“MRS. TROWBRIDGE IS DEAD.”
Sienna Watson looked up from her desk. “Are you sure?” She bit her lower lip. “What I meant is, how awful. Her family must be devastated.” She drew in a breath. “Are you sure?”
Seth, the thirtysomething managing director of The Helping Store, leaned against the door frame. “I have word directly from her lawyer. She passed two weeks ago and was buried this past Saturday.”
Sienna frowned. “Why didn’t anyone tell us? I would have gone to the funeral.”
“You’re taking your job too seriously. It’s not as if she would have known you were there.”
Sienna supposed that was true. What with Mrs. Trowbridge being dead and all. Still... Anita Trowbridge had been a faithful donor to The Helping Store for years—contributing goods for the thrift shop and money for various causes. Upon her death, the thrift shop was to inherit all her clothes and kitchen items, along with ten thousand dollars.
Unfortunately, nearly six months before, Sienna had received word of Mrs. Trowbridge’s passing. After the lawyer had given his okay, she’d sent a van and two guys to the house to collect their bequest...only to be confronted by Mrs. Trowbridge’s great-granddaughter. Erika Trowbridge had informed the men that her great-grandmother was still alive and they could take their vulture selves away until informed otherwise.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Seth said now as he pushed up his glasses. “The lawyer gave you the key to the house.”
“Something he shouldn’t have done. You know, it wouldn’t have happened if they’d hired a local lawyer. But no. They had to bring one up from Los Angeles.”
Sienna had apologized to Mrs. Trowbridge personally. The old lady—small and frail in her assisted-living bed—had laughed and told Sienna she understood. Great-granddaughter Erika had not. Of course, Erika was still bitter about the fact that Sienna had not only snagged the role of Sandy in their high school production of Grease but also—perhaps more important—won the heart of Jimmy Dawson in twelfth grade.
“She was a nice old lady,” she murmured, thinking she would have liked to have sent flowers. Instead, she would donate that amount to The Helping Store in Mrs. Trowbridge’s name. “I wonder if there’s anything left in her kitchen.”
“You think the granddaughter took things?”
“Great-granddaughter, and I wouldn’t put it past her. If she had her way, Erika would clean the place out. At least we’ll get the cash donation.”
“I’m meeting with the lawyer in the morning.”
Sienna was the donation coordinator for The Helping Store, one of a handful of paid staff. The large and bustling thrift store was manned by volunteers. All the proceeds from the store, along with any cash raised by donations, went to a shelter for women escaping domestic violence. Getting away from the abuser was half the battle. Over the years, The Helping Store had managed to buy several small duplexes on the edge of town. They were plain but clean and, most important to women on the run, far from their abusers.
Her boss nodded toward the front of the building. “Ready to tap-dance?”
Sienna smiled as she rose. “It’s not like that. I enjoy my work.”
“You put on a good show.” He held up a hand. “Believe me. I’m not complaining. You’re the best. My biggest fear is that some giant nonprofit in the big city will make you an offer you can’t refuse and I’ll be left Sienna-less. I can’t think of a sadder fate.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. Oh, sure, every now and then she thought about what it would be like to live in LA or San Francisco, but those feelings passed. This small coastal town was all she knew. Her family was here.
“Isn’t David from somewhere back East?” Seth asked.
She pulled open her desk drawer and collected her handbag, then walked out into the hallway. “St. Louis. His whole family’s there.”
Seth groaned. “Tell me he’s not interested in moving back.”
There were a lot of implications in that sentence. That she and David were involved enough to be having that conversation. That one day they would be married and, should he want to return to his hometown, she would go with him.
She patted her boss’s arm. “Cart, meet horse. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. We’ve only been dating a few months. Things aren’t that serious. He’s a nice guy and all, but...”
“No sparks.” Seth’s tone was sympathetic. “Bummer.”
“We can’t all have your one true great love.”
“You’re right. Gary is amazing. Okay, then, let’s get you to the Anderson House so you can dazzle the good people who make— Who are you talking to?”
“The California Organization of Organic Soap Manufacturing, and they’re at the Los Lobos Hotel. The Anderson House has bees.”
Seth’s expression brightened. “The Drunken Red-nosed Honeybees? I love those guys. Did you know their raw honey has thirty percent more antioxidants than any other raw honey in California?”
“I didn’t and I could have gone all day without that factoid.”
“You’re jealous because I’m smart.”
“No, you’re jealous because I’m pretty and our world is shallow so that counts more.”
Seth laughed. “Fine. Go be pretty with the soap people and bring us back some money.”
“Will do.”
Sienna drove to the hotel. She knew the way. Not only because her hometown was on the small side—but also because nearly every significant event was celebrated there.
The Los Lobos Hotel sat on a low bluff overlooking the Pacific. The main building was midcentury modern meets California Spanish, four stories high with blinding white walls and a red tile roof. The rear wing had been added in the 1980s, and luxury bungalows dotted the grounds.
Given the pleasant Central California weather, most large-scale events were held outside on the massive lawn in front of the pool. A grand pavilion stood on the lawn between the pool and the ocean, and a petite pavilion by the paddleboat pond.
Sienna parked the car and collected her material. As she walked toward the rear entrance of the hotel, she saw that the windows sparkled and the hedges were perfectly trimmed. Joyce did an excellent job managing the hotel, she thought. She was also a generous contributor to The Helping Store. And not just with money. More than once Sienna had called to find out if there was a spare room for a displaced family or a woman on the run. A year ago Joyce had offered a small room kept on reserve for their permanent use.
Helping women in need was something Joyce had been doing forever. Nearly twenty-four years before, when Sienna and her sisters had lost their father, and Maggie, their mother, had been widowed, the family had been thrown into chaos. A lack of life insurance, Maggie’s limited income and three little girls to support had left the young mother struggling. In a matter of months, she’d lost her house.
Joyce had taken them all in to live at the Los Lobos Hotel. Now Sienna smiled at the memory. She’d been only six at the time. Missing her father, of course, but also discovering the joy of reading. The day the Watson family had taken up residence in one of the hotel’s bungalows, Joyce had given Sienna a copy of Eloise. Sienna had immediately seen herself as the charming heroine from the book and had made herself at home in the hotel. While it wasn’t the same as living at The Plaza, it was close enough to help her through her grief.
Sienna remembered how she’d called for room service and told the person answering the phone to “charge it.” Most likely those bills had gone directly to Joyce rather than to Maggie. And when she’d begged her mother for a turtle, because Eloise had one, a guest had stepped in to buy her one.
While there was pain in some of the memories, she had to admit living at the hotel had been fun. At least for her. It was probably a different story for her mother.
She entered through the rear door and started down the hall toward the meeting rooms. At the far end, she saw a familiar figure wrestling with a vacuum. As she watched, Courtney tripped over the cord and nearly plowed face-first into the wall. A combination of love and frustration swelled up inside her. There was a reason the phrase was “pulling a Courtney.” Because if someone was going to stumble, fall, drop, break or slip, it was her baby sister.
“Hey, you,” Sienna called as she got closer.
Courtney turned and smiled.
Sienna did her best not to wince at Courtney’s uniform—not that the khaki pants and polo shirt were so horrible, but on her sister, they just looked wrong. While most people considered being tall an advantage, on Courtney the height was simply awkward. Like now—her pants were too short and, even though she was relatively thin, they bunched around her hips and thighs. The shirt looked two sizes too small and there was a stain on the front. She wasn’t wearing makeup and her long blond hair—about her best feature—was pulled back in a ponytail. She was, to put it honestly, a mess. Something she’d been for as long as Sienna could remember.
Courtney had had some kind of learning disability. Sienna had never been clear on the details, but it had made school difficult for her sister. Despite their mother’s attempts to interest Courtney in some kind of trade school, the youngest of the three seemed happy just being a maid. Baffling.
“You here to talk to Mr. Ford’s group?” Courtney asked as Sienna approached.
“Yes. I’m going to guilt those California Organization of Organic Soap manufacturers into coughing up some serious money.”
“I have no doubt. The A/V equipment is all set up. I tested it earlier.”
“Thanks.” Sienna patted her large tote bag. “I have my material right here.” She glanced toward the meeting room, then back at her sister. “How’s Mom’s engagement party coming? Do you need any help?”
“Everything is fine. The menu’s almost finalized. I’ve taken care of decorations and flowers. It will be lovely.”
Sienna hoped that was true. When Maggie and Neil had announced their engagement, the three sisters had wanted to throw Mom a big party. The hotel was the obvious venue, which was fine, but then Courtney had said she would handle the details. And where Courtney went, disaster was sure to follow.
“If you need anything, let me know,” Sienna told her. “I’m happy to help.” She would also stop and talk to Joyce on the way out. Just to make sure everything was handled.
Emotion flashed through Courtney’s blue eyes, but before Sienna could figure out what she was thinking, her sister smiled. “Sure. No problem. Thanks for the offer.” She stepped back, bumped into the wall, then righted herself. “You should, um, get going to your meeting.”
“You’re right. I’ll see you later.”
Courtney nodded. “Good luck.”
Sienna laughed. “While I appreciate the sentiment, I’m not going to need it.”
She waved and headed for the Stewart Salon. The meeting room was set up with glasses of wine and plenty of hot and cold appetizers. At one end was a large screen, a podium and a microphone. Sienna removed her laptop from her tote and turned it on. While it booted, she plugged it into the room’s A/V system. She started the video and was pleased to see the pictures on the screen and hear the music through the speakers.
“Perfection through planning,” she murmured as she set the video back to the beginning.
Ten minutes later the good members of COOOSM bustled into the salon and collected glasses of wine and appetizers. Sienna circulated through the room, chatting with as many people as she could. She knew the drill—introduce herself, ask lots of friendly questions and generally be both approachable and charming, so that by the time she made her pitch, she was already considered someone they knew and liked.
She made as much effort with the women as the men. While studies were divided on which gender gave more to charity, Sienna had always found that generosity came in unexpected ways, and she wasn’t about to lose an opportunity based on stereotypes. Every dollar she brought in was a dollar the organization could use to help.
Milton Ford, the president of COOOSM, approached her. The little man barely came up to her shoulder. So adorable. She smiled.
“I’m ready whenever you are, Mr. Ford.”
“Thank you, my dear.” He shook his head. “This town does have its share of very tall women. There’s a young lady who works here at the hotel. Ramona, I believe.”
Sienna happened to know that Ramona was about five-two, but she didn’t correct him. No doubt Courtney had done something to confuse Mr. Ford, but this wasn’t the time to set him straight. Not with donations on the line.
“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the podium.
Sienna walked over to the microphone and turned it on, then she smiled at the crowd. “Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you so much for taking time out of your schedule to meet with me today.” She winked at a bearded older man wearing overalls. “Jack, did you ever decide on that second glass of wine? Because I think it will help you make the right decision.”
Everyone laughed. Jack toasted her. She smiled at him, then pushed the play button on her computer. Music flowed from the speakers. Carefully, slowly, she allowed her smile to fade. A picture of a large American flag appeared on the screen.
“Between 2001 and 2012, nearly sixty-five hundred American soldiers were killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. During that same period of time—” the screen shifted to the face of a battered woman clutching two small children “—almost twelve thousand women were murdered by their husbands, boyfriends or a former partner. Even now, three women are murdered every single day by the man who claims to love them.”
She paused to let the information sink in. “Through the money we raise at The Helping Store, we provide a safe haven for women and their families in their time of need. They are referred to us from all over the state. When they arrive here, we offer everything from shelter to legal advice to medical care to relocation services. We take care of their bodies, their hearts, their spirits and their children. One woman in four will experience some kind of domestic violence in her life. We can’t stop that from happening across the globe, but we can keep our corner of the world safe. I hope you’ll join me in making that happen.”
She paused as the voice-over on the video started. She’d planted the seed. The material she’d brought should do the rest.
Two hours later the last of the guests left. Sienna carefully put away the pledge forms. Not only had the group been generous, they also wanted to challenge other chapters of their organization to match their donations.
“How’s the most beautiful girl in the world?”
The voice came from the doorway. Sienna hesitated just a second before turning. “Hi, David.”
“How did it go?” her boyfriend asked as he moved toward her. “Why am I asking? You impressed them. I know it.”
He pulled her close and kissed her. Sienna allowed his lips to linger for a second before stepping back.
“I’m working,” she said with a laugh.
“No one’s here.” He moved his hands to her butt and pulled her close again. “We could lock the door.”
If the words weren’t clear enough, the erection he rubbed against her belly got the message through. How romantic—going at it on a serving table while surrounded by dirty plates and half-full glasses of wine.
Sienna chided herself for not accepting the gesture in the spirit in which David meant it. Successful and smart. He loved his family, puppies, and as far as she could tell, he was an all-around nice guy.
“Remember you telling me about the time you took a girl home to meet your parents and realized you couldn’t do it in their house?” she asked, her voice teasing.
He chuckled. “I do. Humiliating.”
“Joyce, the owner of the hotel, is a little bit like my grandmother.”
“Ouch.” He drew back. “Grandma is even worse than Mom.” He nibbled on her neck. “Rain check.”
“Absolutely. Thanks.”
He released her and pushed up his glasses. “You heading back to the office?”
She’d kind of wanted to head home after her presentation. She could deliver the pledge forms to her boss in the morning. But if she said that, David would want to make plans. Wow. She would rather go back to work than spend the evening with her boyfriend? What was up with that?
She looked at him. He was about her height, with dark brown hair and dark eyes. A nice build. He wasn’t handsome, but she’d never cared much about that. Once a guy crossed the “not a troll” threshold, she was fine.
David Van Horn should have been the man of her dreams. Lord knew she’d been looking. He was the thirty-five-year-old senior vice president at the recently transplanted aerospace design firm in town. She was pushing thirty and had no idea why she hadn’t been able to find “the one.” Maybe there was something wrong with her.
Not a conversation she wanted to have with herself right now, she thought. Or ever.
“I don’t have to go back to work,” she told him.
“Great. Let’s have dinner here.”
“I’d love that.”
A statement stretching the truth more than a little, but who was going to know?