Gypsy Beach

by Jillian Neal

  “Yeah, well, just don’t get yourself too involved, Ryan. God only knows what Alexa will pull next, and this mess Sienna’s gotten into, I’m just not sure I can get her out of it. I’ll let you know when I’ve talked with Roby and gotten a look at that deed. I’ll come by tomorrow.”

  “Do you want to stay with us?” His mind was reeling over the information John had force fed him, but if he was coming all the way to Gypsy Beach to help, Ryan at least owed him a place to sleep.

  A derisive chuckle sounded in his ear. “I think I’ll get a hotel near the courthouse, you know, outside of the, ‘Oh Ryan, oh Ryan, oh Ryan, yes, yes, yes,’ splash zone.”

  “Funny.” Ryan rolled his eyes, not particularly in the mood for John’s forthright demeanor or his lewd jokes.

  “How’s my baby girl doing?” John changed course quickly.

  “Evie’s great. Sienna took her to the library while I work on these decks.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea, man? You really trust her?”

  “I’m not going to tell you to fuck off because you’re my best friend and you’re helping me out, not to mention the fact that you’ve basically gotten me through the last ten years of my shit life, but if you ever ask me that again, we’ll be rethinking our relationship. You got that?” Unmitigated gall reverberated in Ryan’s tone.

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You just be careful. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Returning to his work, Ryan tried to navigate through the issues surrounding the ownership of the Inn. Nana had lived there since before Sienna’s birth. Surely that counted for something. Clearly she had paid Roby along the way. There had to be a fighting chance for Sienna to take full ownership without paying him any more money.

  “You look like you know what you’re doing there, son.” Frustrated with the distractions, Ryan lifted his head and shut down the air compressor.

  “Can I help you?” He tried to modulate his voice to a more pleasant sound.

  “Name’s Owen Sanders. I own two rental houses about a mile up the coast. We’re friends of the Montgomerys. Mac says you’re the man for making our storm repairs. But we’re wanting it done soon, and you don’t seem to have much of a crew.”

  Ryan extended his hand to the gentlemen who appeared to be in his late 50’s and very well off. The designer dress pants, monogrammed shirtsleeves, and Patek watch were dead giveaways.

  “Haven’t needed a crew on this build,” he lied. “I’d be happy to give you an estimate on the houses. If I need a crew, I’ll get one. Won’t be a problem, sir.” Earning more money was of utmost importance. Maybe he could somehow get enough to pay off Roby and pacify Alexa.

  “Well, Mac says you’re the guy. You think you could meet me up there tomorrow at eight to discuss what needs to be done?”

  “I’ll be there,” Ryan assured him. The man gave him an embossed notecard clearly made for keeping in their beach rentals. The addresses were printed along the bottom.

  Weary hope tried to emerge within him. If it hadn’t been for Sienna, he would have called himself a fool for hoping at all. Something about having her back in his life made him believe that maybe he could figure everything out. If the work wasn’t enough to pay off Roby for the appraised value on the Inn, there was only one other thing he could do, but given the complexities of his custody case it would be extremely risky.

  Twenty-Four

  “I just know it was that ex-wife of his. She’s vicious, Mac. She had those investigators go through the Inn. How does she know Ryan and Sienna are back together?” Molly had been pacing and fretting most of the morning.

  “We don’t know that she does, but I’d say you’re right about the investigator rifling through Ruth’s place.”

  “So, she must know about Sienna!”

  “Nah, not necessarily. She might know Ryan’s who’s rebuilding the Inn. That might be why the investigator was scratching around. She’s wanting to know how much money he’s making. You said she was a gold-digger. They’ve all but called her that in the papers. And now that’s played right into Upton’s hand with his nonsense about crime on the beach.”

  The following afternoon, Ryan sat on a quilt in Sienna’s front yard watching Evie draw on an old chalkboard Sienna had located in the basement of the Inn. While she methodically wrote out the letters of her name with an old piece of yellowed chalk, Ryan dragged his fingers through Sienna’s long hair. She was laying in his lap in peaceful contentment. He’d given her a slightly abbreviated version of what John had discovered. He’d downplayed the importance of the dates on the deeds and prayed that after John talked to Roby today, he’d magically discover some contingency that would undermine the claim completely.

  The rhythmic roll of the water and the warmth of the sunshine made it far too easy to pretend that there was nothing more than a peaceful sunset on their horizon. Evie’s happy chatter about what she was drawing and Sienna’s soft sighs completed the serenity the afternoon afforded them. With each deep breath he drew, Ryan could smell the chili that Sienna had simmering in the kitchen. She’d been working on it all day, and he was counting the hours until dinner. It smelled delectable. She’d insisted that they prepare a meal for John since he was helping them out. Still irked about John’s lack of trust and his obvious prejudice, Ryan had begrudgingly allowed her to cook all morning.

  He refused to focus on the contingency plan that he’d discussed with Owen Sanders while he’d worked up the estimates for the storm repairs on the rental houses. Sanders had readily agreed, but Ryan wasn’t quite ready to pull the trigger. He had to check with John first, but he had Sander’s deposit for the work he wanted done in his pocket and that brought a great deal of peace. The work on the rental houses wouldn’t come near the price on the Inn, but he would make this all work out somehow.

  After he talked with John, he planned on cashing the check in his wallet and driving into Wilmington to look at engagement rings. He didn’t care if they’d only been together a week. He’d been in love with her for a decade.

  Listening for John’s Porsche to pull up, Ryan heard his cell ring where he’d left it on the kitchen counter. Sienna sat up so he could get it before it went to voicemail. Revulsion automatically washed over him when he saw who was calling. He fought not to vomit.

  “Evie,” he called as he stepped back outside. “Mommy’s on the phone.” Per the detailed temporary custody agreement he’d demanded, the parent that had Evie was not allowed to refuse a call from the other.

  “Here she is.” He handed the phone to Evie after his three-word greeting, which was far more than Alexa deserved.

  Sienna gave him a sympathetic smile as she stood and wound her arms around him, weathering the foul mood that had set upon him suddenly. He held her close, feeling her warmth and inhaling deeply of her heavenly scent. Another wave of contentment soothed his soul.

  “Yesterday, Sienna took me to the playground, and to the library, and she read me lots of books. And I saw the turtles. And Sienna let me color on a big board with chalk. And Daddy gave me a bath with lots of bubbles. And he likes to kiss Sienna a lot.”

  Ryan tried not to cringe at Evie’s informative speech to Alexa about what she’d been up to. Sienna bristled in his arms. “We did nothing wrong.” He wished his own vow would alleviate the gnawing anxiety in his gut.

  “Daddy.” Evie tugged on his jeans. “Mommy needs to talk to you.” She handed him the phone.

  Twenty-Five

  Ordering himself not to put up with any of Alexa’s bitching, Ryan took the phone. Sienna was staring up at him in wide-eyed horror. He drew a deep breath.

  “What?” He huffed.

  “I love how you pitch a God-almighty fit just because Bill wanted to take her for ice cream, but you can fuck your little high-school fling in front of her and that’s just fine.”

  “I’m hanging up, Alexa.” Her rants no longer frightened him. He’d been inundated with them endlessly for the last five years.

  “Wait!”
<
br />   Ryan called himself stupid for halting. “What?”

  “I’m sorry I said that.”

  Laughing at the absurdity of that, he shook his head. “What do you want?”

  Losing a little of her flagrant audacity, she strangled over the words, “Mama’s not doing well. I came back from Paris early.” He heard a genuine shudder of breath as if Alexa were really crying. “She’s had another stroke, Ryan. Daddy says he doesn’t think she’s gonna make it through the weekend. And she knows. That’s the worst part. She knows she’s dying right now. She asked to see Evie one more time. Can I please come get her or meet you somewhere? Please. I’ll sign another two weeks with you or whatever John keeps getting me to do, if I can just get her and take her out to Emory so Mama can tell her good-bye. I’ll bring her back when she passes. I swear… it’s not…it’s not gonna be long.” Another muffled sob tugged at Ryan’s heartstrings.

  He’d never been a big fan of Mrs. Baldwin as she was just as uppity and conniving as her daughter, but she had gone downhill quite a bit in the last year. She’d had a stroke, just before Alexa had filed for divorce, that had left her bound to a wheelchair. The doctors had told them that she wouldn’t last another year. It appeared they were correct.

  “I’m not lying. You can call and talk to Daddy at the hospital if you want. I swear.”

  Assuming it would be easier to deal with whatever John discovered on his trip out to Roby’s farm without Evie around, Ryan sighed. “Yeah, okay, fine. John’s on his way here. I’ll square everything and meet you with her in Florence tomorrow. But you’re bringing her back here next week. No more shit with my truck, and no more flying off and abandoning her. Be civil.”

  “Okay, fine.” Alexa hated to negotiate as that generally meant she was having to give up something.

  “And call off your dogs, Alexa. You’ve taken me for everything. The money’s gone.”

  “Don’t push your luck, Ryan.” Her derisive sneer returned with a vengeance, but he had to try. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She ended the call. As always, he felt like he’d been siphoned dry after talking to her.

  Evie lifted up her hands as soon as Ryan shoved the phone in his pocket. He gathered her up in his arms and drew Sienna in as well. He hugged them tightly, desperate to hang onto them both.

  “Evie, Gram is sick again, and she had to go back to the hospital. Mommy would like for you to go back to her house for a few days so Gram can see you, but then Daddy and Sienna will come back and get you, okay?”

  “Did they give Gram medicine?”

  “They are giving her medicine, baby, but I think you would really cheer her up.”

  “I can draw her a picture and bring it to her with Mommy.”

  Ryan kissed his precious little girl’s head. “I think she would really like that.”

  Sienna tore several pages out of one of her sketchbooks, and Ryan located the bag of crayons he kept for Evie in his truck. She sat at the kitchen table coloring get-well pictures for her grandmother.

  Ryan kept constant watch out the windows as the sun began its decent into the water. John still hadn’t made an appearance, and Ryan’s nerves were getting to him. He didn’t want to think about handing Evie back over the next day. He didn’t like these visits that didn’t have an exact ending date. If her mother hadn’t passed by the next weekend, he was getting his little girl back.

  Just as Ryan and Sienna had decided to go on and eat, John’s Porsche pulled up beside the Suburban. Ryan held the new front door open, wondering what on earth had held him up for so long.

  “First of all, the whole damn county is nuts.” John huffed as he dropped his briefcase and flung his sportscoat on a nearby chair.

  “Uncle John,” Evie cried as she raced into the sitting room to welcome her godfather.

  “Evie Grace!” John melted as he scooped Evie up and hugged her. “Have you been having fun with Daddy?”

  “Yes, and Sienna, and tomorrow I’m going to go back to see Mommy and Gram because Gram is sick and I can make her feel better.”

  John’s automatic scowl let Ryan know precisely what he thought of the agreement.

  “Come on, Sienna’s got dinner ready.” Not interested in engaging in a debate with John just yet, Ryan ushered them into the kitchen. Having a lawyer for a best friend was occasionally exhausting. John loved to argue about most anything. He seemed to genuinely enjoy it.

  “Hey, John, come on in. I hope you like chili. I made cheesy garlic bread to go with.”

  John’s eyes tracked over Sienna in a crocheted knit top and long billowing skirt. Her midriff and bellybutton ring were exposed, but she’d covered them in that apron that drove Ryan insane with lust.

  With a minute headshake, John shot Ryan a distinct eye roll. “Sounds great, Sienna. You didn’t have to cook. Did Ry forget to mention that women don’t have to be chained to a stove anymore? Bras went up in flames and badda-bing badda-boom, you’re liberated. Don’t let him order you around.”

  Sienna cocked her jaw to the side and narrowed her eyes. Her hands flew to her sexy hips. Ryan ran his right hand over his face in an effort wipe away the incoming hysterical laughter. John Rowan had just met his match.

  “Actually, women are far from liberated, John,” she sneered. “We still haven’t achieved equal wages, equal opportunities, or an escape from macho, sexiest pricks that think they are free to comment on how we look, how we walk, or how we talk. So, you have nothing to worry about. It’s still a man’s world. Don’t be scared. And some of us like to cook. I, for one, feel that women should do whatever it is they find fulfilling, be it run a corporation, be president of the United States, or cook a kick-ass meal for their boyfriends and their pig-headed best friends. Now sit down, shut up, and eat.”

  Ryan waited on her to finish her diatribe before he grabbed her and kissed her heatedly. “I love you,” he vowed as soon as she broke the kiss.

  “I love you, too.” Her temper flare had left her a little shaky, so he held her a few minutes longer, letting her hide in him. She turned her face against his neck, and he cradled her tenderly until she was ready to face John, and the world, again.

  After Sienna and Ryan put Evie to bed, they sat on the McNamara’s sofa and listened to John’s tale. “I went with the sheriff to deliver the subpoena for the deed. He showed it to me. It’s dated March 25, 1977, which is about ten years before you said your grandmother took possession of the Inn, right Sienna?”

  “Yeah, Nana moved in when she found out my mom was pregnant with me, so that was 1988. I’m why she bought the Inn. She was pretty young when she passed, so she was only in her late forties then.”

  “Okay, well, the main problem with Roby’s claim is that the deed was never filed when he purchased the Inn, and then the agreement between he and your grandmother was rather unorthodox. He does have about 10 written receipts of her paying him before the Vernal Equinox each year just like he said, but the other years he has no record of.

  “He claims that your grandmother met her debts in other ways. The point of all of this is that we’re going to have to go to court and let the judge decide. Roby wants you to pay him the new appraised value of the Inn. He wants a legal bill of sale and to be done with it, so he says. I pressed him on letting the payments your grandmother already paid be deducted from the amount you would owe, but he’s stubborn. Because the deed he has was never filed with the Superior Court, there is no active rebuttal presumption.”

  “In non-lawyer babble, John,” Ryan huffed.

  “Here’s the bottom line. If the deed had been filed with the court clerk, for either her grandmother or Roby, the other would have no legal claim. Active rebuttal assumes that whoever’s name is on the deed is the legal owner, no questions asked. But the only deed on file with the clerk is the deed Sienna received a few weeks ago when she got the house out of probate.

  “Because Roby has a preceding, unfiled deed, you do stand to lose the Inn if you cannot pay him for it either via a mortgage
or with cash. I’m going to do everything I can. I am going to claim adverse possession. Sienna and her grandmother lived in, cared for, and paid the taxes on the Inn for more than 20 years, which will discredit Roby’s claim. But the lawyer friend I mentioned earlier, the way I’m getting to represent you through his practice, is concerned about the ongoing discord about who actually owns all of the property on Gypsy Beach. If money doesn’t come into play indicating a legal, undisputed sale, he’s worried the judge will rule in Roby’s favor simply because your grandmother was a….”

  “Gypsy,” Sienna provided for him.

  “That’s insane!” Ryan couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Grudges and prejudices run very, very deep, Ry, you know that. And I may have just made it worse. He’s worried that you’ve lawyered up and that you have no intention of making more payments, so he pushed for a trial sooner than later. Because this place is in the middle of nowhere and the Circuit Court has little to nothing to do, they set the trial for next week. I can try to hang it up and get a delay, but they seemed anxious to have something on the docket.”

  Sienna slumped beside Ryan. He wrapped his arms around her. “I will figure out something, baby. I’m not going to let you lose your home. I promise you.”

  John shot him a warning glare that said not to make that promise, but Ryan had a plan.

  “As I’m certain you know since you just paid off the taxes, the appraised value of the Gypsy Inn is $650,000 as it is damaged commercial rental property.” John sighed.

  Tears streamed down Sienna’s beautiful face. “Ryan, I can’t afford a mortgage like that. Even if I managed to rent it out all year, I’d never make enough.” She tried to fight the convulsion that brought on sobs, but couldn’t manage the task.

  It was nearing midnight when Ryan returned to the kitchen. He’d asked John to hang out while he took Sienna to their bedroom, swore to her that he would not let her lose the Inn, vowed to take care of her always, and then soothed her to sleep.