Authors: Belleporte Summer
She studied the card, then studied him. “I think I passed your office on my walk today.”
“It’s next to the insurance agency.”
“Right.” She seemed to be reconsidering his offer. Finally she said, “It
is
cold and it’s a long walk back. Maybe I’ll take a chance on you.”
Once she’d climbed into the car and buckled her seat belt, she rubbed her hands together. “The temperature must’ve dropped ten degrees.”
“That’ll happen. The wind off the lake can be brutal.”
“But exhilarating, don’t you think?” She turned toward him, her dark eyes capturing his, making it difficult to concentrate on the road.
“Are you always this enthusiastic?”
“Not always. Especially not recently.” She fell silent, and in that moment seemed more wistful than exuberant. Then, as if collecting herself, she rushed on. “But that’s about to change. What’s not to be enthusiastic about Belleporte?”
He wouldn’t be the one to disabuse her of her idealistic notions. “How long have you been in town?”
She checked her wristwatch. “Almost exactly eight hours. But long enough.”
“Long enough for what?”
“To know this is the place.”
“The place? That sounds downright ominous.”
She laughed, a merry sound that caused a tightening in his throat. “For The Gift Horse,” she said, as if he should have known.
He focused on negotiating the next curve in the road. “Um, your shop?”
She nodded. “Say, you would probably know if there are any commercial properties for sale.”
“Not personally. But Ellen Manion, the local real estate agent, would.”
“Good. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. I only have two days before I have to report back to my job, so it’s important that I move as quickly as possible and—”
“Don’t you think you ought to do some market research, a demographic study or something?” He couldn’t believe she would waltz into town and buy property on a whim. “After all, this is a big step for anyone.”
“Do you always patronize people? Why would you presume I haven’t done all of that?”
Somehow, he’d already dug himself in deep. “Sorry. Guilty as charged. But you have to admit that to an outsider, the plan could sound precipitous.”
“You don’t have to worry. I’ve had lots of retail experience, and as for a market plan, I’ve done my homework. All I need now is the right property.”
“Then I wish you good luck.”
When he pulled up in front of Primrose House, Laurel didn’t immediately get out. Instead, she turned toward him, eyeing him speculatively. “I appreciate your concern. Maybe you’re right. Sometimes my enthusiasms do run away with me.” Her voice turned serious and her eyes darkened. “But I know I can make this work.”
Ben found the depth of her conviction touching. Except for opening his practice here, he’d never been much of a risk-taker himself, but her confidence almost made a believer of him.
“If you’re sure you want to look in Belleporte, come by my office in the morning and I’ll take you across the street and introduce you to Ellen.” Now why had he gone and offered to do that? She was perfectly capable of going to the real estate office on her own. Although he preferred not to dwell on his motives for the rash offer, in a remote part of his brain, he knew it was because he wanted to see Laurel Eden again.
“I’d appreciate that. Nine o’clock?”
“Works for me. I’ll look for you.”
She opened the door, then paused. “Thanks for the lift. I promise not to trespass ever again.” When she smiled for the last time, he found himself in capable of replying. “See you in the morning.”
And she was gone, just like that.
Finally he started toward his mother’s, trying to ignore the vague sense his life had suddenly taken an unexpected turn.
T
HE WHITE TWO-STORY
frame house could use a coat of paint, Ben thought, as he pulled in the driveway behind the battered station wagon his mother insisted on keeping, despite its 200,000 plus miles. Paint and new cars, though, weren’t high on the list of priorities—not with Terry in grad school in Chicago, Megan and Mikey still at home and their mom struggling to make ends meet between their dad’s military pension and tuitions from her small day-care operation.
Yet Maureen Nolan never complained. She always dealt with her lot cheerfully and resourcefully. When she’d met Matthew Nolan in 1975, he’d been released from POW camp just two years earlier. She fell hard for the young man who had clearly suffered so much. Needless to say, their relationship wasn’t always easy.
Whether it was his concentration, his ambition or his overall spirit that had been broken by those grueling months as a prisoner, Matthew returned a far different man from the cocky, smiling pilot he’d appeared to be in photos from his training days. He’d never flown again, never spoken of goals. Instead, he’d perfunctorily and faithfully served as the greenskeeper for the Belleporte Country Club.
Only once, years later, had Ben dared to ask his father about his months as a prisoner of war, and he’d never forgotten the answer, or the anguished look on his dad’s face. “I survived. Most didn’t. Remember what I’m about to tell you. A man has to do what he has to do, but never let it be at the expense of your honor.” It was a lesson Ben had vowed to take to heart.
Passing the children’s fenced-in play area, Ben rapped on the screen door, then entered the kitchen. His mother looked up from the sink. “Thanks for coming, son. Have you eaten?”
“I’ll grab a bite later.”
“Nonsense.” Maureen Nolan’s naturally ruddy complexion and wavy chin-length red hair, now streaked with gray, increasingly reminded Ben of old photographs of his Irish grandmother. His mother reached into the cupboard and pulled out a bowl and a water glass. “I’ll heat you up a few leftovers. I swear, you bachelors need to eat more regular meals.”
Putting an arm around her thickened waist, Ben planted a kiss on her cheek. “And you need to quit worrying about me.”
“Can’t help it. I worry about all my kids.”
He tilted her chin. “Especially Mikey, right?”
She sagged against him, momentarily resting her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Ben. He’ll be the death of me yet.”
“What now?”
“The school called.” He couldn’t miss the resignation in her voice. “He was caught smoking on school property.”
Ben groaned. “Smoking what?”
His mother looked up at him. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m told it was just a cigarette.”
“‘Just a cigarette’? He knows better than that.”
“Apparently not,” Maureen noted dryly. “He’s basically a good boy, Ben. I think he just misses his father.”
“It’s gotta be tough on him.” Ben understood that grief and anger did funny things to people, but he had his hands full without Mikey pulling these shenanigans.
His mother turned back to the sink, plunging her hands into the sudsy water. “I don’t know what to do anymore. He seems to resent me.”
Ben’s stomach lurched at the quaver in her voice. After all his mother had been through and the sacrifices she’d made, it seemed unfair his father had been taken away, leaving her alone. She still went through the motions of being the strong one, but Ben could see her heart was no longer in it. If she could only talk about Dad…but that wasn’t her way.
“Where is he?”
“In the basement. Studying, he claims.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“And by the time you finish, I’ll have the stew warmed up.”
He patted his stomach. “I won’t turn my back on a home-cooked meal.” Besides, he knew it would make his mother feel useful to feed him. He opened the basement door. “Here goes nothing.”
The fluorescent lights, whitewashed walls and tan carpet remnant brightened the basement rec room, which was furnished with a battle-scarred Ping-Pong table, several dilapidated recliners, a sagging couch and an old TV. Sprawled on the couch, Mikey held the remote in one hand and a textbook in the other, but his eyes never left the screen.
Ben settled into one of the recliners. “Think you could turn that off?”
“In a minute.”
Ben bit back the retort forming on his lips. Big-brother talk hadn’t worked with Mikey before. He could wait.
The canned laughter reached a fever pitch, and the credits rolled. With painstaking deliberateness, Mikey made a show of turning off the television. His unruly auburn curls stuck out in every direction and his freckles stood in sharp relief. “I figured you’d be over.” He swung his feet to the floor and crossed his arms, his blue eyes blazing. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Get what over with?”
“The lecture. How I’ve disappointed every body.”
Ben leaned forward. “What’s going on with you, Mikey?”
“For one thing, stop calling me ‘Mikey.’ I’m not a kid.”
He had to concede his brother’s point. “Duly noted. Since when do you smoke,
Mike?”
“Oh, come on. You went to high school once, too.”
Ben mentally counted to ten. “Smoking is bad for you.” He tried to find some chink in Mike’s ice-hard expression. “You’re also not allowed to smoke on school property, or pretty much anywhere public these days.”
“Yeah? And?”
“You gotta help me here, Mike,” Ben said, running a hand through his hair. “Mom and Dad raised you right. You’re basically a good kid. What’s your deal right now? Why are you acting like this?”
Mike stood and went to the Ping-Pong paddle rack. He pulled out a paddle and a ball and began bouncing the ball on the table with an irritating rat-a-tat. Walking over, Ben scooped up the ball. “I’m talking to you.”
His skin mottled, Mike turned on him. “Stop trying to be Dad, Ben.”
He got right in the boy’s face, ignoring his comment. “Your behavior is unacceptable. It’s hurting Mom, it’s hurting me, and worst of all, it’s hurting you. I’m sorry you lost your father. I did, too, you know. You’re not the only one in pain here. But why you’re determined to add to everyone’s burden is beyond me.” He stepped back, his chest working. “If you think you’re going to drive a car when you turn sixteen, think again. Unless—” he paused for emphasis “—you clean up your act. Understood?”
Mike made a show of bowing. “Yes, oh great wise one.”
“And cut out the stupid cracks while you’re at it,” Ben said as he left the room.
When he reached the top of the stairs, his mother was ladling up a bowl of stew for him. Comfort food. Boy, did he need a generous helping of that about now. She raised her eyes. “Well?”
He recounted the conversation, including the threat about the driver’s license. “He made a request I think we ought to consider.”
“What’s that?”
“He doesn’t want to be called Mikey. Says he’s not a kid anymore.”
His mother set the bowl on the table, then handed him a napkin and spoon. Finally she sank into the chair across from him, trying, unsuccessfully, to smile. “So many things are changing. Mikey, too, I suppose.” Blinking away a stray tear, she continued, “Maybe he’s right. But it’s so hard for a mother—for me—to give up my baby. To let him grow up.”
Ben laid his hand on hers. “I’m here, Mom. It’s all going to be fine.”
In her eyes was a hopefulness he found painful to observe.
W
HEN
L
AUREL APPROACHED
the law office the next morning, her nerves were tight as mountain fiddle strings, and not just at the prospect of meeting the real estate agent. She’d also be seeing Ben again, with his curly sand-brown hair, unforgettable blue eyes and broad shoulders. Yesterday in true attorney fashion, he’d been genuinely concerned she didn’t know what she was doing, but it would have been inappropriate on such short acquaintance to tell him how carefully she’d prepared for the right opportunity. Well, she’d just have to show him.
In fairness, she had to admit she might have come on a bit strong yesterday, carried away by her enthusiasm for Summer Haven and Belleporte. But it had been far too long since joy had bubbled to the surface like that. Maybe, just maybe, she was finding her old self, the pre-Curt Laurel.
When she entered Ben’s office, he was chatting with his receptionist. After introducing the two women, Ben grinned at Laurel. “Broken into any houses overnight?”
Laurel nodded at Janet. “What kind of impression will that make on this nice lady?”
Janet pursed her lips. “Where Ben is concerned, I’m not easily shocked.”
Sheepishly Laurel explained about being caught trespassing.
“Give the woman a break, counselor,” Janet said. “Any female worth her salt would want to explore Summer Haven.”
Ben eyed Laurel appreciatively. “Laurel qualifies, then.”
Fighting a blush, Laurel acknowledged she’d enjoyed the implied compliment, perhaps more than she should have.
Ben caught her eye. “Ready?”
Her heart thudded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
As he escorted Laurel toward the door, a smiling Janet winked at her.
Laurel could have sworn Ben deliberately lingered at the real estate office after introducing her to Ellen Manion, a young woman about Laurel’s age with flyaway ginger hair, a radiant smile and sea-deep green eyes. Finally, he murmured something about a pressing appointment and beat a retreat. Although Laurel was eager to get on with business, she felt let down when he left. That puzzled her. It had been a very long time since any man had interested her.
Ushering Laurel into her office, Ellen immediately put her at ease. She listened intently to the plans for The Gift Horse, and when Laurel finished, Ellen propped her elbows on the desk and cupped her chin in her hands. “How much are you prepared to spend?”
Laurel named a figure, then added, “Of course, anything I do is contingent upon getting a loan. However, I do have a tentative financing commitment for that amount.”
“Good. I have listings on two or three properties that might work, but there’s one in particular I think—”
“Could we look at it this morning? I have only one more day of vacation left, and if I find the right one—”
“You’d be prepared to move that quickly?”
“Yes.” When she uttered the word, Laurel knew that today she would find the perfect location for her store.