The Bluebird Bet

CHAPTER TWO

DEAN COLLINS FOUGHT the urge to kick his feet like a bored four-year-old. After reading all the news he could get his hands on—old issues of the local paper, the state paper and his favorite online news sites—he’d come to sit on the edge of the dock while his father fished. Dean had wanted to start a conversation or make a connection or whatever the proper term was for two grown men talking about their feelings.

And they were sitting in silence.

Like they did most of the time, in fact. He raveled the edge of the latest pair of jeans he’d managed to destroy. For years, his wardrobe consisted of heavy boots, worn jeans and a collection of T-shirts that could fit in a backpack. No shorts. But these had a ripped knee and a bloodstain from an ill-fated trek from Dharamsala. That was the kind of thing he did for fun: climb mountains and shake off a skinned knee when the climb turned into a tumble.

Now he dangled his feet in the water and hoped for a nibble—anything exciting. Adjusting to the change of pace was harder than he’d thought it would be.

“Nice weather.” The whole world over, there was one topic of conversation everyone could fall back on: the weather forecast. Maybe they were on different sides of hot vs. cold or wet vs. dry, but everyone had an opinion about the weather. Tall Pines was no exception.

In fact, the weekly forecast enjoyed some prime real estate on the last page of the Times. Most of the world had gone to infographics. Not so here. He’d actually had to read the forecast so he was prepared to converse.

Obviously, there was no need yet. His father’s grunt could be taken as either agreement or disagreement, but it didn’t do much to pick up the conversational ball and run with it.

Even if they’d had a rousing conversation about precipitation, he’d still be bored.

Or maybe restless, antsy. Thinking could be trouble, but the urge to move usually kept him distracted. Outrunning bad memories was a habit he’d picked up early. His problem now was that, no matter how fast or far he went, they were catching up.

So, with his first strategy failing, he’d come back to the place it all started: home.

“How’d the doctor visit go?” A question that required either an answer or outright rudeness. That ought to open the door.

“Good.”

So the question wasn’t as foolproof as he thought. “Sheesh, no need to talk my ear off.”

His dad glanced in his direction. “You’re one to talk. Ready to tell me about this concussion and why you don’t sleep?”

Dean pulled his feet out of the water and stood. “You know the military. Bunch of worriers.”

His dad’s lips formed a thin line, and Dean was afraid he was coming up with questions Dean had no answers for. “Right. They do love to coddle the journalists they cram in beside their delicate soldiers.”

Dean rolled up the sleeves of the flannel shirt he’d pulled on over his ragged jeans and stepped into flip-flops that looked as though they’d been feeding a small family of rodents. “The unit I was with got caught in a firefight with a small band of rebels. There was an explosion. No one was killed, but I hit my head. Saw stars. That was enough for the army doctors.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know me. I’ve had way worse.”

His dad was quiet for too long. Finally, he said, “At least it brought you home for a few days.”

His father never had been good at guilt trips, but he might be getting better.

“I’m glad you had a nice visit,” Dean mumbled and turned to go...somewhere. He had no idea where, but he’d made his effort for the day.

His father’s voice stopped him. “Invited her out. She’s coming to take a look around.”

“Who? The doctor? Why?” The place definitely would not show well, not yet. He’d get to work on that soon, but not today. Today was for forcing himself to take it slow. He had to learn sometime, and the sooner, the better.

His dad sighed and pulled his pole out of the water to set it on the dock. “She used to visit. Loved the tearoom and the inn.”

Dean looked over his shoulder at the house he’d grown up in. When his mother was alive, she’d settled for nothing less than pristine white paint with bright blue shutters, precisely manicured gardens and flags snapping in the breeze to welcome visitors.

The gray boards and peeling paint, ragged flower beds and air of general fatigue almost made it hard to believe it was the same place.

Except the beautiful bones were still there. He counted six windows across the front of the house, the finest guest rooms, and wished he’d thought to camp in one of those. The view of the lake might have helped calm some of his anger and irritation and just...overwhelming emotion.

Something had to or he might have a meltdown, lose the control he’d worked so hard to hold on to. Sometimes, when he was staring out the window in the middle of the night, he wondered if he was already there.

“Hope she’s not too disappointed,” his father murmured, and Dean turned to see his dad’s eyes were locked on him.

“I wish I’d known, Dad. I might have been able to help.” And the guilt he’d been buried under when he’d lurched to a stop under the old oak tree would have been much lighter. But he hadn’t known. Because he hadn’t been home in a long time.

Without his mother to hold them together, he and his dad had struggled. It was easier to take the next story, jump on a plane and tell himself it was all for his career. His father never complained about missing him and never mentioned needing help. He’d thought they were both satisfied.

Until that career nearly killed him, and he had nowhere else to go.

“Well, I’m here now, and I think I know what to do to get this place up and running. We’re going to make some changes.” He tried to infuse the statement with confidence. The last time he’d suggested changes, he’d been too young and unstable to convince his father. Now both of them and the Bluebird were in desperate need of a change.

“About that...” His father turned to look out over the shore next to the short dock. “She wants to buy the Bluebird. Renovate it. Maybe we should consider that. Neither one of us should be tied down by the past.”

Speechless, Dean stared at his pale feet and the weathered boards of the dock. He’d never really thought about a life without the inn. Knowing it would always be here when he was ready made it easier to brave the most dangerous spots on the planet. He’d trusted his father to make sure he had a home just in case he ever needed somewhere safe.

Getting the Bluebird open would be hard work, but running a fish camp like he had in mind or even a country inn seemed like a vacation after dodging bullets and crooked foreign politicians for years.

That career, the one he’d loved for so long, wasn’t a smart way to spend the rest of what would be too short a life. If he could learn to slow down, settle in, everything would be perfect. If he couldn’t do that in Tall Pines, he had no idea where to go next.

Maybe it was time to have the conversation he’d been putting off since he arrived.

“Listen, Dad,” Dean said as he scrubbed his hands through his hair, “you probably have some doubts, but I have a good plan, one that will work. You’ll still be free to fish or hit the road or whatever. You can trust everything to me.”

His dad was silent, and Dean fought the urge to explain himself to this quiet man who’d always been content like this, sitting on the dock and watching the water. This plan to explore the country all alone was a new development, another one Dean was having a hard time adjusting to. He watched his dad stand easily and bend down to grasp the fishing pole.

“For how long?” His father spoke softly, but it was a loud thought in the silence of Spring Lake on a summer day.

That was the only question he didn’t have an answer for, and it was the most important one.

“Maybe you could explain what’s going on, son.” His father reached up to squeeze his shoulder, the same way he’d done when Dean was a teenager and needed encouragement. It wasn’t one of his mother’s perfumed hugs, but the way he wanted to fling his arms around his father’s neck was just... He was a grown man. Crazy enough to travel the world with a camera and a backpack. He could handle his own problems.

“I think...” How could he say it without alarming his father? The last thing he wanted, now that his dad was considering moving forward, was to hold him back. “You know how, when you’re busy, you keep adding things on, piling on one more job and hurrying through this thing to get to the next until finally something happens and you can’t catch up anymore?”

His father frowned and considered the weathered boards under his feet. “Been a long time, but maybe. That what happened to you? Need a vacation? You could always hit the road with me. Sure would be exciting.”

Dean gave a hard laugh. Yeah, that was what happened. Except it was so much worse than missing deadlines or being late with bills. Watching men fight for their lives took a toll. Sitting on a beach and soaking up the sun was only the first step in his recovery, but it was one he could take immediately.

“I need a new life. I need to sleep without the threat of death or the memory of my last assignment waking me up. I need...” Dean hated even saying the words out loud, admitting his weakness, especially to his father. “If I don’t do something new, I’m afraid I’m not going to make it, Dad.”

His father didn’t look away until Dean awkwardly cleared his throat. These attacks of emotion that came out of nowhere rattled Dean, but the truth was he had no control over them. He hated that.

They might shock his father, but he’d never let Dean down, either.

“And you think this place can give you what you need?” The doubt in his voice was clear. Dean tried not to take it personally, because he wasn’t fully convinced himself.

They both heard the crunch of gravel down the washed-out road.

“Guess she’s here.” His father squeezed his shoulder again. “We’ll figure it out, son.” Dean hoped to convince them both that letting him have the Bluebird was the best decision, but the right words wouldn’t come.

“Just meet her. I’ll show her how run-down the inn is. Might be enough to convince her she’d like to build her own house somewhere nearby. We could be neighbors, and everyone’s happy.” His father didn’t look like he believed that, though.

“Hard to imagine another space like this anywhere, Dad.” Dean was relieved to be on firmer emotional footing. His father whistled as they walked up the hill to the overgrown yard.

When the car door shut on a sensible gray four-door sedan, Dean watched the doctor, if she was a doctor, tiptoe carefully through the gravel in sandals that had no business outside the city streets. Instead of scrubs or a white coat, she was wearing a sundress. She looked like a model for a beachside getaway. Obviously, she’d dressed for the old Bluebird Bed-and-Breakfast. If she’d known about today’s disaster, she’d be wearing work boots or mourning. Either way, she was not prepared for what she was about to see.

Didn’t mean she wasn’t pretty in a very serious, very studious kind of way. Her dark glasses perched on the end of her nose, and her hair was twisted up on top of her head. Except for the setting, she could be out for brunch with the ladies.

“Hi. I hope I’m not late, Mr. Collins,” she said breathlessly as she stepped into the grass in front of the porch. “Beautiful day for a drive.”

“Shoulda warned you about the road. You could have called me from the highway to save your car a little wear and tear.” His father propped his hands on his hips. Dean had seen the pose a few hundred times. It was the one his father struck when he was carefully assessing the situation.

“Oh, it’s not so bad.” She held out her hand. “I’m Elaine, Dr. Watson. It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

Caught off guard, Dean grasped her hand in his. She surprised him again when she gave it a firm shake and then dropped it as though it was too hot to hold.

“What do you think?” his father asked. “Not quite what you remembered, is it?” The uncertainty on his father’s face had a few defensive comments popping to mind, but before Dean could get any of them ready to fire, she said, “I love it.”

She slowly stepped forward as if she was drawn toward the building, being towed in by a mixture of old memories and the charm of the faded wraparound porch.

“I can’t believe it’s taken this long to come back,” Elaine said quietly. “Only good manners have kept me from showing up on your doorstep, Mr. Collins.”

His father laughed. “And crazy hours, double shifts and patients who need you have no doubt hampered your ability to explore.” She smiled at his father over her shoulder and instead of being the enemy out to build a better offer than anything he could put together, she was a beautiful woman. A beautiful, happy woman in a breezy sundress posed in front of the old farmhouse as though she was a model spokesperson to sell relaxing vacations. She seemed to fit the landscape perfectly and at the same time made him wonder what it would be like to be the man who put the smile on her face.

That smile was dangerous. Land-mine dangerous.

Determined to get things back on track, and Dr. Elaine Watson chugging down the washed-out road as quickly as possible, Dean roughly cleared his throat. “Well, you’re here now. Might as well get the whole tired picture.”

When she turned her eyes to him, he was thankful for the glass lenses, which were probably the only things saving him from incineration. She didn’t miss a thing, and as she assessed him from head to toe, he was aware again that he’d dressed as if his only choices were in the Lost and Found. “Sorry. If I’d known we were having company, I’d have put on my dress flip-flops.”

Dr. Watson didn’t like him, didn’t want to like him, and the sharp eyes of a competitor were easy to see. She was here to win. When his father frowned at him, Dean almost apologized, but then her cool smile made him double down. She obviously had her act together while everything about him was scattered across the globe. She could put up with ratty flip-flops for a few minutes.

But her charmed smile and the way his father stepped up to offer her his arm made it crystal clear how weak his own position was. He followed them up the steps and watched the doctor spin around to take in the view, the best part of the Bluebird Bed-and-Breakfast. The inn was situated on a peaceful cove of Spring Lake, so there wasn’t much traffic close to the shore. It felt like the three of them were the only people on the planet. The falling-down boat slips ruined the view a little, but he could picture them the way his mother had insisted: clean with fresh paint, a shiny red metal roof on top and an American flag blowing in the breeze.

Since his plan was to run the whole place as a fishing camp, restoring the docks and adding a small marina store would be his first project. Fishermen didn’t really need fresh paint or new carpet, but they had to have a spot to keep the boat.

“I could stay right here all day,” Elaine said and stretched her arms out wide.

“Not much excitement compared to your waiting room or the emergency clinic,” his father answered.

“That’s why I need it.” Elaine glanced at Dean and then quickly looked away, probably to see if he understood her motivation. He did. But she and her...neatness were annoying.

He propped his hands on his hips and studied the view. Somehow the restlessness eased while he was standing here, looking past the overgrown yard to the calm waters of Spring Lake. Had to be the setting. The company was not soothing at all. Maybe the magic of home was finally starting to work.

“Let’s see the inside,” Elaine said and towed his father to the ancient screen door. The paint, which had once been a bright blue, was peeling, but it could be restored easily. That door fit the character of the Bluebird perfectly even if the pop as it slammed shut could make him jerk as if he’d heard a gunshot.

His father opened the door, and they stepped inside. The view was not inspiring. Dry, scratched hardwoods that had gleamed like mirrors when his mother ran the place, wallpaper that was in excellent shape if twenty years out of date and dust-covered furniture. His father used only the living quarters upstairs, so the bottom floor was frozen in time. Preserved, but not alive.

Except for the kitchen.

As he trailed the exploration party, he heard Elaine say, “Well, it looks like it could use some updating. Do all the appliances work?”

He’d had the same question. As far as he could tell, his father lived on cereal and sandwiches. As long as the refrigerator was running, he was set. The fact that she didn’t make a big deal out of the biggest deal said something about how Dr. Watson played the game.

“Yep, stove, fridge, whatever’s here works.” His dad ran a hand through his hair as if he wasn’t quite sure how to address the most obvious problem in the room. “And all the cabinets...well...”

There wasn’t much to say about that. The fact that they were all missing made it clear what he was talking about.

“I decided it was silly to have the old Bluebird sitting empty, but I knew reopening was going to take some renovation.” His dad shrugged.

“So you started with the kitchen.” Elaine nodded as if she approved. “And are you going to—” she waved a hand vaguely “—finish?”

“Nah, I remembered why I hadn’t taken on any DIY projects in twenty-plus years.” His father opened the refrigerator door to show the good doctor that it was fully functional.

When Elaine glanced at him for help, Dean had to shrug his shoulders. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him, either, but he’d had some time for the state of the kitchen to sink in.

“Why is that, Mr. Collins?” She tilted her head to the side as if she was so very curious about why anyone would leave a kitchen torn up like this one. It was a valid question.

“I hate DIY projects.” His father grimaced. “That’s why I didn’t do them when Martha was alive and why I had no problem letting everything ride after she died. Eventually, even the regulars started staying at the chain hotel in Lawrence.” He toed the peeling linoleum. “I purely hate construction of any kind. Been running the place so long, it was nice to have a vacation. All that money we saved for someday, when we could retire to see the world, kept the lights on. And I’d rather fish. So I did.”

“Because you could,” Dean added. “I don’t blame you a bit. And you should say that Mom wouldn’t let you tackle any home improvements.”

Then he leaned closer to the doctor. “Very bad for his blood pressure and hers, if I recall correctly.” He was irritated she didn’t at least smile in return. He hadn’t spent a lot of time charming women lately, but surely he hadn’t completely lost his touch. If she liked him, maybe she’d back off, drop her offer.

Her small frown was cuter than it should be. Dr. Elaine Watson was obviously conscientious if a mention of his dad’s blood pressure could concern her even on her days off.

“Do you still have the cabinets?” she asked as she turned away from Dean. “Maybe I could get someone to put them back in.” The look she shot him suggested that maybe he should have already taken care of it. Dean considered his father and wondered if there was more to the story than he knew. Why was she giving him a glare that said, “Why aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“Hey, I’m not all that handy myself,” Dean said with a laugh. “That must be genetic, but we could hire someone to put the cabinets in. I’m sure they’re exactly what I need when I open the Tall Pines Fish Camp.”

“Fish camp?” Elaine wrinkled her nose as if she could already pick up a whiff of lake water and fish scales. “What a waste of this space.”

Annoyed again, Dean sent a pointed look around the gutted kitchen. “Or maybe exactly the right solution. Fishermen don’t need granite countertops. I could have this place up and running in no time.”

Elaine’s snort stopped him in his tracks. His father tried to hide a grin behind a cough. “Did I say something funny?”

“I’m sure they’re going to love the antiques in the front room and the morning-glory wallpaper that covers your entry.”

Morning glories. Finally! He’d been racking his brain to try to remember what the blue flowers were. His mother had loved them and babied a couple of vines in her garden. He wondered if they’d survived the neglect.

Dean was determined to ignore the doctor’s very good point. He would have to get a bigger television and some comfortable chairs. If he recalled correctly, most of the furniture in the front room looked like reproductions from an era when people were smaller and chair legs could be much fussier.

“Maybe the kitchen would work for your fish camp,” she said with a grimace, “but I bet I could open before you would.”

“Really.” He didn’t believe her for a minute. She was a doctor. He doubted she’d ever swung a hammer in her life. He was unemployed, with all the time in the world. Demolition might be his only contribution, but he wasn’t afraid of hard physical work. There was no question as to who would win this race.

“When I want something badly, I don’t waste time. You’d be shocked how quickly I could get this building restored and open for business.” One corner of her mouth turned up, and if he wasn’t mistaken, that was the fire of determination in her eyes. “Bet on it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t have to. This is my home. My father’s already promised to let me give it a shot. I’m going to make my changes on my own timeline. You lose.”

Her lips tightened, and she closed her eyes for two seconds. “Of course. You’re right. I’d forgotten in the excitement of seeing the Bluebird.” She stepped back. “Thank you for the tour, Mr. Collins.” She held out her hand. Dean reluctantly shook it. Surely it couldn’t be that simple. Then she smiled at his father. “When this fails, Mr. Collins, please give me a shot. As long as the building’s still standing, I’m interested in having my chance.”

Dean held up one hand. “When it fails?”

“Of course, I should have said if,” Elaine replied, but the look on her face didn’t seem to match her words. She wasn’t going to back down.

“Explain to me why I’m going to fail,” Dean answered.

“Well, one look at you says you’re not big on...planning ahead.” Her frosty gaze might have raised goose bumps if it hadn’t been a lovely summer day. “A renovation like this requires planning, marketing, new staff. You’re going to need money. Do you even have a business plan?”