LILY’S LIFE LESSON #2
When the words how hard can it be cross your mind, it’s time for happy hour so the alcohol can restore your judgment.
Louis Vuitton luggage didn’t exactly reinforce Lily’s plan to stay incognito, especially since she was the sole passenger on a ferryboat the size of a canoe.
Her suitcases thumped down the narrow ramp toward the open-air terminal where her ride to the Remington Resort should be waiting. A sign over the entryway said WELCOME TO ANGEL FIRE FALLS.
Exactly the kind of place she needed to hide in plain sight from the media.
When she stepped inside, she stopped cold. Terminal was a generous description. There were a few benches covered by a roof with no walls except around the one-window ticket booth where a clerk shuffled a deck of cards.
No one was there to welcome her. No one held a sign with her name on it. Best of all, no reporters crowded her—asking questions about her father—and no haters yelled insults, which usually included phrases like rot in hell. That kind of greeting she could live without, but no greeting at all on a vacation island she’d never been to might be a slight problem.
She pulled her phone out of her purse and double-checked her messages. Several more calls from her mother, which was why Lily had silenced the ringer, but no reply from her new employer. The text she’d sent Mr. Remington about her new arrival time had gone unanswered, and that didn’t make her feel warm and fuzzy.
Lily glanced around the deserted terminal. Her new boss wasn’t kidding when he said she’d have plenty of time to get the resort in shape before the summer tourist season started, because there wasn’t a single tourist in sight.
Her gaze slid along the rocky island shoreline to the south, the cliffs rising above the channel she’d just crossed. Just north of the terminal was a country road leading inland, and to the left of that, the shoreline was a gorgeous sandy beach with boulders dotting the water.
She drew in a breath and let the cool misty air fill her lungs, then rolled her conspicuous luggage over to the small ticket booth.
She should’ve ditched the French designer bags along with the Choos when she’d changed in the airport bathroom before leaving the mainland. She’d had no choice, though, but to use the expensive status symbol for traveling since her mother had brought her to the airport. Less than haute couture anything would’ve put her mother on alert, and the prying questions would’ve started to flow. Smelling less-than-the-best merchandise like a bloodhound on the trail of a hunted animal was her mother’s superpower.
Never mind that her mother would soon have to start donating blood just to pay her bills.
A wave of guilt rippled through Lily.
Leaving her mother behind hadn’t been easy, but Lily couldn’t take the drinking or the denial anymore. At least she’d cleaned out her modest savings and left the cash in a safe hiding place, so her mother would have something once she finally hit rock bottom.
Lily should feel ashamed that she wouldn’t be around to see it. Instead she felt relieved.
Just because her mother chose to cling to the past didn’t mean Lily had to. She desperately needed to get on with her life. Which was why she was stranded at a ferry crossing in the middle of nowhere, staring at a woman behind the ticket counter whose back-combed hairdo could house a flock of geese.
The ticket clerk’s name tag said Mabel McGill. Her coral lipstick that bled into the wrinkles around her mouth said she’d spent a lifetime working hard for the money. Her sparkling blue eyes said despite her lack of skills with coiffeur and cosmetics, she was as friendly as the cawing seagulls that hovered around the terminal looking for scraps of food.
Mabel lifted a calloused hand to slide open the scratched acrylic window. “Can I help you, hon?”
Lily wasn’t sure where to begin. Because that was exactly what this was—a new beginning. In every way. “I just arrived from Cape Celeste.”
They were on a small island with not even a causeway connecting them to the coast. Where else would she have come from? Lily fought off a self-deprecating eye roll.
Mabel leaned forward just enough to note Lily’s designer luggage over the counter. Her eyes gleamed with amusement when they skimmed across the purse slung over Lily’s shoulder. It was made from supple alligator and was also straight from the Parisian fashion scene. Thank you, Mom.
“Tourist?” Mable asked.
“Not exactly.” Lily stepped in front of her luggage and let her purse slide to the ground, out of sight. This was her chance to start over. Damned if she’d let the French take her down now. She might be from New Orleans with Cajun French running through her veins, but she was a scrappy red-blooded American girl, and Louis Vuitton could take a hike.
She bit her lip. She was keeping the purse, though, because the purse-whore in her had to draw the line somewhere. “I’m the new hospitality manager at the Remington Resort. I guess I missed my ride because I had to take a later flight.” She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe I should call an Uber.”
Mabel’s penciled brow disappeared into her hairline. “This is Angel Fire Falls. We don’t Uber.” She said it like it was a dirty word.
A gust of misty spring air blew Lily’s long brown hair across her face, and she hooked a finger around it to push it out of the way. She rubbed the arms of her white cotton button-up shirt. “Is there a cab company on the island?”
Mabel snorted. “We have a shuttle.” She pointed to the exit behind Lily.
“Great.” Lily flashed a relieved smile. She was beginning to think she’d have to walk to the Remington.
“It only runs twice a day during the off-season, and it just left ten minutes ago.” Mabel shrugged. “Won’t be back for several hours, but you’re welcome to wait here. There’s hot coffee, if you’d like a cup.”
Lily looked down at her new hiking boots and turned one on its side. “How far is the Remington?”
Mabel pointed to the road that meandered over a bluff and disappeared behind a lush green landscape. “Up the road a piece. The road forks a few miles in. Left takes you into town. Stay right and you’ll run smack into the resort. I can try to call and see if one of those handsome Remington men will come get you.” Her eyes gleamed, and she licked her painted lips.
Lily had already been left stranded once today. This new job wasn’t off to the greatest start, but it was all she had at the moment. No way would she sit around waiting. Depending on someone else. Lily Barns could take care of herself.
Her gaze wandered to a sign pasted to the right side of the window that said BIKE, TRIKE, & SCOOTER RENTALS. She glanced over her shoulder at the beach, the waves crashing against the white sand. A long row of rentable bikes was lined up and chained to a bike rack, each with a tall yellow-and-blue flag attached to its back. The flags waved in the wind. Her stare snagged on the giant tricycles at the end of the row. There was a basket between the back wheels.
How hard could it be? Just like riding a bike, only with an extra wheel for balance.
Lily pulled out a wallet that matched her purse. “How much to rent one of your adult tricycles?” Not words she’d ever expected to say. Her new life was shaping up to be an adventure already.
“Hon, if you’re brave enough to ride that thing all the way to the Remington with your suitcases strapped to the back, you can use it for free.” Mabel reached under the counter and produced a bungee cord and a key. “This unlocks the trike on the end.” She pushed the key across the counter. “I’ll throw in the bungee cord for the luggage just because you’re my kind of gal.” Mabel winked. “Return both at your earliest convenience.”
Lily stared at the key and bungee, then swung her gaze back to the road. Her earliest convenience? None of this was convenient. But she’d come this far, and she wasn’t about to give up easily.
Her hand closed around the key and bungee. “Thanks, Mabel. I owe you one.”
Mabel shrugged again. “You may not think so after cycling all the way to the Remington.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, and Lily leaned to the side to peek around the booth toward the ferry ramp. An angry black cloud hung over the mainland and crept toward the island. “A storm’s rolling in, so you better hurry.”
It was late afternoon by the time Trace banked left by dipping the wing of his floatplane to the port side so he could circle behind the resort and land into the wind.
He’d flown to the Cape a few hours earlier with two assignments: show his annoying brothers he still had some skill with women and deliver the new employee—a Ms. Barns—to the resort.
The first was won and done thanks to the pretty tourist getting worked over by an airport masseuse. Sure, she hadn’t given out her number willingly, so he’d had to resort to asking to use her phone so he could call himself from it. Still, he did get her number. Thing One and Thing Two could suck it.
Because the Remington brothers were so damn mature.
Unfortunately, Ms. Barns was a no-show, a fact Trace was about to discuss with his dad because that was a red flag.
He set the plane down in the inlet behind the Remington, the water a little choppy because of the storm brewing on the mainland. The plane skipped across the water before settling to a glide. He maneuvered it toward the dock, slid out of the cockpit onto one of the floaters, and then hopped onto the wooden dock.
He moored the plane, checked the cockpit one last time, and grabbed his jacket before starting up the trail that led to the family’s back entrance to the resort. It was still early spring, and the storm had caused the temperature to drop, so Trace pulled on his jacket.
As he walked up the path, he found himself whistling the catchy tune that had been Sexy Airport Girl’s ringtone. It must’ve been the best massage of her life by the way she’d moaned. That moan had stirred something inside Trace that had no business stirring because he wasn’t in the market for a relationship. Not even a temporary hookup with a babe who lived somewhere else.
She obviously wasn’t from Angel Fire Falls or Cape Celeste because her trendy clothes screamed tourist. But that body . . . even lying facedown couldn’t hide the fact that she was a knockout.
It had been a long time since a woman caused a chain reaction that started with a double take the moment he laid eyes on her, then tightened his chest into a knot, and ended somewhere south of the border—a sensation that would likely keep him awake most of the night.
The trail veered left around a grouping of giant pampas grass, then opened onto a playground for their family vacationers. Since it was still preseason and school wasn’t out for summer yet, the few guests staying at the Remington were older and kid-free. Only Ben and his cousin Charley’s six-year-old daughter, Sophie, were making use of the large jungle gym.
“Dad!” Ben leaped over the side of the slide instead of sliding to the bottom. He barreled toward Trace. “Dad!”
“Hey, buddy.” Trace hugged his son as the boy threw his arms around Trace’s waist. “How was school?”
Ben let go and toed the ground. “I got in trouble for telling Miss Etheridge her new haircut was ugly.”
Oh no. Trace could feel another parent-teacher conference coming on. They’d already had so many with Miss Etheridge, who insisted Ben would be a better fit in special ed. Yes, Ben had special needs, but he could do the work. He just got frustrated easily when he didn’t understand something. Miss Etheridge was twenty-five and straight out of graduate school. Trace wasn’t going to let Ben miss out on the education he deserved because his teacher didn’t have experience dealing with Asperger’s.
“Ben, we’ve talked about this.” Trace tried to be gentle. Harsh words only heightened Ben’s responses and caused more outbursts. Something his ex could never seem to grasp.
“But it’s true,” Ben insisted. “Her hair used to be long and pretty, and now it’s short and blue at the bottom.” He held out both palms as if he were incensed. “All the way around.”
Trace chuckled. “Instead of focusing on what you don’t like about her hair, try to find something kind to say about it. Like maybe it’s a nice shade of blue. You like blue, right?”
Ben nodded, still not convinced this was good advice.
“Say that, and don’t mention the negative stuff that might hurt her feelings, even if it’s true.”
Little Sophie slowed her swing and hopped off, skipping over to them wearing a tiara and a princess costume with a skirt made of hot-pink netting.
“Hello, Princess Sophie,” Trace said, all serious and refined. He even threw in a bow.
She scrunched up her shoulders and batted big round eyes at him without saying a word.
“Miss Etheridge says I have to pick the topic for my science project soon or I’ll get behind schedule.” Ben toed the ground some more. “I want to build a remote-controlled plane like yours. One that really flies.”
“I think we need to pick something easier.” Ben might have a meltdown over such a difficult project if it didn’t turn out the way he expected.
Ben started to rub his hands against his thighs in a distressed rhythm. “We always pick easy projects.” His voice rose. “And the other kids make fun of me like I’m a baby.”
Trace sighed and ruffled his son’s hair. “That’s because the other parents do the projects for their kids. I want you to do the project yourself. We’ll give it some thought this week, okay?”
Ben grabbed Trace’s right arm. “Can I wear your watch?” The rubbing stopped, and his voice returned to a normal volume.
Trace unstrapped his Garmin D2 Pilot watch and put it on his son’s wrist.
“And your sunglasses?” The excitement in Ben’s voice rose. “Then I can pretend to be a pilot.”
Trace pulled his aviators from his inside pocket and slid them onto Ben’s nose.
Sophie grabbed Ben’s hand and tugged him back to the playground, skipping all the way.
Ben glanced over his shoulder at Trace with a look that said Help!
Trace shrugged. “Get used to it, buddy. The pilot thing gets ’em every time.” He studied the churning sky for a moment. “It’s going to rain soon,” he called out to the kids. “Come inside as soon as it starts.”
He made his way through the back entrance, stomped his feet on the mat, and walked into the resort’s kitchen. His cousin, Charley, was hard at work on a fresh batch of her famous gourmet doughnuts. She had retreated to the island to lick her wounds after the sudden breakup of her marriage had been publicized in every foodie magazine and gossip column up and down the coast. Coming from the branch of the family who’d made their mark as coffee tycoons, she’d taken charge of desserts and coffee at the resort to feel useful and hadn’t seen fit to move on. Yet.
“Hey, Charley.” Trace set his phone on the counter.
“Hey.” She didn’t look up. Bent over the counter, she decorated each doughnut like it was a masterpiece. “Did you happen to see my daughter on your way in?”
“Yep. She’s in full-on princess mode, commanding her subject around the playground.” Trace’s mouth watered as he stared at the tray of doughnuts.
“Poor Ben.” Charley kept decorating.
“He’ll get through it. At least she’s not trying to dress him up like a girl.”
Charley looked up with a twinkle in her eye because, yes, she’d tried the same thing on him and his two brothers when they were kids. Trace and Elliott had run like hell. Spence, being the youngest, got caught up in Charley’s diabolical plan. The pictures were priceless and had been fun to leave lying around when Spence brought his dates home in high school.
Trace couldn’t resist the temptation any longer and reached for a cinnamon-sprinkled doughnut.
Charley’s twinkle turned to a glare. “Don’t you dare. I’ve been working on these all afternoon. They’re for Ben’s teacher. She loves my doughnuts.”
“Ah, you heard about Ben’s critique of her new hairstyle.” Trace braced both elbows against the counter.
Charley nodded. “The minute I pulled into the school parking lot to pick them up.”
He had to hand it to his cousin. She knew the hardships of being a single parent, and it was nice that family had his back. “Thanks for smoothing things over. I owe you.”
Not only was she an incredible pastry chef, but she was also an even better cousin for keeping so many of the Remington brothers’ secrets. Plus, she had one mean left hook, which Trace had experienced a time or two while they were growing up.
So he let his hand fall to the counter. “Just one?” He tried to pout. Hell, he’d already borrowed a woman’s phone and called himself from it to get her number just to win a bet. Pouting was the least of his transgressions today.
Although, he would’ve been happy to follow through on his offer to give the pretty tourist an aerial tour, and he’d have done it for free after the way she’d moaned. If she hadn’t disappeared without a word.
Charley slid a doughnut onto a saucer for him, and he poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a big bite and washed it down, growling in pain as he swallowed the scalding coffee. When he could finally speak again, his voice was hoarse from the burn, and he couldn’t feel his tongue. “Jesus,” he wheezed and rubbed his throat.
“Are you okay?” Charley got him a glass of water.
“The coffee’s hotter than usual,” Trace croaked, wondering if his voice would ever be the same again.
“The burner’s been acting up. It wasn’t hot enough earlier,” Charley said.
“Well now it’s surface-of-the-sun hot,” Trace managed to choke out. “I may have to eat intravenously from now on because my windpipe disintegrated.”
Elliott blew through the door. “Hey, asshat. Back to admit defeat?”
Trace pulled up Sexy Airport Girl’s number and shoved his phone into his brother’s chest. “Read it and weep.” Still in pain, he kept his voice low.
Elliott stared at the screen and leaned against the wall next to the phone that was anchored there for the staff’s convenience. “No way. You either paid her, or it’s a fake number. Still have to call her with us in the room to prove it or you lose.”
Which could be a problem since Trace had gotten her number without her knowledge. He snatched the phone from his brother.
His dad came in through the dining room entrance. His age was showing now that his hair had gone from salt-and-pepper to solid white, but his stature was still tall and strong. He loved his family and the resort he’d spent his life building. “Is Ms. Barns getting settled into her cottage?” His dad’s stare landed on Trace.
“She never showed up.” Trace broke the bad news.
His dad rubbed his chin. “Maybe she’s stuck somewhere because of the storm.”
“You haven’t heard from her?” Not showing up for the first day of work was bad enough. Not even calling was grounds for termination. Better they discovered her irresponsibility now before she started making changes to the resort. Changes that Ben might not handle well.
His dad shook his head, a worried look in his eye.
“Look, Dad”—Trace softened his voice to ease the blow—“maybe she changed her mind. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve hired the wrong person. We’ll find someone else.”
“What’s wrong with your voice?” Elliott asked.
“Burned my throat with the coffee,” Trace said, rubbing his neck.
One of the resort lines started to ring, and Elliott grabbed the handset from its cradle. “Wuss,” he said to Trace as he balanced the receiver between his ear and his shoulder. “Yeeel-low,” he said like the smartass he was. He listened for a second, then pushed off the wall and shoved the handset into Trace’s chest. “It’s for you. Old Lady McGill.”
Trace put a palm over the receiver. “Who’s the asshat now?” he whisper-yelled at his younger brother.
Elliott shot him the bird over his shoulder. “Gotta go organize a movie night for our guests since they have to stay indoors with a storm coming.”
Trace put the phone to his ear. “Ms. McGill?”
“Hello. Which Remington fella is this?”
“It’s Trace.”
“Is Lawrence there?” she cooed.
Trace glanced at his father, who shook his head as if he knew exactly what Ms. McGill was asking.
Trace exhaled long and hard. “Can I help?”
She sighed into the phone, clearly disappointed that she wasn’t going to speak to Trace’s dad. “I just wanted to check to see if your new employee arrived yet. She left the terminal some time ago, and the storm is about to unleash on the island.”
Hell. “Uh, Ms. Barns arrived on the ferry?”
His dad perked up.
“I don’t know her name, hon. Just that she’s a young, pretty little thing. Spunky too. Reminds me of myself back in the day.” Ms. McGill kept rambling. “Said she had to take a different flight than planned, and no one was here to pick her up.”
Trace put his hand over the receiver and whispered, “Ms. Barns is on the island. Are you sure she hasn’t called?”
“Not on the landline,” his dad said.
“Nope. I’d have heard the phone ring,” Charley confirmed.
“Could she have called your cell?” His dad came from the generation that didn’t keep their cells attached at the hip, and text messaging was as painful for him as a root canal without anesthetic.
His dad’s expression blanked. “I did give her my cell in case of emergency.” His tone told Trace he probably hadn’t checked it in days.
“Ms. McGill?” Trace removed his hand from the receiver. “If she left the terminal a while ago, who picked her up?”
A chafing laugh from years of cigarettes and ferry exhaust coursed through the phone. “No one, hon. She insisted on getting there on her own.”
“She’s walking to the Remington?” With a storm coming their way? What kind of person had his father hired?
Ms. McGill laughed again. “Of course not,” she said, like Trace was the foolish one. “She’s on a tricycle.”
Trace’s jaw went slack. Because that wasn’t the least bit insane. Traveling by trike, probably with a suitcase, while a raging storm bore down on them was completely understandable.
“Thanks for the call, Ms. McGill.” Trace hung up. “Gotta go.” He snatched his cell off the counter.
“I’ll come with you,” his dad said.
“No. You make sure the heat is on in her cottage.” Trace swung into captain’s mode, like he used to when he piloted private jets. “Charley, can you brew some hot coffee that won’t send Ms. Barns to the burn unit? If the storm opens up before I find her, she’ll be freezing.” And probably angry. Trace would be. Somehow Ms. Barns and his father had gotten their wires crossed, and she was left out in the cold rain.
“I’ll get a tray ready. Ms. Barns can have a doughnut for her troubles.” Charley poured beans into the coffee grinder. “Maybe she’ll forgive you guys once she tastes it.” She waggled her brows. “They’re magical.”
Trace grabbed a set of keys hanging by the back door. They belonged to one of the resort Jeeps. He ran toward the garage with Ms. McGill’s words ringing in his ears. Apparently, Ms. Barns wasn’t over the hill like Trace had assumed.
She was young. She was pretty. She was spunky.
In Trace’s experience, that could be a lethal combination.