Sea Rose Lane

by Irene Hannon

  Epilogue

  Four months later

  “Get ready for an early Christmas present—the Helping Hands board just approved the companion program.”

  As Michael’s words came over the line, tears pricked BJ’s eyes. Maybe she hadn’t been there for Gram, but at least she’d helped give older residents in Hope Harbor an option to stay in their own home.

  Thank you, Lord.

  “Everything okay?” A warm hand clasped hers.

  She nodded, squeezing Eric’s fingers as he swung onto Eleanor’s street and guided the BMW toward the older woman’s house. “Thank you for letting me know right away, Michael.”

  “No problem. I knew you’d be waiting to hear. Will we see you at Eleanor’s open house?”

  “I doubt it. Eric and I are pulling up now and we’re not staying long.” She perused the car-lined street. “Be prepared, though. Parking is at a premium. I think half the town is here.”

  “I’ll alert Tracy to wear her walking shoes.”

  “Not a bad idea. Tell her I said hi.”

  “Will do. Talk to you soon.”

  As she tucked her phone back in her purse, Eric wedged the BMW into a tiny vacant space. “I take it the program’s a go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Christmas is coming early this year.”

  “Really early.” She rested her fingers on the back of his hand as he shifted into park. “I got my first present the day you told me you were staying in Hope Harbor. You haven’t had any second thoughts, have you?” Hard as she tried to shake it, a touch of doubt nipped at her peace of mind now and then.

  “Nope. A very wise woman once told me that to get the things we want most, we sometimes have to let go of things that aren’t as important. And what I want most is here in Hope Harbor.”

  “Even though you haven’t sold any paintings yet?”

  “Painting was only part of what I wanted. The one-on-one legal work has turned out to be a lot more satisfying than I expected. I like dealing with people versus conglomerates. Plus, the thing I wanted most of all is sitting inches away and planning to spend Christmas with me. My cup is full.”

  Moisture clouded her vision. “For the record, mine is too.”

  “Nice to know.” He cupped her cheek with his palm, then motioned toward the house behind them. “Shall we go in before all the food is gone?”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Always. But we also have another stop on our agenda this afternoon.”

  “What is this mystery destination, anyway?”

  “It wouldn’t be a mystery if I told you. Sit tight and I’ll get your door.”

  While he circled the car, she took a quick peek in the visor mirror. Her hair was behaving, no lipstick was stuck to her teeth, and no mascara had smudged under her lashes.

  But hair and makeup weren’t responsible for the glow on her face or the sparkle in her eyes. Those were produced by love—not L’Oreal.

  And one of these days, if all went as she expected, that love was going to lead to the M word they’d both been dancing around for weeks.

  It couldn’t happen soon enough for her.

  Her door opened, and Eric took her hand. Once she was on her feet, he looped his arms around her waist. “In case I haven’t told you, you look especially beautiful today. Radiant . . . and very kissable.” His breath was a whisper of warmth against her lips.

  “Actions speak louder than words.” She gave him a playful nudge.

  Another car drove by, searching for a parking spot.

  “Hold that thought for later—when we have more privacy.”

  “How much later?”

  “Depends on how long you want to stay at the party.”

  “Forty-five minutes?”

  “Half an hour?”

  “Sold.”

  Grinning, he took her hand and led her up Eleanor’s walk to the front porch, where a COME IN AND JOIN THE PARTY sign was taped to the front door.

  Eric twisted the knob, and laughter, Christmas music, and enticing aromas greeted them as they entered—so different from the silence and solitude that had permeated the house in pre-Luis days.

  After passing through the foyer, BJ paused on the threshold of the living room. The walls gleamed with a fresh coat of paint, the scuffs in the hardwood floor had been buffed out, and a beautiful spruce tree laden with lights and crystal ornaments occupied one corner, where Methuselah held court from under the boughs.

  The door opened again behind them, and BJ turned. Charley entered, a box of Eleanor’s favorite truffles in hand.

  “Merry Christmas, you two. I hoped I’d run into you. I have news.” He angled away from the crowd milling about in the living room and lowered his voice. “The gallery called me an hour ago, since you asked me to handle all dealings with them. They sold the painting of the woman by the river.”

  BJ’s breath hitched, and she groped for Eric’s hand. The price the gallery had put on the painting had been far beyond what either of them deemed reasonable, despite Charley’s assurance that the owner knew how to value art.

  “Is this . . . are you sure?” A tremor rippled through Eric’s fingers.

  “Yes. The check will be in the mail shortly. I always knew you had talent. Not that you need to sell to prove that . . . but it’s a nice ego boost.”

  “And a boost for the bank account.”

  “Uh-huh. I figured that would make you happy . . . considering.” The artist’s eyes began to twinkle.

  BJ looked from him to Eric. Some kind of silent message passed between them, but before she could try to decipher it, Eleanor trundled over.

  “Welcome, everyone.”

  “Thank you—and Merry Christmas.” Charley handed her the candy.

  She took it in one hand and touched his arm with the other. “I’m glad you could come, Charley. This invitation was long overdue.”

  “To everything there is a season.” He rested his hand over hers for a moment, then motioned toward the dining room. “Everything smells delicious. You must have been cooking for days.”

  “And loving every minute of it. But I couldn’t have done it without Luis. I don’t know how many times I sent the poor man to the grocery store, or asked him to help me dice and chop and mix dough. Go on in and sample the results.”

  “I never pass up home cooking.”

  As Charley wandered toward the dining room, greeting his taco customers along the way, Eleanor set the candy on the tray of her walker and leaned in close to the two of them. “I gave Luis his Christmas present this morning.”

  “What did he say?” BJ tightened her grip on Eric’s hand.

  “He cried. And his first concern was about leaving you in the lurch with all the new construction business that’s been landing on your plate.”

  BJ’s throat thickened. That sounded like Luis. But finding a new full-time employee and allowing Luis to work part time when his schedule permitted was a small contribution to his Christmas gift compared to the older woman’s generosity. “Did he accept?”

  “Yes. We’ll finish the registration process on Monday so he can begin classes in January. After I explained his background to the nice woman at the college, I think they may waive some of the rudimentary courses. He’s going to meet with them next week to discuss it.”

  BJ spotted Luis over Eleanor’s shoulder, weaving through the crowd toward them. “Here he comes.”

  “And I have some new guests to greet.” Eleanor patted Eric’s arm. “Take this young man into the dining room and feed him after you talk with Luis.”

  As Eleanor pushed her walker toward the foyer, Luis joined them.

  “I hear Christmas came early for someone.” BJ smiled at him.

  “Yes. Eleanor . . . she is a wonderful woman. Much like my grandmother. I tell her the gift is too big, but she says the tuition cost is small compared to all I have done for her. Yet she has done just as much for me.” His words wavered, and he swallowed. “I have you both to thank too.
” He took her hand and gave a slight bow.

  “I’m happy to accommodate your class schedule, Luis. I wish you could practice medicine full time, but you’ll be a wonderful paramedic.”

  “I am grateful to have the chance to put my medical training to use again in any way I can. I never thought it could happen.” He turned toward Eric. “You were right, mi amigo. I did make friends. Life did get better. And Hope Harbor is a special place. Thank you for helping me see that.”

  As the two men shook hands, some silent communication passed between them.

  Interesting.

  They must have bonded somewhere along the way.

  Once Luis moved on, Eric tapped his watch. “You want to grab some food so we can head out?”

  “Eat and run, hmm?”

  “I have plans for the rest of the day.” He propelled her toward the dining room.

  They nibbled at the buffet; chatted with Reverend Baker and Father Kevin, who arrived together; spoke briefly to a few other residents as they worked their way back toward the front door; and said their good-byes to Eleanor and Luis.

  Once outside, Eric took her hand. “Nice party.”

  “Not that we stayed long.” She waved to Lexie, who was approaching Eleanor’s house from across the street. “She looks a lot different in civvies, doesn’t she?”

  “Yeah.” Eric spared the striking woman no more than a distracted glance and kept walking.

  “What’s with you today?”

  “What do you mean?” He hit the auto lock button on his keychain, hurrying her along.

  “You seem kind of on edge.”

  “I’m . . . uh . . . still thinking about the news from the gallery. That came out of the blue.”

  “I knew it was only a matter of time. Those first sketches you did for the backdrop were proof you had talent.” She waited beside the car while he opened her door. “This has been a day for great news, hasn’t it? The companion program was approved, you sold your first painting, and Luis is back on track to work in the medical field again.” She slid inside and smiled up at him. “How could this holiday season get any better?”

  T minus ten and counting.

  As Eric flipped on the BMW blinker, BJ’s earlier comment echoed in his mind.

  If everything went the way he hoped, this holiday season was about to get much better.

  “Is there a road here?” BJ leaned forward in the passenger seat and inspected the wooded shoulder.

  “Yes. Barely.” Eric swung onto a faint, two-lane gravel track that led into the woods.

  Two hundred feet in, the trees thinned to reveal a spectacular view of the coast, the tall grass at the edge of the bluff dancing in the wind.

  “Wow.” BJ leaned forward to take in the scene.

  Once he stopped the car, she jumped out without waiting for him to open her door and jogged toward the view.

  “What a gorgeous panorama! How did you find this spot?”

  “Charley’s house isn’t far from here.” Eric strolled up beside her. “He told me about it.”

  “If we hadn’t already eaten, this would be a great spot for a private picnic.”

  Or something more.

  He fingered the small, square box in the pocket of his slacks.

  T minus five and counting.

  “Take a look at this.” He drew her to the far side of the bluff, where a trail wound down to a small private beach.

  “How cool is that? Should we go down?”

  “That was my plan.” Part of it, anyway.

  They descended the rocky, forested incline, emerging onto the sand in a tiny, sheltered cove. Here, the wind that had buffeted them on the bluff was nothing more than a gentle breeze.

  BJ crossed the sand to where the water lapped gently against the shore, scanned the long expanse of horizon, and sighed. “I think I could live here.”

  The perfect opening.

  Heart pounding, he dug out the box, flipped up the lid, and moved beside her. “I was hoping you’d feel that way—because this land is for sale . . . and I’d like to build a house on it to share with you.”

  She swung toward him, eyes rounding when she spotted the ring. “Is this . . . are you proposing?”

  “I’m getting ready to.”

  “Yes.”

  He blinked. “I didn’t ask yet.”

  “Whoops.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to steal your thunder. Go ahead.”

  “It’s kind of irrelevant now.” He grinned and pulled the marquise-shaped stone out of the box.

  “No way.” She hooked her hands together behind her back and shook her head. “I want to hear your proposal. Most women only get this chance once, and I intend to savor every minute of it.”

  She wasn’t letting him off the hook.

  His pulse picked up speed again. Putting your heart on the line was way tougher than presenting a high-stakes closing argument—even when you already knew the outcome.

  But he had his speech prepared.

  If he could remember it.

  “Okay. Here goes.” He took her hand . . . twined their fingers together . . . and held on tight as he plunged in. “During my career in law, I’ve learned to present facts in a way that sways the judge and jury to my position. So here are the facts in this case. Since the moment we met, every day has brought new questions—and new doubts—about the path I’d laid out for myself and the priorities I’d set. But through it all, one thing became more and more clear: I didn’t want to live my life without the most wonderful woman I’d ever met.”

  He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand and focused on her beautiful face. “I’m not the best bargain, BJ. Hope Harbor has a mellowing effect, but I’m a type A personality and will probably always work too hard, whether it be at law or painting. On the flip side, I’ll also work hard to be a great husband. I may not be able to offer you trips to Paris every year, or designer clothes and expensive jewelry on your birthday, but I can offer you my love for the rest of my life.” He positioned the ring at the tip of her finger. “So will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She opened her mouth . . . but when no words came out, she resorted to a nod.

  He slipped the ring over her finger and gestured to the land around them. “Welcome home, BJ.”

  All at once, faint creases dented her brow. “But . . . isn’t this property outrageously expensive?”

  “It’s on the pricey side. However, Charley knows the owner and got me an excellent deal. It will eat up most of the nest egg I accumulated—but as Charley pointed out, coastal property at a moderate price is always a smart investment. As for the house . . . I know a talented architect who could design an amazing one with a studio for me and an office for her. She might even waive the fee if there are fringe benefits.”

  “What kind of fringe benefits?” A teasing light began to dance in her eyes, chasing away her frown.

  “Shall I demonstrate?”

  “By all means. But first . . . can I tell you something?”

  “Always.”

  “I think I’m the one coming out ahead on this deal.”

  “How so?”

  “I get you. A swoon-worthy guy who’s generous, kind, smart, funny, caring, romantic, and trustworthy. Who pitches in whenever and wherever he’s needed. Who walked—or should I say crashed?—into my life one day and changed it forever . . . for the better. Who makes me feel like the sun is shining even on cloudy days.”

  Her final words quivered with emotion, and pressure built in his throat. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now”—she cuddled closer—“about that demonstration . . .”

  “Coming right—”

  A loud belch offshore.

  He groaned. “Don’t tell me.”

  BJ squinted at the silver-white seal perched on a small outcrop of rock. “Do you think . . . could that possibly be Casper?”

  “Stranger things have happened, I guess. And to tell you the truth, at t
his point it would feel odd if he didn’t show up at amorous moments.”

  “Maybe he’s lonely and our romance gives him a vicarious thrill.”

  “In that case, let’s give him the thrill of a lifetime. Unless you have any objection?”

  “Nope. The defense rests.”

  Smiling, he tugged her close again, this woman who’d managed to transform his world. Who’d shown him that love trumped high-profile litigation any day. Whose caring heart and compassionate nature added grace and beauty and joy to his days.

  And as their lips melded . . . as the world around them melted away . . . he gave thanks for happy endings—and for Hope Harbor’s everyday miracles that made life good and sweet.

  It was a terrible night to die.

  Father Daniel Pruitt cringed as another boom of thunder shook the ground beneath his older-model Taurus. This weather wasn’t fit for man or beast.

  Priests, however—different story. Being available 24/7, no matter the whims of Mother Nature, was part of the job description. That’s why the archdiocese paid him the big bucks.

  Right.

  Setting his brake, he peered through the pelting rain toward the hospital. In better days, Joe Larson would have offered one of his quiet smiles at that wry joke. He knew, as did all the parishioners at St. Michael’s, that priesthood was a vocation, not a job, for their pastor. That Father Pruitt considered it a sacred privilege to be there for his flock during life’s biggest transitions.

  And death was a huge transition.

  Especially when the person dying was alone—except for God.

  Father Pruitt gauged the distance from the car to the front door of Faith Regional and sized up the black umbrella on the seat beside him. The folding model was better suited to fending off April showers than April monsoons.

  No way around it—he was going to be uncomfortably damp for hours.

  With a resigned sigh, he tucked his book of prayers inside the inner pocket of his raincoat. Positioned the umbrella. Opened the door.

  His pants legs were soaked before his feet hit the ground.

  Ducking his head—and keeping a firm grip on the umbrella as the blustery wind tried to wrench it from his grasp—he jogged toward the entrance as fast as his sixty-five-year-old arthritic knees allowed.