(Sea View House Series—Book One)
CHAPTER ONE
“Will she use the ramp or try the stairs?”
Bartholomew Quinn, proud founder and Co-President of Quinn Real Estate and Property Management, leaned forward in his oversized leather chair and peered through the large front window of his Main Street office. A young woman faced the building, her dark hair neatly gathered behind her neck. She wore a long dark skirt and a red sweater. In her right hand, she held a cane. Bart watched her glance flicker between the two paths. Ramp or stairs? Either might be considered a challenge for her, but… He caught her determined expression as she made her choice.
“Atta girl,” he cheered.
Quickly transferring the cane, the woman placed her right hand on the railing. Her chin jutted forward as she raised her right foot to the first step, her left following only a tad more slowly.
Quinn had become familiar with this girl’s background through a trustworthy friend. Now he’d seen her in action for himself. In just a moment, he’d depend on his gut instinct to fill in the blanks. He had the knack, those “people skills” folks talked about, instincts which had never let him down. He’d know her well by the time their conversation was over.
A sea breeze brought the flavor of the ocean to Bart’s nose and he inhaled with joy. Another summer season was poised to begin in Pilgrim Cove, his favorite place on earth. He’d spent his entire adult life here—and he’d be buried here—God willing—many years from now. He was young! Seventy-six years young, and people in this town depended on him.
He and his buddies had never let them down. They were always ready to meet, greet, and befriend newcomers as well as summer folk. Or, as his granddaughter Lila would say, they were always ready to meddle—especially him. Well, his lassie might have a point. But he wasn’t so sure. So far, all his “meddling” had turned out well.
And now, Rebecca Hart had come to see him. His anticipation sizzled as he walked down the hallway to greet her. Hopefully, Sea View House would be sheltering a new resident.
#
Becca chuckled to herself as she evaluated Bart Quinn. The old guy had definitely kissed the Blarney Stone more than a few times, but he still had it—that gentlemanly courtesy of his generation. He’d put her at ease immediately. He treated her as though she were like anyone else. As though she hadn’t been watching the runners at the finish line in Boston instead of running herself. As though the Marathon had never happened. Except, of course, it had, and she wasn’t one to wear rose-colored glasses. Leaning across Quinn’s desk, Becca stared directly at him.
“My cousin, Josie, and I checked into the Wayside Inn last night, but I can’t afford to stay there much longer. So I’d like to see this house you have where the rent is so reasonable, I can’t believe it’s true.” If there was a mix-up, she’d need to find another place right away. “My graduate professor at BU insisted I contact you. He said his friend at Harvard had some clout with this office.”
The light in Quinn’s blue eyes rivaled the sun’s. It sparkled and blazed as he rubbed his hands together. Becca sat hypnotized. Was Quinn a man or an oversized leprechaun? His fist banged the arm of his chair.
“You’re talking about Daniel Stone. We call him The Professor. Comes back every year since his first stay in Pilgrim Cove. Now that was a story…was it last summer or the one before that, when he came to Sea View House? He’d lost his wife, ya see, and was in a grievous state.” Quinn’s head moved from side to side as he made sorrowful sounds. “I gave him the upstairs apartment, the Crow’s Nest. But waiting for him downstairs was Shelley Anderson and her two little tykes. Ah-h. That was no ordinary summer, no sir-ee. And now they’re a family, everybody together.” His index finger pointed directly at her. “Sea View House holds the magic.”
Magic? Baloney. But she’d bet her last nickel he could regale her with stories until the sun went down. She didn’t have time for stories.
“Very nice, Mr. Quinn. But what I need to know is whether you’ve got a cottage for me to rent this summer. Easy access would be needed.”
“True enough, lassie. But you did well coming up those steps. I watched from that window.”
Her body stiffened. “You spied on me?” She adjusted her angle slightly to peer over his shoulder. Sure enough, she saw a swath of Main Street through the glass. She glanced over at Quinn and sighed. “Why aren’t I surprised? I bet you don’t miss much around here.”
“You’d win that bet, my girl. This town is special to me. And will be to you, too.”
“You mean you’ve got a place for rent? A house that will suit me?”
“Haven’t you been listening, lass?”
He posed the question with such wide-eyed innocence that her lips twitched. Between the irascible Bart Quinn and her own one-track mind, she was in no better position than Alice was in Wonderland. The twitch became a smile, then a giggle, and she found herself laughing aloud, as though she’d finally gotten the joke.
And then the tears came.
She reached for the tissue box Quinn slid toward her and dabbed her eyes. Strange that she wasn’t embarrassed. “Well, that was a first.”
“The laughing?”
“The crying, too.”
The man seemed surprised.
“They have meds for the physical pain, Mr. Quinn. No tears there. As for the rest, well, as my mother taught me from the beginning: Life hurts. Deal with it.”
Studying her for a moment, Bart Quinn finally said, “Well now, respecting all mothers of course, I’ve got a different slant. I say, Grab the brass ring and enjoy the ride.” He rose from his seat, searched in a drawer and came up with a set of keys. “Let’s go, my dear.”
“Go where?”
“Where else would I bring a friend of a friend of Daniel Stone’s than to Sea View House? Right beside the ocean where you’ll hear the sound of the surf, the call of the gulls and where you’ll find your own healing.”
#
Becca was about to tell him that her healing came from physical therapy not from ocean waves, when two small tornadoes blew into the room. The first was blonde, her long hair woven into a French braid which probably started the day neatly plaited. The other whirlwind sported dark waves, framing a sweet face. Cinderella and Snow White. Totally adorable.
“Guess what, Papa Bart!” said Cinderella. “No school ‘til Tuesday, so Sara can sleep over.” The child’s infectious grin coupled with her attitude easily confirmed her as a twig on Bart Quinn’s family tree.
Sara stepped forward. “If that’s okay,” she added quietly.
This girl’s entrance had been embellished by her friend. Sara seemed more reserved and sensitive. A classic beauty who’d mature into a stunning woman one day.
“Sara, my girl,” began Bart, “would you condemn me to a quiet house when we could be playing a hot game of-of—” the Quinn glanced at Becca then back at the child—“ …Candy Land instead?”
A frown lined Sara’s brow. “Candy Land?” she asked, her voice laced with incredulity. “That’s for babies. Poker is more fun. Isn’t your penny jar still full?”
Bart looked at the ceiling, then at the girls. “Ach. What will Ms. Rebecca think of us now? You’ve gotten us in trouble, you have.” He looked at Becca. Two other pair of eyes followed suit. “Better a round of cards than leaving them to their little computer machines all night. Agree or not?”
Oh, she agreed. These children couldn’t appreciate their luck. A loving grandfather, probably good parents, too. Even the quieter one knew she was welcome here in the middle of a business day. Secure, confident children. They’d have no idea how other kids lived. Kids who hoarded a penny. Kids with no dads or granddads. Kids with a mom who worked all the time. Kids like Becca.
She couldn’t have found better entertainment than Bart Quinn and the girls if she’d paid for a ticket of admission. But she hadn’t come to be entertained. She tapped her watch. “Your granddaughters are delightful,” she said. “But time is flying.” Bracing her hands on the arms of the chair, she stood, took a moment to find her balance, and reached for her cane. “I’m ready when you are.”
“I’ve always been ready,” said Quinn. Turning toward the little blonde, he said, “Katie, love, tell your mom I’m away to…
A pretty blonde woman, definitely Katie’s mom and definitely pregnant, walked into the room at a good clip, a leather tote bag on her arm.
“Wherever it is,” she said, “you’ll have to take the girls. I’m showing Butterfly Cottage, and then I’ve got a doctor’s appointment which I must keep or feel Jason’s wrath.”
T.M.I. “If you don’t mind,” said Becca, “I’ll be waiting in my car—right out front.” She’d have considered another Realtor at this point if her curiosity about Sea View House hadn’t been peaked. Not to mention that low, low rent. And if she’d known another Realtor. The kids were cute, but really, was this any way to run a business?
As if she read her thoughts, the other woman smiled and extended her hand. “Hi there. I’m Lila Parker, Chief Cook and Bottle Washer around here. Where’s my granddad taking you today?”
Becca shook her hand, glad to see no sign of pity or sympathy. “He calls it Sea View House.”
Lila’s brows hit her hairline, her eyes widened to saucer size, but a small grin started to emerge, too. “Perfect. It’s a special place.” She cocked her head toward Bart. “He’s in charge of that special property, never tells me about possible residents. It’s all hush-hush until it’s done.”
Becca didn’t care about mysteries, but walking was easier than standing, and she stepped toward the door. “I’ll let you know how special it is…if I ever get there.”
“I hear ya.” Bart and the girls followed her. Once outside, the man installed the kids into his back seat and opened the front passenger door for Becca.
“Honestly, Mr. Quinn, it’s easier for me to drive. That is, to get into the car on the driver’s side. My right leg’s fine.”
“Then I’ll keep you in my mirror. We’ll take it slow so you can look around as you drive.”
Becca opened her door and threw her purse inside. She’d left the seat in the far back position she’d used to exit the car. Now she’d have enough room to manipulate her prosthetic left leg while getting in. She sat down facing the street, then turned and shifted her weight toward the front, her right leg going inside. She guided the left. The sequence made sense. Her physical therapy was paying off, and she’d be continuing it in Boston and at the medical clinic in Pilgrim Cove. If this house worked out. Or if Quinn had something else.
With a little luck, forethought and care, she’d become the woman she once was. She’d become whole again. Or almost. Whole enough for a marathon? Whew. If only… She chased the thought away. More important on the survival scale, she’d need a job. A respiratory therapist at Mass General needed strong legs to run around the halls, treating patients on every floor. She’d been building a career at the prestigious hospital, with two promotions behind her and supervisory responsibilities on her plate, too.
Now her small savings would trickle away in no time. There was a chance, of course, that she’d receive some money from that charity fund set up after the marathon. But how much could that be? A few dollars? Even a few thousand wouldn’t make a real difference in the long run. She’d have to rely only on herself. Her finances were tighter than a balloon’s knot. A reality that tied her stomach into a dozen knots.
As promised, Quinn drove slowly, providing her with that opportunity to look around. From the man’s office on Main Street, she passed a bank, barber shop and the nautically designed Diner on the Dunes. She spotted Parker Plumbing and Hardware. The name seemed familiar. That Lila woman? Then she saw the beautiful greyhound—on a leash. She glanced up. At the other end of the leash stood a tall, lean, good looking guy. Behind the pair was a pet store. Adoption Day. She glanced again at the grey. Talk about running…
They made a left onto Outlook Drive and another left onto Beach Street. Bart honked and pointed with his hand out the window. Then he pulled into a driveway. Becca slowed down, looked around and took her time before pulling in behind him.
She hadn’t known what to expect, but Sea View House was bigger than anything she could care for. A salt-box style. Weathered wood. A large sloping roof. Two stories with a third window above…maybe an attic. A white wooden fence surrounded the front yard on Beach Street.
Disappointment flooded her. What was the man thinking? She could never take care of a house like that. She hoped Quinn had another property to show her. Something small and easy. She rolled down her window and remained inside the car. With her first breath, she tasted the flavor of ocean and sea grass. She inhaled again, more deeply this time. No mistaking that definitive aroma existing only at the shore.
She looked at the big house. A house right on the beach. Not that she’d swim…how could she? But she’d hear the waves. She’d see them, too. And that view…the pleasure of that view…that elusive horizon where ocean met sky. Tempting. So tempting. So different from the confines of a hospital rehab wing where she’d spent the last seven weeks working to recover.
“Needing some assistance after all, lassie?” Quinn was at her car door.
“What else do you have to show me?”
And with that question, she’d reduced Bart Quinn to silence.
#
So what if she’d jumped to conclusions. The house was divided into two apartments, and Bart had the first story in mind for her. While Sara and Katie scurried ahead, Becca walked more slowly down the paved driveway to the back of the house which faced the water. There, a spacious covered porch opened to a backyard with a low cement wall placed at the sand line. Inserted into the wall were tall boards.
“We’ll remove those, of course, now that summer’s here. But they’re handy protection for the house when winter winds blow the sand.”
“Makes sense,” said Becca, “not that I have any experience living at the beach.”
“Then you’re in for a treat this season. You’ll come to love our peninsula with the ocean on one side and the bay on the other. There’s always a breeze here. Know what I call this place?” Bart didn’t need the sun to make his eyes gleam. “I call it our finger in the ocean.”
He made life in Pilgrim Cove sound like a fairytale, but Becca held back. Walking on soft sand would be a challenge. But…with this shady back porch, she could simply step outdoors and feast her eyes on the mighty Atlantic. Not live cooped up in a city apartment three stories above the street. The place she shared with Josie had no elevator and remaining there was not an option. Compromise. Life was now about compromise.
“We’ll have the porch furniture out here in a jiffy,” said Bart as he unlocked the door. “And anything else that needs to be done.”
Wide planked oak floors ran throughout the house, chintz covered couches and chairs, and in the kitchen, ample counter space. Three bedrooms. Three! Well, Josie and her boyfriend could visit—an easy enough trip from Boston. She hoped her mom would visit, too, maybe stay for a week or more. But she didn’t count on it. Her mother had missed work after the Marathon. She lived in the western part of the state near the Berkshires and had stayed in Becca’s apartment while Becca was in the hospital. She probably had no vacation days left, and she’d never sacrifice a day’s pay.
Becca shrugged. She was on her own in Pilgrim Cove. Deal with it.
“We’ll install the grab bars in the shower and anything else you think you’d need. Maybe a tall stool at the counter here? Easier to sit and stand again.” Quinn paced the kitchen, looking for possibilities. “Would that suit?”
Suit? Becca’s heartbeat quickened as she looked around. Outside, she’d have the sun, sea, porch, and a steady breeze. But inside this weathered ship, she’d be surrounded by sturdy walls, a cozy fireplace and halls—wide halls—with elbow room. No problem using a cane or wheelchair. Sea View House. An island of safety. And privacy. She’d get stronger here. Return to normal. Oh, yeah. It would suit.
“How much, Mr. Quinn?”
He jumped back as if she’d slapped him. “How much, lassie? Why there’s no charge for Sea View House. Not for you. This beauty is let on a sliding scale, part of the William Adams Foundation, who was shirttail cousin to John Adams, himself, and wasn’t he the second President of the United States?”
The man spoke faster than she could hear, but she got the part about “no charge.” She didn’t buy it. Everything in life had a price. “Would you repeat that more slowly—about the rent?”
“No rent for you. The sliding scale, you see. By unanimous vote of the Board of Directors of which I’m President.”
Unbelievable. “Just to be clear, Mr. Quinn. Are you saying that this beautiful house—at least the first floor—is rent-free for the entire summer?”
“The first floor is called The Captain’s Quarters, and that’s exactly what I said, Ms. Rebecca. Rent free. The question is, what do you say?”
“I say, where do I sign?”
Quinn laughed his big laugh. “Not to worry. I’ll bring the papers around after you move in. I’ll also bring the Sea View House journal where you’ll write your story.”
Ahh. She knew there had to be a catch. “I’m no writer. Besides, the bombing’s been in all the newspapers.”
“Grammar doesn’t count, girl! But stories do. It’s a record, you see, about finding the magic again. You’ll be able to catch up on all the folks who’ve stayed here before you. Like that professor you mentioned from Harvard who lived upstairs. Some other folks who’ve stayed here live right in town now. You’ll probably meet them soon.”
Not interested. Becca stared into the man’s eyes, her gaze demanding his undivided attention. “Let’s be perfectly clear, Mr. Quinn. My goal is to work hard and get strong enough to support myself later on—when I figure out how. I’ll write something for you, but I’m not here to make friends or socialize. I had plenty of company in town after…after the bombing. Lots of attention and therapy. Sometimes too much. Everyone was terrific, but sometimes the place seemed like a madhouse to me. Now I need to be on my own. Independent.” She wouldn’t put it past him to send a few neighbors over just to stir things up.
“We’ll do all we can to help you,” said Bart. “Modifications and all. You’ll be able to move in tomorrow.”
Logistically perfect, but she sighed. He hadn’t acknowledged a word about her wanting to be left alone.
#
Friday night and child-free. Adam Fielding, DVM, locked the door to his veterinary clinic, his newest retired greyhound at his side, and wondered what to do with his unexpected leisure time. Evening was a killer. The loneliest time of the day, the time when memories of Eileen were the strongest. Her laughter…that dimple tucked beside her sweet mouth…he’d loved pressing kisses against it. He missed cuddling on the couch, playing with her dark curly hair, wrapping the strands around his fingers. Their daughter had inherited that feature. He missed Eileen’s intelligence—her fast quips and thoughtful suggestions, strong support for a debt-ridden young veterinarian just starting out. He yearned for his loving wife, his perfect wife. The perfect woman for him. He spoke to the grey.
“Neptune Park’s probably opened for the season, but I’ll save the carousel and Ferris wheel for Sara.”
Ginger whined in agreement. Adam leaned over and scratched behind her small folded-back ears. “Of course, Katie will come along.” The intelligent dog, parti-colored with a white background and fawn patches, tilted her head, listening to Adam’s every word. After a month with him and Sara, the grey had adapted well to being a house pet and was ready to adopt out. But Sara had other ideas for the pretty canine.
“No, Daddy. Not this one. She’s special. I love her. Please…”
His daughter didn’t have to beg. He’d give her the moon if she’d asked for it. As for the greyhounds…they were all special, at least to him. Each one faced a huge adjustment after living in a kennel since birth and after a life at the track. As he’d done with others, Adam had taken Ginger home from the rescue center, helped her to adjust to family living—house, car, kids, stairs, bed—until she’d be ready for adoption.
He shrugged. So now they’d have another personal pet. No problem. Dogs and cats got along, and the mighty Butterscotch ruled his roost with confidence. Sara’s devotion to Ginger was odd, though. His daughter normally used her energy and wits finding good homes for abandoned pets. She knew they couldn’t keep every rescue brought into the clinic. It seemed, however, Sara and Ginger had an understanding. They were a duo. From his own observation, Sara’s love for the grey was being returned twice over.
Love. Easier between a dad and daughter or between a child and a puppy than between a man and a woman. He’d tried romance again after Eileen, a sensible relationship with Katie’s mom. But they’d called off the engagement after Jason Parker returned to Pilgrim Cove. With one glance at Jason’s love-stricken expression, Adam had recognized his own yearning for Eileen. He’d bowed out. Gracefully, too. And never looked back.
But their daughters remained inseparable—sisters of the heart. And now Jason and Lila were expecting a sibling for Katie. He wished them well. Sometimes, everything worked out. Pilgrim Cove was too small a town in which to hold grudges, and no one harbored any.
He meandered next door to the house he shared with his daughter and her changing menagerie. His stomach rumbled when he went inside, but he had no appetite for cooking or being alone that night. Dusk hadn’t fallen yet, and the evening stretched out before him. The Friday night Happy Hour coupled with dinner at the Wayside Inn would suit. He’d probably run into a few friends or neighbors and have a congenial evening.
Friendships in a solid community suited him now, too. He wasn’t getting involved with women again. He’d focus his energies on being the best dad a little girl could have. Sara had been cheated of a wonderful mother, and Adam would make it up to her. Between caring for his daughter, running his animal hospital and planning the addition of a new greyhound rescue and fostering center, he wouldn’t be lonely or bored. The expansion excited him. He had the start-up funding from his own savings and a bit from the Boston Greyhound Foundation where he volunteered his services. He was waiting for word about other funding, a big chunk, from a state sponsored animal foundation. Life was good. Good enough anyway.
After a quick shower, he slapped on some cologne, grabbed a clean jersey and jeans and headed out.
#
Thirty minutes later, Adam stood at the bar, nursing a longneck with Rachel and Jack Levine. The couple had married recently and decided to live in Pilgrim Cove, Rachel’s home town.
“I didn’t realize the Inn would be this crowded,” said Rachel. “We were trying to avoid the hoards at The Lobster Pot tonight.”
The Wayside Inn boasted a restaurant, bar, dance floor, spacious lobby and guest rooms while somehow retaining the picturesque New England flavor at the same time.
“The summer season’s the money season,” Adam said.
“On a holiday weekend, every place is crowded,” said Jack, “We should’ve stayed home.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” said Adam. “My daughter’s with Katie, so I’m on my own.”
“Maybe not for long.” Rachel grinned and inclined her head toward two attractive brunettes several seats down the bar. “New in town. No gold bands. Let’s welcome them to Pilgrim Cove.” She shifted from her seat, starting to match action to her words.
“Whoa, Nelly. You’re not the welcoming committee.” Jack wrapped his arm around his wife, and Adam breathed a sigh of relief. The man had his back, whether he realized it or not. Adam had no desire for small talk with strangers.
“Why not, Jack?” protested Rachel. “We’re in Pilgrim Cove, not Manhattan. It’s the start of summer, and everyone’s on vacation and in a good mood. In another month, I will be too.”
“Some of us,” drawled Jack, “work twelve months a year. Like Adam and me.”
While the couple bantered, Adam glanced at the two women who were now following a hostess toward a table. Something was off. He focused harder and continued to track their progress.
“The pretty one’s got trouble. Big trouble,” he muttered just as the woman shifted toward him, her head on an angle. She met his gaze, and her chin rose. Her brown eyes darkened to the color of bitter cocoa, then as swiftly as she engaged him, she turned away.
He burned. Whether from embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t discern. He couldn’t think! The woman’s eyes were as dark as Eileen’s, her shoulder length hair as dark and wavy as Sara’s…. Adam needed air.
#
“The last thing I expect or need is to be hit on. Did you see that guy?” Becca leaned across the table toward her cousin. “But I think I scared him off.”
“Sure, I saw him,” said Josie. “Hard to miss tall, hazel and handsome. Easy on the eyes. But he was all about you, cuz. That is so cool!”
Meeting a nice guy in a bar might have been cool in the old days—not that this guy seemed “nice” at all. He’d studied her like a specimen on a petrie dish, and she wouldn’t put up with that. If she ran into him again, she’d say so. But more important was the big picture. Today began her new tomorrow. The old days were gone.
“I don’t need anyone in my life, Josie. I’m not in the market for pity or being second best. I’d rather be alone.”
“Oh, please.” Josie waved away her protestations as if slapping a gnat. “You’re only second best in your own mind. That guy was looking and looking hard.”
“Until he saw me walk.”
“You’re imagining things.”
But she hadn’t imagined that. He’d stared at her so hard, she’d felt the burn. And then she’d met his gaze and gave as good as she got. She’d be willing to bet her bottom dollar—which was about all she had—that the only looks she’d receive from now on were those of curiosity and pity. Her hands clenched into fists. Not for her! She’d deal with them like she’d dealt with tall, hazel and handsome tonight. Just return their stares with one of her own.
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