Last Chance Harbor (11 page)

O
blivious to the Jennings family dynamics playing out, Julianne learned on Thursday afternoon about Nick and Jordan’s plans. They’d offered her a weekend stay at their Promise Cove B&B, beginning Friday night through Sunday.

“It’s our off-season and we’re practically empty. This weekend is our chance to pamper the new principal,” Jordan explained. “We’d love to have you as our guest.”

“How could I possibly say no to that?” she told the innkeeper over the phone.

“Why would you even want to?” Jordan said with a laugh.

“I’m blown away by your hospitality.”

“It’s our way of showing you how excited we are to have you make your home here. Ryder tells us you’ve already started house hunting. We’re delighted to hear that.”

Julianne told her about the little gingerbread house and how she was having second thoughts. “Am I being silly?”

“That’s entirely a personal choice, however consider this. There are lots of older homes here. Each one has its own story. Take the one Brent and River are living in for example. It’s where his grandmother passed away. One day Autumn was there, reading her books, canning, making her homemade candles, watching television, going about her business as usual and the next day she’d left us. Then there’s the one Hayden uses for her bookstore. That house is where Ethan’s grandfather died in the back bedroom. Then there’s the place Ethan and Hayden recently fixed up on Landings Bay. They live in the house where Sissy Carr once lived. Who knows what she and that crook, Kent Springer, cooked up inside those very walls? But Ethan and Hayden bought it because they wanted to stay here, make a life here and that was the best possible house to do it.”

“Ah, I see what you mean.”

“Good because it’ll be hard to find a house without a history, particularly in Pelican Pointe. I suppose that applies to anywhere really, unless you get a brand-new home. Whichever property you choose though, we want you to be happy here. So take your time and make sure you get the house that calls to you, whatever the reason. And don’t listen to anyone else influence you. What do you know about the town? Have you researched it at all?”

“Not much, other than it seems like an amazing little town. I mean, there’s a rescue center for marine life there and a Chumash museum in the planning stages. I think it’ll be a great place to put down roots.”

“Then pack your bag and come for a couple days. We’ll do our best to make you feel right at home here.”

After she hung up, Julianne decided she’d take a second look at the Jennings house. She couldn’t explain her attraction to it other than the gorgeous view of the bay from the front porch. After talking it over with her dad, she felt certain this was the house she wanted. Finding the right property would go a long way to making her feel at home there.

Getting the owner onboard with the idea of selling it to her was simply a combination of persuasion and perseverance. Giving up wasn’t an option. She’d discovered that for herself—first from her father—then later from Danny. Both men had given her a window into stubborn along with a dab of give and take. She’d learned mediation—which helped her every day in the classroom dealing with temperamental children—and the art of haggling. She discovered negotiating came as natural to her as teaching did. But even with skills in that arena, she’d get her dad’s take before she hammered out a deal. It didn’t matter with whom. Julianne trusted his judgment.

By the time she started tossing her stuff into a suitcase in anticipation of the weekend, she’d talked herself into giving the gingerbread house another chance. Maybe because she knew firsthand that sometimes a person had to let go of the past in a big way to get anywhere at all. Zipping the bag up, she thought of Danny. Memories flooded her.

It was definitely time to let go and begin again in a brand-new place.

Come Friday afternoon
after school, Julianne followed Jordan’s directions. She flew along the Pacific Coast Highway past the outskirts of Pelican Pointe on the way to Promise Cove. With the music cranked up and Rufus Wainwright blasting from the car speakers, she glanced out the window to see the water churn with foamy whitecaps.

Reduc
ing her speed she
veered off onto the
na
r
row
t
u
r
noff
leading to the B&B. Heading
w
e
st
t
o
w
ard
the
ocea
n, it didn’t take long before
she saw
the appl
e
-
g
reen
and
whi
t
e
s
i
g
n
t
hat
read,
“Promise Cove Bed and Breakfast, established 2009 by Scott Phillips. Jordan and Nick Harris, Proprietors.”

Her van bounced along the p
a
ved
d
r
ive
w
a
y
while she craned her neck to get a look at the su
r
roundi
n
g
woo
d
s on both sides of the lane.
For a brief time she wondered if she’d somehow missed the property entirely.
But then the thicket of
cypress and willow
gave up a glimpse of
house, if you could call it that. She fixed her gaze on the massive
V
i
c
t
o
r
i
an. It reminded her of a Southern mansion or maybe a chateau in the south of France. Not that she would know what either looked like firsthand.

She stared up at the gabled roof, the deep angles that formed a contrast of lacy edges and bold triangles. Inching her minibus beside the long wraparound porch, she parked behind a Ford Explorer and hopped out. For a moment she thought she saw the guy she’d seen at the gingerbread house. If it were him he hadn’t done laundry for two days because he wore the same shirt and khaki pants he’d had on Wednesday afternoon. Which was ridiculous, she decided.

Even as she reached to get her bag, Nick was right there to offer a hand.

“Have any trouble finding us?”

“Not a bit. Your directions were perfect.” She looked around at the view, could hear the waves slap the shore from where she stood. “This place is amazing.”

“We like it. I hope you don’t mind but we took the liberty of making your visit a sort of ‘welcome to Pelican Pointe’ dinner. We’ve invited a few friends over for Saturday night.”

She grinned. “I suspected as much. Besides, Brent Cody already let the cat out of the bag. It’s okay. Good thing he warned me, otherwise I wouldn’t have packed my little black dress.”

She trailed after Nick as they made their way into the house where Jordan was dealing with two argumentative toddlers of different mindsets.

“No, Hutton, you cannot force your brother to play dress up if he doesn’t want to.” Spotting their guest, Jordan sighed. “There you are. Did Nick tell you about the little get-together we’ve planned for tomorrow night?”

“He did.”

“Good. Then you’ll settle in tonight with us, rest up from your workweek with a good eight hours sleep to go house hunting tomorrow.”

“Actually I’ve decided to give the Jennings house another look, get my dad’s take on whether or not fixing it up is even worth the effort.” While she talked, Julianne glanced around the spacious parlor. Her eyes landed on a photograph sitting atop the mantel. The face of the man she’d seen Wednesday at the cottage stared back at her. She went over, examined the face, the uniform he wore. Snatching the picture off the shelf, she asked, “Who is this man?” She raised her head long enough to see the couple exchange furtive glances. “What?”

It was Nick who cleared his throat to speak. “That’s the man who grew up here, in this house. Scott Phillips. He was married to Jordan. He’s her first husband.”

Julianne wondered if that explained why her hosts both looked so uncomfortable. She didn’t think it was. The next words out of Jordan’s mouth cut into her own muddled thoughts.

“Scott didn’t come back from Iraq,” Jordan explained.

“But… What do you mean he didn’t come back? I saw him in town mid-week, had a conversation with him at the little bungalow. He’s the one who told me where to find the owner.”

Julianne saw the look of doubt form in the couple’s eyes and realized neither one believed her. Even though it did sound preposterous, she knew what she’d seen with her own eyes. “He’s the one who told me how much work it needed, pointed out how close it was to the pub.”

“Since he grew up here, Scott would know all about its history from the beginning,” Nick pointed out.

Astonished at his statement, Julianne appealed to them. “You believe me then? You don’t think I’m delusional?”

“It’s a long story. Why don’t you go upstairs first and get settled. You’re in the Coral Room this weekend. Take a shower or go for a walk around the grounds until dinner’s ready. Nick will take your bags up.”

“Okay, but… How is it you believe I had a conversation with a dead guy? Sorry,” she added quickly for Jordan’s benefit. “But you see my confusion.”

“Unpack first,” Jordan suggested again. “A walk will clear your head. We’ll talk over dinner.”

Upstairs, Nick let
her inside the room. Once she got a look inside, she realized they’d given her one of the best suites in the house. Her eyes drifted to the focal point—the old antique four-poster bed with its soft, downy comforter. She took in the pale, sea-green walls, the stencils in the shape of white coral reef hand-painted as decorative trim. She stepped to study the beach-themed photographs depicting lighthouses and sandbars and said, “Oh, Nick, this is too much. You and Jordan have to let me pay you for my stay.”

“I tell you what, you offer to babysit our kids sometime so that Jordan and I can take a break for an evening out and I’ll be indebted to you for life.”

Julianne chuckled. “That seems like a small price to pay for spending two nights in such a gorgeous setting.”

“No, it isn’t. Believe it when I say, it’s a fair trade. I don’t know how you manage twenty-five six-year-olds in a classroom without losing your sanity when some days we struggle to deal with two.”

She smiled at him. “The secret is I deal with them and then they go home—to spend quality time with mom or dad.”

Once he set her bag down on the settee, before he turned to go, Julianne stopped him. “Nick, by any chance would you be willing to tell me if you believe in ghosts?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“You didn’t hesitate, not for a minute,” she pointed out. “There has to be a reason for that.”

“There is, and we’ll discuss it later. Dinner won’t be ready until around six-thirty. We got a little sidetracked this afternoon when Hutton thought Quake, that’s our family dog, ran off. Turns out, he’d found a quiet place to take a nap under the back staircase without two little kids driving him nuts. Look, take a nap or whatever you want and enjoy your time here. Don’t let Scott upset you.”