Stand-In Father (Intimate Moments) (4 page)
Read Stand-In Father (Intimate Moments) Online
Authors: Pat Warren
Grace’s unlined face moved into a gentle smile. “I know how you feel, honey. I just don’t want life to pass you by. You’re young. You need something besides working all day. If not a date, then go shopping, take in a movie, get your hair done. You know I’ll watch over things here.”
Megan shook her head. “I don’t need time off. I need to know that this place is turning into a success, that we’re safe and secure.” A feeling she hadn’t experienced in far too long.
Grace knew the reasons Megan felt so strongly about hearth and home, so she didn’t argue anymore. “Okay, I give up. I’m going up to my room to watch ‘NYPD Blue.’ That Jimmy Smits makes my juices flow.”
Smiling, Megan turned out the kitchen light. “Grace, honestly.”
Grace’s lusty laugh preceded her up the stairs.
Chapter 2
A
lex tossed down his pen and swiveled in his desk chair so he could look out at the sea. The corporate headquarters for Shephard Construction was on the fourth floor of a high-rise on the western shore of San Diego. It was a beautiful spring day, the 27th of April, the sun was beaming down on the breakers, and he could see over a dozen sailboats gliding through the water.
lex tossed down his pen and swiveled in his desk chair so he could look out at the sea. The corporate headquarters for Shephard Construction was on the fourth floor of a high-rise on the western shore of San Diego. It was a beautiful spring day, the 27th of April, the sun was beaming down on the breakers, and he could see over a dozen sailboats gliding through the water.
He ached like the devil to be out there with them, skimming along on his boat,
Black Sheep
, free as a bird. Alex sighed. Exactly nine months since he’d had his transplant surgery and he was bored out of his gourd.
Black Sheep
, free as a bird. Alex sighed. Exactly nine months since he’d had his transplant surgery and he was bored out of his gourd.
He’d been back in his office since the first week of December, though only half days until mid-January. He’d done mostly desk work, leaving the scouting and traveling to Mitch, on doctor’s orders. Benson was as much of an old lady as his father.
Finally, by March, the good doctor had graciously agreed that he could gradually resume some of his former pursuits, though not too many until he had at least a year or more under his belt. Even so, he’d attached several caveats.
Don’t overdo, don’t get overtired. Don’t engage in strenuous physical activities. Just don’t do anything stupid. And above all, don’t get an infection.
He might as well have said don’t live, just exist, Alex thought. Hell, he wasn’t exactly planning to walk a tightrope across the Grand Canyon. He’d gone hiking on Cowles Mountain last month, even though those trails were nothing compared to most others he’d climbed in the past. And last weekend he’d gone exploring in Anza-Borrego Desert State Park and even slept out under the stars.
But he longed for something more challenging, like a week in Death Valley, horseback riding on an open stretch of hard-packed sand, maybe scuba diving in some remote lagoon. However, since none of his friends was available to go on any of these treks with him and he’d decided going alone might be pushing the envelope, he’d postponed any adventurous trips for now. One day, though, he’d hopefully be able to do those things again, and more. It was high time he resumed his life at full tilt. Past time.
Rising, he walked to the bank of windows and stared out at puffy white clouds. A Santa Ana was in the making, bringing hot, dry winds and unseasonably warm weather for late April. There were a few hardy souls in the water upshore, probably tourists. Except for a few surfers, the locals rarely wandered into cold ocean water even though the air temperature hovered around eighty.
Surfing. Something else he’d enjoyed once upon a time.
Alex rolled his shoulders, then patted his hard, flat stomach. His twice-daily walks that had gradually turned into jogs along the beach had paid off. He’d regained the weight he’d lost and was lean and trim. The scar had faded to a pinkish hue, no longer an angry red. He took his medications religiously and hadn’t experienced any of the side effects of bloating and increased hair growth he’d been warned of, not so far anyway. He wasn’t restricted to a special diet, nor did he feel he should be hampered by Benson’s limitations after all this time.
In other words, he was about as healthy as he would ever be and it was time to stop acting like an invalid. And time to look into something that bothered him. A lot.
Turning, Alex strolled back to his desk and picked up the newspaper article he’d been reading. A parcel of land had become available for possible development either as a residential or a commercial building site. It was his job to scout out such parcels and ascertain if any would meet the requirements of Shephard Construction. The fact that this land was located in a small city twenty miles from Los Angeles made it appealing since Ron didn’t like to acquire too far from home base. But that wasn’t its greatest appeal.
The fact that the city was Twin Oaks was.
Twin Oaks where Neal Delaney had lived and died almost a year ago. The city where Neal’s family presumably still lived. The town where Delaney’s Bed & Breakfast was located.
Obviously, Alex needed a place to stay while scouting locations for his company. Most likely there were hotels and motels in and around Twin Oaks. But on the trips when he stayed for a week or so, he tried to book a room at places that had a cozy, home atmosphere. He’d never liked motel chains or formal hotels. A B and B would be perfect.
Sitting down, Alex sighed. Who was he kidding? The site inspection was a secondary reason for going. For months, as he’d recuperated at home and even after he’d returned to the office, not a day had gone by that he hadn’t thought of the Delaneys. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish by visiting Twin Oaks, but he knew he had to go. He had to find some sort of closure to this whole thing before he went stark raving mad.
Both his father and Mitch would think he’d gone around the bend if he told them his plans. So he simply wouldn’t, saying only that he planned to drive up the coast on a scouting expedition and he’d check in from time to time. The two men had fallen into the habit of humoring him since his surgery, and while it often annoyed him, today he would use it.
Alex studied his calendar a moment, then picked up the phone, checked with Information and dialed the number before he could change his mind.
When he hung up four minutes later, he was frowning. The voice at the other end had been female with a definite hint of Spanish. A name like Megan Delaney didn’t sound Spanish. Of course, she could have sold the business by now, added the check to her insurance money and relocated to any number of places.
He should have asked for her directly, he thought, scowling at the phone. But what would he have said if she’d asked where he got her name? Maybe the woman was only the desk clerk. Oh well, it was only a two-hour drive. He’d made an open-ended reservation, so if the Delaneys were gone, he’d check out the parcel of land, then cut his visit short. But if she and her son were there...
What? What would he say, do? Nothing, Alex decided. It wouldn’t be wise to reveal who he was, how he knew of her. If she was aware of the list, she’d toss him out on his rear. Even if she didn’t, any explanation would sound lame. Best to play it by ear.
Quickly, Alex packed his briefcase, tossed in the newspaper article and snapped it closed. He’d pop into Dad’s office and let him know he was off on a scouting trip, drop by his condo to throw a few things in a bag and be on his way.
If nothing else, it was a great day for a drive.
Skimming along the coastal highway, Alex kept his mind firmly on the gorgeous scenery, the rocky cliffs, the black rocks slippery with dark green moss, the Pacific endlessly smashing onto the shore. He passed sunny beaches with white sand and cliffside homes with breathtaking views, the scent of the ocean teasing his nostrils. He had the top down on his blue Porsche, his hair blowing about in a stiff breeze and the sun warming his face.
Life was good.
It wasn’t until he had to veer east onto the inland road, following the sign toward Twin Oaks, that he allowed himself to focus on his undoubtedly misguided mission. And he still couldn’t figure out just why he wanted to meet Neal Delaney’s family.
Ostensibly, it likely was to make sure they were all right at least financially so he could appease his nagging conscience. What if they weren’t? Would he then drop anonymous check donations into the widow’s bank account monthly? Would that help him sleep better?
At a curve in the road, Alex spotted a roadside billboard advertising Delaney’s Bed & Breakfast two miles ahead. He followed the directions, his powerful car climbing the winding, hilly road with ease. Minutes later, he pulled into a circular driveway where a discreet sign read Welcome To Delaney’s Bed & Breakfast.
Someone had a green thumb. A colorful bed of California poppies bloomed within the driveway circle. Pink bougainvillea trailed up the stucco fencing from the side yard to the back. On the far right was a patch that seemed to be an herb garden beneath three tall royal palms that looked as if they’d stood there since the beginning of time.
Alex parked in the paved area next to a four-wheel drive. The only other car was an older tan Mustang off to the side. Either the house wasn’t fully up or nearly everyone was away somewhere. Getting out, he took a moment to stretch and look around.
The main building was three stories high with a center entrance and two wide wings, topped by a slanted black roof. The pale gray wood could have used a touching up, he thought, along with the shutters and trim painted a Wedg-wood blue. It didn’t yet look shabby, but it might soon. Thick and healthy green vines trailed along each side, winding along the third-floor windows. Wisps of smoke curled upward from a redbrick chimney, maybe from a fireplace. Twin Oaks was at a much higher elevation than San Diego, though he didn’t really think it was chilly enough for a fire.
A country-style mailbox painted poppy red was near the entrance. A small two-wheel boy’s bike leaned against its post. Did it belong to Neal Delaney’s son? Alex wondered.
All things considered, Delaney’s Bed & Breakfast wasn’t bad, he thought as he walked toward the arched front door. He’d been right; there was a cozy, countrified feel to it.
Alex stepped into the spacious foyer and onto a red Mexican tile floor. A chest-high walnut check-in desk flanked by twin rubber tree plants was against the far wall facing the door. A stately grandfather clock stood off to one side. The scent of warm apples and cinnamon had him remembering that he’d skipped lunch.
Through the archway off to his right was a comfortable room furnished in pastels, Southwestern-style. Two women were watching Oprah on a large-screen television while an older couple played chess at a table by the window. At the far end, glowing embers smoldered in a large stone fireplace. The colorful Indian carpet was a bit faded, but the room was neat and clean.
To his immediate left was a large dining room with a long buffet table near double swinging doors. Half a dozen maple tables filled the room, some with place settings for four, others two and a larger round one for six. Here the carpeting was a rich red, the tablecloths checkered and the earthenware chunky and casual. The chandelier was heavy wrought iron and smoky glass. A woman with auburn hair, her back to him, was arranging fresh flowers in several vases. Altogether inviting, Alex decided.
Since no one seemed to notice him, he was about to ring the small bell on the desk when a woman straightened from behind the desk where she’d obviously been stooping down to search for something. Shoving the box of printed forms she held under the countertop, she checked her watch, looking worried. But she erased her frown as she raised deep blue eyes to his and gave him a welcoming smile.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Alex Shephard. I believe I have a reservation.”
“Oh, yes. We’re glad to have you with us.”
“Glad to be here.” Not for the first time, Alex wondered why people who worked in hotels and such often spoke in the plural.
She reached for a registration form from a slot in the desk and turned it toward him, then handed him a pen. “If you’d fill this out for us, please.”
He watched her make several notations in red ink on a card. Was this Megan Delaney, or was Megan the woman in the dining room? No, the flower arranger seemed older than the wife of a man of thirty, though he couldn’t rule her out.
More likely this one, he decided, since she looked to be in her mid-twenties. She had a great face, oval with high cheekbones, and then there were those sky blue eyes. Her mouth was wide and inviting, but right now her lower lip was caught between her teeth. The frown was back on her face. A rush of guilt had Alex wondering if the loss of her husband and all that that meant had given her a perpetual frown.
He began filling out the registration form while continuing to study her from under lowered lashes. There was a small, interesting depression in her chin, less of a dimple than a dent. She had a distracted air about her as she again glanced at her watch, then toward the front door.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, pausing, more to make conversation than because he needed to know.
Megan swiped at wispy bangs that reached to her eyebrows. “I hope not.” She shot him a quick smile, then looked pointedly at the unfinished form in front of him. “Are you having trouble with that?”
His turn to smile. “Not really.” He resumed writing as running footsteps sounded behind him, coming closer. Thundering now, accompanied by heavy breathing. Curious, Alex swung around.
A small boy with dark windblown hair came racing in, dragging a dripping backpack by one soggy shoulder strap. His once white Nikes were muddy, his beltless jean shorts were at half-mast, and his yellow polo shirt was streaked with dirt. His round face was twisted into a comically nervous look. “Mom, don’t be mad,” he began.
Megan skirted the desk, so relieved to see her son that she had trouble not smiling at his forlorn appearance. He had only one short block to walk from where the school bus let him off along with two other children, but still she worried, especially when he was more than ten minutes late like today. She had a pretty good idea what had happened as she stood looking down at him. “Again?”
Eyes downcast, he nodded dejectedly. “Me and Bobby were wrestling when I slipped in this mud puddle.” Looking up, he gave her a hopeful smile. “I won the match, though, and I’ll clean my backpack all by myself, honest. Probably nothing inside got wet ’cause I grabbed it right out.”
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