The Inn at Eagle Point

by Sherryl Woods

  “I love you, too. And Jess. It’s going to be okay. When O’Briens stick together, there’s nothing we can’t do.”

  “That’s what you’ve always taught us,” Abby agreed.

  Unfortunately, she was very much afraid it was going to take a lot more than family spirit and loyalty to save Jess’s inn.

  3

  M ick hadn’t been home for a month, not that Chesapeake Shores felt much like home anymore. He’d spent most of that time in a frustrating battle of wits with officials over building permits for his latest planned community north of San Francisco. Given the number of hurdles, he was beginning to question the wisdom of going through with the development. Then again, he’d put his reputation on the line for this one, and what would it say if he folded up and went away without a fight?

  He’d just finished a meeting with his associates from O’Brien & Company, his contractors and the subcontractors about the latest delay when his cell phone rang. Glancing at caller ID, he saw that it was his mother, who rarely ever called him these days. In the past she’d only called in an emergency, and there’d been plenty of those with five kids in the house.

  “Hey, Ma, how are you?” he said, walking away from the other men so he could have the conversation in private.

  “Fit as a fiddle,” she said. “Wish I could say the same for your daughter.”

  Mick felt his pulse speed up. “Is something wrong with Abby? Or Bree?” he asked. Then added almost as an afterthought, “Or is it Jess?”

  “Interesting that your concern for Jess came last,” she said, her tone accusing. “That’s always been the problem between you two. Sometimes I think you forget you have three daughters. It’s little wonder the girl works so hard to try to get your attention.”

  “I hope you didn’t call just to give me another lecture on how I’ve shortchanged Jessica. We’ve had that conversation too many times to count.”

  “Then it amazes me that it has yet to sink in,” she retorted. “And actually that’s exactly why I called. When was the last time you spoke to her?”

  “A few days ago, I suppose,” he said, searching his memory, but unable to come up with anything more precise. That gave some credence to his mother’s accusations, but he wasn’t planning to admit that anytime soon. He hadn’t spoken to Abby or Bree, either.

  “More like a month, I imagine,” she said. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was when she drove you to the airport. I doubt you’ve given her a second thought since then.”

  He winced as the barb hit its mark. “Okay, that’s probably right. What’s your point? She’s a grown woman. She doesn’t need her dad checking up on her.”

  “Checking up on her, no,” his mother agreed with undisguised impatience. “But how about checking in just to see how she’s doing, maybe asking how the inn is coming along, inquiring if she could use any help in getting it ready to open? Would those things be too much to expect from a loving parent, especially one with an entire construction company at his disposal?”

  Mick bristled at the suggestion that he wasn’t interested in his own daughter’s life or that he’d been unwilling to help her out. “Jess made it plain she didn’t want my interference. You sat right there at the kitchen table when I offered to send one of my guys around to look things over and she turned me down flat.”

  “Mick, for a bright man, you can be denser than dirt,” she chided. “Maybe she didn’t want one of your men over there. Maybe what she needed was you. ”

  Mick might be past fifty, but he still hated being called on the carpet by his own mother. He’d rather face down a hundred bureaucrats than be made to feel that somehow he’d let down his family. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know he’d failed them by making life so miserable for Megan that she’d left him. He hadn’t been able to fix that, and it was likely that whatever was going on right now with Jess wasn’t something he could fix, either. What kind of man was he? He’d built an international reputation as an architect and urban planner, but he couldn’t keep his own damn family together.

  “Ma, why don’t you just say whatever’s on your mind? Is Jess in some kind of trouble? Does she need money? One of my crews? What? You know I’ll do whatever I can to help. All she needs to do is ask.”

  His mother sighed heavily. “Mick, you know she’ll never do that.”

  “Why, for God’s sake?” he asked, frustrated. “Who else should she ask? I’m her father.”

  “Exactly. And she’s been trying to prove herself to you since the day her mother left. She thinks that was her fault because she was too much trouble, because she wasn’t smart enough.”

  “Jess is smart as a whip,” he protested, exactly as he always did.

  “Well, of course she is, but learning came hard for her. She thinks that was what sent her mother running. Kids as young as Jess was back then always think a divorce is their fault.”

  “You’ve been watching Dr. Phil again,” he accused. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze my relationship with Jess.”

  “Well, somebody has to fix it. It’s way past time. How soon can you get back here?”

  “A few weeks, maybe. Longer unless you tell me what the hell is going on in plain English that my poor denser-than-dirt male brain can comprehend.”

  “Don’t smart-mouth me. I’m still your mother.”

  Mick nearly groaned. “Ma, please.”

  “I think it’s possible she’s going to lose the inn before she even gets the doors open. If that happens, it will break not only her heart, but her spirit.”

  The news caught him completely off guard. Even he recognized how that could affect his daughter, assuming it was true and not just the product of the local gossip mill. “What makes you think she’s going to lose the inn?”

  “I’ve heard rumors the bank is considering foreclosure. And before you dismiss that as nothing more than speculation, I’ll tell you my source was reliable.”

  Mick’s frustration mounted. “Dammit, I knew she was getting in over her head, but she signed all the paperwork and plunged into this without talking any of it over with me.”

  “Because she needed to prove to you that she could do this all on her own.”

  “Well, exactly what will she have proved, if the bank forecloses?”

  “Michael Devlin O’Brien, don’t you dare come back here if all you’re going to do is throw her mistakes in her face. She needs her father, not a judgmental businessman.”

  Now it was Mick’s turn to sigh heavily. If what his mother was saying was true, it put him between a rock and a hard place. “Ma, we both know I could fix whatever’s going on with one call to Lawrence Riley, but you know as well as I do that Jess won’t thank me for it.”

  “True enough,” she admitted. “But we have to do something, Mick. Jess needs to make a success of this.”

  “Do you really think she could lose the inn? Maybe it’s not that bad.”

  “Jess called her sister, that’s how bad it is. Abby’s here now trying to help, but from the grim expression on her face this morning, it could take more than some sort of financial wizardry on her part to fix this. Come home, Mick. Whether she admits it or not, Jess needs your support right now. And of course, if you flew home tonight, you’d be able to spend some time with Abby and your granddaughters.”

  “Tonight?” he asked, trying to work out the all-but-impossible logistics in his head. “I doubt I could get on a flight on short notice.”

>   “Spend some of that fortune you make on something important for once. Hire a private jet, if you have to.”

  He thought of having one daughter and his only grandchildren under his roof again, of being there when another daughter might actually admit she needed him, and made a decision. His mother was right. If ever there was a time he belonged at home with his family, this was it.

  “I’ll see what I can arrange,” he said at last.

  “That’s good,” his mother said. “And let’s just pretend, you and I, that we never had this conversation.”

  Mick laughed for the first time since the uncomfortable conversation had begun. “You’re still a sly one, aren’t you, Ma?”

  “I pride myself on it, in fact.”

  Abby spent all day Saturday buried in paperwork at the inn. As her sister had assured her, the projections were positive, but Jess clearly had little sense of money management. If she’d wanted fancy, top-of-the-line shower curtains or thick, luxurious towels, she’d bought them, even if it broke the budget.

  Not that she’d ever put a budget on paper in the first place or even the sort of business plan that Abby would have expected the bank to require. Obviously she’d been flying by the seat of her pants, and the bank had let her get away with it because she was an O’Brien in a town where that meant something. Any national bank would have adhered to much stricter guidelines than the Chesapeake Shores Community Bank apparently had followed.

  Abby sat Jess down at the kitchen table on Saturday night and laid it all out for her while Gram was upstairs reading the girls their bedtime story. “You have little to no operating capital. How were you planning on buying supplies for the restaurant? Or soaps and toiletries for the rooms, for that matter?”

  “Credit?” Jess said weakly, looking as if she were about to cry. “I haven’t maxed out my credit cards yet.”

  Abby bit back a groan. “You’ll dig a hole so deep doing that, you’ll never get out. Like it or not, I’m going to give you an infusion of cash and a strict budget. Assuming, that is, that we can get the bank to go along with this. I’m just praying that they haven’t officially started foreclosure proceedings. I’m going to be on the doorstep over there at nine sharp Monday morning and we’ll see where we stand.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Jess said. “This is my project.”

  Abby agreed reluctantly. “Okay, but let me do the talking, unless they ask for information I don’t have.”

  “Fine,” Jess said, not meeting her gaze.

  Abby studied her sister. Jess’s cheeks were faintly flushed. Maybe it was just embarrassment that she’d let her finances get so messed up, but Abby thought it was something else. She looked guilty.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Abby asked her. “Has the foreclosure process gone further than you’ve admitted? Are there more bills you haven’t wanted me to see?”

  Jess hesitated, then declared, “No. You’ve seen every single piece of paper, every bill I owe.”

  “Then why do you look guilty?”

  “Guilty?” She widened her eyes in an attempt to look innocent.

  Abby didn’t buy it. “Don’t even try that act with me. I’ve known you too long and too well. That’s the look you used to get when you’d snuck out the bedroom window at night to meet Matt Richardson and Gram called you on it.”

  Jess’s flush deepened. “Okay, maybe there is one other thing you should know before Monday.”

  “Tell me,” Abby ordered, the knot of dread forming yet again in her stomach. “Don’t you dare let me walk into that meeting and get blindsided.”

  Before Jess could reply, the door burst open and their father strode into the kitchen. Jess looked from him to Abby and back again.

  “I see the cavalry’s arrived,” Jess said sourly. She scowled at Abby. “Did you call him?”

  “Of course not,” Abby said, trying to soften Jess’s reaction by standing up to give her father a warm hug. She beamed up at him. “Why didn’t you let us know you were coming home?”

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” he said, casting a wary look toward Jess. “Something going on you didn’t want me to know about?”

  “Nothing,” she said firmly, shooting a warning look at Abby that pretty much tied her hands. With obvious reluctance, Jess stood and gave Mick an obligatory kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Dad. Welcome home. I’d love to stay and catch up, but I need to get home.”

  “Last time I checked, this was your home,” he said.

  “I’m staying at the inn now,” she said, as she gathered up all the papers on the kitchen table and shoved them into a briefcase. Clearly she didn’t intend to take a chance that Mick would lay eyes on them.

  She was already heading for the door when she said, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Abby.”

  Abby wanted to argue that they still had things to discuss right here and now, but clearly Jess didn’t want anything revealed in front of their father. She’d just have to wait until Sunday to find out what Jess had been keeping from her.

  As soon as her sister was out of earshot, Abby turned to her father. He looked tired, but otherwise robust. There were threads of gray in his curly, reddish-blond hair, but his broad shoulders and trim waistline testified that he was still maintaining his fitness regimen even with all the traveling and dining out he did. His complexion was ruddy from working outdoors and there were a few more lines around his blue eyes, which were filled with concern as he stared after Jess.

  “Gram called you, didn’t she?” Abby asked him.

  He hesitated for a split second, then nodded. “She wanted me to know you and the girls were here. I caught the first flight I could get, so I could spend a little time with you. It’s been a long time since you’ve graced us with your presence down here.”

  “Too long,” she admitted. “Was that all she told you?”

  Mick went to the counter and poured himself a cup of tea, then sat down without replying. He stirred sugar into the strong brew and took a sip, then met Abby’s gaze. “Sure. Is there something else going on?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Dad. You’re really back because she told you Jess is in trouble.”

  His lips twitched at that. “Did she really? Are you a mind reader now? Or did you eavesdrop on a private conversation?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then take what I’m telling you at face value,” he ordered. “It’s better that way. Now tell me where my darling girls are.”

  “Asleep, I hope,” she said. “And we’re not going to wake them up at this hour. I’ll never get them back to sleep if we do. They’ll be too excited if they see you. You can spend all day tomorrow with them.” She gave him a stern look. “And no spoiling them rotten, either. I think you bought all the toys in FAO Schwarz the last time you were in New York.”

  “It’s a grandfather’s privilege to do a little spoiling,” he argued. “That’s what we’re meant to do.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. A few days of all that extra attention from Gram and now Mick, and the twins would be little terrors by the time she got them back to New York.

  She realized that Mick was studying her over the rim of his cup. “You look worn-out, Abby. You’re working too hard.”

  “That’s the nature of what I do.”

  “Does it leave you enough time for those sweet girls?”

  “Not really,” she admitted, then added pointedly, “but you should know better than anyone what it’s like to make hard c
hoices, to do what’s best for your family.” In some ways they were two of a kind, which she supposed made at least some of her criticism sound hypocritical.

  “I do know about hard choices,” he said, not taking offense. “And you should know as well as anyone what the cost was. I lost a woman I loved. And not a one of you could wait to leave this place. So what good did all this money and success do for me in the end?”

  “Jess is still here.”

  “And not a day goes by that I don’t wonder why.”

  “I think I know the answer to that,” Abby said. “She loves it here, more than the rest of us ever did. And she’s still trying to prove herself to you, here, in a place that once meant everything to you. I think she believes it will create a bridge between you eventually.”

  “There’s nothing she has to prove. My love for you, Jess, Bree and your brothers is unconditional.”

  Abby saw that he honestly believed it was that simple and that obvious. She decided to be candid for once, rather than skirting around the real issues this family had. “Dad, when Mom left, you might as well have. From that moment on, you passed through our lives when you could spare a few days, but you didn’t know anything about us. For Connor, Kevin, me and even Bree, it was hard, but we were almost grown by then. Jess was still a little girl.”

  He frowned at that. “What are you talking about? I knew everything there was to know about all of you. I knew when you were sick. I knew when one of you won an award at school or scored a touchdown. I was there for graduation. I paid the bills for college and saw the report cards.”

  Abby’s temper stirred. “And you thought those things were all that mattered? A private investigator could have told you any of that stuff, though of course in your case it was Gram who filled you in. We needed our father here, cheering for us, drying our tears, calling us on it when we made mistakes.”

  His cheeks flushed and his tone turned defensive when he reminded her, “You always had your grandmother for that.”