“Stop it. You’re married,” Vanessa admonished.
“He is what he is. Marriage has not made me blind, nor has it erased my memory,” Steffie replied.
Vanessa rolled her eyes and lifted her baby from the confines of the stroller. “Cam’s hotness aside, join us on Sunday. We’ll watch for you.”
“Thanks for the invitation.” Ellie turned to Brooke. “Great seeing you again.”
“See you.” Brooke went to the counter and Steffie met her there.
“Hey, Ellie, you should try one of Brooke’s cupcakes before you go,” Steffie called to her.
“I have a personal stash at home, thanks to Brooke. Best I ever tasted.” Ellie smiled and opened the door to leave, the bell tinkling overhead.
“I dropped off a few yesterday,” Ellie heard Brooke say as she closed the door behind her. “You know, a welcome to St. Dennis …”
Ellie walked to the edge of the wooden boardwalk that ran from Scoop to the marina. She mentally debated whether to take the time to walk its length or to go back to the house and polish silver. Because the sun was so warm and the afternoon so inviting, she continued past the boats, past the brown cedar-sided building that housed Captain Walt’s, home of the best seafood on the Eastern Shore, according to its sign, and all the way to the marina. Gulls circled overhead, scolding one another for who knew what infraction, and the air smelled faintly of salt and gasoline. She stood at the end of the dock, looking across the Bay, thinking she hadn’t realized how broad it was, how dark its waters. She watched the whitecaps, blown at a slight diagonal by the rising winds, and wondered what had brought those first settlers to this place, what they had found when they got here, and what hardships they’d faced in order to stay.
She thought of the pirates, and tried to imagine them coming up around the cove to drop anchor before they came ashore. How the people who lived in town must have shuddered when they saw the sails of those big ships billowing across the Bay.
For the first time that day, she began to consider the possibility of showing up on First Families Day after all, just for the hell of it.
Diary
Well, I was certainly right about something changing in our world but I couldn’t have guessed what was coming! After all these years, Lynley Sebastian’s little girl has come home.
Of course, she’s not a little girl anymore, and she has no idea that I know who she is. Why she’s calling herself Ellie Ryder, I can only guess that she fears that the sins of her father—and there have been many—have followed her and would cause folks to judge her in his light. She forgets that it’s her mother whom St. Dennis remembers, not that scoundrel her mother married. I hope that in time she discovers that we all remember her dear mother with much affection.
I recognized her the minute I laid eyes on her.
She’s fixing up Lilly’s house—plans to sell it, she says. I don’t know how Lilly or Lynley would feel about that. I think Lynley had hoped that one day her girl would find the same peace here that she herself found, the peace that kept bringing her back year after year. I do hope the girl gives us a chance. She’s clearly a child who needs a place to belong.
I remember how Lynley would come back to relax—never with the husband, though, and only rarely would she bring the girl. She was Ellis then, not Ellie, but what’s in a name? Lynley stopped bringing her when she was maybe three or four.
Back in those days, Lynley was still a celebrity. Sometimes she and Lilly would bring the girl to the inn for afternoon tea, and more often than not, Lucy and I would join them.
There are photographs somewhere—I should look.
Lynley Sebastian was a lovely woman—a very good woman who never forgot where she came from. From what I can see, in spite of all the terrible things her father has put her through, Ellis—Ellie—has rolled up her sleeves and set to work to do what needs to be done. I believe Lynley would be proud of the woman her daughter has become.
Grace
Chapter 7
Ellie turned on the faucet to fill the pot with water for her morning coffee when movement in the yard caught her eye. She leaned closer to the window and saw a man in a blue and brown flannel shirt ministering to one of the bird feeders. His shoulders were broad and the untucked shirttails hung over the back of his jeans in a nice curve. It was hard not to admire the view.
The thought occurred to her that she’d never seen her ex-fiancé, Henry, in a flannel shirt, doubted that he owned one. If he did, it surely wouldn’t be faded and worn like the one that fit Cameron’s frame so well. Henry’s flannel—should he ever have owned one—would have come from some high-end store and would have been pressed within an inch of its life so that not a wrinkle or fold showed. The colors would not have been faded because he’d wear it once—if he wore it at all—and it would have been tucked into neatly pressed khakis.
Of course, these days, Henry’s wardrobe consisted of orange jumpsuits, so the point of her mental meandering was pretty much moot.
Cameron turned to pick up the large bag of birdseed that he’d placed on the ground and hoisted it in one hand.
Real men, she decided then and there, wore well-worn flannel, and they never tucked it into their jeans.
Real men like Cameron, who, word had it, thought Ellie was pretty hot.
Likewise, my friend. Likewise …
Ellie hastily filled the coffeepot’s basket with fresh grounds and turned on the stove. Grabbing a sweater from a wall hook near the back door, she tossed it over her shoulders before stepping outside and leaning on the porch railing, which swayed in response.
“Hi,” she called. The morning was rich with scents from the Bay, brilliant sunshine, birdsong, and promise.
“Good morning.” He finished filling the feeder and walked toward the house, carrying the bag of birdseed, which he placed on the bottom step. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses as he strode toward the porch. “I wouldn’t lean on that railing if I were you. I haven’t gotten around to fixing it yet.”
“It does have a bit of a sway to it.” She straightened up. “You’re up and out early.”
“Got a lot to do this morning.”
“Like driving around St. Dennis filling bird feeders?”
“Just these. Everyone else can fill their own.” He pushed his glasses on top of his head and fixed those blue eyes on her. “I put these feeders up a few years ago, and it’s become a habit to check on them, especially during the migration season and into the winter. I noticed they were getting low on seed when I was here the other day.” He stared up at her. “Does it bother you …?”
“Oh, no. No. I think it’s really nice of you. I just don’t want you to feel obligated.…”
“I don’t. Well, maybe to the birds. They become accustomed to finding food at certain places, so I want to make sure there’s seed here for them. I’d suggest you continue filling the feeders yourself, except that I’ve hung them for my height. You’d need a step-ladder to do the job. Of course, I suppose I could lower the feeders.”
“Would that confuse the birds?” she wondered.
“They’ll adapt, though the lower the feeder the easier it is for the squirrels to raid them.” Cam smiled. “So we can leave them where they are and I can stop over once or twice a week and refill them.”
“That’s up to you. In the meantime, I’ll pick up some birdseed. I saw some in the market the other day.”
“You want the kind that has a high percentage of thistle and sunflower seeds. Anderson’s out on the highway usually has the best prices for the good stuff.”
“Oh. Okay.” The good stuff? She hadn’t known there were different kinds.
“The cheaper varieties usually are heavy on the smaller seeds and really light on the stuff the birds need,” Cam went on to explain. Perhaps he sensed her ignorance on the matter.
“Like thistle and sunflower seeds.”
“Exactly.” He stood with his hands on his hips, his sleeves rolled almost to the elbow. “You want to buy the
right food for the birds you have.”
“What kind of birds do I have?” She frowned. She’d seen several flitting around the backyard, but none close enough that she could tell robin from blue jay.
“This time of the year, you have chickadees, nuthatches, wrens, tufted titmice, cardinals. The usual suspects.”
“Oh, right.” She nodded as if she knew. Through the door wafted the smell of percolating coffee. On impulse, she invited him in.
“I’ve got a minute, thanks. I was going to grab some takeout from Cuppachino on my way to the job.” He followed her into the kitchen and looked around. “Someone’s been busy.”
“I’ve cleaned out all the cupboards and washed up just about everything in this room and the dining room.”
“It’s looking like someone really lives here now.”
“I know, right?” She poured two mugs of coffee and placed them on the table. She added two spoons, the sugar bowl, and a container of milk. “Help yourself,” she told him.
“Thanks.” Cam added a teaspoon of sugar and just enough milk to turn his coffee a few shades lighter. “So you think you might be almost ready to paint the first-floor rooms?”
“Not quite yet, but I’m close. I thought I’d wait until I got the upstairs in better shape and then paint everything at once.”
Cam raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to get awfully tired of painting if you try to go from one room to the next until they’re all done. The only way I’d ever recommend that would be if you had a crew come in and paint for you.”
“What would you suggest?” She fixed her own coffee and leaned back against the counter.
“I’d do one room at a time.” He looked around the kitchen. “I’d start here, maybe. Paint the cabinets, the walls and woodwork.”
“After I do the floor,” she added.
“That’s a whole ’nother thing,” he reminded her, “since that old linoleum has to be pulled up and the floor sanded.”
“Maybe I should start that project before I get into anything else. Or maybe I’ll paint the dining room first. I think it will be easier.” She sighed. “After I strip off the wallpaper, of course.”
“Whichever room you decide, remember to wet the walls first and the paper should scrape right off, depending on the type of glue the paper hanger used. I was serious about loaning you a pressurized sprayer. It’ll make the job much easier.”
“With my luck, it will be the antique version of Super Glue.”
“Like I said, I’d complete one room at a time. If you want to start in the kitchen, start with the floor. Then when you have it stripped down, you can start taking down the wallpaper. Either way, call me first and I’ll come over and give you a hand.”
“I’d appreciate that, thanks.” Ellie turned to the counter and picked up a silver bowl that she’d polished the night before. “I found silver in the sideboard. I still can’t believe that this house has been vacant for all these years, and it hasn’t been broken into.”
“Like I said, a lot of people have been keeping an eye on the place.”
“Including you.”
“Especially me.”
Before she asked if there was a reason for that, he’d finished his coffee in one long drink and placed the mug on the counter next to where she stood. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Thanks for feeding the birds and the lesson on birdseed.”
“Anytime.”
She walked him out to his truck, which was parked across the end of her driveway.
“So I guess you’ve heard about First Families Day.” Cam opened the cab door but made no move to get in.
“From just about everyone I’ve run into over the past few days.”
“Are you going to go?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“You should. It’s a fun event, involves the whole town.”
“I have to admit I’m curious. Mostly about the pirates.”
“Oh?” His mouth slid into a slow smile. “Curious about the pirates, are you?”
“How could I not be? I mean, I heard they burned down the house that originally stood here.”
“Not exactly where your house is standing now, but you can see part of the foundation for that first structure inside the carriage house.”
“Really?” She turned and looked down the driveway at the old building she’d yet to investigate. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and find the key. I’d hate to break a window to get in there.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to expose the interior to the elements,” he told her. “Especially with winter coming on. But who knows? Maybe the key will turn up.” He swung himself into the driver’s seat.
He started up the engine and rolled down the window. “I hear it’s going to go down to the thirties tonight,” he said right before he closed the door. “You might want to bring in some of that firewood from the back porch.”
He slammed the cab door and she waved before turning to go back to the house as he drove away.
I hear it’s going to go down to the thirties tonight. You might want to bring in some of that firewood from the back porch.
Jeez, way to dazzle with your wit, O’Connor. Could you have been any smoother than that?
What a dumb-ass.
He watched in the rearview mirror as Ellie leaned down to pick up something from the ground. There was no denying that she intrigued him on more than one level. He liked the way she looked, liked that she didn’t appear to fuss with herself too much. And that he was attracted to her … well, what guy wouldn’t be? Besides her good looks, there was a grace about her, in the way she moved and the way she gestured and spoke. She gave every indication of having been well educated, but poorly prepared for the task that she’d set for herself here in St. Dennis.
And that, to Cam’s mind, was just the start of where the problems came in.
Something just wasn’t quite right about Ellie Ryder.
There was something about her that just didn’t ring true. He’d tried—given it some thought after his visit the other day—but just couldn’t seem to put his finger on what it was about her that was off. Oh, there were the little things—like how she claimed to have little money for renovations but was driving that big Mercedes sedan. And, who, having no money to hire a contractor and admittedly no skills to do the work yourself, would buy a house that needed as much work as Lilly Cavanaugh’s house needed?
Of course, there was the possibility that she’d spent everything she had to buy the house and didn’t realize just how much work the place needed until she moved into it.
He’d give her that much, but the house itself was only half of what weighed on him where Ellie was concerned. Her hands were definitely not hands that had done much hard work in the past. They were soft and refined, not hardened by the type of tasks she was taking on, and who in their right mind would take on such a huge project without having some experience?
Then there was that feeling that they’d met before. There was something about her eyes, something familiar, and yet not. It really bugged him. He couldn’t imagine where they might have met in the past—certainly she didn’t give any sign of having met him before—and yet there it was. Every time he looked at her, he got that same feeling.
He slowed the truck in front of the vacant lot on the opposite side of the street and three houses down from the old Cavanaugh place. He just couldn’t seem to drive past without stopping, however briefly, to reflect and remember the house that once stood there, the family that had once lived there.
Of course, the house, like the family, was long gone.
He gunned the engine and continued on his way.
Cam turned into the drive that ran between Grant Wyler’s house and his veterinary clinic and parked behind a white pickup that was parked near the garage. He hopped out and waved to the plumber he’d called in to get an estimate on the work Grant and his wife, Dallas, wanted done on the house. New expanded kitchen, new bathrooms, new sunroom. Offices in the at
tic and a new four-car garage. It had all the makings of one very sweet job.
He’d have to put his curiosity about Ellie aside and focus on the task at hand. There’d be time enough to discover just what was what. In the meantime, the possibility that she’d be at the square on Sunday gave him a little something else to think about, his reservations about her having done little to diminish his attraction. The errant little thought he’d had earlier began to take on a life of its own.
If Ellie was intrigued by the pirate tales, he’d just have to make sure she’d have a ringside seat—or better—come Sunday afternoon.
Chapter 8
Even the chilliest morning of the week couldn’t keep Ellie from heading toward the beach with her coffee, and this morning, a breakfast sandwich she’d made for herself. Modeled after something offered by a fast-food drive-through, it had a sausage patty topped with a scrambled egg topped with a slice of cheese on a toasted English muffin. She’d tried it out the day before and was so pleased with the results she couldn’t resist making another one. She sat on her rock, mug in one hand, sandwich wrapped in foil in the other, and took a deep breath. Despite the damp and the chill in the air—Ellie was thinking that life was pretty sweet in the here and now. Having decided that looking back at what used to be was pointless, she’d made a promise to herself to look at each new day as an opportunity to learn and to grow and to just enjoy and be grateful to be in this place.
She unwrapped her sandwich, balanced it on her knee, and watched a very large bird swoop low over the whitecaps out on the Bay, then rise up swiftly, and just as swiftly, dive headfirst into the water. Seconds later, the bird emerged, a struggling fish in its mouth. She’d seen the bird—or one like it—every day when she came to the beach, but she didn’t know what it was.
I should know what that bird is, she told herself. I will know. I will learn what that one is. I’ll find an app for my phone that has seabirds on it, and I’ll bring it with me when I—
Motion in the dune grass to her right caused her to freeze, the sandwich in her left hand almost to her mouth. She held her breath, wondering if the fox she’d seen a few days earlier had returned. It had poked out of the grass, and she was pretty sure that both she and the fox had been equally surprised to see the other. They’d both stopped in their tracks to stare, the moment suspended in time, before the fox flicked its tale and disappeared back into the grasses. It had been bigger than she’d supposed foxes to be, more like a medium-size dog.
The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge Page 160