California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (60 page)

“They won’t kill her or anything, will they?”

“Well, I don’t know, Sarah. They try to place all their animals, but if an animal is there too long … ”

The silence lingered. Sarah looked down at the dog who regarded her steadily as if she knew her fate was being discussed.

Who could have abandoned such a beautiful animal?

“I’ll have to think about it,” Sarah said. “I’ll be home in time for dinner. See you then. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, too.”

Sarah hung up the phone. “C’mon you,” she said. “Let’s explore.”

She poured through the bag she’d brought with her. Unsure what she’d find upstairs in dark corners, she grabbed a flashlight. Time to find out what work lay ahead of her.

Even though the day had been unmarred by winter rain, the January light was fading. Sarah flicked on the light switch and a solitary bulb turned on. Shadows lingered in the corners — the Victorians had been cheap with their fixtures.

The dog thumped her tail, got up, and trailed Sarah up the stairs and into the main upstairs hallway. This time flipping a switch produced no light. Sarah turned on the flashlight, halfway expecting to see a mouse scurry along the baseboard.

Nothing but layers of dust and cobwebs.

She breathed out. Good cleaners and elbow grease would take care of those problems. Hard work would keep her from remembering the ugly scene with Rick when she’d told him about the baby — their baby.

The five upstairs bedrooms were passable. Once the inn was making money, she could redo the wallpaper and get rid of the bordello-like flocking on the walls. But for now, she could tell prospective guests they were having a true Victorian experience.

She chuckled. Good thing she’d started with hotel marketing classes at Davis.

A flash of melancholy washed over her, but she pushed it aside. There were things to do.

The last bedroom was the only one with a closet carved from the space. She’d have to find wardrobes for the other rooms. Peering into the small nook, she realized she’d need to get some kind of light fixture installed.

Her flashlight beam caught on a box tucked back on a shelf.
Curious.
The rest of the house had been empty.

Using the tips of her fingers she nudged the box to see how heavy it was.

She wasn’t going to be able to get it down without a stepstool.

The twinge in her side caught her unaware and she bent double, her breath leaving her as if someone had punched her in the gut.

As quickly as the pain had come, it passed.

Had she imagined it?

No.

She pushed back the tears.
Keep thinking positive thoughts and everything will be okay.

Won’t it?

The dog pawed at Sarah’s foot, as if she knew something was wrong.

Sarah smiled weakly at the animal. “Maybe I should keep you,” she said, still short of breath. “But you need to behave or it’s off to the pound with you,” she said, knowing it was a step she’d never take. “And you’re going to need a name.” She glanced at the bedroom wallpaper. Rose didn’t seem right.

“I think I’ll call you Daisy,” she said and patted the dog on the head.

Daisy’s tail thumped.

“Time to call it a day.” Sarah started back down the hall. “Let’s go face the music.”

• • •

After he left his former home, Hunter drove aimlessly south on Highway One.

Future inn. Ugh.

The thought of the future innkeeper made him smile. Her wiry toughness was covered by a soft petite frame, luminescent eyes, and gleaming chestnut hair. Boy, would he like to wrap his hands in that hair and find out what kissing her would be like.

Eucalyptus trees whipping by the side of the road made him glance at the speedometer. Immediately, he eased off the gas. He wasn’t in the desert anymore; he actually had to obey the laws instead of enforcing them with the military might of the U.S. Marines.

He had no right to be attracted to another woman. He still hadn’t completed his penance for getting Lauren killed. No matter what the shrink said, Hunter knew his inattention was to blame for her death.

He pushed away all thoughts of women — past and present.

The day gleamed in a way his soul never would again. He should focus on the natural beauty of the bay. Ignoring the camouflaged paintball store at the curve of the road by the Bennet Slough, he concentrated on the egrets and herons stalking the wetlands.

His stomach grumbled. Moss Landing, the small town up ahead, was a good place to stop for something to eat and figure out his next moves. He needed a job and a place to live.

As he turned off the highway by The Whole Enchilada, he caught a glimpse of otters in the cove and pulled over to watch. The flop of their webbed feet as they rolled and dove in the water whispered boyhood memories of carefree afternoons on the Santa Cruz shores.

Before his father had uprooted them all and moved them to the chi-chi town of Sausalito. Before Hunter had gone to war.

Before Lauren had died.

Hunter scowled, got back into the Jeep and drove to the fish house. On a late Saturday, even in January, the place was awash with humanity, each person jostling for a place in line.

Panic crept his skin. He scanned the room for exits and examined faces for threats. His breath became shallower and he remembered why he was here. He focused on the mounted fish on the walls, the dinner choices before him, and edged as close to the glass cases as possible.

Why did he ever think he could resume a normal life?

He got a tray of fish and chips and found a table near an exit. He forced himself to eat deliberately, fighting the urge to bolt his food and rush back to the safety of the Jeep. Good thing he no longer kept a gun in the glove box. Times like these made him unsure the struggle to live was worth it.

Practice, the shrink had told him. One day at a time — the mantra of all twelve-step groups.

Hunter wasn’t sure it was ever going to work.

If it didn’t, what would be become of him? Memories surfaced of his mentally ill grandfather reliving the Vietnam War on the streets of San Francisco.

Hunter shoved a fish stick in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed without tasting anything.

He forced his mind back to the present and the image of the innkeeper reappeared in his mind, making him smile. If the thought of her made him feel this good, what would a date feel like — or a kiss?

A bit of life stirred in his heart.

He shook his head. If she was smart she’d want nothing to do with a screwed-up, out-of-work, one-legged vet.

He stuck a French fry in his mouth, the greasy, salty potato soothing his mood. Taking a piece of paper from his pocket, he flattened it and clicked on a pen to write down his job qualifications.

The blank page mocked him.

He couldn’t put down a word. Everything he’d done in the war was classified. The past four years were a blank slate as far as prospective employers were concerned.

“Hi Mom,” Sarah said as she pushed open the kitchen door of her mother’s home. Spicy aromas of oregano and garlic permeated the air and she breathed in deeply. Daisy trotted behind her, her nose reconnoitering the floor.

“I see you decided to keep it,” her mother said as she walked into the kitchen from the dining room. Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and studied Daisy.

Daisy sat, the picture of politeness. The only giveaway was the slight thump of her tail on the tile floor.

“Uh … yeah … do you mind? She’ll only be here for a few days, until I move to the inn.”

“Don’t rush things. You know you can stay here as long as you like.” Her mother’s arms wrapped around Sarah. “The dog, too. Did you name her?”

“Daisy.” Sarah shrugged off her mother’s arms with her coat.

The animal must have sensed her acceptance. She clicked across the floor to Elizabeth and nudged her palm with her snout.

Elizabeth automatically patted the dog, but Sarah could still feel her mother’s inspection. “Are you okay?” Elizabeth asked.

“Sure. It’s just been a long day — the closing, the dog, you know … ” She let her voice trail off as she hung her coat on the hook in the side room. “I brought stuff for Daisy.” She unloaded bright yellow dishes from a bag, opened the dog food, and poured it in the bowl. “There,” she said kneeling next to the dog and burying her face in Daisy’s warm fur. “Food. I hope you like it. Not as good as Mom’s ravioli, but … ” She shrugged her shoulders as she stood.

Daisy walked over to the bowl, sniffed, lay down, and began to eat.

Sarah stood up and twirled, just as she had when she’d come home from dance class years ago. “So do I look like the owner of a successful inn?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Of course you do!” She put her arms back around Sarah and planted a kiss on her head. “Set the table and I’ll serve dinner.”

Once grace had been said, Sarah asked about Elizabeth’s boyfriend. “So when is Marcos coming to California again?”

Her mother blushed. “In a few weeks.” She glanced toward the kitchen. Daisy sat expectantly in the archway. With an exasperated sigh Elizabeth said, “All right. You can come in.”

Daisy walked to Sarah and lay down at her feet.

“Marcos says he’s going to teach me to prune vines,” Elizabeth said and shook her head. “I can’t even imagine it.”

“Well,” Sarah said, “you knew when he bought a vineyard last year that he was going to get you involved. Pretend it’s gardening.” She grinned at her mother.

“Uh-huh. So how does the inn look? Will you have enough money to spruce it up? When do you plan on opening?”

“If I’m careful the money from Daddy’s trust fund should last. The kitchen needs work. I’m still not sure if I should hire a chef or do the work myself.” If Rick had been true to his word, she wouldn’t need to worry about a chef.

Her mother wrinkled her nose. “Given the way you make breakfast, I think you should find some help, or take a lot of lessons.”

Sarah stuck her tongue out at her mother. “I could hire you. These raviolis are amazing.”

“Not me. Remember I’m going to be pruning.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“So, when do you think you’ll be able to open?” Elizabeth asked again.

“I’d love to open for Valentine’s Day, but that’s not happening. The kitchen has to be brought up to code, even if all I’m serving is breakfast.” Among fifty million other things. “Maybe by April or May? The weekenders should start coming from the valley around then, shouldn’t they?”

“Yes, that’s when they start showing up at the day spa. What do you need to do at the inn other than the kitchen? Do you have a plan?”

Get the inn open before I give birth.
Without answering her mother, Sarah took another cheese-filled pasta pocket and savored the tastes. Her mother really was a master chef. Probably why she’d never tried to compete. Elizabeth did everything so perfectly — perfect homemaker, mother, wife.

How could you have done what you did, Daddy?

Sarah put her hand on her tummy. Rick hadn’t turned out any better. At least her dad had stuck around when Elizabeth became pregnant.

She glanced at Elizabeth who appeared lost in thought, a bemused smile on her face that brought tears to Sarah’s eyes. It was good to see her mother in love. Although she’d never figured her mother would have taken up with a casual acquaintance from Italy, Marcos made Elizabeth happy.

“I haven’t got a real plan yet. Today was a bit crazy,” Sarah said. The pain she’d experienced earlier still concerned her. Was it anything to worry about or was it simply the stress of the day — the closing, the dog … and the man.

Damn. He’d been good looking.
She pushed the thought from her mind and calculated how many weeks she had left in the first trimester. Women were supposed to get a surge of energy their second trimester. If she tapped into that energy, she’d have the inn open by spring. That would give her a few months before the baby’s birth to work out the kinks and find someone she trusted to help her the first few months after the baby was born.

Finding that person was going to be the most difficult task.

“When do you see the doctor again?” Her mother asked.

“Next week. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t see her until next month, but because of your history, she wants to see me a little more often in the beginning.”

“You can’t be too careful.” Elizabeth frowned. “I wish Rick — ”

“Stop, mother,” Sarah interrupted, a warning tone in her voice. “It’s over.”

How was she going to make it through eight more months of her mother’s anxiety and pressure?

“These ravioli are the best, Mom. Sure I can’t talk you into creating a supply for the inn? Please?” Sarah turned on the wheedling voice she’d always used as a child when she really wanted something.

“I suppose I could be persuaded.” Elizabeth’s smile returned.

Good to know some things still worked.

• • •

Sarah got to the inn early the next morning. When she opened the door, Daisy trotted in and lay down in the front sitting room. Carting in her bag of supplies, Sarah closed the door behind her.

I’m going to have to get a dog bed, or at least a rug.

She tugged a yellow lined pad from the Grenaldi’s Market bag and wrote down “Rugs.” Then she started her walk around the rest of the inn. Daisy lunged to her feet and followed.

An hour later, she’d made it to the kitchen and her list was five pages long. How was she ever going to get this done by springtime? She glanced through the broad kitchen window to the garden beyond.

At least it appeared to be a garden. The realtor had told her there was a view of the ocean, but Sarah was skeptical.

When her mother and Marcos where done with the vineyard, they could start here.

Her shoulders went limp. This was insane. The only way the inn was going to work was if she found a magic wand or a winning lottery ticket. Waiting for a knight in shining armor wasn’t going to work.

Unless Hunter Evans came back
. Her face heated. She had to stop thinking about the good-looking soldier. She was pregnant. About to be a mother. She had to be more … more … sedate.