Whisper's Edge

by LuAnn McLane

  “Why am I getting that look?”

  “Because I care about you like you were my very own daughter,” Kate said and then felt tears well up in her eyes. She rolled her chair back and stood up. “Come on.” She gestured toward Savannah. “Get on over here.”

  When Savannah walked over to her side Kate wrapped her in a bear hug.

  “I wish you were my mama,” Savannah said in a choked voice. “I do…I really do.”

  Kate kissed the top of her head. “Savannah, you might not be my flesh and blood but I love you dearly. I will always be here for you come what may, do you hear me, child? Don’t ever be afraid.” A tear slid down her face when Savannah nodded. Kate had known from the moment she’d discovered Savannah huddled against the cold and hiding out in the abandoned mobile home that she would do anything in her power to help her. Oh, those pretty green eyes had looked so big and lost in her pale face. She’d felt an instant bond, and the maternal love that had been living dormant in her soul was put to use that day and lived on in her heart. She pulled back and looked Savannah in the eye. “I am hereby officially adopting you.”

  “Oh, Kate…” Savannah blinked at her for a moment and hugged her again. They clung to each other until they both burst into laughter.

  “Would you just look at us?” Kate said. “You are coming out tonight, right?”

  “Oh, like I could refuse after this?” Savannah’s laughter came out husky and a bit gurgled but it was music to Kate’s ears. She wanted to see Savannah smiling and happy.

  “Good, now that we’ve got that settled, let’s get back to work so we can get the hell outta here.”

  Savannah smiled but there was still a haunting quality to her gaze that troubled Kate. Jeff really was a good kid and he just might be what Savannah needed to bring her bubbly personality back to where it belonged. Kate felt guilty that she’d encouraged Savannah to have dinner with Tristan. She guessed that Tristan McMillan thought he was above getting involved with someone like Savannah. Kate was usually pretty spot-on at reading people, and she’d thought she saw something good in the McMillan boy but she guessed she had been dead wrong.

  Well, so be it. There are other fish in the sea, and although she might be a tad prejudiced, Kate thought Jeff would be a very good catch. And once Savannah heard her handsome nephew croon a soulful ballad she just might forget all about Tristan McMillan.

  16

  Cowboy Up

  TRISTAN ENJOYED THE FRESH SCENT OF THE SUMMER breeze as he made his way toward Sully’s Tavern for his meeting with Mitch Monroe. He was glad that he’d decided to walk instead of driving to the tavern. After sitting all day long going over graphs and crunching numbers, it felt good to stretch his legs. Since the meeting was at Sully’s Tristan had opted to wear his favorite pair of Lucky Brand jeans and a Western-cut plaid shirt, hoping to make the statement to Mitch Monroe that he fit in with the locals.

  The flags were up at the Cricket Creek baseball stadium, indicating an evening ball game, and Tristan made a mental note to take in an outing sometime soon. Back home he’d lived near Cincinnati’s Great American Ballpark, and although he hadn’t had time to go to many games, he found himself missing the atmosphere of a baseball park.

  Tristan grinned, remembering going to Cincinnati Reds games with his mother. Tristan had been such a bookworm that his mom decided they needed to attend sporting events in order to make him a more well-rounded kid. Although she didn’t say so, Tristan also knew now that it was her way of getting him to go to “guy” things, and since he didn’t have a father figure in his life, it was up to her to include sports in their lives. She’d boned up on her sports knowledge and attending baseball and football games had become a favorite way to spend time together.

  Tristan sighed as the aroma of hot dogs and popcorn drifted his way. Maggie McMillan had been quite the vocal spectator, cheering on her favorite players and sometimes riding the umpires after a bad call. Tristan had been more comfortable cracking peanut shells and keeping score. He’d sometimes wondered if he’d inherited his unknown father’s personality. Coincidentally, his mother’s upbeat demeanor was nothing like her surly father’s disposition, making Tristan sometimes wonder what his grandmother had been like. And what kind of woman abandoned her husband and child? Tristan was the kind of person who demanded answers and these unanswered questions often bothered him. Something didn’t add up.

  In his line of work Tristan had learned that human nature was difficult to predict but that the answers were always lurking there somewhere if you dug deep enough. He was convinced that his grandfather knew exactly why his young wife left, and although Tristan thought that his mother deserved to know, he also feared that the answers could be harder to live with than remaining in the dark. He was also pretty sure he could track down Miranda McMillan but unless his mother was on board with it, Tristan would leave well enough alone. But Tristan had trouble even broaching the topic with his mother. The few times he’d brought up the subject the usual light in her eyes would dim, and as much as Tristan wanted answers it wasn’t worth seeing his mother troubled or unhappy.

  Tristan sat down on a park bench and looked out over the glistening Ohio River and let his mind wander back over his childhood. No matter what had transpired between his grandparents, it certainly didn’t give his grandfather any right to be downright mean to his mother for getting pregnant or to treat Tristan with disdain for merely existing. Tristan had been to college and law school at the University of Kentucky. He was all too familiar with college partying. He wondered if his small-town mother had been an easy target at a frat party and her trusting nature had landed her in trouble. Her total lack of memory of a party she had attended that night made Tristan think that she’d been slipped a drug into her drink. He hated to think that his mother could have been a victim. Tristan shut his eyes and gripped the edge of the wooden bench. Regardless, she had needed sympathy and support instead of nasty accusations against her character.

  Tristan ran a hand down his face and sighed. There might still be unanswered questions but he knew a hell of a lot more about his family tree than Savannah did, and his own childhood had been stable and happy. He marveled at Savannah’s positive outlook on life despite the adversity she’d faced. Tristan shook his head. Ah, there she was again…sneaking into his thoughts and invading his dreams. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. And he was trying his damnedest.

  After glancing at his watch Tristan knew he had to get moving or risk being late for his meeting. He stood up and rolled the tension out of his neck before he resumed walking. The paved path along the banks of the Ohio River led all the way to Sully’s Tavern. Couples strolled by, joggers pounded the pavement, and young mothers pushed strollers. A group of teenagers joked and laughed, bouncing a basketball on the way to the nearby court that was just up ahead. Music and laughter coupled with the pleasant weather made for a lively feeling that seemed to linger on the edge of the breeze.

  People here, he’d learned, loved to be outdoors. Pickup trucks and camouflage were abundant, and Tristan had overheard tales of bass fishing and deer hunting when he ate breakfast at Wine and Diner. But that being said, the local theater was critically acclaimed and a nearby liberal arts college added an artsy flavor to the town. It suddenly occurred to him that Cricket Creek might be a small town but it had many of the amenities he’d enjoyed in Cincinnati, just at a slower pace and on a smaller scale.

  Tristan could tell by the shiny trash cans and decorative benches that there had been recent improvement along the riverbank. Cricket Creek was still on the upswing of an economic recovery and all signs indicated that the small town was ready and poised for a boom.

  The cove where Whisper’s Edge was located was a perfect location for a marina. Tristan has already gotten interest from a boat dealer and he knew that a riverfront restaurant would also go over well. The possibilities were endless and he told himself again that the added jobs would be a good way to keep the local economy
growing and thriving. The loss of one small retirement community would be well worth it. He had to keep that in consideration and keep his mind off the disappointment the project would surely cause Savannah.

  Oh, and how sweet it would be to turn his grandfather’s failing business into a gold mine and to reward his mother, who’d scrimped and saved to put him through law school. What should have been her retirement had gone toward his education. She’d put away money during the boom in real estate and if all went well, Tristan could give her an early retirement from selling homes and send her on a much-deserved vacation. Living well was always the best revenge.

  He sighed. All of this was good, so where was the excitement; the overwhelming sense of joy?

  Tristan had learned a long time ago that to conquer something challenging, you simply had to meet it head-on and knock all of the obstacles out of the way one by one. He knew what he had to do. If the meeting went well with Mitch Monroe, Tristan needed to sit down and tell Savannah about the possible plans he had for the Whisper’s Edge property. Surely she would understand and realize that the progress was necessary for the greater good.

  Clinging to that positive thought, Tristan headed up the sidewalk to Sully’s Tavern. The marquee advertized that today’s special was all-you-could-eat spaghetti and meatballs and that karaoke started at eight o’clock. Tristan shook his head. No, thank you! Although he had a decent voice, the notion of singing in front of anybody scared the crap out of him. While he loved music, singing in the shower or sometimes along with the radio in his car was as far as he would go. The spaghetti and meatballs, however, sounded pretty darned good.

  When Tristan opened the big front door the delicious aroma of marinara and garlic made his stomach rumble. He’d worked right through lunch and hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now. The food here, as he already knew, was good, much better than standard bar fare. The local tavern catered to a wide demographic of customers, offering everything from home-cooked comfort meals to live entertainment. The atmosphere could be vastly different depending on what time of the day you entered the building.

  “Welcome to Sully’s,” greeted the bubbly little hostess. “Just one tonight?”

  “Actually, I’m meeting someone,” Tristan replied. After scanning the room he spotted Mitch Monroe seated at a booth near the back of the dining room. Although they’d never met in person, Tristan had found out that Mitch Monroe had an office in the building next to the stadium. After speaking to him at length on the phone Tristan had snagged a meeting. It hadn’t been difficult learning Mitch Monroe’s impressive history. Articles and pictures about the tycoon were abundant online. “Oh, I see him, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She handed him a menu. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Tristan made his way to the booth. “Mr. Monroe?”

  “Yes, and you must be Tristan McMillan.” He extended his hand and gave Tristan a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you. Have a seat.”

  “Thanks, same here,” Tristan said and slid across the smooth leather bench.

  “Oh, and call me Mitch, please. I feel old enough as it is.”

  “Will do,” Tristan agreed, but except for neatly trimmed gray hair that gave away his age, Mitch Monroe appeared to be in great physical shape. Even dressed casually in Dockers and a blue golf shirt, Mitch Monroe still had an air about him that commanded attention. Perhaps it was the arresting light blue eyes that seemed to take in everything, but he reminded Tristan of going before a seasoned judge who demanded no bullshit.

  “Sorry to meet you so informally but I’ve been so damned busy that I decided I’d better combine our meeting with grabbing a bite to eat. Hope you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” Tristan said. “I skipped lunch so I’m famished.”

  “Good. Everything on the menu is, as my daughter Mia would say, pretty legit. And surprisingly, Pete Sully makes a kick-ass martini if you’re interested.”

  Tristan was tempted, and although he wasn’t sure that he should order something quite so strong, he was glad to see that Mitch had a drink in front of him. He needed a little something to take off the edge. He looked at the amber liquid in the snifter. “What are you drinking?”

  “Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale.”

  “Really? That’s beer?” He pointed to the glass.

  “Excellent enough to be served in these.” Mitch held up the snifter. “And it’s damned smooth. It’s aged in freshly decanted bourbon barrels, giving it the distinctive nose of a well-crafted bourbon. I love the stuff but you’ve got to be careful because it’s got some kick to it.” He grinned. “That’s experience talking.”

  “I think I’ll have to drink at least one,” Tristan said and gave his order to the server. “Come to think of it, it seems like they had it when I was living in Lexington and going to law school but it wasn’t available in stores and you had to get it in a beer growler.”

  “You won’t be sorry you’re trying it now…well, unless you drink several,” Mitch added with a grin, but then as Tristan suspected he immediately got down to business. “I’ve always enjoyed craft beer and have considered opening a brewery someday. But enough about that. I looked over the proposal that you e-mailed to me. I have to say that I was impressed with your thoroughness, Tristan.”

  “It’s the lawyer in me. I leave no stone unturned.”

  Mitch nodded slowly. “Me too, but then after that you have to rely on your gut.”

  “And what is your gut saying?”

  Mitch toyed with the stem of his glass. “I have to admit that with continued high gas prices and an economy that’s still in recovery your proposed project still has a high risk factor. It’s a bit ambitious.”

  Tristan accepted his drink from the server. “You think so?”

  “Yes, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. High risk often turns into high profit. Over the years I’ve made a lot of money but lost it too. Sometimes you just have to have the guts to take the plunge, knowing that there could very well be consequences.”

  Tristan knew he should be thinking in terms of numbers, but Savannah immediately came to mind. He took a sip of the ale to distract his thoughts. “Wow, this is fantastic. I can taste the bourbon.”

  Mitch took a sip from his snifter and sighed. “One of the perks of living in Kentucky. I swear if I moved back to Chicago I’d have to have this shipped to me.”

  “So you’ve moved here permanently?”

  He nodded. “I have to fly to Chicago sometimes a couple of times a month but I live here.”

  “Don’t you miss the bright lights of the big city?”

  “There’s something to be said for the moon and the stars. The sky is certainly different here at night.”

  “True.”

  “I would miss my daughter. And my wife recently opened a jewelry store here in Cricket Creek.”

  “Oh yeah, I’ve heard good things. Designs by Diamante, correct?” He had come across a few articles about the shop while researching Mitch Monroe.

  “Ah, yes, Nicolina’s long-awaited dream has finally come true.”

  “You mean marrying you?” Tristan asked with a grin.

  “Ah…no, that, my friend, was quite the challenge. But well worth the end result.” Mitch smiled softly and then took another sip of his drink. After a moment he said, “It took me a while, Tristan, to realize what I value most in life.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I no longer worship money.”

  Tristan felt his hopes slip a bit. This didn’t sound good. “So are you interested in the project?” He decided that with someone like Mitch Monroe he should come straight to the point.

  Mitch chuckled. “Hey, I no longer worship money but I still like to make it. If I see a need or a worthwhile investment, I’ll bite. I simply leave time to enjoy other things. Balance is the key. All work and no play and all that good stuff.” He looked at Tristan keenly. “And I no longer feel the need to prove anything to anybody. It makes a big differe
nce when that kind of pressure doesn’t play into the big picture. Letting go of the past took a big load off my shoulders.”

  Tristan nodded and took a swallow of his ale to hide the fact that Mitch had hit a little too close to the bone. He cleared his throat. “I read an article that said you’re considering adding a convention center and hotel down on the riverfront. Don’t you think a full-scale marina would enhance that project? Perhaps a restaurant as well? Steak and seafood?” He angled his head slightly and arched an eyebrow. “With a microbrewery?”

  “You listen. I like that,” Mitch said as he flipped open his menu. “One thing we both know for sure: Whisper’s Edge is suddenly prime riverfront property. The question is just what to do with it.”

  Tristan nodded and felt a sense of relief that Mitch seemed to be warming up to the idea. They placed their order, Tristan ordering the special and Mitch opting for the grouper sandwich.

  “No one makes pasta better than my wife, Nicolina, and I eat a lot of it,” Mitch said fondly. “And the fish sandwich here is a monster.” He patted his stomach. “I shouldn’t have the fries, but oh, what the hell. I’ll just have to hit the workout room over at the stadium.” He grinned. “I’ll just have to do it when there aren’t any hard-bodied baseball players in there making me look bad.”

  “I’ve been meaning to pay a visit to your wife’s shop. My mother’s birthday is coming up and she loves jewelry.”

  “Tell Nicolina her color choices and a little bit about her personality and she will create a one-of-a-kind piece that I’m sure your mother will treasure.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Make it soon because she’s pretty backed up with orders. Mother’s Day was a killer and now with June weddings she just hasn’t stopped working.” Mitch shook his head. “Nicolina was the one who advised me to stop and smell the roses and now she’s busy all the time. I just might have to simply kidnap her this weekend. At least get her to sketch her designs poolside.” Mitch sat back against the seat and sighed.