Sea Glass Cottage (21 page)

One whiff and Thane said, “You need a bath. Bad.”

“I want Izzy to read me a story.”

“Afterward. You can’t go to bed smelling like that.”

Getting Jonah in the bathtub and then getting him in pajamas was Thane’s job. Hers was to read the boy a bedtime story and tuck him in, kiss him goodnight while Thane called Troy to discuss the feasibility of the counter idea. So she delved into the world where fairies and pixies made their home in a magical woodland that reached all the way to the clouds. Jonah fell asleep before she got to the “happy ever after” part. Leaning over him, she placed a kiss on his brow, pulled up the covers and went in search of Thane.

She found him sitting on the sofa finishing off the bottle of wine with the dogs curved around his feet. He’d taken off his shoes, propped his long legs and feet up on the coffee table.

“Those dogs are as worn out as Jonah was. I didn’t even get to the end of the story before he conked out.”

He smiled at her, patted the seat next to him. “I love this time of night. Just listen to that,” he said. “Peace. Quiet.”

She laughed, sat down next to him, took the glass of wine out of his hand. “You’ve done an amazing job with Jonah. You should probably know, I think I’ve fallen for your son.” She sipped the cabernet, draped the other hand around his neck, following that up with a nip to his jaw. “And his father has these incredible blue eyes that just draw me in, make me want to do things I usually don’t think of doing.”

“I like the sound of that.” Toying with her lips, he took her under in a deliberate play of tag and tongue. Tender persuasion led to him cupping a breast, fondling the shape and curve.

“This time when I make love to you I’ll do it in a bed,” he promised as he got to his feet, led her down the hallway to his bedroom. He shut the door, went over and took out his iPad, thumbed through his playlist. The violin strings of Vivaldi sailed from the speaker.

“Who would’ve thought you were a fan of classical?” Isabella said as she started to undress.

“After today, I’m a fan of you.” He eyed the way she took her time undoing each button on her blouse letting it drape seductively from her hand before falling to the floor. She undid her bra, reveling in the reaction on his face.

The urge to touch those breasts was too great. He pressed against her as she started shimmying out of the skirt. Running first one finger along the rim of the lacy panties then using two, he ripped them off in one yank.

She returned the favor by gripping his shirt, jerking it down his arms, helped him get rid of his pants. She angled, pushed him back on the mattress and sprawled on top. A gradual glide up his body had her fisting her fingers in his hair. Drawn to his mouth, she fused her lips to his.

They feasted, groped, then rolled, changed positions, rolled again, bringing her back on top. They bumped. She rode. Bodies locked in blinding speed with one thought in mind.

Pleasure ratcheted up as they headed into a dazzling halo of light. The room seemed to shake like a rocket racing headlong toward the sun.

They built to eruption like the first steam in a volcano before lava burst to the surface. The heady rush had their hearts pounding.

She went lax, draped herself onto his body.

Neither one moved. They lay spent, exhausted, the smell of sweaty sex lingering in the air.

“Just so you know, I’m a big fan of the replay,” she whooshed out.

“Duly noted for future reference. You just keep getting better.”

“Imagine that.”

When he was able to get his breath back, he reversed their positions, shifted to bring her body into his. From above he looked down at her, tugged at her lips. “You are beautiful, you know that?”

“So are you.”

“That’s a first. I’m not sure anyone’s ever called me beautiful before.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. Your ego’s big enough without adding to it.”

He ran a long, lean finger down to her silky thigh and then on to her calf. Spotting the ink on her ankle, he brought her leg up so he could make out the design. “What’s this? I missed that this afternoon. You have a tattoo. Interesting, a four-leaf clover with two crossed swords in the middle. Not exactly the usual choice you pick right out of the catalogue.”

“It’s…special…personal.”

“How special? How personal?”

“Something between…two…very old friends.”

“I have something special for you between two new friends. Wanna see what it is?”

She giggled and rolled over him. “Don’t you need like twenty minutes to ‘recover’?”

“Probably. But there are so many things I want to do to you it’ll take me that long to get around to all of them.”

“Sounds promising. You’d better show me what you mean so I won’t miss one.”

“No problem. Good thing I’m detail-oriented.”

S
aturday morning they found the Cleef Atkins place among the gentle rolling hills sloped toward San Sebastian. The farm itself went on and on for acres and acres over a messy jungle of junk. The bumpy pavement gave way to a field of golden, blooming fennel. A patch of carob trees became home to old Chevys and tractor tires, long put out to pasture and a slew of broken, discarded furniture that had seen better days.

“Wow! Look at all this stuff!” Jonah exclaimed from the backseat.

As soon as the three of them got out of the car an old man appeared, walking through the wildflowers that grew among knee-high thistle and purple milkweed. He had to be in his late eighties.

“You the people looking for tables.”

“That’s us,” Thane said, making the introductions.

“Got quite a few to choose from, any particular kind?”

“Not really as long as they’re sturdy and durable.”

The true hidden treasures were found inside the barn. Isabella spotted a fifteen-foot outdoor theater marquee and rows of auditorium-style seats. Thane noticed a stack of tables that looked as though they’d been used in a restaurant.

“Those came from the old inn located south of here. It used to be out on the main road that went to Scotts Valley. But when the county built the alternate route, the hotel was forced to close down. That was in the late ’70s,” Cleef recalled.

“These are nice,” Thane said running his hand across the dusty top. “They’d be ideal for re-sanding and repurposing, don’t you think?”

Instead of answering, one glimpse at Jonah climbing up a tower of weathered lumber, nails poking out of the wood had Isabella rushing over in that direction. “Uh, Thane…should Jonah be up here like this?”

He followed her eyes and let out a warning. “Jonah, get down!”

Hustling over, Isabella managed to grab the boy just as he teetered and lost his balance.

“I’m not sure four pairs of eyes are enough to keep an eye on him all the time,” Thane said. “Thanks.”

“No problem. That was close though.” She turned her attention to the stockpile of tables, all different sizes and lengths. “If it were me I’d avoid the commercial ones from the inn, stick with these made out of solid wood.” She went over to examine one. “See, this has a decent support skirt and this one has a sturdy apron. Both would be an asset when Troy puts on the surfboard tops that will add weight.”

Thane stood back, decided the woman knew her stuff. “Okay, let’s see if we can locate ten like these.”

“Better make it twelve,” she suggested. “Just in case one isn’t as well-made as we think it is.”

That afternoon at
the corner of Tradewinds Drive and Pacific, Nick surveyed the empty lot, the same spot where Bradford Radcliff wanted to put his used car lot. The thirty-year-old was the brother of Nick’s business associate back in Los Angeles and was hoping to make a fresh start somewhere else.

Bradford liked cars and wanted to turn that passion into his own business. Nick just wasn’t sold on the idea that Bradford could make a go of it in such a small market.

“You have yourself a nice little town here, Nick,” Bradford said. “I’d like to be a part of it.”

“We’d love to have you. New business is always welcome,” Nick returned easily.

“I don’t need a loan from the bank. I have money I’ve saved over the years and my brother is willing to put in the startup costs. What I need from you is advice on how best to get this up and running. It wouldn’t look like your usual rundown used car lot with a mobile trailer on it either. I’d like to put up a small, tasteful permanent building. I’d like to sell reasonably priced, reliable transportation. People always need a ride.”

“See, that’s what I don’t understand. You’d have a much better chance with that idea in a larger market near Santa Barbara or Santa Cruz. Why here? If your plan is to target a more upscale community this isn’t the place. Most people hereabouts are hardworking and don’t have a lot of money to waste on exotic cars.”

“I know that. I want to provide them with a place to buy a used car without getting taken. Remember when Dave suggested I come up here to the B&B and bring my girlfriend for a romantic weekend getaway? Well, I did and left the smog behind in L.A. I ended up loving the area.”

“And the girlfriend?” Nick asked with a grin.

“Is long gone,” Brad answered. “Anyway, I wandered around the town that trip. I admit I wasn’t too impressed with the place. But by the third trip—”

“Each with a different girlfriend, as I recall.”

“Well, yeah. But by the third trip I noticed this town has started coming back from the dead. I began to wonder if it might just be the place for me to put down roots. I’ve fixed up a lot of cars over the years. I’m better at working with my hands than sitting in a cubicle all day. I’d like to bring my inventory up here, such as it is, along with all the ones I have yet to get running. I’d need a good mechanic.”

“Wally Pierce is one of the best. Thane Delacourt also likes classic cars. He drives one of those old Range Rovers he and his dad fixed up when he was a teenager.”

“I’ve already talked to Thane. His car caught my eye when I was here last month.”

“So you don’t work on engines at all?”

“I mostly work on the body but I’ve been known to tinker with a carburetor a time or two. My shop would be in the back of the property. I talked to Dave already and he thought the whole thing had potential. I think at this point he’d just like to see me happy at something.”

“And? What are you not telling me, Brad?”

Brad blew out a breath. “Look, I just want out of L.A. I have my reasons. For one, I’m tired of the commute to work that takes sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for two hours every day just so I can sit behind a desk staring out the window of a thirty-five-story building. I want to do something I enjoy before I get too old.”

Nick slapped him on the back. “Then welcome to Pelican Pointe. You’ll need carpenters to help with the building. You’ll also need a sign. It just so happens I know where you can get both. If you need anything else, let me know. We help our own around here.”

Over the summer
at Taggert Farms the newcomer, Gavin Kendall, might’ve assumed the role of overseer from Ryder McLachlan but he still had a lot to learn about growing crops. While he and his wife, Maggie, had done all they could to settle into the caretaker’s cottage—homelessness no longer an everyday occurrence for them—there were challenges. Gavin had his hands full helping to work the farm and learn the ropes. Milking cows hadn’t come easy for him. He hung out with Sammy and Silas as much as time allowed trying to pick up the basics from everything from planting the seeds to packing up the final product. Insecure in that knowledge, he worked hard each and every day to overcome that deficit.

Incentive to succeed came easy. After spending six months living out of the family minivan going from place to place, no one wanted to make a go of it at the farm more than Gavin did. What he faced working the land was a piece of cake compared to not having a place for his family to live.

That’s why Gavin tried hard not to make waves. But as the months progressed into fall, something wasn’t right.

Once a week, Ryder stopped in to check on things. Today was one of those days.

“Why don’t you just spit it out and tell me what’s wrong?” Ryder asked after Gavin had spent an hour hemming and hawing.

“Look, I don’t want to lose this job.”

“And I sure don’t want you to do that either because I might have to go back to farming. Believe me I’d rather work with boats. Now tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re running out of growing space here.”

“What? That’s a joke, right?  That’s the last thing I expected you to say. What makes you think that?”

“I may only have a high-school education, but I can do math. The numbers don’t add up.” Gavin took out a map of the farm, unrolled the paper and flattened it out on the table so Ryder could see.

“If you break it down per acreage, we’re using every inch of available dirt. Seven acres of lettuce, up from five, five acres of kale, increased by two.” Gavin went on to describe each plot of vegetable in detail and the space each took up. “If you want to maintain output and production and keep up the pace, there’s a problem with the projection.”

“What are you saying?”

“That we will, as farmers, eventually run out of land to plant and keep up production.”

Ryder rubbed the back of his neck considering that. “Wow, Nick and Jordan decided to expand two years ago by merging the land they already had with the Taggert property.”

“Silas mentioned that. But I saw right off that we have the cliffs to the west, the road to the east, which means we’re locked in on the other two sides.”

Ryder shook his head. “I take it you’ve gone over the numbers?”

“Three times. I came up with the same thing.”

“Then let’s check them again. If we come up with it the fourth time then one of us will have to meet with Nick and Jordan and plan to give them an update as to how things stand.”