Brambleberry Shores: The Daddy Makeover / His Second-Chance Family

Chapter 2

“Sorry, Conan. You’ve got to stay here.”

Sage muscled her bike around Anna’s minivan and wheeled it out of the small garage, trying to ignore the soulful eyes gazing back at her through the flowers on the other side of the low wrought-iron fence circling the house. “You’ll be all right. I’ll come back at lunchtime to throw a ball with you for awhile, okay?”

Conan didn’t look convinced. He added a morose whine, his head cocked to one side and his chin tucked into his chest. She blew out a frustrated breath. They had been through this routine just about every day for the past month and the dog didn’t seem to be adjusting.

She couldn’t really blame the poor thing for not wanting to be alone. He was used to having Abigail’s company all day.

The two of them had been inseparable from the moment Abigail had brought him home from the pound. Conan would ride along with Abigail to the shops, his head hanging out the backseat window of her big Buick, tongue lolling. He would patiently wait for her on the porch of her friends’ houses when she would make her regular round of visits, would sniff through the yard while Abigail tended her flowers, would curl up every evening beside her favorite chair in front of the huge bay windows overlooking the ocean.

Conan was lonely and Sage could certainly empathize with that. “I’m sorry, bud,” she said again. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

The dog suddenly barked, his ears perking up like twin mountain peaks. He barreled to the front porch just as the door opened. From her place on the other side of the fence, Sage watched Anna Galvez—trim and proper in a navy blazer and gray slacks—set down her briefcase to greet the dog with a smile and a scratch under his chin.

Anna murmured something to the dog but Sage was too far away to hear. She wasn’t too far to see Anna’s warm smile for Conan trickle away when she straightened and saw Sage on the other side of the wrought-iron.

She brushed hair off her slacks and picked up her briefcase, then walked to the gate.

“Good morning. I thought I heard you come down the stairs some time ago. I figured you had already left.”

Sage straddled her bike, not at all in the mood for conversation. Her fault for sticking around when she heard the door open. If she’d left then, she could have been halfway to town by now. But that would have been rude and she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling Abigail wanted her to at least pretend politeness with Anna.

“I couldn’t walk out in the middle of his guiltfest.”

“He’s good at that, isn’t he?” Anna frowned at the dog. “I expected him to be past this phase by now. It’s been a month. Don’t you think he should already be accustomed to the changes in his life?”

Sage shrugged. “I guess some of us need a little more time than others to grieve.”

Anna’s mouth tightened and Sage immediately regretted the low comment. So much for politeness. She wanted to apologize but couldn’t seem to form the words.

“I wish I could take him with me to work,” Anna said after an awkward moment.

Sage gave the other woman a disbelieving look. Anna couldn’t possibly want a big, gangly dog wreaking havoc with the tchotchkes and whatnot in her book and gift shop in town. Conan would bankrupt her in less than an hour.

“I’ve been coming home for lunch to keep him company for awhile. Throw a ball, give him a treat. That kind of thing. For now, that’s the best I can do.”

For an instant, guilt flickered in Anna’s brown eyes but she blinked it away. “I’m sorry. I should have realized you were doing so much. I’m a little preoccupied with some things at the store right now but it’s only right that I do my share. Abigail left him to both of us, which means he’s my responsibility as well. I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t come back to the house today,” she said with a frown. “But I’ll try to arrange my schedule so I can take a few hours to be here with him tomorrow.”

“I’m sure he would enjoy that,” Sage said. As always, she regretted the awkwardness between her and Anna. She knew Abigail had wanted them to be friends but Sage doubted it was possible. They were simply too different.

Anna was brisk and efficient, her world centered on By-The-Wind, the shop she had purchased from Abigail two years earlier after having managed it for a year before that. Sage didn’t believe Anna had even the tiniest morsel of a sense of humor—or if she did, it was buried so deeply beneath spreadsheets and deposit slips that Sage had never seen sign of it.

After two weeks of sharing the same house, though in different apartments, Anna was still a stranger to Sage. Tightly wound and tense, Anna never seemed to relax.

Sage figured they were as different as it was possible for two women to be, one quirky and independent-minded, the other staid and responsible. Yet Abigail had loved them both.

When she was being brutally honest with herself, she could admit that was at least part of the reason for her natural reserve with Anna Galvez—small-minded, petty jealousy.

A weird kind of sibling rivalry, even.

Abigail had loved Anna—enough to leave her half of Brambleberry House and all its contents. Sage knew she was being selfish but she couldn’t help resenting it. Not the house—she couldn’t care less about that—but Abigail’s affection.

“I’d better get going,” Sage said.

“Uh, would you like a ride since we’re both going the same way?”

She shook her head. “I’m good. Thanks anyway. If you give me a ride, I won’t be able to come home at lunch.”

“Oh. Right. I’ll see you later then.”

Sage stuffed her bag in the wicker basket of her one-speed bike and headed off to town. A moment later, Anna pulled past in her white minivan, moving at a cautious speed on the curving road.

Sage knew the roomy van was a practical choice since Anna probably had to transport things for the store, but she couldn’t help thinking how the vehicle seemed to perfectly mirror Anna’s personality: bland and businesslike and boring.

Somebody had certainly climbed out of bed on the bitchy side, she chided herself, resolving that she would think only pleasant thoughts about Anna Galvez today, if she thought of her at all.

The same went for little sea sprites she had met on the beach and their entirely too-gorgeous fathers. She had too much to do today with all the chaos and confusion of her first day of camp to spend time thinking about Chloe and Eben Spencer.

The road roughly followed the shore here. Through the heavy pines, she could catch a glimpse of the sea stacks and hear the low murmur of the waves. Three houses down, she waved at a neighbor pulling out of his driveway in a large pickup truck with Garrett Carpentry on the side.

He was heading the other direction toward Manzanita but Will Garrett pulled up alongside her and rolled down his passenger-side window. “Morning, Sage.”

She straddled her bike. “Hey, Will.”

“Sorry I haven’t made it over to look at the work you want done on the house. Been a busy week.”

She stared. “Work? What work?”

“Anna called me last week. Said she wanted me to give her a bid for a possible remodel of the kitchen and bathroom on the second-floor apartment. She also wanted me to check the feasibility of knocking out a couple walls in Abigail’s apartment to open up the floor plan a little.”

“Oh, did she?”

Anger swept over her, hot and bright. Any warmth she might have been trying to force herself into feeling toward Anna seeped out into the dirt.

How dare she?

They had agreed to discuss any matters pertaining to the house and come to a consensus on them, but Anna hadn’t said a single word about any of this.

Abigail had left the house to both of them, which meant they both should make minor little decisions like knocking out walls and remodeling kitchens. Yet Anna hadn’t bothered to bring this up, even when they were talking a few moments ago.

Was her opinion so insignificant?

She knew her anger was overblown—irrational, even—but she couldn’t help it. It was too soon. She wasn’t ready to go knocking down walls and remodeling kitchens, erasing any sign of the crumbling old house Abigail had loved so dearly.

“She didn’t talk to you about it?”

“Not yet,” she said grimly.

Something in her tone of voice—or maybe the smoke curling out of her ears—had tipped him off that she wasn’t pleased. His expression turned wary. “Well, uh, if you talk to her, let her know I’m going to try to come by this evening to check things out, if that’s still okay. Seven or so. One of you can give me a buzz if that’s a problem.”

He looked eager to escape. She sighed—she shouldn’t vent her frustration on Will. It certainly wasn’t his fault Anna Galvez was a bossy, managing, stiff-necked pencil-pusher who seemed to believe she knew what was best for the whole bloody world.

She forced a smile. “I’m sure it will be fine. See you tonight.”

Though he didn’t smile in return—Will rarely smiled anymore—he nodded and put his truck in gear, then headed down the road.

She watched after him for only a moment, then continued pedaling her way toward town.

She still simmered with anger toward Anna’s high-handedness, but it was tempered by her usual ache of sorrow for Will. So much pain in the world. Sometimes she couldn’t bear it.

She tried her best to leave the world a better place than when she found it. But riding a bike to work and volunteering with Meals on Wheels seemed exercises in futility when she couldn’t do a darn thing to ease the burden of those she cared about.

Will was another of Abigail’s lost sheep—Sage’s affectionate term for the little band of creatures her friend had watched over with her endless supply of love. Abigail seemed to collect people in need and gathered them toward her. The lonely, the forgotten, the grieving. Will had been right there with the rest of them.

No, that wasn’t exactly true. Will had belonged to Abigail long before he had ever needed watching over. He had grown up in the same house where he now lived and he and his wife Robin had both known and loved Abigail all their lives.

Sage had lived at Brambleberry House long enough to remember him when he was a handsome charmer, with a teasing grin for everyone. He used to charge into Abigail’s parlor and sweep her off her feet, twirling her around and around.

He always had a funny story to tell and he had invariably been the first one on the scene whenever anyone needed help—whether it was moving a piano or spreading a dump-truckload of gravel on a driveway or pumping out a flooded basement.

When Sage moved in upstairs at Brambleberry, Will had become like a big brother to her, offering her the same warm affection he poured out on everyone else in town. Robin had been just as bighearted—lovely and generous and open.

When Robin discovered Sage didn’t having a dining room table yet, she had put her husband to work on one and Will had crafted a beautiful round piece of art as a housewarming present.

Sage had soaked it all in, had reveled in the miracle that she had finally found a place to belong among these wonderful people who had opened their lives to her.

If Abigail had been the heart of her circle of friends, Will had been the sturdy, reliable backbone and Robin the nerve center. Their little pigtailed toddler Cara had just been everyone’s joy.

Then in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

So much pain.

She let out a breath as she gave a hand signal and turned onto the street toward work. Robin and Will had been crazy about each other. She had walked in on them once in a corner of Abigail’s yard at a Fourth of July barbecue. They hadn’t been kissing, had just been holding each other, but even from several yards away Sage could feel the love vibrating between them, a strong, tangible connection.

She couldn’t imagine the depth of Will’s pain at knowing that kind of love and losing it.

Oddly, the mental meanderings made her think of Eben Spencer, sweet little Chloe’s abrupt, unfriendly father. The girl had said her mother was dead. Did Eben mourn her loss as deeply as Will did Robin and little Cara, killed two years ago by a drunk driver as they were walking across the street not far from here?

She pulled up to the center and looped her bike lock through the rack out front, determined to put Eben and Chloe Spencer out of her head.

She didn’t want to think about either of them. She had learned early in her time at Cannon Beach not to pay much mind to the tourists. Like the fragile summer, they disappeared too soon.

* * *

Her resolve was tested even before lunchtime. Since the weather held through the morning, she and her dozen new campers gathered at a picnic table under the spreading boughs of a pine tree outside the center.

She was showing them intertidal zone specimens in aquarium display cases collected earlier that morning by center staffers when she heard a familiar voice call her name.

She turned to find her new friend from the morning barreling toward her, eyes wide, her gamine face animated.

Moving at a slower pace came Eben Spencer, his silk, undoubtedly expensive tie off-center and his hair slightly messed. He did not look as if he were having a great day.

Of course, when Sage was having a lousy day, she ended up with circles under her eyes, stress lines cutting through her face and a pounding headache she could swear was visible for miles around.

Eben Spencer just looked slightly rumpled in an entirely too-sexy way.

Heedless of the other children in the class, Chloe rushed to her and threw her arms around Sage’s waist.

“It’s not my fault this time, I promise.”

Under other circumstances, she might have been annoyed at the interruption to her class but she couldn’t ignore Chloe’s distress—or the frustration stamped on Eben’s features.

“Lindsey, can you take over for a minute?” she asked her assistant camp director.

“Of course.” The college student who had worked for the nature center every summer since high school stepped forward and Sage led Eben and Chloe away from the interested campers.

“What’s not your fault? What’s going on?”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear. It’s not my fault at all that she was so mean.”

Sage looked to Eben for elucidation.

“The caregiver the agency in Portland sent over was…unacceptable.” Eben raked a hand through his wavy hair, messing it even more.

“She was mean to me,” Chloe said. “She wouldn’t let me walk out to the beach, even when I told her my dad said it was okay. She didn’t believe me so I called my dad and she got mad at me and pulled my hair and said I was a bad word.”

From that explanation, she gathered the caregiver hadn’t appreciated an eight-year-old going over her head.

“Oh, dear. A bad word, huh?”

Chloe nodded. “She called me a spoiled little poop, only she didn’t say poop.”

“I’m sorry,” Sage said, trying to figure out exactly what part she played in this unfolding drama.

“I didn’t care about the name but I didn’t like that she pulled my hair. She didn’t have to be so mean. I think she was a big poop.”

“Chloe,” her father said sternly.

“Well, I do. So I called my dad again and told him what she did and he came right over from The Sea Urchin and told her to leave right now. He said a bad word, too, but I think she deserved it.”

She gave a quick glance at her father, then mouthed H-E-L-L.

Sage had to fight a smile. “I see,” she said. She found it admirably unexpected that Eben would rush to his daughter’s defense.

“And now the place that sent her doesn’t have anybody else to take care of me.”

Sage raised her eyebrows and glanced at Eben. “I suppose the temp pool is probably pretty shallow right now since the tourist season is heading into full gear.”

“I’m figuring that out,” he answered. “The agency says it will be at least tomorrow or the next day before they can find someone else. In the meantime, I’ve got conference calls scheduled all day.”

Sage waited to hear what all of this had to do with her, though she was beginning to guess. Her speculation was confirmed by his next words.

“I can’t expect Chloe to entertain herself in a strange place while I’m occupied. I remembered you mentioning a summer camp and hoped that you might have room for one more.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. We’re completely full.”

The center had always maintained a strict limit of twelve campers per session to ensure an adequate adult-to-student ratio. Beyond that, she had her hands full this year. Three of the children had learning disabilities and she had already figured out after the first few hours that two more might be on their way to becoming behavior problems if she couldn’t figure out how to channel their energy.

Even as she thought of the trouble to her staff if she added another camper, her mind raced trying to figure out how to accommodate Eben and his daughter.

“I was afraid you would say that.” He smiled stiffly. “Thank you for your time anyway. We’ll try to figure something else out.”

He looked resigned but accepting. His daughter, on the other hand, appeared close to tears. Her shoulders slumped and her chin quivered.

“But I really wanted to come to camp with Sage,” she wailed. “It sounded super, super fun! I don’t want to stay in a boring house all day long while you talk on the phone!”

“Chloe, that’s enough. If the camp doesn’t have room for you, that’s the way it is.”

“You think I’m a little poop, too, don’t you?” Chloe’s chin was definitely quivering now. “That’s why you don’t want me in your camp. You don’t like me, either.”

“Oh, honey, that’s not true. We just have rules about how many children we can have in our camp.”

“I would be really good. You wouldn’t even know I’m here. Oh, please, Sage!”

She studied them both—Chloe so dejected and her father resigned. She had to wonder how much pride he had forced himself to swallow for his daughter’s sake to bring her here and ask Sage for a favor.

How could she disappoint them?

“We’re at capacity,” she finally said, “but I think we can probably find room to squeeze in one more.”

“You mean it? Really?” The girl looked afraid to hope.

Sage nodded and Chloe squealed with delight and hugged her again. “Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”