Return to Pelican Inn (Love by Design) (6 page)

The door banged closed behind him.

Why should she care about Pike Matthews at all?

CHAPTER SEVEN

“L
AND
.” C
Y
POINTED
to a rich mahogany fabric swatch later that afternoon. “It’s got to be a land motif.”

“Sea,” Rosa insisted as she fanned the paint colors on the floor, a palette of glorious blue shades. “We’re decorating an oceanside inn called the Pelican. How can we not use the nautical theme?”

“Because Herzberg was a carpenter, not a sea captain.”

She groaned. “I know, I know. But...”

Cy held up a finger. “Ten decorating teams, Rosa. Six of the inns are seaside. Don’t you think they’re going to go nautical?”

Baggy slogged up and sat on top of Rosa’s paint samples, his worm of a tail whipping back and forth in hopeful arcs. She sighed and gave him a scratch on the ribs, which set him quivering with joy.

Cy laughed. “I think Baggy likes you.”

Why, she could not imagine. She was on the bottom of everyone’s list, it seemed, from Pike to Manny. “All right. Good point. I’ll refocus, since Bitsy said she’s fine with anything that doesn’t involve Captain’s Nest. I need to go into town and get more paint samples. Golds, rusts, some complementary colors.” Mind whirling, she removed the colored cards from underneath Baggy’s tush.

“And stain,” he added. “Something light but rich. And fabric to make the slipcovers for the upstairs ottoman. No, not fabric. A rug. Let’s upholster it with a rug—jewel toned stripes—to add color. Something thick and well made, that a carpenter would appreciate.”

“Stain, rug—got it.”

“And two-by-fours.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“The alcove at the bottom of the stairs. It’s screaming for set-in shelves.”

She saw it instantly. “We can display some faux antique maps, feature the one showing the Panama Route that the Herzbergs followed to come to the gold fields.”

“Grouped by color, with some up-lighting to really set it off.”

Rosa sighed again, dizzied at the thought of it. “We can get frames cheap and paint them to look antique, in bronze and gold. You’re right. Cy, you’re absolutely right.” If only they could get Bitsy to open up Captain’s Nest, they could continue the color scheme right to the pinnacle of the Pelican. She made a promise to herself to bring it up again with Bitsy, along with delicate inquiries about her health and Pike’s insistence that there was no option but to sell the Pelican. The conversation would have to wait, though, since Bitsy had gone to town hours earlier and hadn’t returned.

Heavy footfalls sent Baggy scampering under the love seat. Manny was dressed in old clothes that would have been a perfect fit for a man six inches taller. He carried a toolbox that might have been left behind from Mr. Herzberg’s day. “Rocky fixed me up. I’m ready to start demolition on the window seat.”

Rosa felt her nerves icing over as Manny shouldered a sledgehammer.

“No demolition, Dad. Just replacing a damaged board. We decorate, we don’t demolish.”

“Right,” he said, peering through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. “Which board goes? May have to tear out a couple to get to the offender.”

Something like a scream was bubbling up inside Rosa when Cy took her elbow and forced her purse into her hand. “Go get what you need. We’ll work on the window seat. Then I’ll clear out the sitting room so we can paint as soon as you narrow down a color.”

She cast a wary eye on her father. Pick’s disease. The diagnosis seemed impossible to believe as she took in the cheerful man before her. She might have convinced herself it was a dream, if she could not still remember Manny’s drooping shoulders, the shadows that circled in Pike’s eyes when he read about the disease. “Has anyone seen Pike?”

“Not since he left. Why?” Cy asked.

“I figured he’d be watching our every move, making sure we don’t damage this place he’s so eager to sell.”

“Good riddance,” Manny said. “We don’t need his kind around here.”

What kind?
she wondered. Lawyer? Meddling nephew? Distracting man with a dimpled chin and annoyingly fit body?
Snap out of it, Rosa.
Through sheer force of will, she did not turn around on her way out to physically remove the sledgehammer from her father’s eager fist. Just before she closed the front door, Baggy shot through the gap and fell into step next to her.

“Are you afraid of that sledgehammer, too?”

With what probably required stringent concentration, the dog fixed his steady eye on her and gave her one precise yip. She scooped him up and installed him in the passenger seat of the Nissan.

In spite of Cy’s dubious automotive skills, the replaced tire held as they rode into town. Sunshine had succeeded in vanquishing the fog, and the narrow Main Street was abloom with geraniums and puffy-topped hydrangeas. Rosa enjoyed flowers from a distance. Too often, they were abuzz with bees, her mortal enemies since childhood, when she was attacked by a swarm. The storefronts were authentically old, not modern construction plastered with an antique facade, and she rolled down the window to catch the scent of the sea and the aroma of blueberry scones that billowed from the Brew Unto Others coffee shop.

It was no longer the corpulent LouAnn who ran the shop, Rosa was sorry to see. The proprietor was now one Nester Lodge, if the sign on the door was up-to-date. Rosa followed her nose into the shop. Nester was a slender man a few decades past his prime as a flower child. His curly hair stuck out in unruly puffs. He greeted her, filling her order for four blueberry scones and the biggest coffee the establishment could offer.

She pinched off a corner of the fragrant scone. Buttery and tender. “Just like LouAnn used to make,” she said.

“Yeah, she gave me the recipe before she left. She taught me it’s all in the gentle way you handle the dough. Rough hands make tough dough, you know?”

He laughed, throwing his head back so that his mustache trembled.

Rosa had not remembered the gentleness of LouAnn’s hands, but she could recall the booming voice and the café’s old striped wallpaper that peeled at the edges. “You’ve redecorated. I like the paint.” A soft blue-gray that modernized the space. Still, a tiny part of her missed the raggedy wallpaper. Strange. She drank some coffee, unwilling to let go of the memory of the place where she and her mother would go sometimes on the good days.

LouAnn had not treated the town drunk with disapproval or pity. She’d just given Katy the beaming smile that embraced all of her clients. “You’re too skinny, God bless your soul,” she would proclaim. “Come. Eat.”

Rosa’s gaze wandered to the narrow hallway that led to the back, where two tiny tables and chairs were crammed. An ocean print now adorned the wall where an old, hand-drawn map of the California coast had once resided. “The map’s gone.”

Nester blinked. “You remember that? Man, I totally dug that old thing, and I’d come here to stare at it every weekend when I moved to town. LouAnn actually said I could have it, so it could stay with the building. Was that sweet, or what?”

Rosa nodded politely, sipping the hot brew.

“Too bad the thing got pinched.”

“Pinched as in stolen?”

“Yeah. ’Bout ten years ago, just ’fore I took ownership here.” He wiped the counter in thoughtful circles. “Wonder if it was worth anything.”

One stolen antique map. A portrait from the bank. Manny couldn’t pin those on Pike’s father. She noted the enormous bag of newspaper strips and the neat roll of chicken wire occupying a corner of the bakery. The mess called out to be removed from the tidy café, but she refrained from saying so.

Nester followed her gaze. “For the festival. Gonna decorate my boat with a papier-mâché doughnut. Scones aren’t splashy enough. My girlfriend’s knitting the sprinkles. You should see what Sharma can accomplish with a ball of yarn.”

Rosa chewed her own scone while she processed the info. It seemed there was to be a festival that required papier-mâché doughnuts and Sharma’s yarn finesse. That was about right for Tumbledown, the quirky town that fell outside the normal space–time continuum. “That sounds...great. When’s the festival?”

“When?” Nester gaped at her. “This weekend, of course. It’s the biggest event of the year. Where have you been?”

“In another world, I think,” Rosa said, swigging her coffee, allowing the caffeine to revive her senses. She thanked Nester and walked outside to drop the scones in the car next to a salivating Baggy. His narrow pink tongue unrolled and swiped across his lips.

“No way, Bags, those aren’t for you. You’re coming with me. Maybe people will think you’re a seeing-eye mole or something.” With Baggy tucked under her arm, she headed into Hardware Heaven, a store where the shelves were crowded with everything from plumbing supplies to tie-dyed throw rugs. A half hour later, Rosa exited with a plethora of miniature paint cans, sample squares of stained wood and an order to have two-by-fours delivered to the Pelican Inn later that afternoon.

A stop at the Second Wave thrift store netted her some horrendous frames that would be perfect once she coated them in metallic paint. And the icing on the cake? A thick woven rug in natural colors, with hints of reds and golds. She shivered as she ran her hand over the nubby surface. How fitting, to reupholster an ottoman with something that was meant for the feet anyway—though Rosa could hardly bear the thought of someone putting their feet up on the rug. Flush with satisfaction at her accomplishments, she returned to the car, juggling keys, bags and a squirming dog. She set Baggy on the sidewalk and loaded everything in.

“Okay, Baggy. Homeward. We need to go make sure Dad hasn’t leveled the place.”

Baggy turned in a loosely defined circle and trotted away from Rosa, down the sidewalk.

“Baggy,” she called after him. “Come here.”

Baggy, it seemed, had another mission in mind. He continued on his own rambling way, ignoring her commands as he scooted past Tad’s Bait and Tackle and down the rough-cut stone steps that led to the shore.

“We have no time for beachcombing, Bags!”

The dog continued, clacking down the steps. For a fleeting moment she considered letting him go on his adventure and leaving the critter on the beach. The thought passed quickly. Cy would never forgive her, and for some reason, the odd collection of canine parts was growing on her. Baggy, in a way she did not understand, had become family. Putting on some speed, she headed off in hot pursuit until her feet ground against the rocky shore of Gold Strike Beach.

Wind whipped her hair from its elastic and sent it flying. Shrouded by black cliffs on one side, the beach formed a rocky crescent. Unlike Southern California, it was not the kind of beach with golden sand or gentle waves. No place for idle paddling here. The Pacific was a harsh mistress, and the beach sand was coarse and abrasive. Warm water and baby-soft sand belonged in Southern California, and that was just fine with Rosa. Something about the rawness of it, the barely contained power, thrilled her as it had done since her family first landed in Tumbledown.

The ocean called to her again. Waves rolled in foaming splendor through the cove before crawling up onto the beach. An older couple stood scribbling in notebooks and gazing out across the sand. A man with a hat crammed over his bush of white hair ambled along, metal detector hovering over the rocks. She caught sight of Baggy, making his awkward approach toward another couple whom she hadn’t noticed at first, their heads bowed close together.

Pike stood elbow to elbow with Eva Lassiter, who, from a distance, had only improved in the years since her term of service as president of the Cupcakes for a Cause Club.

Rosa froze.
Get away,
her body advised. The very last thing in the entire world she needed was to bust in on Pike during a tête-à-tête with Cupcake Girl. She tried a low whistle.

“Baggy, come here,” she called as loudly as she dared.

Baggy stopped and trotted back to her.

“Good dog,” she said, as Baggy came within grabbing distance. “For once you actually obeyed. Maybe you really are a dog instead of a mole.”

The traitorous mole sat down on the sand, wagged his tail and began to bark.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
HOUGH
R
OSA
’
S
BODY
continued to insist that flight was the best course of action, her lips formed a brilliant smile as Pike and Eva turned in unison in her direction. Baggy ambled over to give them a sniff, which caused Eva to recoil.

“Oh,” she said, hand over her heart. “Scared me for a minute, there.” She extended a manicured hand. “Hello, I’m Eva Lassiter.”

Rosa put her dry, callused mitt in Eva’s soft palm. The skin was silken. The woman had probably never held a paintbrush in her life. Rosa was prepared to despise her.

Pike covered a look of surprise and introduced them. “Eva’s an architect and her family owns a firm in town. Eva, this is Rosa Franco.” He hesitated. “We all went to high school together.”

“Franco?” Eva’s mouth puckered and so did Rosa’s stomach. Here was the moment when the past crashed into the present. Eva was one of the popular girls, the golden teens with charm, brains and beauty who came from normal homes with successful parents. So be it. Rosa would not cower while Eva traversed memory lane toward the wreck that was the Franco family. She lifted her chin and let the wind whip the courage back into her.

“Yes, Eva. It’s good to see you again.”

Eva’s brows lifted. “Oh, now I remember. You have a twin brother, don’t you? Cy? He once bought three dozen peppermint crunch cupcakes and ate them until he got sick.” She giggled. “That was pretty brave, considering I’m a terrible baker.”

Rosa was stunned. She’d expected snooty and standoffish and she’d gotten sweet and genuine. It could be a trick, of course. “I think he was sort of smitten by you.”

Eva laughed. “Is he still adorable?”

“Well, I think so. We run a business together, Dollars and Sense Design. We’re redecorating the Pelican Inn.”

Eva’s brow furrowed. “You are?” She aimed a puzzled look at Pike.

“Not to be rude,” Pike said, breaking in. “But Eva has a vet appointment for Dragon. It’s almost four, Eva.”

Eva started. “Oh, man. I lost track of time. I’ll see you soon. I know Daddy wants to talk to you about Uncle Sterling’s law firm soon.”

Pike flashed her a luminous smile. “Absolutely. Anytime.”

“Hey,” Eva said. “I think you went to school with my cousin Foster. He’s working for my Uncle Sterling now.”

Rosa’s head swam. What had Foster told everyone? “Ah, yes. I, um, decided on another career. Lawyering wasn’t for me.”

Pike’s eyes flashed to hers.

“Maybe you and Foster can catch up sometime.” She kissed Pike’s cheek. Something odd and hot sparked in Rosa’s gut as Eva’s golden hair brushed against Pike’s skin and his palm lingered on her shoulder.

“It was nice seeing you, Rosa. I’d love to hear more about your decorating business, but I’ve got to dash.” Eva whistled and a dog appeared, tall and well furred, blue-black tongue lolling.

“Whoa,” Rosa said. “What type of dog is that?”

“He’s a chow chow.” Eva smiled. “He looks ferocious, but he’s really a teddy bear.”

At the sight of Baggy, the teddy bear stiffened, ears and hind legs rigid. Rosa thought she detected a certain narrowing of the canine eyes.

“Er, is Dragon friendly with other...?” Rosa didn’t get to finish her sentence. Dragon broke into a sprint and dove for Baggy who did his own imitation of a fast run, circling and zigzagging around their legs to avoid the chow chow’s snapping teeth.

Eva screamed. “Stop, Dragon! Down.”

Dragon continued to lunge at Baggy, who showed excellent agility as he avoided becoming an afternoon snack. Rosa tried to snatch Baggy up, but the dog was panic-stricken. Pike finally succeeded in grabbing Dragon’s collar. The muscular dog lunged and pulled against the restraint, but Pike held fast as sprays of sand filled the air.

Rosa caught up to the exhausted Baggy, who lay trembling in her arms, emitting the pitiful whines of a creature that realizes it has been close to being consumed. “It’s okay, Bags.” She pressed her cheek to his lopsided head. “I’ve got you.”

Eva clipped on a leash and pulled Dragon close to her side. “I am so incredibly sorry. He’s never done anything like that before. I don’t think he recognized your dog as being...well...a dog,” she finished lamely.

Rosa drew herself up. “Baggy is a very rare breed.”

Eva’s eyes rounded. “Really, Rosa, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”

Rosa’s anger and fear subsided a notch. “No harm done. He’s fine.”

Baggy continued to tremble, and she cradled him.

Eva gave one more apologetic wave and pulled the slavering Dragon away.

Rosa considered Pike, who was staring after the departing Eva.

“Is that thing really a rare breed?” he said to Rosa.

“The rarest. And don’t call him a thing.”

“That was close,” he said, wiping his brow. “What are you doing here?”

“We were shopping, and Baggy wandered off. For some reason, he headed down here to the beach.” She flicked him a look. “She’s nice. Eva, I mean, aside from her poor taste in pets.”

He didn’t answer, just gazed at her in that intense way that made her insides wiggle. The wind toyed with the neat collar of his button-down shirt, revealing the perfect arc of his collar bone. Was he out for a romantic walk on the beach with Eva Lassiter? He was a young, unattached male. Why shouldn’t he have an eye for the lovely Eva? And why should Rosa even worry her brain cells about it? Eva had always been every man’s perfect girl, and Rosa realized she didn’t feel the adolescent prick of envy, but a sense of sadness when she thought about Pike and Eva.

But something else in the conversation nagged at her. “Are you interested in doing business with her Uncle Sterling?”

He sighed. “I’m interested, all right, in working for him. Most prestigious outfit in California, and I’d give my right arm to get in with them. Played my share of golf with Foster. He mentioned you. Said you dated for a while.”

Her face went hot. “Yes, dated for a short while, but not short enough.”

His lip quirked. “Care to elaborate?”

“No,” she snapped. “Are you busy wooing Eva, when you’re not golfing with Foster?”

He jerked. “Wooing? No, we’re just friends. And don’t look at me in that holier-than-thou way. You’re every bit as ambitious as I am.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Why didn’t you want her to know about our decorating project?”

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. She hadn’t noticed the shadows under his eyes or the slight stubble on his chin. “Rosa, I told you. The inn is going to be sold. I have a possible buyer in the works. Stop getting yourself all worked up over this ridiculous contest.”

His tone stung her. “It’s not ridiculous to me,” she snapped. “Decorating is what I do. It may not be as prestigious as being a lawyer, but it’s not ridiculous.”

“That isn’t what I meant. I wish you would listen.”

“Maybe you’re the one who should listen. Bitsy doesn’t want to sell. That’s why she entered us in the contest.”

“I know she doesn’t want to, but it’s going to happen anyway. I’m just waiting for word from the Realtor that the buyer is committed.”

“Why are you so convinced selling is the only option?” Rosa demanded. “If it’s too much for her to run the inn on her own, she can hire help.”

“That’s not going to cut it.”

His alluring brown eyes lost their appeal. “Aunt Bitsy does not want to be put out to pasture, and I’m not going to let you force her,” Rosa said.

He glowered. “Force her? How exactly would I do that?”

“You’ll make a hefty sum as her lawyer, won’t you, when the Pelican is sold?”

He flinched, and something like hurt glimmered on his face. Had she misjudged?

“So let me get this straight,” he hissed. “You think I’m forcing my aunt to sell so I can profit?”

Rosa wrapped her arms around herself. “You’re determined to bulldoze her toward a sale. I have to wonder why. And yes, I do have a low opinion of lawyers in general.”

He laughed, the harsh sound snatched away by the wind. “Your father loved making groundless accusations, too. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

She did not know how to respond to the bitter, disappointed tone that underscored his words. Had she miscalculated? Or was Pike a better actor than he’d been in their high school production of
Our Town?

He marched away over the gravel, his heels grinding into the unforgiving ground.

* * *

A
FTER
ESCAPING
FROM
Dragon, Baggy apparently felt the possible danger from a sledgehammer was a mere trifle. He scooted under the settee when Rosa set him down, shivering and drooling, at the Pelican.

Cy and Manny looked up from their work on the window seat. “What’s wrong with Baggy?” Cy asked.

“Almost got eaten by a dragon. Eva Lassiter’s dog.”

Cy broke into a wide smile. “Eva Lassiter? Boy, I had it bad for her.”

“She remembers you fondly. You should call her up.”

His mouth tightened and he looked away. “No time for that right now.”

She knew. Cy’s heart belonged to a girl named Piper who not only broke his heart, but committed grand theft auto in the process, a scenario that could only happen to Cy Franco. Still, he could not cleave Piper from his soul. Poor Cy. She came closer to examine the window seat.

Manny peered through his safety glasses, crowbar in hand. “Wood’s rotted on the interior. Going to need to remove the top boards. Don’t worry. We’re being real careful.”

There were signs that he was telling the truth. Plastic sheeting covered the old wood floor and the trim boards had been removed and neatly piled. She chewed her lip. Though the work was progressing without major damage, they simply did not have hours to devote to Cy’s window seat project, not with time ticking away and Pike threatening to sell at any moment. She remembered the hurt in his eyes when she’d accused him of pressuring Bitsy to sell for his own gain. She knew she’d been wrong.

Pike loved Bitsy, that much was sincere. Maybe she could shift Pike from his current “evil villain” status into “misguided yet still horrible.” It was easier when he was a flat-out villain. Now the uncomfortable feeling that she might have made a misjudgment stuck in her gut, followed by the cold trickle that had gone through her when Eva had kissed him and called him
honey.
The stress was getting to her. She shook the insane feelings away. To work. “I’ll start prepping the sitting room for painting.”

Rosa left Cy and her father and popped her head into the kitchen, searching for Bitsy. Instead, she found Rocky filling a basket with supplies from the fridge. He gave her a chin bob and continued loading up, putting an apple into each side pocket of his faded blue overalls.

“Going on a picnic?” she asked.

He smiled and shook his head. “Lunch.” He picked up the basket and left, graying ponytail swishing behind him.

Lunch? Did Bitsy know Rocky’s lunch break required him to remove two slices of pie, a pair of apples, two cans of soda and the leftover roast chicken from the fridge? There was no sign of the woman to whom she could put the question, though, so she went out to the car to fetch most of the supplies.

Cy was suitably awed by the glorious rug, which she put in an out-of-the-way corner. She’d almost forgotten the bag of scones. Before she set to work on the painting, she broke a piece off and put it on a napkin, sliding it toward the dog.

“You deserve a treat, Baggy,” she whispered, straightening to find Cy smiling at her.

“I knew you’d grow to love him.”

“I don’t love him, exactly. He’s been through a trauma, and it’s hard enough having people always mistake you for a giant mole.”

Manny blinked, a layer of dust blanketing his face. “Takes someone special to see the beauty inside the beast.” He sighed. “Your mother could always do that. Loved me, ugly parts and all.”

It struck her like a blow, emotion so strong she couldn’t breathe. To glimpse her mother and father through a different lens that revealed them to be two people she did not fully know. Katy, the love of Manny’s life. Katy, her mother.

How she missed her with every breath and every beat of her heart. Drunk, weak, unstable, an absolute disaster of a parent. Yet there was a hole in Rosa’s heart the exact size of Katy Elizabeth Franco. Did her father have a hole like that in his own heart? The longing in his eyes felt like a blade in her chest. Throat thick, she blinked furiously and turned away. “I’d better get busy.”

Though Rosa began meticulously spreading tarps to protect the floor and furniture, she found her fingers were not as steady as she desired. She managed to dribble primer on the back of her hand. And passing the small mirror on her way to retrieve more primer, she was aghast to find white paint streaked across her cheek. “Oh, man.”

“Rosa?” Cy called. “Come here a minute, can you?”

She arrived at the window seat in time to see both Cy and Manny leaning down, in postures of acute concentration.

Cy held a finger to his lips. “Do you hear that?” he whispered.

She listened. A soft scrabbling noise emanated from the window seat. “Oh, no. That’s not a rat, is it? How could a rat get in there?”

“From underneath in the crawl space,” Cy suggested. “Could have found a way up from there.”

Manny climbed up on the nearest chair. “We’ll have to call someone. An exterminator or zookeeper or something,” he announced from her perch. “I hate rats.”

“Now let’s not panic,” Cy said, “until we know what we’re dealing with.” He applied a crowbar gently to the rotted wood.

Manny tensed. “No, Cy. It could get out.”

The front door opened and Bitsy came in, glowing in a sapphire sweater set Rosa had not seen before. She ushered in a wiry man with a notebook and camera. She glanced at Manny on the chair. “Uh, Mr. Finley, this is Rosa and Cy, the owners of Dollars and Sense Design, and their assistant, Manny.” She smiled wanly. “Everyone, this is Mr. Finley, a local reporter who’s doing an article for the
Pacific Trail
newspaper about the contest.”

Inwardly, Rosa groaned, eyeing her father standing on a chair, hammer held like a sword in front of him. Smiling wide, she went for charming. “Well, hello, Mr. Finley. We’re just working through a construction snafu.”