Seaside Blessings

by Irene Hannon

  Punching the on button, he greeted the caller as he slid the spatula under his third pancake and turned it over.

  “Mr. Nolan? Kristen Andrews. I looked at your apartment earlier in the week.”

  Blood pressure spiking, he froze and stared at the small ceramic plaque hanging on the wall next to the stove that was emblazoned with words from Ephesians: “Be kind to one another, compassionate, forgiving one another as God has forgiven you in Christ.”

  Clenching his fist, he sucked in a breath.

  Be a Christian, Nolan—even if it kills you.

  “Yes. I remember.” Despite the biblical admonition inches from his face, the words came out cautious and cool.

  “I’d like to rent it. I’ll be happy to provide any credit or personal references you need.”

  What was left of his relaxed, upbeat mood evaporated. What was he supposed to do now? If she’d worked for Mattson for nine years, she no doubt had stellar references. But what other excuse could he conjure up not to rent to her?

  “Mr. Nolan? Are you there?”

  Yeah. Unfortunately.

  He read the plaque again, shoved his fingers through his hair and paced over to the back door. The spruce trees lining his property were beginning to emerge from the fog, and a ray of sun was trying to penetrate the grayness. Through the mist he caught a glimpse of blue sky.

  It might turn out to be a nice day, after all—weather-wise.

  Expelling a frustrated breath, he propped a hand on his hip. “A reference check won’t be necessary.”

  A couple of beats of silence ticked by.

  “Does that mean I can rent your place?”

  Did it? Could he handle having a Lisa lookalike living in such close proximity?

  He wasn’t sure. And he didn’t want to make a decision on the spur of the moment that he might later regret.

  “Look...you caught me in the middle of something. Is there a number where I can call you later?”

  “I’ll be on a plane all day, on my way back to Maui. But since I’ll be back in two weeks, I need to finalize my living arrangements as soon as possible.” She paused, and he heard her exhale. “I realize we didn’t start off on the best terms, but I can promise you I’ll be an excellent tenant. I don’t smoke, drink or throw wild parties. I like things clean and orderly. You won’t even see much of me. I work long hours. When I do have free time, my favorite indoor pastime is reading. As a bonus, I’ve been known to bake my famous ginger cookies for nice neighbors. In time, you might qualify.”

  One side of Clint’s mouth hitched up a fraction at the wry caveat. The lady had a sense of humor. “Is that a bribe?”

  “Depends. Did it work?”

  “Maybe.” At the sound of a horn in the background, he frowned. “What was that?”

  “Someone must think I’m going too slowly.”

  Closing his eyes, he suppressed a shudder. Who wouldn’t, after witnessing her steering skills when she was distracted? “You’re driving the hairpins on 101 in the fog and trying to talk on the phone at the same time?”

  “I won’t be if you agree to rent me the apartment.”

  “Okay. Fine. It’s yours. Call me when you’re not on the road and we’ll work out the details.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks.” The line went dead fast, as if she was afraid he’d change his mind.

  Smart move. He was already having second thoughts.

  But it was too late for that now. He was stuck—assuming Kristen Andrews made it to the airport in one piece.

  Heaving a sigh, Clint walked back to the counter and set the phone down. He picked up the spatula, checked the bottom of his pancakes and grimaced.

  While he’d talked to his new tenant, they’d gotten burned.

  He hoped that wasn’t an omen.

  * * *

  From the threshold of her front door, Kristen took one last survey of the furnished condo on Maui she’d called home for the past three years. She’d already shipped seven boxes of personal possessions to Starfish Bay. Two boxes of tropical clothing that would be out of place in redwood country had been donated to a resell shop run by a local charity. The rest of her clothes were packed in the suitcases the cabdriver was loading in the trunk.

  She’d also sold her sporty little convertible, said goodbye to her coworkers and given away the plant she’d rescued from the Dumpster and resuscitated soon after her arrival.

  She was ready to move on.

  Kristen completed her sweep of the condo. There was nothing in this place, with its generic contemporary furnishings, to suggest she’d ever lived here. No nail holes in the walls where she’d hung family pictures. No magnets on the refrigerator that had held snapshots or a child’s crude drawings. No little-girl fairy-tale-princess wallpaper border in the empty spare room.

  A sudden film of moisture blurred her vision as her cell began to ring. Grateful for the interruption, she blinked a few times to bring the world back into focus, then snagged the phone out of her purse and pressed the talk button.

  “Ms. Andrews? Clint Nolan. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. Ignoring that taunt, she stepped out and closed the door behind her without a backward look. “I’m getting ready to leave for the airport. I have a minute.”

  “I wanted to let you know that seven boxes of your things arrived today, but that’s all that’s shown up. I didn’t want you to get here and find out most of your stuff never left Hawaii—or that it’s halfway between here and there on a container ship.”

  “I appreciate the call, but that’s everything I sent.”

  In the silence that followed, she could imagine her new landlord wrinkling his brow as he tried to figure out why she had so few personal possessions after nine years of living on her own. But she waited him out. No way did she intend to offer any explanations.

  “I, uh, thought you were sending furniture.”

  “The apartment has everything I need for now.” She tacked on the last two words as an afterthought, hoping it would appease him. In truth, the sparse furnishings were adequate for her needs. A couch, a dinette table, a bed. It was easier to leave a place behind if you didn’t make it your own.

  “Okay.” His tone was cautious and more than a little puzzled. “If I’m not home when you get here, I’ll leave the key under the mat by your door.”

  “That will be fine. Thanks.” The cabdriver closed the trunk and rounded the car to stand by the back door. “My driver’s ready to leave. I’ll see you soon.”

  “All right. Safe journey.”

  A hum on the line told her he’d hung up.

  Dropping the phone back into her purse, Kristen started down the walk. But as she passed a glossy-leafed bush laden with fragrant magenta plumeria, she stopped to take a whiff, as she always did. The sweet, tropical smell soothed her, reminding her that even less-than-perfect lives could hold small joys.

  And as she continued toward the cab, she wondered what small joys might await her in Starfish Bay.

  Chapter Three

  As Kristen pulled up the dark drive that led to Clint’s house, moving slowly in the brand-new Accord she’d picked up from the dealer in Eureka, she tried to remember the last time she’d been so tired. Maybe six years ago, when she’d had the flu.

  At least a long, hot shower and a deep, restoring sleep were in her immediate future—as soon as she unloaded her car, stowed the groceries she’d purchased in Arcata and fixed herself a simple meal. Scrambled eggs would have to do tonight.

  Slowing to a stop, she set the brake and surveyed the first floor. Lights burned on either side of the front door, but the rest of the downstairs was dark. Clint must be out. On a date, perhaps? And why not? He might not be the friendliest guy around, but he did fit the classic t
all, dark and handsome profile—and that faint Southern accent only added to his appeal. A man like that wouldn’t have to spend any Saturday evening alone unless he chose to.

  Still, for some strange reason she’d sort of hoped he’d be around to welcome her.

  How dumb was that?

  Irritated by a silly sense of letdown, Kristen pulled the trunk release, pushed the door open with her shoulder and grabbed her purse. She was just jet-lagged, that was all. A solid night’s sleep would restore her perspective.

  Circling around to the back of the car, she sized up the sturdy wooden steps, illuminated by a light over her door, that led to the second floor. Sixty seconds later, as she lugged her first suitcase up, she again wished her landlord had been around to welcome her—for practical reasons this time. Her luggage weighed a ton, and with those bulging biceps she’d noted below the sleeves of his biker T-shirt the day she’d toured the place he could have toted her bags up without breaking a sweat.

  As it was, she was huffing by the time she dumped the fourth and final bag inside the door.

  For someone who’d taken full benefit of the perk that gave her unlimited access to the exercise equipment at Mattson Properties’ inns, her labored panting was pathetic. That was what happened when you slacked off on a fitness regime, though. But the longer-than-usual hours she’d put in over the past couple of weeks to ensure a smooth transition at the Maui property hadn’t left time for personal pursuits of any kind.

  Exercise suddenly vaulted to the top of tomorrow’s priority list.

  She descended the steps once more to retrieve the two bags of groceries. Back at the top, she nudged the door open again with her hip and walked over to the kitchen counter, where she deposited them with a thud.

  That was when she spotted the note—and the luscious-looking turkey sandwich on whole-wheat bread it was propped against. A bag of chips and two large oatmeal cookies rounded out the picture.

  Her stomach growled as she approached what she hoped wasn’t a mirage, picked up the small sheet of paper and scanned the three scribbled lines.

  “Sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you. I thought you might be tired and hungry after your trip. If not, the sandwich will keep in the fridge. See you tomorrow.”

  Clint had signed it in a scrawling hand.

  Kristen touched the plate. Her new landlord might not be here in person to greet her, but he’d left a thoughtful token of welcome.

  Nice.

  Her sense of letdown faded as her spirits took a distinct uptick.

  Maybe people in Starfish Bay really did take care of their friends, as Genevieve had told her. Not that she and Clint were friends. But she already knew he’d gone above and beyond with his previous tenants. She just hadn’t been sure his kindness to the Clarks would extend to her.

  Detouring through the living room to freshen up in the bath before she devoured his offering, she discovered he’d also lugged up her seven boxes of personal items. They were lined up behind the couch that faced the sliding glass doors, a pathetic reminder of how little she had to show for the past nine years.

  As she continued toward the hall, the quixotic sentiment from the Orchid Café place mats echoed in her mind. At the time, she’d dismissed the whole notion of dreams coming true in Starfish Bay. Fairy tales belonged in storybooks, not real life.

  But as she returned to the kitchen—and to the simple meal Clint had left for her—she felt more...hopeful...than she had in years. Maybe because no previous landlord had ever left her a welcome gift. Of course, in the past she’d rented through companies, never directly from an owner. The process had been businesslike and impersonal: submit to a credit and reference check, pay the first and last month’s rent, provide a deposit against damages, sign a contract.

  Funny. She’d done none of those things with Clint. He’d simply promised her the apartment was hers, said they’d take care of any paperwork after she arrived...and she’d believed him. Despite her dot-every-i-cross-every-t personality, it had never occurred to her to doubt his word.

  Because Clint Nolan had struck her as an honorable kind of guy.

  And Starfish Bay had struck her as a town where people did, indeed, take care of their friends.

  In some ways, that was refreshing—and uplifting.

  But there was a danger, too. She could get sucked in. Fall under the spell of the town...and the man. Put down roots.

  And she couldn’t let that happen.

  For even if Starfish Bay could, by chance, make dreams come true, she’d long ago given up any right to a happy ending.

  * * *

  Clint settled his sport coat on his shoulders, grabbed his keys, started for the front door—then stopped when he heard muffled footsteps overhead.

  His tenant was up.

  He’d arrived home too late last night to welcome her in person, and a quick glance at his watch told him he was already cutting it close this morning. But he could spare half a minute to say hello.

  Taking the outside steps two at a time, he knocked. When there was no response after fifteen seconds, he tried again. Still nothing. Maybe she was in the shower—or disinclined to greet visitors first thing in the morning. Whatever. At least he’d tried. He’d catch her later.

  But as he prepared to descend the stairs, he heard the lock being flipped. A moment later the door was pulled open.

  Clint opened his mouth to say hello...but the words died in his throat as he stared at the woman across from him.

  Every other time he’d seen Kristen, her strawberry-blond tresses had been perfectly coiffed and she’d been wearing designer-type attire. Today, her hair was pulled back with some kind of scrunchy thing, highlighting her classic features. A formfitting lime-green tank top and skinny leggings that hit her midcalf showed off her curves to perfection. And the hot-pink polish on her pedicured toes was...hot.

  Wow.

  “Good morning.”

  Checking to make sure his tongue wasn’t hanging out, he lifted his head at her amused greeting. Took a step back. Ran into the railing behind him on the small landing.

  “Hi.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat as warmth crept up his neck. Get a grip, Nolan. You’re not some teenager with raging adolescent hormones. “I just wanted to welcome you in person and see if everything is okay with the apartment.”

  Her indulgent smile told him she knew exactly the effect she was having on him. Despite his valiant effort, the warmth crept higher and spilled onto his cheeks.

  What was going on?

  He hadn’t had a reaction like this since Mary Lou Marconi had given him a box of chocolate hearts on Valentine’s Day in third grade—in front of all his buddies.

  “Everything’s fine, thanks. I’ve even set up my yoga mat to take advantage of the great view.” She moved aside to gesture toward the picture window, and he caught a glimpse of the edge of a mat in front of the couch. That explained her attire—if not his reaction. “And thank you for the sandwich and snacks. They hit the spot. I was starving when I arrived. Let me return the plate.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll get it later. I’m already running late for the Sunday service.” She stopped and swiveled back toward him as he eased toward the steps. “By the way, if you need any information about area churches after you settle in, let me know.”

  The lingering amusement in her demeanor vanished. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not a churchgoer.”

  Clint searched her eyes. He’d run into his share of nonbelievers. Some were indifferent. Some were virulently anti-Christian. Some were disappointed in God. Others were angry at the Almighty. But Kristen didn’t exhibit any of those emotions. She just seemed...sad.

  Why?

  When she said nothing else, he took the hint and crossed the small landing toward the steps. “Well, if you need anything at
any time, don’t hesitate to call my cell or knock on my door. Otherwise, I won’t infringe on your privacy.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  As he continued down the stairs, he heard the soft click of the door behind him.

  Once behind the wheel, he backed out and pointed the truck toward 101. But before he lost sight of his house, he glanced up at the second floor. For a fleeting instant he thought he saw Kristen in the picture window watching him.

  The image melted into the shadows so quickly, however, he wondered if he’d imagined it.

  He hadn’t imagined that sad look in her eyes, though. Nor the meager handful of boxes containing her possessions that he’d lugged upstairs.

  It didn’t make sense.

  She was a beautiful woman. Surely she’d been pursued by eligible men, had been offered plenty of opportunities to get involved in a serious relationship. And she had to be pulling in a decent salary, working for Mattson.

  Yet she chose to live a spartan, bare-bones life.

  Alone.

  As he turned onto the highway and accelerated toward church, the same question echoed in his mind again.

  Why?

  But given her reticence, he had a feeling it might be a long time—if ever—before he had an answer.

  * * *

  Kristen pulled into the parking lot next to the visitor center at Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park, slid out of her car and drew a calming breath of the spruce-scented air. The short drive from Starfish Bay had been a pleasant start to her Friday afternoon—and a nice break from her first hectic week at the inn. Between training the assistant concierges, preparing for the grand opening in three weeks and coordinating the open house Louis Mattson had decided to throw for Starfish Bay residents, she’d been working fourteen-hour days.

  Technically, she was working now, too. How could she recommend area attractions to guests without first checking them out herself? Though given the gorgeous setting and the comfortable jeans she’d donned, she felt as if she was playing hooky.