations bother him. Practicing law in Hope Harbor was a ridiculous idea. There wasn’t enough legal work in the town to keep food on the table, let alone provide him with the kind of upscale life he’d led in Portland.

  As for love . . . he was working on figuring that out now, thanks to BJ.

  In the meantime, he’d do what he—not the town’s taco-master artist—thought was best for his life.

  As soon as he figured out what that was.

  She had to make her move . . . with or without Eric.

  BJ rose from her pew and scanned the emptying church. He’d been here for services; she’d seen him and John enter. But there was no sign of either now.

  Had he forgotten his promise to provide moral support while she broached her test-case idea to Reverend Baker?

  Tamping down her nerves, she brushed a hand down her skirt. No matter. It was her idea, and she didn’t need a man to . . .

  Eric emerged from the shadows in the back of church, lifted a hand in greeting, and strode toward her.

  “Sorry. Dad insisted on introducing me to a guy who’s planning to open a business here. Between you and me, I think he wanted to mooch some free legal advice.” He wrinkled his brow and scrutinized her. “You weren’t worried I’d stood you up, were you?”

  “I . . . uh . . . didn’t think you were the type to do that.” Warmth crept onto her cheeks at the obvious hedge.

  “But once—or twice—burned, thrice shy. I understand.” He touched her arm. “And I’m sorry if my delay upset you. I hope you’ll eventually realize I keep my word. Always. Now . . . are you ready to talk to Reverend Baker? He’s still greeting people out front, but the line is dwindling. Everyone’s making a beeline for the doughnuts.”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “I think he’s going to be 100 percent on board with your idea.” Eric stepped aside as she left the pew, then fell in beside her, his hand on the small of her back as they skirted a small cluster of congregants lingering in the aisle.

  She had to fight the temptation to lean back into his touch.

  A few gray clouds had gathered during the service, and the sun was hiding as they joined the end of the line to greet the minister.

  “BJ—nice to see you.” Reverend Baker cocooned her hand in a warm clasp when she drew close. “You too, Eric. Are you enjoying your visit home?”

  “Yes, although it’s been busier than I expected.”

  “I heard about the fine work you’ve done on the backdrop for our fundraising show. Helping Hands is grateful.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “Speaking of Helping Hands . . .” BJ tried to quash the flutter in her stomach. “If you have a minute, I’d like to run an idea by you related to the program I proposed.”

  “Of course. Let me greet these last few stragglers, and we’ll go back inside.”

  BJ eased out of the line of traffic while the minister shook a few more hands . . . but as he was wrapping up, Father Kevin pulled into the parking lot and got out of his car.

  “He’s early.” Reverend Baker planted his hands on his hips. “He may be tardy for meetings, but he never misses a tee time.”

  “I thought you two played golf on Thursdays.” As the priest retrieved his clubs from the trunk, BJ returned Tracy’s wave across the lawn, where members of the congregation were chatting in small groups.

  “We do, but Kevin had an unexpected sick call at the hospital in Coos Bay this week and we had to reschedule.”

  The priest raised a hand in greeting as he trotted across the lawn to join them, clubs slung over his shoulder. “Good morning, all.”

  “Let me guess . . . you came early to filch some of our doughnuts.” Reverend Baker gave him a stern look.

  “I think I’m insulted.” The priest huffed, but there was no missing the twinkle in his merry eyes. “I assumed the service would be long over and that everyone would be gone.”

  “We aren’t like Catholics here, you know. No one in this church leaves before the end of the service—and we actually like to linger afterward and enjoy some food and fellowship.”

  “Hmph.” The priest sniffed. “Our people come to pray, not eat and socialize. There isn’t one mention in the Bible about stuffing your face after going to church.” He extended his hand to Eric. “I don’t believe we’ve met—and since my fellow cleric appears to be more worried about his doughnut supply than decorum, I’ll do the honors myself. Kevin Murphy.”

  Eric took his hand, and BJ tried not to chuckle as his uncertain gaze flicked from one man to the other. No one must have clued him in to the notorious and good-natured jibing between the two clerics.

  “Nice to meet you,” Eric said.

  “Given the early arrival of my golfing partner”—Reverend Baker turned to her—“would you like to defer our discussion?”

  BJ glanced back toward Tracy and Michael, who continued to chat on the lawn with another couple. “As a matter of fact . . . if we can corral Michael, it might be better if all three of you heard this. Let me run over and see if he has a minute.”

  “I’ll fill Kevin in on the reason for this impromptu meeting while you’re gone.” Reverend Baker launched into the explanation as she hurried across the grass.

  By the time she returned with Michael in tow and they all moved into the back of church, her pulse was hammering. As if sensing her nervousness, Eric edged in close. So close she could feel his breath on her temple. As if he wanted her to know he was on her side.

  Strange.

  For a woman who’d always taken pride in standing on her own two feet and meeting every challenge without the need for hand-holding, it felt surprisingly nice to have Eric in her corner.

  She squeezed the strap of her purse and plunged in. “I know you all have other plans for the day, so I’ll keep this short. Michael passed on the board’s concerns about my proposal, and I believe we can overcome quite a few of them. Eric has agreed to develop a boilerplate agreement while he’
s here and perhaps line us up with continuing legal assistance. One of the other major hurdles appears to be lack of a model program—but I think I may have a solution for that.”

  As she laid out her plan, it was difficult to judge the reaction of the three men. They were attentive, and their expressions were encouraging and receptive . . . but she wasn’t going to draw any conclusions until they voiced their opinions.

  Once she wrapped up, Michael was the first to speak.

  “I think that’s a great suggestion. If the test goes smoothly with those two subjects, I can’t imagine the board will drag its feet about proceeding.”

  “I concur. It’s an excellent idea, BJ.” Reverend Baker beamed at her. “What do you think, Kevin?”

  “That I wish I’d thought of it myself. I don’t know Eleanor very well, but I do know Luis—and the man is due for a break. I’ve tried and tried to persuade him to apply for government assistance or to take some of our St. Vincent de Paul funds for food and housing, but accepting charity is anathema to him. The question is . . . will we be able to convince him this isn’t charity?”

  “I have a few arguments up my sleeve—and I may call on you for backup with Luis if necessary.” BJ turned to Reverend Baker. “And yours with Eleanor.”

  “Happy to assist.”

  Father Kevin peeked at his watch and adjusted the golf clubs on his shoulder. “If that wraps things up for now . . .”

  “You have a tee time.” BJ smiled. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy your game.”

  “Always.”

  “Kevin, I’ll change, grab my clubs, and meet you at my car. Give me ten minutes.” The minister walked them to the door.

  “Don’t hurry on my account. I’ll mosey over to the fellowship hall and have a doughnut or two.”

  “Aha. I knew that was why you came early.”

  “Hey, I don’t want them to go to waste. Waste not, want not, you know.”

  Reverend Baker rolled his eyes. “Leave it to a Catholic to quote Ben Franklin instead of the Bible.”

  Father Kevin bristled. “Don’t start with that Catholics-don’t-read-the-Bible bit again. ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’”

  “Is that the best you can do? Even nonbelievers know that one.”

  “What is this, Bible Jeopardy?” When the minister began to speak, Father Kevin held up his hand. “I have just one more comment on this subject: ‘Do not envy those who are wrong. Like grass, they wither quickly.’ Psalms, in case that didn’t ring a bell.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “I’d rather impress you with my golf game.”

  “On that note, I believe I’ll rejoin my lovely wife.” Lips twitching, Michael angled away from the clerics. “BJ, I’ll look forward to hearing a report on your progress. Keep me informed—and let me know if I can help.”

  “I will. Thanks for being receptive to my experiment.”

  “And I’m off to the fellowship hall.” Father Kevin motioned toward it. “Would you two like to join me while my golfing companion gets ready for our game?”

  “I think I’ll pass, padre.” Eric pulled out his keys. “I need to round up my dad.”

  “And I have Helping Hands plans to make.” BJ retrieved her own keys.

  “Remember, let me know if you need help persuading Luis.” The priest took off for the fellowship hall.

  Reverend Baker shook his head as his friend departed. “I better hurry or he’ll scarf down half a dozen doughnuts—and his cholesterol is too high already. Talk to you both soon.”

  As the minister closed the door, Eric smiled. “It took me a minute to catch on, but to use an old cliché, I take it those two are peas in a pod.”

  “They are. According to Tracy, when Reverend Baker moved here eight years ago and took the helm of Grace Christian after his wife died, Father Kevin sent him a pack of expensive golf balls and an invitation to the links. That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. But their bantering is a stitch.” She played with her keys. “You know, I think I’ll swing by Eleanor’s and claim that piece of fudge cake she offered. Would you like to join me? I have a feeling she’d be willing to part with two pieces.”

  “I wish I could, but I promised Dad I’d join him for a belated welcome-home breakfast at the café this morning. I could go later.”

  That wasn’t going to work. Much as she’d like his company, she was too impatient to wait.

  “That’s okay. I might need backup with Luis, but talking with Eleanor shouldn’t be an issue.”

  “Maybe I could swing by your house later for an update . . . if you’ll be home.”

  Her spirits took a decided uptick. “That would be great.”

  “For now, let me walk you to your truck at least.” He rested his hand on the small of her back again and guided her toward the parking lot. “So you think Eleanor will be an easy sell?”

  “Yes. She’s such a kind, sweet, caring woman. Given Luis’s history, and the fact that the entire program could hinge on her participation, I think she’d be receptive even if there wasn’t anything in it for her. But in light of her own situation—and her recent fall—I can’t imagine she won’t welcome an opportunity to have a very skilled person on hand who can help with both home maintenance and any medical issues that might crop up. I’m more worried about convincing Luis.”

  “Count on me for that discussion. And if we both strike out, we can enlist Father Kevin.”

  “Trust me, I’m keeping that as an option.” She pressed the auto lock button on her key chain.

  Eric pulled open the driver-side door, and she slid behind the wheel.

  “Think positive.” He winked and closed the door.

  BJ started the engine, waved good-bye, and followed his advice as she accelerated toward Eleanor’s.

  Because to make this program fly, they needed both her and Luis on their side.

  19

  BJ wanted her to let a stranger live in her house.

  A stranger from Cuba.

  A man who spoke with a foreign accent and was still adjusting to American customs.

  As Eleanor tried to grapple with the request her visitor had just dropped in her lap, she tightened her grip on Methuselah. The old feline let out a yowl of protest, wriggled out of her grasp, and scurried across the kitchen with a sulky glare.

  “Mercy! Methuselah isn’t in the best of moods today, is he?” Her hand fluttered to her chest as she tried to summon up a smile for BJ, but her lips refused to cooperate.

  Creases appeared on the young woman’s forehead. “I think I might have thrown too much at you at once, Eleanor.” She moved her half-eaten piece of fudge cake aside. “This project has been near and dear to my heart for months, and I tend to assume everyone will jump on board the minute they hear about it. I probably ran through the details too fast. You must have a lot of questions.”

  No, as a matter of fact, she didn’t. She understood both the proposal and the benefits to herself and Luis.

  But despite the heartbreaking tale BJ had told her about the man’s background, she knew little else about him, or the country he came from, or the culture that had shaped him, or his moral character. BJ and Father Kevin might think he was a fine person—but they weren’t being asked to live under the same roof with him, either.

  Heavens . . . didn’t they have drug smuggling and corruption and crime and . . . and communism . . . down in Cuba, with those shady Castro brothers in charge? Living in an environment like that could have a negative effect even on a well-educated person like Luis—couldn’t it?

  However, suggesting that to the sweet girl sitting across the kitchen table from her, who no doubt believed the best of everyone, might not be appropriate.

  “I can’t think of a single question. You took me by surprise, my dear. My brain hasn’t quite caught up. What does your friend Luis have to say about this?”

  “I haven’t mentioned it to him yet. I thought it would be easier to talk with you first.” She swallowed, as
if the fallacy of that assumption had left a bad taste in her mouth. “He’s opposed to taking charity of any kind, so I need to think about how to present it to him in a way he’ll find acceptable.”

  “I see.”

  BJ laced her fingers on the table, knuckles whitening as she leaned closer. “Luis is very quiet and agreeable, Eleanor. I’m certain he’d be happy to abide by whatever parameters you set—assuming I can convince him to give the arrangement a try. And we could begin with a limited trial period, if you like. At that point you could both reevaluate and decide whether you want to continue.”

  “Would any of this be in writing?” Not that a contract would clear up her uneasiness—but extending the discussion would buy her a few minutes to come up with a response.

  “Yes. I should have mentioned that up front. Eric is planning to draw up a legal agreement. Liability issues would be covered and responsibilities laid out. Also, since no cash will exchange hands, there aren’t any tax implications.”

  Eleanor touched a paper napkin to the corner of her mouth. Everything BJ had said made sense—and Lord knew she needed some help.

  Yet she couldn’t summon up an ounce of enthusiasm for the idea. The hard knot of fear lodged in her chest got in the way.

  But why was she afraid? From what she’d seen and heard, Luis didn’t appear to be a menace to anyone—and he’d endured more than his share of suffering and loss. If anyone deserved a second chance, it was him. Plus, he’d come to her aid in her moment of need.

  As far as she could see, her fear had no basis.

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t shake it.

  And until—unless—she managed to do that, she couldn’t give this sweet girl the answer she wanted.

  “I do appreciate all the effort you’ve put into this program, BJ. It’s a fine idea, and I can see how it will benefit Hope Harbor residents. However, I must admit that the notion of having someone live under my roof is a bit . . . unsettling. Why don’t you let me think about it for a day or two?”

  “Of course.” BJ swallowed and picked up her fork. Set it down again. “Um . . . do you think I could take the rest of this with me? I guess I ate too much breakfast.”