Love and Rumors: A Summer Sisters Beach Reads Contemporary Romance (The Summer Sisters Book 1)

by Jean Oram

  Hailey let herself into the nursing home, finding the familiar soap smell strangely comforting. When she spotted her mother, Catherine, in the sunny atrium, she let out a long breath, her shoulders relaxing. She plunked herself down beside her and enjoyed the July sunshine streaming through the windows.

  “The rain stopped,” Catherine said.

  “I brought you a Twix.” Hailey placed the chocolate bar on the table beside her wheelchair.

  “I think this will be a fine spot to watch the fireworks, don’t you think?”

  “That won’t be for another…” Hailey paused to check her watch “…seven hours, Mom.”

  “I’m reserving my spot.”

  “What about supper?”

  “Supper here sucks,” muttered Agnes Krowski as she hitched by with her walker. “Eat the chocolate bar and call yourself done.” She gave them a wise look and continued on.

  “I guess that settles it then?” Hailey asked.

  “Life is uncertain, eat your dessert first,” Catherine replied with a small smile. She resumed staring out the rounded windows that stretched above them. “I noticed you lost your hairbrush again.”

  “I was out in the boat. And rain.” Hailey smoothed her hair with her fingers. “I could take you to see the fireworks if you want.” Finian would probably be out being a celebrity-gone-wild somewhere, and she’d miss it, but the idea of her mother sitting in front of this window for seven hours so she could watch ten minutes of fireworks broke Hailey’s heart.

  “No, that’s fine. I’m comfortable here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  They sat in silence, watching a blue jay work peanuts out of a feeder.

  “What’s bothering you, Hailey?”

  Puffing out a big breath, she thought about how much time she and her sisters spent opening the cottage every May long weekend. Cleaning, turning things like the water pump back on, restocking the kitchen, opening shutters, putting on screens, making the beds, removing three seasons’ worth of dust and dead bugs and mice, cleaning off the path and dock. Getting the boat back in the water. Paint, fix, repair. Try to keep up with nature, which was unrelenting in its quest to reclaim the 110-year-old structure. And then in October, doing it all in reverse.

  The first few years had been fun. It had felt as though they were all finally playing grown-up, and getting to do all the jobs on the list tacked to the back door that their mother or father had always done. But now the thrill of being an adult was wearing off, and the place was starting to feel like a heavy burden. Even though the sisters made cottage maintenance into a party, enjoying margaritas or hot toddies when the day’s work was done, it was a lot of responsibility, and the jobs and expenses were never-ending and slightly overwhelming.

  “I’m fine,” Hailey said finally, patting Catherine’s hand. The cottage meant everything to her mother. It was where she’d fallen in love with their dad. Where she’d spent summers teaching the girls to swim. So many memories.

  “You’re doing an awful lot of sighing.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  Her mother arched a gray eyebrow and adjusted her bright orange button-up shirt.

  Hailey sighed again. “You know how I promised not to sell the cottage?”

  Her mom straightened, her blue eyes flashing.

  “I didn’t sell it,” Hailey assured her quickly. “But it’s heading for a tax sale August 30 if I can’t find a way to cover the back taxes.”

  “How much?”

  “Trust me, Mom. None of us have that much.”

  Her mother sagged, her non-stroke affected hand dropping down to worry her chair’s brake lever. “I put you in a poor position, didn’t I? Passing it on with taxes owed.”

  “No, no, Mom. It was me. Taxes went up. There were warnings I ignored, thinking destiny would take care of us and the cottage. There were urgent repairs needed. Maya and Melanie were in school. My photography business hasn’t taken off as fast as I thought it would.” She gave a shrug, hoping her mother wouldn’t take on guilt that shouldn’t be hers. It was Hailey’s fault the tax bill had grown, not shrunk.

  “If it’s time for the cottage to move to a new family, then so be it. It owes us nothing and has given us so much. Let the municipality take it.” She gave her a wistful smile. “I was hoping you girls would get a chance to follow the tradition and fall in love on the island.”

  “I think we were, too.” Hailey paused. “I know I promised not to sell Nymph Island, but—”

  “Hailey, please. Let destiny take her course. If it’s not meant to be, let it go. It’s not ours to profit off of. It’s a gift. Always has been.”

  “But I need to sell it, Mom.” Her voice was tight with panic and held-back tears. “I’m going to lose everything if it’s seized. If we sell it, I can come away with something.”

  “What do you mean?” Her mother’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Hailey?”

  She bowed her head, feeling nothing but shame and failure. “I took some personal financial risks.”

  Her mom took a moment to recover her composure. Then, with her back straight and voice firm, she said, “Sell it, Hailey Rose. Sell it as fast as you can.”

  Hailey let out a tremendous sigh that made her ribs ache, and scrunched her eyes shut. If this was what she needed to do, and now had permission, why did it hurt so deeply?

  “Look at me,” Catherine said gently. Hailey tried to focus on the right side of her face which lacked the permanently sad expression due to the stroke. Today, both sides were sad. “Do what you need to do, Hailey, and know that I will always love you.”

  Tears in her eyes, the older woman pulled her close. Hailey inhaled her familiar scent, one she linked to home and safety. Her mother trembled in her embrace, needing the hug as much as she did. Hailey vowed she wouldn’t let her down. Nymph Island had to stay in the family, no matter what.

  * * *

  Hailey set up her phone’s hands-free system so she could make calls as she drove from her mom’s to where she’d last seen Finian. And slapped him. How on earth was she going to recover from that?

  She needed a plan. A big plan. And, heck, a big fabulous miracle, while she was at it.

  “Simone?” she said adjusting the gadget hanging off her ear. “Any chance you’d be open to me holding a small show in your boutique this month?”

  “A show?” her friend asked.

  “Yeah. Small photos of Muskoka and nature and things. The stuff that sells, you know? Like the Muskoka chair on a dock with mist all around. The wood boats from the antique show. We can split the proceeds.”

  “How much do you need?”

  Hailey did a quick calculation. Simone’s boutique was a two-story house in Port Carling that had been converted into a store. It was still divided into several small rooms, giving her plenty of wall space. Simone had good foot traffic through the summer months, and if Hailey could sell even half of what was hung, she’d be on her way to something. Not a full miracle, but it would at least be a step in the right direction. If she had ten such plans, maybe she could save the cottage. “Space for about fifty?”

  “No, I mean how much money do you need?”

  “Um, why?”

  “Because it sounds a lot like you’re selling out. Something you promised you’d never do, and told me I should push you in front of the Segwun if you did.”

  Yeah, that old steamship would definitely take a chunk out of her.

  “I’m not selling out, I’m getting my name out there. They’ll still be artistic shots. They’ll just be ones with more commercial appeal.”

  “Commercial appeal?” She heard papers shuffling on the other end of the line and she held her breath. “Just checking to see when the next time the Segwun will be coming through the locks. The Wenonah may have to do, though, as this sounds dire.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  “Nymph Island again?”

  �
�Uh-huh.”

  “You know you could ask your sisters to help, right? Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you have to take care of everything. They need to start chipping in more.”

  “They can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Simone, it’s complicated.” Hailey rubbed her forehead as she drove along the quiet, tree-lined road, sunlight dappling the hood of her faded red car.

  “Did you ask them?”

  “Nymph Island’s going up in a tax sale if I don’t save it by the end of summer.” Panic crawled over her and she just about had to pull over. She swallowed hard, bile coating her mouth. “I could lose everything.”

  “That’s heavy. And what do you mean, everything?”

  “I mortgaged the house before the Toronto show.”

  “The dud?”

  “Yeah, the dud show that went nowhere. My sisters don’t know.”

  “You’ve got to tell them.”

  “Why? So they can laugh and call me Failey all the time, and for good reason? Besides, they’ll just freak out and make it into a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal.”

  “Only if I fail.”

  “Right, and you don’t fail. Except on your driver’s test.”

  “That’s because I was rear-ended! It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Hailey, I know they’re going to be over the top, but they’re your sisters. They’re not in school anymore. Stop making excuses on why you have to protect them.”

  “Mom put the cottage in trust in my name.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to solve every little problem. What does Catherine say about all this? Did you tell her?”

  “She said to sell it.”

  “So, then?”

  “I can’t. I can’t be the one who loses it. Not after it’s been in the family for over a century.”

  “There’s no question of that, but maybe it’s time. Maybe fate or destiny or the man in the moon or whoever your mom talks about wants it back. Lease is up, babe. Let it go. Easy solution.”

  “I know.” Hailey remained silent for a moment. “I just…I want to try. I don’t want to give up. And there’s nothing my sisters can do other than stress out about it all.”

  “Hey, I thought I was a Summer sister.”

  Hailey laughed at her friend’s tone. Simone had spent almost as much time at the cottage as the four Summer sisters and had been dubbed an honorary sister with her height marked off in the cottage’s kitchen doorway along with the others. But Simone was different. Simone knew everything and wouldn’t butt in unless Hailey asked her to.

  “You’re just getting where you’ve always wanted to be,” Simone said. “And while I hate to say it, the sacrifices you’ve made for that place are holding you back. If this was a costly time-share in Florida, you’d have sold it by now. The cottage is a sentimental money pit. You haven’t even gone to Europe to photograph the Sham-Wow because of it.”

  Hailey blinked back the tears. “I know,” she choked out. “And it’s an Apennine chamois. Mountain goat.”

  Simone’s voice transferred into her “let’s get our business done” tone, and the tension in Hailey’s shoulders vanished. Simone was ready to help. She didn’t have to do it completely alone. “So?” she said. “How soon can you have your photos over here?”

  “Thursday or Friday.”

  “Did you want to have an opening?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll mock up an invite and poster to hang around town and send it over. In the meantime, firm up the date. We don’t have a lot of time to save our childhood playground, my friend.”

  Hailey sighed into her earpiece. “I know.” She sped past a grove of trembling aspen, scaring a white-tailed deer back into the brush as she did so. “Hey, if you happened to learn the whereabouts of Finian Alexander, send me a text, would you? And mislead Austin Smith, too, if you can.”

  Simone whistled under her breath. “This is way worse than you’re letting on, isn’t it?”

  “Can you spread the word? This guy’s mine.”

  “Hails…”

  “I know. But it’s money, and it’s still photography.”

  It was almost not selling one’s soul. Almost.

  * * *

  Finn was starting to feel the rye and Cokes. All five of them. He was feeling them along with the pull to do something reckless.

  The bartender passed him another drink and Finn thought about the woman who’d slapped him. Man, he’d had that one coming. How had he fallen out of touch with the real world and women so quickly? Or was it just a Canada thing that had made her reach out and whack him?

  No, he was pretty sure it was him being a jerk. He’d promised himself he’d never let fame go to his head. Looked as if he’d let himself down on that one, too.

  He downed half the drink.

  He was flunking out left, right, and center.

  “From the guy on the end,” the bartender said, and Finn’s shoulders slumped. A small part of him had hoped it was his nature nut coming by to apologize. Canadians did that a lot. Every time he’d bumped into someone this week, or even came close to bumping into someone, he’d been met with apologies. It had become a game, seeing how many apologies he could collect while wandering down the street. His record was thirteen in one block. One lady had apologized four times for one incident, and he wasn’t sure if he could count that as four, but he did. Besides, he was a jerk and it was his game, so his rules.

  Finn gave a quick toast to the man who’d sent the drink, hoping he wouldn’t come over and start hitting on him with hockey talk. Who the hell followed hockey?

  He froze as recognition set in. Son of a…

  Austin Smith.

  Interpreting Finn’s locked gaze as an invite, Austin slid over with his own drink.

  “Hiya, Finian. Austin Smith.” He offered his hand for a shake and Finn ignored it.

  Austin remained beside him, unfazed.

  “I know who you are,” Finn muttered, keeping his attention on the local concert posters pinned to the walls.

  “Anything you need from the paparazzi while you’re here in Canada, you let me know. I cover everything in these parts.”

  “I’m taking a flight out tomorrow.”

  “That’s not what the airlines say.”

  “Private jet.”

  Austin laughed and Finn’s temperature rose along with his temper. He hated it when the paparazzi knew more about his comings and goings than he did—and it happened. And if anyone would have the 411 on what he was up to it would be this ass-wipe.

  “I get people in the tabloids faster than a Kardashian gets knocked up, Finian. And you know it.”

  Finn glowered at him. “You give paparazzi a bad name.”

  “Thank you.”

  Finn shook his head and downed his drink. Austin was the kind of man who crossed lines, grabbed celebrities, riled them up with angry words—anything in order to get a better photo. Finn still wanted to punch him for the way he’d violated his ex-girlfriend’s privacy by flying over her backyard in a helicopter to get pictures of Jessica and her friends nude sunbathing. Finn had never been possessive or overprotective of his ex, but that had driven him wild.

  “You know,” he said conversationally, “I think there should still be a restraining order in effect.”

  “That’s only for your ex-girlfriend.”

  Finn inhaled. Nope, he was pretty damn sure he’d sprung for the couple’s package on that one. Double-bagged the bastard to keep him from popping up from behind potted palms and making his blood pressure shoot through the roof. The little prick had helped Finn’s bad-boy image with all those angry shots he’d sold to the papers, but it hadn’t been healthy fun, like the rest of his image building had been. So far.

  “Yours expired,” Austin said with a grin. “Yesterday.” He took a sip of his beer, his eyes glittering with some other tidbit he was holding back.

  Finn clenched his hands and wa
ited.

  “Oh, and Canada is out of California’s jurisdiction.”

  Of course it was.

  Austin dropped a simple business card onto the bar as he stood. He leaned closer. “You haven’t been fresh news for almost a week. If you want to change that, I have a few ideas.” He tapped the card. “Call me.”

  Finn stared straight ahead, ignoring the offer. Austin was not the kind of paparazzo he would collaborate with. For one, you had to trust the photographer not to sell you out when you were creating a story together. He’d rather take the time to create a paparazzo out of Nature Nut than shake hands with this guy.

  “I have many happy celebrity clients. I can provide references if need be.”

  “Then why aren’t you working for them right now?” Finn said, turning to stare down the large man.

  “This guy bothering you, Mr. Alexander?” the bartender asked, his beefy arms folded across his puffed out chest.

  “Just leaving.”

  Finn slipped a twenty into the tip jar after Austin hurried out, letting the bar’s screen door slap in his wake. Finn held his breath, staring at the closed door, wondering what to do. What step to take next. It was a scriptless choose-your-own-adventure, and he was at a crossroads, unable to read ahead and figure out which path he ultimately wanted.

  He should return to Hollywood.

  Instead, he made himself comfortable and ordered another rye and Coke.

  “No scotch on the rocks?” the bartender joked, referring to Finn’s famous character in the action series Man versus War.

  Finn gave him a polite smile and a silent no. He guessed Daniel Craig, Pierce Brosnan, and Sean Connery had to put up with a lot of martinis—shaken, not stirred—so he could put up with a few scotches on the rocks.

  Scanning the bar, he searched for a rowdy group of young men who could swoop him into their festivities, building things up until he’d caused enough trouble to get sold to the celebrity magazines and websites. The bar was filling up, happy hour starting, red maple leaves stamped on faces. But no rowdy men full of testosterone.