Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze (61 page)

Reverend Salter’s nephew was just her height, slender but muscular, with spiky brown hair, dreamy blue eyes, and a gorgeous smile.

Best of all, he was happy, and when he arrived in January, in his low-slung, faded jeans, his Aéropostale tee and hoodie, his braid necklace and his tattooed forearm, he brought fresh air into the Winsted household. Cisco and Margaret fell in love with him immediately. Carley’s friends developed mad crushes on him, too, and when they came over to visit, they wore sexy little shirts and more makeup than they usually wore.

They didn’t often get a chance to flirt with Kevin, though. He was almost always out at the historical association, doing research, or running or biking or ice skating, and, after only a matter of days on the island, he developed a wide group of friends, male and female, and spent all his free time with them.

She suspected he spent quite a few nights with one woman or another, but he never brought a woman back to his room, even though Carley hadn’t said anything about having an overnight
guest. She hadn’t even thought about that sort of thing when she rented him the room.

Kevin used the bedroom at the side of the house, off the laundry room. It had its own bathroom and a good double bed and an almost private entrance leading from the side door through the mudroom. When she first offered the room to Kevin, over the telephone, she’d said that breakfast would be included with the room, just juice, coffee, muffins, cereal. He could fix it himself, she said, because she would be dealing with getting her daughters off to school. After she got acquainted with Kevin, she altered the arrangement: he was welcome to join them on Saturday and Sunday mornings, when she and the girls usually had what Margaret called a “fancy breakfast” of pancakes or French toast, eggs Benedict or cheesy soufflés, omelets stuffed with goat cheese and bacon. Kevin began to join them, occasionally. When he did, Margaret giggled through the entire meal while Cisco stared, smitten, at her plate.

He was twenty-seven. Carley was thirty-two. Yet she felt so much older than Kevin that she could be in his presence without feeling any kind of sexual attraction for him, even though she could appreciate how completely gorgeous he was. She felt relaxed and easy with him, as if he were her kid brother.

Most of all, she was very glad for the money he paid every month. It was enough to pay for Cisco’s ballet lessons, with a nice chunk left over. Carley hadn’t made any money herself since she waitressed back when she met Gus, and she liked the way it felt. She knew very well that she wasn’t actually making the money herself—it was the house that made the money.

It was the house that made the money
.

Suddenly, she thought, with a leap of her heart, maybe she and this grand old house could make even more money!

Carley wandered through the rooms, letting her imagination take her wherever it could. It
was
fun having Kevin around. She liked people. She liked cooking. She liked it when people stopped her on the street to ask where to go, which were the best shops and restaurants.

Maybe she could run a small B&B!

The thought glowed in her mind like the sun blazing out after a storm.

Margaret came down with a cold that sent her sniffling and whining to bed. Carley spent the weekend nursing her little girl, bringing her ginger ale and Popsicles to help her fever, filling and refilling the humidifier, reading to her, cuddling her. When Margaret fell asleep at night, Carley didn’t have the energy to think about her plans. She took a long hot shower and crawled into bed with her own book, one Maud had passed on, with lots of unrealistic romance.

Monday she kept Margaret home to be certain she was better, and by Monday afternoon her daughter was well, and bored, almost bouncing off the walls. Carley was delighted to send her back to school Tuesday morning. She started making lists. Thinking about who could give her advice. She’d call her parents and her sister. Maud worked and made money, so she’d know some things, about taxes and so on, but her work was more solitary. Who else?

She thought of Lexi Laney. Lexi ran her own clothing store on the island, Moon Shell Beach, which was wildly successful. Lexi didn’t actually run with Carley’s crowd—Lexi was single, with no children, but she was close to Carley’s age and whenever they met at parties, Carley had always liked talking to her. It just might work, asking Lexi about running a business. She picked up the phone.

• • • • •

“One thing’s certain,” Lexi said as she stood in Carley’s kitchen looking at the cluttered desk piled with mail, the girls’ schoolwork, and Carley’s appointment book, “you can’t run a business from here. Especially not a B&B.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not professional, for one thing. You want your guests to come up here for muffins and coffee and see that mess? You must have
some
place in this huge house for an office.”

Carley chewed her fingernail. “Well … there’s Gus’s office.” Lexi followed Carley down the hall and into the room. “This is perfect! You’ve got a desk and a computer here already. Clear off Gus’s stuff and set up your office.”

Carley gulped. Lexi intimidated Carley. Lexi was at least six feet tall, slender as a willow reed, with long white-blond hair and huge blue eyes. She was perfection itself. Today she wore black pants and a white tee shirt. She looked like a million dollars. Carley had always thought there was something a little hard about Lexi. She’d heard how, years ago when she was nineteen, Lexi had married a much older and very wealthy man, then divorced him after ten years and returned to the island. In that time, Lexi had acquired a kind of gloss, an
attitude
.

Carley screwed up her courage and confessed: “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, honey, he’s not going to be using them anymore.”

“Still … it might make my daughters sad.”

“So you want to keep this as a shrine?”

“Well …”

“Fine.” Lexi turned on her heel and walked out to the hall. “This is a big house. You have lots of rooms. Of course the placement of the office is perfect. It’s near the kitchen and at the back of the hall, but it’s your decision. We can turn any room into an office. You just need a desk, a computer, and some file cabinets.”

“My computer’s in the kitchen.”

“Nope, can’t use that. That’s the household computer. You’ll want to move it, though—into the den with the television. Your girls use it, right? You email your friends? That’s what
that
computer’s for. You need a computer dedicated to your business. For tax reasons as well as for organizational reasons.”

“Lexi … listen, I’m having trouble thinking clearly. I do need to get organized. Do you think we could just sit in the kitchen for a while and you could tell me stuff and I could write down a list?”

“Sure, Carley. That will work.”

Once settled in the kitchen with Diet Cokes, Carley picked up a pen and pad of paper. “Go.”

“All right. Just off the top of my head. Signage.”

“What?”

“You need to have some kind of sign to show people they’ve come to the right place. Signage is strictly controlled by the Historic District Commission. You may not even be able to have a sign up here in this residential area. Better have one of your lawyer relatives organize that for you. At a quick glance, I’m seeing lots of nice stuff that you won’t want broken. Put it away. Especially anything that might be valuable or look valuable.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding. You’d be surprised how many people just slip a little souvenir into their pockets. They think, since they’re paying such high prices to stay, eat, and shop on the island, that they deserve it.”

“Wow.”

“You need to get a credit card machine. You need to decide what kind of record-keeping program you want, which one you can work with most easily. You can talk to Martha at Computer Solutions but you’ll also need to run it by your accountant. You need to check to see if your guests can access the Internet in this house. Do you want them to have coffee/tea in their rooms? Do you have maids to help make the beds and clean the bathrooms every day?”

Carley shook her head. “Reverend Salter’s nephew Kevin is here. We don’t make his bed every day. He doesn’t have afternoon tea, either. We don’t change his sheets …”

“Right. He’s just renting a room. That’s quite different. Look, I don’t run an inn. I’m just hitting some of the points. You’ve got to talk with an innkeeper.”

Carley buried her face in her hands. “Lexi, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Maybe not,” Lexi responded bluntly. “But maybe you can. And maybe it’s just what you need. When I came back from New York, I was divorced and miserable and lost. My business saved my life, in more ways than one.”

When the girls arrived home from school, Carley had them sit at the kitchen table with her. She’d set out snacks of fruit and cookies, and she asked them about school, and then she cleared her throat.

“Girls, I’m thinking of opening a bed-and-breakfast. An inn. We’ll have guests staying with us.”

“Like Kevin?” Margaret piped up hopefully.

“Well, sort of. Probably, they’ll be older people. I’ve got a ton of work to do, and I’ll be using Daddy’s office as an office for the B&B. Which means that I’m moving a lot of Daddy’s things out.”

Margaret tugged on a lock of black hair. Cisco’s face turned stubborn.

Carley continued, cheerfully, “I thought you girls might like to go through Daddy’s office and find some things of his you’d like to
keep in your room. The sailing trophies, maybe. Cis, you might like his desk set.” She waited for a response, but the girls didn’t speak. “I’m going to box up Daddy’s legal books. Some of the others I’m putting in the living room for the guests to read on rainy days. Things are going to change here, girls. They have to. I need to find a way to make some money, and with this big old house, I think I can.”

Cisco’s face was set. “If we lived with Nana and Granddad, you wouldn’t have to make money.”

“Cisco, this is my home. This is your home. This is Margaret’s home. We are not moving out of it.”

“Well, I think you’re stupid.”

Carley hesitated, then let it go. “It’s going to be fun! Every room will need some chairs, a little writing desk, a little table.”

“Strange people in our house,” Cisco muttered.

“Cisco, I need to find a way to make money. I’m doing what has to be done.” Suddenly Carley was exhausted. She could see the strain on both her daughters’ faces, too. “All right. It’s a sunny day. Enough talking. Go play.”

“I don’t
play
,” Cisco snapped as she exploded from the table. With her hand on the door, she turned back to Carley and snapped, “Have you told Nana and Granddad about this?”

“Not yet.” Carley forced herself to be calm. “I wanted to tell you girls first.”

• • • • •

The next morning, as soon as the girls were off to school, Carley pulled on her dress coat and boots and walked down toward the Winsted legal offices on Centre Street. When she came to the distinguished brick building, she hesitated. All last night, she’d thought, made notes, plotted, and planned, finally deciding that she’d talk with Russell first, before she spoke with Annabel. Russell would know the legalities of opening a B&B, and perhaps he might be less emotional about Carley turning her home into a business.

She stood there in the bright cold light of day, fighting off fear. If Russell strongly objected, if he grew angry, Carley would fall apart, and so would her plans. Shoulders slumping, she turned back toward home.

“Carley!” Wyatt strode up the sidewalk from town, a newspaper in his hand. His camel coat and scarlet muffler gave him an impressive professional aura. “Were you going into the office?”

She hesitated, then admitted, “I was, but I changed my mind. Oh, Wyatt, I think I have a really good idea, a way to make money and keep the house and still be independent, but I’m pretty sure Russell and Annabel will hate the idea.”

“Try me,” Wyatt suggested.

“I want to run a B&B.”

Wyatt stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, thinking. “Hm. Yes. I can see that. I think that could work.”

“You
do
?” She almost burst into tears of relief.

“Let’s go look at the house.” Wyatt linked arms with her and ushered her briskly along the sidewalk. “It is a huge house for only three people. It’s got spectacular water views. It’s a short walk to town, that’s always a plus. You wouldn’t want people on the second floor, though, not on the same floor as the girls. Somehow that doesn’t seem quite right. The attic? Perhaps too many stairs for older folk.”

His enthusiasm was contagious. By the time they reached the house, Carley’s mind was buzzing.

They hadn’t even gone in the front door when Wyatt snapped his finger. “The basement! Let’s check out the basement!”

Like many Nantucket houses, Carley’s had what was called an English basement, the walls half in the ground, half above ground, with large windows letting in light. There was a private entrance from the side of the house, a few steps down. They went in.

Carley flicked on the light, exposing a large unfinished room. Over the years, all sorts of orphaned bits had ended up here—a centerboard and rudder from a sunfish, parts of bicycles and ice skates and skis, a pair of crutches from when Gus sprained his ankle, a few boxes of unnecessary junk bought at church auctions. Most of that had gone in the tag sale. The windows were covered with old roller blinds that had yellowed over the years. Carley tugged on them, trying to get them to snap up. Some worked, others tore.

“It’s a great space,” Wyatt told her. “The floor is dry. The walls are dry.”

“We’re high on the cliff. Rain never has been a problem.”

“Good light from the windows. Solid construction.” He ran his hand over a wall. “These old houses were built to last. The floors are wood, handsome wide pine. Antique lovers would appreciate them. The walls are plaster. This doesn’t feel like a basement.”

“True.” Carley circled the room. “Look at all the sunlight.”

Wyatt unlocked a window, raised it, shut it. “You’ve got one bathroom down here, right?”