A Vineyard Rebirth
Page 1
Table of Contents
A Vineyard Rebirth (A Vineyard Sunset Series, #9)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
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A Vineyard Rebirth
The Vineyard Sunset Series
By
Katie Winters
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Copyright © 2021 by Katie Winters
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Katie Winters holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter One
1943
The ragged edge of the cliffside thrilled her. Marilyn left her shoes at the rock just behind her and curved her toes just at the brink of the bluff— where, if she teetered just the slightest bit forward, she would be cast forth to the wild seas below. It was September, and Marilyn had been married to James Peterson for only two months. The “I do” had felt far more like a death threat than this cliff’s edge. But when one was born poor, one did what one could to survive. In her case, her arranged marriage to James lent more than survival— it allowed her parents and her three younger siblings to thrive back home in the upper New York countryside. She was a slave to her circumstance. But most women were. It was the nature of things— as natural as the mighty ocean beneath and the ragged rocks at her feet.
“Marilyn. What on earth has gotten into you?”
When Marilyn had first met James— only one week before their marriage, she’d thought his harsh tone covered an insecure interior. She still thought this, yet now, she felt no pity for him. His cruelty didn’t allow for it.
Marilyn lifted her chin so that her eyes could meet her husband’s. His were cerulean and bright, like a painting she’d once seen of the Mediterranean Sea. This late in the year, the Nantucket Sound was a grey-blue, violent.
“Your hair. It’s a mess,” James said.
And indeed, it was. She’d stepped out from the Aquinnah Cliffside Overlook Hotel and rushed through the rampant winds to stand here. How could she possibly tell James why she’d needed to stand at the edge? How could she explain that sometimes, she just needed to see the end of the world in order to return to her own?
“I told you. The hotel owner plans to meet with us for dinner.”
“Yes, of course.”
James' eyes curved toward her stocking feet. The color drained from his cheeks. “Don’t tell me you’ve muddied yourself too much.”
Marilyn marched back toward her shoes and slipped them back on. Her stockings had the slightest give of sludge to them, since the rain had started across the island of Martha’s Vineyard on their car ride from the ferry. She would never tell him and simply live in the slight misery of it. The view had been worth it.
When she’d married James, her mother had suggested that finally, Marilyn would lose sight of her goals and desires. With nearly everything she did, she tried to ensure she didn’t. She owed it to herself to cling to some of those just in case.
“Let’s meet him then,” Marilyn suggested, her voice resolute. “Roger?”
“Robert,” James practically growled it. “Robert Sheridan. How many times do I have to tell you?”
In her youth, Marilyn had been known for her memory. She had aced every test, remembered every birthday. It was only since her marriage to James that she’d felt the clouds descend over her mind. She felt drugged, as though a fog enveloped her. She knew this haziness wasn’t anything but her own sorrows, however. Sometimes, she opted for a second cocktail after dinner, something she had to hide from James, as he felt that women shouldn’t drink as much as men— but it couldn’t have been enough to craft such fog day-to-day.
According to her; few female friends who gossiped in her vicinity back in New York City, women could only bear men if they’d had a bit to drink. “It’s a blessing,” a friend had told her once as she’d slipped her a flask. She didn’t know how much truth there was to that, though.
The Aquinnah Cliffside Overlook Hotel stood like a force of power and life at the top of the Aquinnah Cliffs, perched on the southwest corner of Martha’s Vineyard.
Long ago, in the early 1800s, the hotel had been built as a mansion, right at the end of the island’s whaling boom, which had brought along a time of great prosperity, as the island had flourished with tourists and whatever income they wanted to spend on the island. This was Marilyn’s first time on Martha’s Vineyard, but it was already clear why tourists rushed there from miles around. There was a magic to the air, a rush of life and vitality, even this far into the season. According to James, this was hurricane season— a time of simmering fear of potential destruction. As Marilyn no longer felt she had anything to lose in this life, destruction seemed a beautiful thing. The antithesis of that destruction meant a lifetime with James. It meant delivering his babies. It meant dying by his side.
“Good evening, Mr. Sheridan.” James greeted the hotel owner warmly and lifted his hand.
The hotel owner, Robert Sheridan, was six foot three with broad shoulders that looked hard as stone. He was extremely fit. His eyes were a surprising shade of green, and he wore a beard, which matched his thick head of dark hair, a bit longer than what most men wore in the city. It gave him a rugged appeal. Marilyn stopped breathing for a full five seconds.
“Good evening to you, Mr. Peterson,” Robert Sheridan returned. “Please, call me Robert.”
“Call me James, then. Please, let me introduce my wife, Marilyn.”
Marilyn had met countless of James’ business associates at this point. But as Robert Sheridan switched his gaze toward her, she felt overcome suddenly, as though his eyes had struck her with a bolt of lightning.
“Marilyn. I trust your journey was a comfortable one?”
Marilyn’s voice was lost in her throat. Finally, she whispered, “Yes, and thank you for welcoming us to your beautiful hotel.”
Robert leaned back the slightest bit, as if taken aback by her pure yet simple words. “I’ve set aside the presidential suite for the two of you. I trust you’ll be comfortable and that you’ll let my staff or I know if you require anything. Anything at all.”
“My parents informed me that you have the highest quality hotel on all of Martha’s Vineyard,” James stated. His eyes looked fierce, as though he planned to pounce. He reminded Marilyn of a hunter.
In truth, James had come to this hotel with a single purpose. He was tired of piggybacking off the success of his father. James yearned to make something of himself elsewhere. He wanted to own a number of hotels on Martha’s Vineyard, and this, the Aquinnah Cliffside Overlook Hotel, was going to be his first conquest. It didn’t matter if Robert Sheridan wanted to sell or not. Once James Peterson had an idea about something, it was difficult to talk him down
or convince him otherwise. He was addicted to his fresh ideas, and he did everything in his power to execute them.
“I was out at the edge of the cliff today,” Marilyn said suddenly.
James eyed her with suspicion. She was his ticking time bomb.
“Oh? And what did you think of that view?” Robert asked. It seemed unlikely that he would ever drop the intensity of his gaze.
James had only looked at her this intensely when he felt she’d eaten too quickly. “You’re eating like a pig,” he’d told her once with disdain. Since then, she’d hardly touched her meals in front of him and detested that it pleased him.
“It was breathtaking but fierce and wild at the same time,” Marilyn whispered then. “The view, I mean. The ocean seems entirely unforgiving— the darks water crashing into the rocks like that. They were wild. I can’t imagine how whalers ever took to the seas like they did, especially when the weather gets bad.”
“And they were gone for sometimes five years at a time,” Robert returned. “Something difficult to fathom.”
“I wonder what they thought of the island after being away for so long?” Marilyn asked, surprising herself. She was entirely intrigued.
“Robert. We don’t mean to take up any more of your time than necessary.” James eased into the conversation without pause. “Shall we head to the dining room?”
“Beautiful idea,” Robert replied. “I’m famished. With all the responsibilities of this place, I sometimes find it difficult to eat.”
They were seated at the table with the best view of the cliff’s edge. Again, Marilyn’s stomach ached with the glorious intrigue of what it would mean to rush out into the air above the waves and fall to the depths below. What would James say? It pleased her to know that perhaps he wouldn’t know what to say. For the first time in his wretched life, perhaps he would be speechless.
James and Robert fell into an easy rhythm of conversation. Marilyn was curious why Robert wasn’t married. He looked to be in his late twenties and was certainly handsome, sure of himself, with a beautiful and prominent hotel in his possession (that is, if James didn’t tear it from him). Robert ordered the best items on the menu— trout, salmon, lobster, mashed potatoes with gravy, roasted Brussels sprouts and freshly-baked biscuits. Marilyn’s mouth salivated at each mention. Robert seemed to catch her excitement. He winked at her and said, “You think that’s something? The dessert menu will blow your socks off.”
Marilyn blushed as James cast her a menacing look that made her look down at her plate. It was up to her, she knew, to uphold her figure. Dessert wasn’t in her daily allowance. Still, it would be rude not to indulge, wouldn’t it?
“The tourist season is nearly finished, then?” James asked. He folded and unfolded his hands beneath the table. Marilyn was perhaps the only person in the world who could sense when James was nervous.
“That’s right,” Robert returned. “But our hotel stays in operation until November. A number of guests still appreciate the views, our chef, and our surroundings long after the chill dominates the air.”
“Marvelous. It means your revenue must be spectacular, as you don’t have many inoperable months,” James affirmed.
Robert arched his left eyebrow the slightest bit. Marilyn sensed his annoyance and also knew instinctively that James couldn’t catch it.
“Perhaps,” Robert returned.
Their meal arrived moments later. A beautiful display of pink salmon was set before Marilyn. It glistened beautifully beneath the lamplight. Marilyn lifted her knife and fork swiftly and stabbed them into the pink meat. James gawked at her as Robert grinned widely.
“Darling, please. You don’t want to choke,” James said through gritted teeth.
“I can handle myself, darling,” Marilyn returned flippantly.
“Please. Let Mrs. Peterson eat as much as she pleases,” Robert said. His laugh was so familiar to her somehow, as though she’d heard it on a recording long ago. “It’s a rare thing to see a woman appreciate her food. So often, the women in this very restaurant look at their plates as though the meat itself might jump up and bite them, instead.”
Marilyn’s laugh filled the room. It was genuine and it made Robert smile. She dabbed her napkin over her lips and tossed her head back. Again, James glowered at her. But in front of Robert, she hoped that perhaps he would keep his cruelty at bay.
It was only later, in the presidential suite that he expressed how upset he was with her behavior.
“You made a fool of yourself at dinner. You can’t imagine what this might have done for Robert’s analysis of me. If I’m ever to convince him to sell his hotel to me, I must be perceived as a particular kind of man— the kind of man who can keep his wife controlled. What you did tonight was unforgivable. If you continue with this behavior, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”
James had only hit her once. This was a marked difference than stats whispered from her friends. Many of them were hit weekly. Still, that single slap to the ear-cheek region remained a memory she didn’t wish to repeat.
“I said — Marilyn — do you understand me?”
Marilyn flared her nostrils and lifted her chin. The first time they’d made love on their wedding night, she’d bled all over the sheets and he had called her disgusting.
“I understand you. I always understand you,” Marilyn breathed.
“Then, act like it.”
Chapter Two
Present Day
“Do you understand me?”
The words echoed through the phone. Kelli had it placed against her ear as she shook with rage at the sound of her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s voice. Mike had continually made her feel less-than, small, nearly idiotic. It had taken the final nudge from her dear brother, Andrew before she’d finally had the courage to end the abusive marriage. Since then, Mike had left the island for good and now resided in Rhode Island permanently. Somehow, it wasn’t far enough, though. Even his children, the ones they’d created together, didn’t miss him. Good riddance was everyone’s sentiment. It was just that now, Kelli was left with the legalities of it all. Mike had finally signed the documents required to ensure that the real estate company her parents had passed down to both of them was left only with her name on it.
“Of course I understand you,” she blurted back. “Do you understand that I need you to email those documents before the end of the day? I want Susan to file them this afternoon.”
Mike grumbled. He had never been a fan of the Sheridan family. Susan, Christine, and Lola had all left the island after high school and made names for themselves off the island. They’d returned a little over a year ago— a sort of storm of emotion and memory in the form of these three beautiful forty-year-old women. Mike had done nothing but balk. “They left. They should have stayed in the damn city,” he’d insisted over and over until he, himself, had gone.
“I’m pulling up to her law office as we speak, Mike,” Kelli hissed into the phone. “Just press send and this can all be over with.”
Mike had gone on and on about his contribution to the real estate company and how much he felt he was owed in the wake of his departure. With that said, Kelli felt that she and Susan had come up with a generous offer to buy him out. If he wanted to complain about it and belittle her in the process, then that was his business. The sooner she signed her name on the dotted line and made this all official, the better. Hopefully, she would never speak to him again.
That is, until their children got married— if they invited him at all. That was an iffy one. At the moment, they detested him more than she did.
Susan greeted Kelli in the foyer of the Law Office of Sheridan and Sheridan, a downtown Oak Bluffs spot she and her daughter, Amanda, had opened up the previous winter. Amanda’s laughter swirled out from the inner office. Just afterward, there was the booming voice of Sam, who Susan had hired as a sort of manager of the Sunrise Cove. In the wake of that, he and Amanda had struck out for a sort of romance although, accordin
g to Susan, they still wanted to keep everything hush-hush, as Amanda had only just been left at the altar by her long-term boyfriend, Chris. That had certainly been the talk of the island at the time. Of course, the Sheridan women had always been a source of gossip— even in ways the Montgomery family never had been.
“Mike just sent the paperwork, thank goodness,” Susan informed her. She wrapped her arms around Kelli and held her close. “I know this has been very traumatic for you.”
Kelli buzzed her lips. “But you understand it, right?”
Susan stepped back and nodded exactly once. “My ex-husband and I built our law company together from the ground up. When he bought me out, I thought I might fall apart.”
“I guess it’s different in this case. I get to keep my parents’ business. But you had to move forward and build your own,” Kelli admitted.
Kelli stepped into Susan’s office and sat at the now-familiar chair across from Susan. Susan placed the stack of papers in front of her and clicked open a blue pen. “You ready for the rest of your life, Kell?”
Kelli wagged her eyebrows playfully. “I was born ready.”
It was a funny thing, now that Kelli signed her maiden name: Kelli Montgomery.
“It makes me think of myself as a teenager,” she confessed to Susan after she’d signed. “Like all those years with Mike didn’t actually happen.”
“I know. But when I dropped Harris as my last name, I felt a sense of freedom, like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders,” Susan said thoughtfully.
“Did it make you sad not to have the same last name as your children?” Kelli asked.
“Maybe at the beginning, but they never brought it up. And I found myself slipping back into the Sheridan name like an old skin. Now, I suppose, I’m Susan Sheridan Frampton— but we haven’t officially changed it over.”
Kelli’s smile brightened. “How are things going with Scott? And the house?”
“You know Scott. He loves a good project,” Susan admitted with a laugh. “The place is about as beautiful as can be. We agree on almost everything, even down to what wallpaper to put in the bathroom. It’s almost disgusting. It makes me laugh to think of all the stupid fights I had with my ex, Richard, throughout our marriage. We fought for days about what kind of countertops to put in our kitchen. Can you imagine Scott putting up any kind of fuss like that?”