Return to Pelican Inn (Love by Design) (17 page)

They chatted for a while until Rosa could not delay any further and said goodbye. She fished a reluctant Baggy from under the sheets and gave him a pep talk about fears and little engines that could. It did no good—the poor dog wouldn’t touch his kibble and shadowed her every step.

After she nearly tripped over him for the fourth time, Cy offered a suggestion.

“Why don’t you put him in the attic for a few hours? He’s got a little bed there and Rocky has to take a break from the attic work to fix part of the coop that’s loose.” He fished a small bone from his pocket. “Give him this and his blankie. He’ll be happier up there than following you around.”

“You carry a bone in your pocket?”

Cy shrugged. “You never know when you might need a dog bone.”

Mystified once again by the ways of her brother, Rosa did as he suggested. Baggy seemed pleased to burrow down in the box Cy had fixed up, complete with blankie, bone and a bowl of water nearby. He peeped out from under the blanket with grateful eyes that made her all mushy inside.

“I’ll come check on you later,” she said, giving him a final scratch behind the ears.

Rosa should have been relieved that Pike was not around, but instead something leaden took hold in her gut. Lunchtime came and went without a sign of Pike.

Way to go, Rosa. You made sure the enemy status was restored.

She checked on Baggy and found him snoring peacefully. She put a dog biscuit next to his bed. Manny and Cy finished the wainscoting in the kitchen and Manny repaired the Sheetrock in the bathroom and sitting room, and set about the process of applying the skip trowel texturing. Since she couldn’t paint until the texturing was done, Rosa busied herself helping Cy with the shelves at the bottom of the staircase. She’d already framed some maps of the route that Harold Herzberg had taken to get to California, and several reproduction pieces that showed the location of some old mining camps in the California gold fields.

“I wonder whatever happened to that old map at the coffee shop,” she mused. “Nester said it was stolen. Who would steal an old map?”

“Original maps from the 1860s are worth quite a bit,” Cy said. “That one in particular was an original, as far as I could tell. It had the plate marks from the copper engraving and the centerfold. None of the tiny dots that indicate a reproduction.” He must have felt her eyes on him. “What?”

“You remember all that about a map we saw when we were teens?”

“I spent a lot of time eating scones in that shop. Details like that stick in my mind.”

“Yeah, Mom and I went there often, too.”

“And she’d send me on scone missions when she was too sick to leave the house.”

“Too drunk, Cy, don’t sugarcoat it.” She sat on a step and he joined her.

“Her drunk
was
sick. If she could have stopped it, she would have.” He patted her knee. “You believe that, don’t you?”

“I wasn’t sure for a long time, Cy.”

“And now?”

She sucked in a deep breath. “I guess I finally do. For a long time, I thought...” The words trailed away, too painful to loose into the quiet stairwell.

He sighed, long and low. “I know.”

She’d thought him unaffected, almost inhumanly so, but the pain circling in his eyes told her she’d been wrong. Her brother had suffered, too, had wondered also why he was not enough reason for their mother to put down the bottle. The alcohol killed their mother and leached some of its poison into the whole family.

Rosa knew he was right. She blinked back some unexpected tears as she handed her brother a hammer. “Cy, what are we going to do about Dad?”

“I thought we were going to focus on the contest first.”

“He’s getting worse, and we may not be able to put it off that long.” The anger she’d funneled at Pike flared up again, hot and searing. “It’s not fair. We lost Mom to alcohol and Dad...”

Cy sat down on the stairs next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, sis. I was kind of hoping you’d think of a solution. That wasn’t fair, either, to expect it of you, but I’m not much of a long-range planner.”

True enough. But Rosa was a planner for places and spaces, not people. “I don’t know if I can figure out an answer for this one, Cy.”

“We’ll do it together.”

For one precious moment, she held on to the comfort that she was not alone. Together, they’d figure out what to do. Together. After a final squeeze, they settled back into work mode.

Another half hour and they had finished with the shelves. The smell of fresh-cut wood mingled with the scent of the storm simmering outside. “I’ve got to go get more stain to replace the can we dumped,” Cy said. “Rocky needs some new chicken wire, so he can take me in the truck. We’ll stop in and see Bitsy. Be back in an hour or two.”

She saw him to the door, watched the two men dash through the pelting rain. Rocky drove off, leaving the parking lot depressingly empty, with no sign of Pike’s Mercedes. Her heart sank just a little bit lower as she shut the door against the storm.

“Time to check on Baggy,” she called to her father.

He looked up from his trowel work, a cloudy sheen in his eyes. “Rain’s really coming down hard.”

She nodded and took the steps two at a time. Baggy was still snoring in his box, curled up like a cinnamon roll, one paw atop his half-gnawed bone. A phone call to Bitsy revealed the orthopedist had encountered an emergency and the casting would be delayed until the following morning. It seemed the wheels of the medical world were just as unpredictable as those of the decorating universe.

Tiptoeing out past the pile of removed Sheetrock, Rosa returned to see if Manny’s texturing was done. The bathroom work was, she had to admit, excellent. She had no idea when her father had figured out how to apply plaster, but he’d learned well from somebody.

The sitting room was also progressing well, though her father was not there.

“Dad?” she called.

No answer.

He must have headed to the kitchen to snag some of Bitsy’s chocolate chip cookies, which was not a bad idea, she realized. She found none in the cookie jar, so she had to content herself with a mug of cocoa, done the cheater way using the microwave. She overheated the stuff and wound up burning her tongue and spilling it on her shirt. Perfect.

Still no sound indicating her father was in the house. He’d probably gone to get some rest. There was no need to check on him, really, but something propelled her.

She grabbed an umbrella from the stand and splashed out into the garden to knock at the door of the carriage house. “Dad?” She tapped on the door, louder with each knuckle rap. He must be napping, deep in that “a bomb couldn’t wake him” state for which he was famous. Once he’d even slept through a 5.5 earthquake that toppled the living room TV.

She turned the handle and opened the door. “Dad, it’s me.”

The room was tidy, cool and empty.

Stomach muscles tight, she looked toward the house. Where could her father have gone? Then words trickled through her memory.

Shingle’s loose. Promised your mom I would fix it.

She went to the tiny window, peering through the rain to the crooked wooden shed at the far side of the garden. The door was ajar.

Slamming out of the carriage house, Rosa dropped the umbrella and sprinted for the inn.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

R
OSA
’
S
HEART
JACKHAMMERED
against her ribs as she ran. She skidded on the muddy ground and fell on one hip, moisture seeping through her jeans. She righted herself and kept going, screaming for her father as she ran.

She rounded the corner and drew up abruptly to keep from crashing into Pike, resplendent in a charcoal suit and tie, holding an umbrella over his head.

“What?” he demanded.

“I think Dad’s climbed up to the roof.”

“In the middle of a storm?”

“To fix the shingle,” she panted. “He thinks Mom wants him to.”

Pike’s eyes rounded. He pulled her under the umbrella and they hustled along the perimeter of the house. His arm twined tightly around her and it seemed to hold her wild fear in check.

“Let’s not panic. He could be doing something else.”

“Look,” she gasped, pointing to the ten-foot ladder that lay crookedly on the shrubs where it had landed. Her breath crystallized in her lungs. He’d fallen. They would find him smashed and dead, blood seeping and bones broken. Panic prickled her body all over and she frantically pushed aside the sodden branches and shrubs.

They pawed through the bushes but found no sign of him.

Had she been mistaken?

“There,” Pike said, as Manny stepped over the peak of the roof, hammer in his hand.

“Dad,” she called out, feeling a surge of relief. “Get down from there right now.”

“Hey, princess. Can you get me some nails? I had some, but I dropped them when...”

He didn’t finish the thought because his feet slipped out from underneath him and he landed hard on his back, so hard she heard the breath expelled from his lungs.

Rosa screamed as her father slid down the roof until one arm looped around a pipe that protruded from the shingles. He dangled there like a hooked fish, legs flapping against the wet wood.

Pike tossed away his umbrella and grabbed the ladder. Rosa helped him heave it into position and then, before she could even utter a word, he was charging up the rungs.

The rain sheeted down with such violence that Rosa could barely make out what was unfolding in front of her eyes. She wiped away the water and blinked hard. Pike made it to the top and climbed out onto the wet surface, his body pitched forward, catlike, pressing on his toes for traction. His expensive leather shoes were not cut out for climbing, and he slid and slipped, causing Rosa to gasp. He crouched low and she could not see what he was doing until a loafer came hurtling down, landing on the gravel path to the house. The other thunked down shortly after, followed by a soggy pair of socks. Pike continued on again, inching up the steeply pitched roof, gripping with his bare toes.

“Hold on, Dad,” she shouted.

Pike called something out, as well, but Rosa couldn’t understand. Blood thundered through her veins as the rain pricked her all over. Inch by inch, Pike eased closer to Manny until he knelt next to him.

Rosa began murmuring advice that she knew her father could not hear. “Do what he says, Dad. He’s there to help you. He’s not the enemy, no matter what you think.”

Somehow, Pike helped Manny into a sitting position, and they crab-walked toward the edge of the roof. Rosa hurried to wrangle the ladder into a closer spot. It was heavy and unwieldy. Ruing her lack of upper body strength, she still managed to maneuver the thing. Pike convinced Manny to flip onto his stomach and held his forearms while he got his feet onto the ladder rungs. Slowly, one step at a time, he descended.

Each rung brought Manny closer to safety and helped ease the strain on Rosa’s hammering heart. Why had it taken so long for her to realize that her love for her father had not diminished, even when the trust had eroded and the anger took its place? Every step brought it home with painful clarity until he reached the soggy ground and she clasped him tight to her chest.

“Oh, Dad.” Tears mingled with the rain. “Dad.”

He hugged her back. “Hey, princess. Did you forget the nails?”

She found herself laughing, giving him a tight squeeze. “Go inside now, please. The shingle is fixed.”

He nodded and gave her a wink. “So Mom will be happy.”

Her voice wobbled. “Yes, she will.”

His smile was peaceful as he walked back into the inn.

Rosa jerked her head toward the roof where Pike was just starting down, his bare feet gleaming white in the gloom. She approached to steady the ladder. Thunder exploded through the sky. Before she reached the rungs, a sizzle of lightning lit up the horizon. The sudden blaze of light made Pike jerk and he lost his grip. He fell backwards like a leaf snatched up by an evil wind.

The whole thing unrolled in slow motion before Rosa’s horrified eyes. Pike’s body separated from the ladder and he plunged backward to the ground. Bushes cracked under his limbs until he slammed to a stop, disappearing into a screen of dripping foliage.

For a moment, her feet were frozen in place. Then, with energy fueled by panic, she tore to the fallen Pike, shoving her way through the branches, arriving with such speed that she fell on top of him, wet hair swirling around her face. She shoved the strands from her field of vision.

He lay still, his eyes closed, water glistening on his skin.

“Pike. Please don’t be dead. Please, please, please,” she begged.

“Argh,” he groaned.

Her heart stumbled into clumsy somersaults and tears brimmed in her eyes. “You’re not dead. That’s good, that’s so good.” She leaned closer, feeling the rise and fall that was all she desired in the world at that moment. “Are you paralyzed? Do you have a head injury?” She tried to recall her first aid training from high school as she peered closer.

“Please,” he whispered.

She leaned nearer to hear, her ear pressed to his mouth. “What is it, Pike?”

“Please get your elbow out of my sternum,” he gasped.

She jerked to her knees. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?”

“You fell off the ladder. I think the lightning startled you.”

He exhaled. “Oh. Is that all?”

She leaned down and smoothed the wet hair from his face, her fingers trembling in relief. He was alive.
Thank you, God.
“I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No. Don’t need one.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Uh-uh.”

Fear gave way to irritation. She marveled again at the supreme idiocy of men. “You just fell off the roof for the second time since I came to Tumbledown. I’m calling an ambulance.” She tried to get up but he caught her hand, squeezing hard.

“You don’t listen, that’s your problem.”

“And you’re trying to prove you’re macho—that’s yours. I’m calling.”

In one sudden movement, Pike flipped her over until she was lying on her back in the wet branches, and he was above her, looking down at her.

Before she realized what was happening, he’d pulled close to her, his lips inches from hers.

“Like I said,” he rasped. “I don’t need an ambulance.”

The rain snaked down his face and trickled across her forehead, funneling down along her cheek in icy rivulets. “Oh. Okay.” She wasn’t sure if she thought the words or spoke them aloud.

“Rosa,” he whispered.

She waited, breath held, wishing he would close the gap between them and kiss her. She was able only to nod, her body a cascade of ricocheting sensations.

He leaned in another fraction of an inch and inhaled. “You smell like hot chocolate.”

She forced out a breath. “I spilled some on my shirt.” Her brain screamed for clarity. “And you smell like a campfire. Maybe the lightning grazed you after all.”

He blinked. “I don’t think that’s scientifically possible. To be grazed by lightning.”

“At least you’re okay.”

He seemed to realize the intimacy of their position and he eased back, shaking his head. “Why was I up on the ladder in the first place?”

She could hardly believe what had transpired in the last few minutes. Perhaps her brain had been addled by her proximity to the lightning. But it was not her brain that was pulsing with waves of feeling that left her virtually incoherent. Every cell in her body was quivering.
Get a grip, Rosa.
She sat up, head spinning. “You went up onto the roof to help my father down.”

He frowned. “Why would I risk my own safety for a man I despise?”

She searched his face, the strong chin and thick brows, the slight frown as he considered what he’d done. Then out it came. “Because you are a better man than you realize.”

A tiny echo of a smile danced on his lips. “You almost make me believe it.” He took her hand.

Sanity reasserted itself.

“Pike, we need to get you inside, and then to a doctor. You’re soaking wet and I think you hit your head.”

They retrieved his jacket, shoes and socks, and together they squelched through the yard and into the house where they found Manny wrapped in a blanket, snoring peacefully on the settee. He’d changed into dry clothes, she was happy to note.

They tiptoed to the kitchen and turned on the light. Rosa got a good look at her father’s rescuer.

Pike’s suit coat was torn and stained with mud. The dress shirt underneath had not fared any better, and his slacks were oozing dirty water onto his bare feet. His upper lip was scratched and there was a twig caught in his hair.

“Oh, Pike,” Rosa said. “I’m so sorry about your suit. I think it’s toast.”

He looked over the wreck of his clothing. “I think you’re right. I’ll go home and bury it.”

“Wait.” She reached out and disentangled the twig from his hair. Her fingers wanted to stay there, to twine themselves in the wet strands and feel the back of his neck, the line of his jaw, the pulse beating along his throat.
Bad fingers,
she scolded. “I just wanted to thank you, for what you did for Dad.”

“Don’t thank me, Rosa. I don’t like him.”

“But you rescued him anyway.”

“You would have done it if I hadn’t.”

She would have, but that wasn’t the point. Somehow, the fact that he’d gone to the trouble to save an enemy warmed her inside with a flame that still had not died away. His eyes were locked on hers. “Uh, anyway, that’s it. Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”

He nodded, a hand on the kitchen doorknob. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He had not yet fully opened the door when a keening wail echoed through the kitchen.

Rosa froze, the hair on the back of her neck prickling in spite of her damp condition. “What was that?” she gasped.

“No idea.”

They stood frozen, eyes locked on the ceiling, waiting. There was nothing but silence.

“A bird, maybe?” She remembered that a screech owl flew over the old inn on a regular basis, splitting the night with an eerie call.

Pike cocked his head. “I don’t know.”

Rosa shook her discomfort away and urged him to the door. “You must be cold. I’ll...”

The cry came again, mournful, protracted, filled with misery.

If Rosa was the type that believed in ghosts, she would be fleeing into the storm. As it was, she swallowed hard. Even Pike looked nonplussed as the noise came again, soft and filled with terror.

“It’s coming from upstairs.” He pointed a finger toward the attic.

Her brain filled in the gaps. “Oh, my gosh,” she said, sprinting for the back of the house.

Pike didn’t ask questions. He jogged after her and together they pounded up the steps.

She only stumbled once. Pike fared less well, stubbing his toe and unleashing a stream of angry exclamations. Surging forward, Rosa slammed into the attic. Baggy’s bed was empty.

“Baggy?” she yelled. The otherworldly whines could only be coming from an animal as unearthly as Baggy. The little dog was not under the bed or wrapped in the sheets. She checked under Cy’s bunk and even pawed through her duffel bag. No Baggy.

“Baggy!” Pike thundered at such a volume that Rosa leaped. This time, the wails turned into pitiful, answering yips. Pike turned on his heel trying to pinpoint the dog’s location. “Where is he?”

Rosa dropped to her knees at the small hole in the Sheetrock where Rocky had begun excavations to remove the beehive. She saw the untidy heap of white powder. “Baggy must have panicked when he heard the thunder.” She peered into the gap. “He got through, but something fell across the hole and he can’t get back.”

Pike heaved in a breath, hands on soggy hips. “So, what you’re telling me is that Baggy has burrowed his way into Captain’s Nest.”

Rosa got to her feet and brushed at the white powder that had adhered to her wet pants.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”