Magnolia Drive

by Rochelle Alers

  “You can’t or you don’t want to?”

  “You must be mistaken, Mr. Grace. I’m not who you think I am.”

  “You’re wrong, Francine Tanner. I know exactly who you are.”

  “But I don’t know you,” she countered.

  He leaned closer. “Have dinner with me and you’ll have the opportunity to get to know everything you need to know about me.”

  Francine knew she couldn’t continue to carry on a conversation with the arrogant man without someone eavesdropping. As it was, customers were craning their necks to overhear what they were talking about. “It can’t be tonight.”

  “When if not tonight?” he questioned.

  A shiver of annoyance swept over her. If or when she met with Keaton Grace he would quickly learn that she wasn’t someone who reacted positively to being pressured. That was something her ex-husband had had to learn the hard way.

  “I’ll call you.”

  The slight frown between Keaton’s eyes disappeared. “Thank you, Francine.”

  Much to her chagrin she gave him a warm smile. “You’re welcome, Keaton.” He inclined his head.

  A woman pushed up her dryer, her gaze fixed on Keaton’s retreating back. “Damn!” she whispered. “Where did he come from?”

  The woman sitting next to her shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’d sure like to sop that up with a biscuit.”

  Francine successfully hid a smile when the women exchanged fist bumps. She wanted to agree with them but kept her opinion to herself. Keaton was gorgeous. She had to give it to him. There was no doubt he was subtle, waiting until it was time to settle his bill before asking her out. She knew she should’ve been flattered, but she wasn’t about to date a perfect stranger, even one as handsome and charming as Keaton.

  Reaching into her pocket she took out the card and the money. Her eyes widened. He’d given her a fifty-dollar tip. Was he a generous tipper or trying to get her to go out with him?

  Her gaze lingered on the business card. Keaton U. Grace was an independent filmmaker. The card bore a Los Angeles post office box and e-mail address, and a telephone number. What, she mused, was he doing in Sanctuary Cove? Did he plan to use the island as a backdrop or locale for a film? And how long did he plan to stay? There were so many questions she wanted answers to, which made her more than curious about the filmmaker—curious enough to consider setting aside time to listen to what he had to say.

  However, meeting with Keaton would have to wait until after she and Morgan co-hosted a baby shower for Kara Hamilton, the current owner of Angels Landing Plantation. She wasn’t as close to Kara as Morgan was, but when her best friend asked for her help she hadn’t hesitated. They’d also enlisted the assistance of Jeffrey Hamilton, the island’s sheriff, to take his wife away for a couple of days so they could finalize what they hoped would be a surprise for her. All of the invitees were sworn to secrecy, but Francine knew secrets on the island were like the mythical unicorn. And because they didn’t exist, she and Morgan knew it was their sole reason for keeping the gathering small and very intimate.

  The door opened and Trina Caine bumped into Keaton, her arms going around his waist in an attempt to keep her balance. Trina’s eyes grew wider when she stared up at him. “Well, hello there,” she crooned.

  Francine watched Keaton smile, and then reach around his waist in an attempt to extricate himself from her arms. “I’m sorry, miss.”

  However, Trina was not to be denied when she held on to his hands. As a teenager she’d earned the reputation as a flirt, and it had continued into adulthood. Twice divorced, she’d made it known that she was on the prowl for her third husband, and there was never a time when she wasn’t seen wearing an outfit that was at least one size too small for her voluptuous body.

  “Where are you going so fast, handsome?”

  Francine had had enough. “Trina, stop harassing my customer, or you can go to Charleston to get your hair done.” Trina dropped her arms and Keaton gave Francine a look of gratitude before he walked out.

  Trina pulled down the hem of her spandex top. Large eyes framed with thick false lashes fluttered wildly. “I was just teasing him, Red.”

  Francine leaned in close. “The next time you act up like that you’ll be banned from coming into the Beauty Box.”

  “You tell her, Red,” shouted a woman close enough to overhear her admonishment. “What is wrong with you, Trina?” she continued. “I’m certain if your grandmomma, God bless the dead, were here she would skin you alive if she saw you hanging on that young man like some strumpet.”

  Trina stood up straight, resting her hands on her ample hips. “Well, for your information, my grandmomma ain’t here, so there.”

  “Didn’t anyone teach you not to sass your elders?” Mavis asked. She’d returned in time to hear Trina insult a woman old enough to be her mother.

  Lowering her eyes, Trina managed to look contrite. “I’m sorry.”

  A frown marred Mavis’s smooth forehead. “Don’t apologize to me, but to Miss Chloe.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Chloe.” The other woman nodded.

  Mavis’s frown disappeared. “Trina, please sit down and someone will be with you directly.”

  Francine shook her head in amazement. It was just another day at the Beauty Box.

  Chapter Two

  Francine climbed the porch stairs to Morgan’s house, peering through the screen door. She caught a glimpse of the Russian Blue cat before it scurried from view. They were like oil and water. Francine wasn’t fond of cats and Rasputin knew it. She thought them too quiet and finicky. She tried the doorknob and, finding it unlocked, opened the door.

  “Morgan. It’s Fran!” she shouted.

  People who’d grown up on the island usually left their doors unlocked during the day, locking them once the sun set or before retiring for bed. The ritual was no one ever entered someone’s home without announcing one’s self. And if you didn’t get a response, then you wouldn’t go any farther than the front porch or the parlor.

  She knew her friend was home because the lights were on and her Cadillac Escalade was parked under the carport in front of her husband’s truck. Nathaniel Shaw appeared before she could ring the doorbell. “Come on in, Red. Morgan’s in the solarium.” He held the door open, dipped his head, and kissed her cheek.

  Walking into the parlor, Francine glanced around at the exquisite furnishings. She knew if she ever had her own home she wanted Morgan to decorate it. Her friend had helped her when she decided to redecorate her apartment. Directing her attention to Nate, she gave him a warm smile. There had been a time when every girl at their high school clamored to get the honor student to notice them. Tall, dark, and extremely handsome, his aloofness had set him apart from the other single men on the island. However, he was unable to resist Morgan’s charm and wit once they’d begun working together on the Angels Landing Plantation restoration project.

  “How’s business?”

  Shaw & Sons Woodworking was legendary in crafting the most exquisite furniture in the Lowcountry. Nate’s father had gone into semiretirement; Nate was a master carpenter and he and his younger brother Bryce had carried on the family business. Nate, like many high school graduates, had left the island to attend college. It had taken him twenty years to find his way back home to a woman who’d been secretly in love with him for more than half her life. His decision to move back to Cavanaugh Island had changed him and he’d confessed to Francine that being married to Morgan made every day seem like Christmas.

  A warm smile lit up Nate’s light brown eyes. “It’s real good.” He picked up a set of keys from a small sweetgrass basket on a low table. “I’m going out for a while so you ladies can finish your planning. I told Morgan to text me if she needs me to pick up something she’s forgotten.”

  Francine waited for Nate to close the doors behind him, and then made her way to the rear of the one-story house and into the solarium. Walls of one-way glass brought the outdoors in, whil
e providing ultimate privacy from anyone looking into the room from the outside. Morgan sat on the natural sisal rug with a pile of small decorative gift bags, stuffing them with pastel tissue paper.

  Marriage definitely agreed with Morgan because she was glowing. Her hair had grown out to chin length. Her sable-brown complexion was flawless and her dimpled cheeks were rounder, fuller. Francine had been maid of honor at Morgan and Nate’s October wedding, and while Morgan insisted she wanted to wait two years before starting a family, it was more than obvious to Francine that the newlywed had scrapped her plan to delay motherhood.

  Morgan had set up M. Dane Architect and Interior Design after she was commissioned to oversee the restoration of Angels Landing Plantation. Her business had grown since then and she now had Abram Daniels, a full-time interior decorator, to assist her. Once Abram became a partner, Morgan changed the company’s name to Dane and Daniels Architecture and Interior Design.

  The solarium was the perfect space in which to hold the shower. Morgan had decorated the room with a white wrought-iron daybed, a white wicker love seat, and a chaise with floral-patterned cushions. A rack with a dozen padded folding chairs was pushed against the wall. The royal blue, yellow, and bright green glazed pots overflowing with ferns, flowers, and palms positioned in front of an indoor waterfall filled with rocks and stalks of bamboo resembled a lush oasis.

  Sitting on the floor opposite her friend, Francine picked up a sterling baby rattle paperweight engraved with the date of the shower, placed it into a felt sack and then the shopping bag, and tied the handles with lime-green and lemon-yellow curling ribbon. She and Morgan had spent hours going through catalogs before deciding on the paperweights as shower favors.

  “Have you told Nate?”

  Morgan’s hands stilled. “What are you talking about?” she asked, giving Francine a direct stare.

  Francine held the architect’s gaze. “Have you told your husband that he’s going to be a father?”

  “How long have you known, Fran?”

  “I knew even before you began dating Nate that you were going to marry him and that you weren’t going to wait two years before starting a family.”

  Lowering her head, Morgan stared at the diamond eternity band on her left hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I know you don’t like it when I tell you about my visions, and I’d promised myself I’d stay out of your personal business.”

  “What if you see trouble for me?”

  Francine patted Morgan’s hand. “I would never keep that from you.”

  Morgan tucked her hair behind her ears. “I know I talked about waiting a couple of years before having a baby, but then I thought about Nate and what he went through with his ex-wife. She chose her career over motherhood and I was doing the same. The difference is I love Nate and he loves me, and because of that I know for certain that I’ll be able to balance being a wife, a mother, and having a career.”

  “Are you having this baby for Nate or for you?”

  “I’m having it for us, Fran. I’ve been in love with Nate for so long that it feels as if I’ve been married for years instead of three months. I used to dream about marrying him and having his babies. How many girls do you know who are blessed enough to realize their teenage dream?”

  Francine smiled. “You’re the only one I know, Mo.”

  “What about you, Fran?” Morgan asked after a comfortable silence. “When are you going to open up enough to let a man love you the way you deserve to be loved?”

  Morgan had just asked her a question Francine had asked herself over and over since her divorce. She was realistic enough to acknowledge she wasn’t the first woman with a duplicitous husband and she definitely wouldn’t be the last. What hurt her more than Aiden using her to advance his career was his justification in asking for a divorce: As much as I’ve tried, I can’t bring myself to love you. You’re a woman men can sleep with but should never marry. In other words, you’re a good lay but that’s it. It’d taken years for Francine to stop reliving his painful declaration and believe that she was more than worthy of becoming a man’s wife, worthy enough to be loved.

  However, she’d given up the notion of finding love on Cavanaugh Island. Many of the boys she’d grown up with had moved away and those who’d stayed were either married or divorced. The ones who were divorced or confirmed bachelors were like her because they were still carrying around a boatload of emotional baggage.

  David Sullivan was a prime example of this. Although David lived in Charleston, he still had familial ties to Cavanaugh Island. He had dated an oral surgeon for five years without committing to a future together. Then, when Petra decided to end their relationship, he complained that he’d been blindsided because he’d planned to propose. Francine was forthcoming when she told David it shouldn’t have taken him five years to realize the woman he’d dated and slept with was remarkable enough to become Mrs. David Sullivan.

  She smiled. “I’m open. It’s just that I haven’t met the right man. When are you due?” she asked, shifting the conversation away from her.

  “The first week in September, and I don’t want to think about going through my last trimester in the summer heat. Nate plans to add a second floor to the house because I want another bedroom for the nursery.”

  “When?”

  “He wants to begin next week. He’s already bought the supplies and hired a crew.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Nate claims it shouldn’t take any more than a month. I told him I wanted at least three bedrooms and another bathroom in the larger one.”

  “Where are you going to stay during the renovations?” Francine asked. Working alone, it had taken Nate more than six months to put up a barn with the family workshop on the first floor and an apartment on the upper level after he’d returned to Haven Creek. He’d given his brother and sister-in-law the apartment as a wedding gift several months before he married Morgan.

  Morgan emitted a soft sigh. “We’re going to stay with his sister and her family. Rasputin mated with Sharon’s cat, and she’s carrying her first litter. Patches is a beautiful Snowshoe so I’m certain her babies are going to be beautiful, too.” She paused. “Do you want one of the kittens?”

  Francine cut her eyes at her friend. “You know cats and I don’t get along. I prefer dogs.”

  “I like dogs, too, but cats are more independent. You don’t have to walk them, or give them constant attention. The only thing you have to do is give them food and water, change their litter box, and they’re nice and content. Speaking of litter boxes, Nate is going to take Rasputin over to Sharon’s tomorrow and leave him there until after I give birth. My doctor cautioned me about changing the litter box because it may be harmful to the baby. Even though we’ll be living there while the addition is put on the house I won’t have to change the box.” Morgan held up a hand when Francine opened her mouth. “Promise me you won’t reject my offer until you see the kittens.”

  Biting on her lower lip, she nodded. Both Rasputin and Patches claimed pedigree status, and that meant their kittens would also be pedigree. Having a cat as a pet was better for her than a dog because of the hours she spent at the salon. Maybe she would accept one of the kittens because it would become a companion for her grandmother, who definitely was a cat fancier.

  Francine thought about the rash of recent pregnancies. Last summer Morgan’s sister, Rachel, had given birth to twin boys. Stacy, Nate’s sister-in-law, was also pregnant, Kara was due to give birth within two weeks, and now Morgan.

  “Do you plan to take off after you have the baby?”

  Morgan nodded. “Yes. At least for three months.”

  “What about babysitting, Mo?”

  “Rachel claims she loves being a stay-at-home mom, so taking care of another baby plus her three kids will just add to the insanity.”

  “Have you told Nate about the baby?” she asked Morgan again.

  “Yes, but I asked him not to say anythi
ng until after the shower. Tomorrow’s going to be Kara’s special day and I don’t want anything to detract from that.”

  “I know I sound like a reporter interviewing you, but how did he take the news?”

  Morgan’s dimples deepened like thumbprints when she smiled. “Believe it or not, my macho husband cried.”

  Francine’s jaw dropped. “No!”

  “Yes! Please don’t let it out that I told you.”

  She pantomimed zipping her lips. “You’ll never hear it from me. I checked with the florist and they know to deliver the flowers and balloons by ten. Is that too early for you?”

  “No. I’m usually up early.”

  Francine checked her watch. “Dawn called to say her train was delayed an hour, so I’ll hang out here until it’s time to head out to the station.”

  Dawn Ramsey, Kara’s former New York City roommate, had a fear of flying and preferred taking the train from New York to Charleston for the weekend. Francine had volunteered to pick her up from the Amtrak station and drive her to the same hotel where Kara’s parents were staying. The Newells, who’d driven from Little Rock, planned to extend their stay to await the arrival of their first grandchild.

  “Are we all right with the food?” Morgan questioned.

  “When I spoke to Otis he told me he has another party tomorrow night and doesn’t have anyone available to make a delivery. I told him I would pick up the trays if he can get the waiters to put them in my car.”

  “Will you be able to fit everything in the trunk of your Corvette?”

  “I’m certain they can. Nate can bring the trays in once I get here.”

  She and Morgan had decided to order from Jack’s Fish House because they were local and known for serving some of the best cuisine in the Lowcountry. Even her overly critical Grandma Dinah claimed Otis and Luvina Jackson’s chitterlings, fried green tomatoes, and red beans and rice with spicy sausage were beyond exceptional. They’d also decided to place an order for an assortment of mini desserts from the Muffin Corner, the island’s only bakeshop.