Laura Abbot (3 page)

Rising to her feet, Ellen said, “Come on then. It’s vacant, I have the key, and the owners are eager to sell. To be safe, though, you really should look at the other properties, too.”

While they quickly toured and dispensed with the first two possible sites, Laurel learned that Ellen was a lifelong resident of Belleporte, that she and Ben had been friends practically forever, and that she was single.

When they approached the center of town, Ellen slowed the car. There it was. A former summer home, now zoned for commercial development, with English country cottage timber-and-stucco construction, peaked gables, multi-paned windows, a wonderful bay window overlooking a side garden and even a chimney. But it was the red door, just like the one Laurel had envisioned for The Gift Horse, that did it. “Oh, Ellen,” she whispered, “I know I’m supposed to act aloof and businesslike, but—”

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

“I think so. I can’t wait to see the inside.”

It was going to happen, Laurel thought, hugging her bag to her wildly beating heart. Her dream was coming true.

J
UST BEFORE NOON
, Ellen finished preparing the sale offer. “You’re sure I’m not rushing you into anything?”

Laurel picked up the pen and signed with a flourish. “Not at all. I’ve done a great deal of looking, and I know this is it.” Then, setting down the pen, she studied her trembling fingers. “You
do
think the owners will accept, don’t you?”

Ellen scanned the paperwork. “I can’t promise, but you’ve come close to their asking price and the property’s been on the market awhile.” She smiled reassuringly. “I’ll call them right away, and if I reach them, we should know something by noon tomorrow.”

Laurel’s mind teemed with plans for The Gift Horse. She’d sell decorative outdoor accessories in the garden area, kitchenware in the charming dining room, and if she knocked out the wall between—

“Are you planning to live above the shop?”

Laurel bolted upright in her chair. “Ellen, you’re a genius. I’d just naturally assumed that would be a storage area, but if I used the basement and detached garage for that purpose, then I—”

“Yes, you could fix up a charming apartment and save yourself rental expense.”

Immediately Laurel visualized her own cozy space filled with the oak furniture her father had made, handsewn quilts, the dishes she collected… Then reality intruded. “It sounds wonderful, but I’d have to make arrangements now to have the space renovated while I’m finishing up my current job and preparing for the move.”

“If the owners go along with your offer, I’ll put you in touch with Arlo Bramwell, our local handyman. Since it’s the off-season, he might welcome a project like this.”

Laurel grinned. “Ellen, you just may be my new best friend. Thanks for the suggestion.” Then, realizing Ellen needed privacy to contact the owners, Laurel stood. “I appreciate your help.”

“My pleasure. I’ll let you know when I hear something.”

After she left the office, Laurel paused on the sidewalk studying the nearly deserted street. In her mind she fast forwarded to summer, picturing the broad canopy of leaves above, kids on bikes, the streets crowded with tourists. So much to accomplish in so little time. Despite the challenges, she couldn’t hold back a satisfied smile. Nothing she’d ever done had felt so right.

I
T WAS LATE AFTERNOON
when Ben got back to his office. He’d made it to the courthouse in Lake City in time to file his brief in the Pendleton case. He didn’t like doing tort work, but he couldn’t be choosy. Not if he wanted his practice to thrive. Thrive? Survive was more like it.

He checked his voice mail. Two calls from clients and one from Ellen Manion. Nothing urgent. He would return the calls in the morning.

It was nearly six before he finished reviewing the trust document Janet had prepared in his absence. Since she had already left, he was surprised when he heard someone in the reception area call his name.

He went to investigate. Ellen waited tentatively by Janet’s desk. “Ellen? Hey, I’m sorry. I got your message. I planned to call you tomorrow.”

“It’s no big deal. I just wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

She smiled broadly. “Referring Laurel Eden.”

Laurel. He didn’t want to admit how often today he’d lost his concentration because of her.

“Ben?”

“Huh?”

“Laurel Eden.” She snapped her fingers. “You remember.”

He struggled to regain his poise. “What about her?”

“She made an offer on a property today.”

“She
what?
” He had no idea why the idea both stunned and exhilarated him.

“The cottage on Shore Lane.” Ellen was scrutinizing him. “The old Mansfield place.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

He found himself stammering. “Well, uh, congratulations.”

“Congratulations are a bit premature. I haven’t heard from the owners yet.” She fingered the buttons of her coat. “But I hope it works out. Laurel is quite excited about her plans for the place.”

“The gift shop?” He had a sudden urge to warn Laurel off. What she was undertaking was financially risky.

“I think her ideas have real promise.”

“For her sake, I hope so.” He had the feeling Ellen hadn’t said all she came to say.

“If this sale goes through, I have you to thank. As a token of my appreciation for the referral, I was wondering if maybe I could take you to dinner tonight.” She smiled crookedly.

Ben had known Ellen all his life. She’d played “Farmer in the Dell” with him in kindergarten, tutored him in Spanish in junior high and been his prom date their senior year. A guy couldn’t have a better friend. Buddies, that’s what they were. But in this pregnant silence, he had the uncomfortable notion she might have more in mind than a mere professional thank-you.

“I appreciate the offer, but tonight’s out.” He waved a hand in the direction of his office. “I have work that has to be wrapped up before morning.”

Ever so faintly, her face flushed. “It was just a thought.”

“Maybe another time,” he suggested to fill the awkward pause.

“Sure.” She opened the door, then looked back over her shoulder. “When you see your mother, tell her hello for me.”

“I will.”

After she left, he stood in the middle of the room wondering why he couldn’t be attracted to her. Someday he’d have time to consider marriage, though not before things evened out with his family and the practice. As a prospective partner, Ellen made all kinds of sense. She was a lovely, talented, generous woman. They had lots in common. His siblings liked her. His mother liked her. He liked her.

But, improbably, it was Laurel Eden, about whom he knew almost nothing, who occupied his thoughts—from the very first moment he’d laid eyes on her.

L
AUREL PULLED ON
flannel pajama bottoms and a soft, worn T-shirt and climbed under the flowered comforter. Propping pillows behind her, she balanced the hardcover book that served as a writing desk on her knees and began a letter to her parents. If they had a computer, she could just email them, but her folks had no intention of breaking down and entering the 21st century. Doing so would compromise the simple lifestyle they cherished—one that had made her growing up so magical.

She pictured her mother bent over the loom that occupied an entire corner of the living room, strands of colorful wool brightening the simple log interior of their home. In memory she smelled the pungent aroma of wood chips, sawdust and resin—byproducts of her father’s woodcarving and furniture-making. At college, Laurel was the only one she knew who had grown up without television and been homeschooled until high school. Although at times she’d felt deprived, more often she’d appreciated learning in her own backyard—exploring the spring woods in search of animal spoor, uncovering West Virginia history from country cemetery markers, keeping weather records using her own barometer, thermometer and rain gauge. And there had been so much more—singing, dancing, playing the dulcimer, candle-making, quilting.

With a sigh, Laurel set aside her pen. Had she really been so naively happy? She shuddered, remembering how her life had changed after she had met and married Curt. A brilliant fellow graduate student, Curt was handsome, charming and…controlling. Laurel had only belatedly realized that he regarded her as a kind of project, ornamental, amusing, but not to be taken seriously. With an effort of will she banished her ex-husband from her mind—and that diminished self she was desperately trying to reconstruct. And she would, no matter what it took.

She inhaled a deep breath and relaxed against the pillows. That was part of what had attracted her to Belleporte. Here she could rediscover the pure joy she’d felt for life before her disastrous marriage. Maybe she’d learn to trust again—even men. Her bitter experience had taught her one thing for sure.
Carpe diem
was more than an abstract philosophy; it was a way to leave the past behind and embrace life fully every single day. And that was exactly what she intended to do. Like acting on impulse and exploring Summer Haven. Like making an offer on the Mansfield property. And…like flirting with Ben Nolan.

She smiled before turning back to her letter. Surely Ellen would have good news tomorrow.

Laurel studied what she’d written so far—an account of her travels and the dead ends she’d faced. She wanted to tell her parents about Belleporte—the way it felt like home, the beauty of the beaches, the charm of the resort town itself—but raised on mountain superstitions, she wasn’t about to jinx the sale. Best not to mention anything until The Gift Horse was a done deal. Besides, regardless of their encouragement, she knew her parents would be disappointed she’d chosen Michigan over West Virginia.

Chewing the tip of the pen, she pondered her ending for a moment, then began to write.

A
T TEN O’CLOCK
the next morning Laurel stood in the foyer of Primrose House, gripping her phone, listening intently. Then, unbelievably, Ellen confirmed the sale. It took a minute for the news to sink in. The charming cottage on Shore Lane, right here in Belleporte, Michigan, was hers.

She concentrated as Ellen recounted her conversation with the owners, who fortunately had given permission for Laurel to begin remodeling the upstairs apartment before the closing. When Ellen read her the handyman’s number, Laurel fumbled for paper and a pen and quickly jotted it down. “Yes, I’ve got it. I’ll call Mr. Bramwell right away. Could we get in the house this afternoon if he’s available?…Great. I’ll get back to you after I speak with him to set up a time. And Ellen? You’ve made my day.”

Still in shock at the end of the conversation, Laurel slowly closed her phone, unable to stop smiling. But after a few moments, reality set in. There was no time to waste. She began making a mental list of people to call. She’d have to notify her landlords in Columbus and give notice at work.

By noon, Laurel had made an appointment with Mr. Bramwell, called Ellen back, opened a local bank account and arranged for the florist to deliver flowers to Ellen’s office as a thank-you. She’d tried calling her parents, but there was no answer. On second thought, she decided to tell them in person, so she could soften the blow about her choice of location.

Then there was Ben Nolan. She needed to thank him for introducing her to Ellen. Maybe seek his advice. He was an attorney, after all. Perhaps there were details she was overlooking.
Right. Is it really advice you want? Or another look at his phenomenal blue eyes?

She would hush that contrary inner voice later, Laurel decided,
after
she acted on her latest impulse. She would go to Ben’s office and invite the man to dinner.

B
EN GLANCED AROUND
the dark-paneled dining room of the Dunes Inn, wondering what he was doing here. He should have refused Laurel’s invitation. He’d had no trouble turning down Ellen yesterday. But when he seated Laurel at their lakeside table and the scent of something lightly floral teased his nose, he remembered why he was here. When Laurel had popped in his office this afternoon, catching him totally off guard, his reaction to her had been spontaneous. Without pausing for rational thought, he’d accepted her invitation—with the provision that he pick her up.

He toyed with the menu, unchanged in the many years he’d been coming here, and pretended to study it, all the time admiring Laurel. She looked stunning in her forest-green dress. So stunning he was having trouble concentrating.

“How’s the walleye?” She chewed her lip as if the fate of the world depended on her meal selection.

“Fine. The prime rib’s excellent, too.”

He watched as she deliberated. He had absolutely no business entertaining thoughts about the lovely Laurel. What with Mike, his mom, the practice and his personal financial situation, there were more than enough complications in his life.

She eyed him over the top of her menu. “What are you having?”

“My usual. Kansas City Strip. Medium rare.”

“Just like a man.”

“How’s that?”

Cocking her head, she smiled. “It must be a gender thing.” She gave an imitation of a caveman beating his chest. “Man need meat. Red meat.”

It had been so long since he’d had a date, he couldn’t tell for sure if she was flirting or being critical. He felt dangerously out of practice. Fortunately the appearance of their waiter spared him a reply.

After they ordered, she leaned forward with a grin. “Are you ready?”

He couldn’t help but smile. “For what?”

She spread her arms like a sideshow shill. “For the story of the birth of The Gift Horse.”

He chuckled. “Do I have a choice?”

She quirked her mouth. “Absolutely not. Besides, I may need some legal advice.”

“I’m your man.” He was losing his grip. Surely he hadn’t said that.

Twirling her wineglass between her fingers, she launched in. He tried to listen. Really. But the whole time he was acutely aware of her beauty. Her charm.

He could barely process her words. He threw back a slug of his ale.

“…so what do you think?” She folded her arms on the table and waited for him to speak.

He hedged. “It sounds like an ambitious project.”

“But won’t the cottage be perfect? It’s charming, conveniently located—”

“It’s all of that.”

“But…?” She leaned forward. “I can hear it coming, counselor. But what?”

How could he tell her people didn’t come into an unfamiliar community, buy a significant piece of property within hours of arriving and then plan to open a retail business without so much as a feasibility study? “You’d like me to be enthusiastic, right?”