Heron's Landing

Although she might have arrived in Honeymoon Harbor from Astoria, Zoe’s father’s family, like Seth’s own and the Mannions, were early settlers. From time to time he’d be dragged into pioneer celebrations, which he’d always enjoyed growing up, but the last few times had only made him all too aware that Zoe wasn’t there with him.

Putting that thought away in the mental lockbox, where he kept all things Zoe, he made another turn that took him past the high wrought iron gates of the cemetery, and along the water to the house in question.

The Queen Anne–era Victorian boasted three stories, four fireplaces, a turret and a curved porch with a view of both water and mountains. Back when it had been built by a timber baron in the late 1800s, at least two of the five acres it sat on had been gardens, which had long ago gone to weed.

He was standing on temporary gravel that had been planned to be a stone paver driveway, hands on his hips, looking up at the new slate roof that had cost an arm and leg but was historically accurate, when Brianna pulled up behind his truck.

The first thing he noticed when she climbed out of the snazzy red convertible, which wasn’t all that practical for the rainy Pacific Northwest, was how long her legs were. Why hadn’t he ever noticed that before? She was wearing a pair of cropped skinny jeans and a shirt blooming with hibiscus blossoms open over a white tank top. Her turquoise flats had little bows on the toes like the ones he remembered on Zoe’s ballet slippers during those years her mother had made her take dance lessons. Hopefully, Zoe had complained, with a roll of her expressive dark eyes, to make her more girly so she’d give up any idea of being a soldier.

Which, duh, hadn’t worked all that well since once Zoe Robinson got an idea in her head, it was impossible to shake it out. Still, those pale pink slippers with the lace-up ribbons and scuffed-up soles she was always having to clean were why those combat boots he’d last seen his wife wearing at her deployment ceremony at JBLM had always seemed so out of place.

Seeing his new best human friend again, Bandit loped over and jumped up, putting his paws on Brianna’s shoulders. At the same time a cloud overhead started spitting rain, making her colorful Las Vegas–style outfit all the more impractical. Which, even as he yelled at his dog to get down, had Seth wondering if it would really be possible for a woman who’d harbored such glamorous, big-city dreams to come home again.

The sudden cloudburst had soaked her, revealing a lacy bra beneath the white tank clinging to her lean body. It had been nearly three years since he’d seen a woman’s bra that wasn’t on a commercial for the Victoria’s Secret fashion show that’d pop up every year on ESPN. As an unbidden and entirely unwelcome feeling stirred, he snagged one of the emergency slickers he kept on hand for clients—usually Californians who didn’t understand the concept of weather changing on a dime—from his truck’s club cab back seat and held it out to her.

“Thanks.” She shrugged into it, covering up that see-through tank. “I remembered to put the top up on the car when I crossed the border into Oregon, but forgot the cardinal rule of never being without a rain jacket.” The sleeves fell nearly over her hands, which were tipped in coral lacquered nails that matched the flowers on her shirt. Each ring fingernail had a tiny white blossom with rhinestone centers painted on it, which was something he couldn’t remember ever seeing in Honeymoon Harbor.

“You probably didn’t need a slicker all that much in Vegas,” he said.

“That would be true. I know people up here dream of retiring to the desert, and a lot do, if all those gray-, blue-and purple-haired elderly ladies who’d camp out at the slots were any indication, but I never got the appeal. Natives would say there were two seasons: hot and hotter. I always thought there were three: hot, pizza oven hot and hell.” She lifted those colorful fingertips to her cheek. “And the lack of humidity, while good for hair, was horrible on the skin.”

Her skin looked just fine to him. When he found himself wondering if her smooth cheek felt as silky as it looked, the resultant stab of guilt jerked his mind back to their reason for being here.

“The color leaves a lot to be desired,” she said, looking up at what Seth personally considered an abomination, but the previous buyers had been adamant about wanting their very own painted lady.

“It’s undoubtedly visible from space,” he said.

“I would’ve gone with blue, to echo the water. Or perhaps yellow, to brighten the winter days. With crisp white trim.”

“Both of which I suggested.”

“Great minds.” She flashed him a smile that was like a ray of sun shining from the quilted gray sky and momentarily warmed some cold, dark place inside him.

“You sure you don’t want to come back another day? When it’s drier?”

“The roof’s new, right?” She glanced up at the randomly placed multicolored tiles in shades of blue and gray.

“It is. And not the fake stuff, but real slate formed by hand right here on the peninsula in Port Angeles. It’ll last another hundred years.”

“Then it won’t leak on us.”

“Not even during a downpour.” Which this wasn’t.

“So there’s nothing stopping us from going in.”

“It’s a mess.”

“I heard.”

“And you’re not exactly dressed for climbing over boards and nails.” He looked down at the flats.

“Good point.” She glanced over at the car. “Hold on a minute.”

As he watched, she ran over to the convertible, Bandit right on her heels, popped the trunk, opened a suitcase and pulled out a pair of yellow Keds with perky white daisies printed on the canvas. She sat down on the edge of the trunk and changed. The Keds weren’t proper boots, but if she was careful and he could keep her from climbing any leftover scaffolding, they’d work.

“Ready,” she said. Since she hadn’t pulled out any rain gear, he guessed she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said that she didn’t own any.

The snazzy car, along with the flowery blouse, which looked to be real silk and not the polyester Zoe had always bought at Target, suggested that she’d been well paid. But as two other owners in the last decade had proven, renovating a house like Herons Landing was neither easy nor inexpensive. And it also took time. He wondered if she ought to try staying in Honeymoon Harbor for a while before buying, just to be certain she found the town to be a good fit after all these years away.

“I’ve been homesick for a while,” she said when he carefully brought the subject up. “The idea had been simmering beneath the surface for some time, but I was too busy and distracted by work to recognize it. The minute I saw it was for sale, I felt the tug to come home.”

It was his turn to shrug. Hell, it was her problem, and her money. If it was what she really wanted to do, he’d make it happen. Not just because he was the best guy in Washington to pull the job off, but, other than himself, Brianna Mannion had been Zoe’s best friend. He owed it to her.

“Some folks around here still claim it’s haunted,” he said, taking her arm as he led her up the steps to the front door.

“Some folks also claim Bigfoot’s out there roaming around in the woods,” Brianna countered. “And if you believe the supermarket tabloids, actual sparkly vampires exist in Forks.”

“True. But a couple who bought it three years ago believed the stories enough to hire a Ghostbuster.”

She looked up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Not to get rid of her, but to connect on some ethereal plane. They wanted a self-proclaimed paranormal investigator to make sure she didn’t mind them living in her space.”

“I guess she told them that she did mind? Since they didn’t finish the project?”

“I’ve no idea since I didn’t ask and they didn’t tell.”

“I never really believed in her,” Brianna said. “Or, more, I never saw any proof. But I never disbelieved, either.”

“Whichever, they were arrested for running a Ponzi scheme disguised as a hedge fund and the property was seized by the government.” Leaving his bank account to take a huge hit when he’d been forced to pay for the materials and subcontractors out of his own pocket.

“Last summer it was bought at auction by a couple of doctors from the Bay Area who got tired of the San Francisco rat race and decided it would be fun to run a bed-and-breakfast. We’d barely started working on the interior when the docs realized what living in a construction zone would feel like. As their costs escalated, they got a divorce and bailed on the deal by declaring bankruptcy. We’re far enough down the debtor’s list, I doubt we’ll ever see a dime.”

“It sounds as if this place has turned into a money pit for you.”

“Enough that Dad decided the house may not be haunted, but it’s definitely cursed.”

Having to listen to his father’s nonstop bitching about Seth letting them get shafted, not once, but twice, had been the worst part of the deals. He’d have to remember to be outside when he told his old man about their new client. Because Ben Harper was flat-out going to hit the roof.

He wondered how much he should tell her about his parent’s separation, then decided, what the hell. Since she’d undoubtedly hear about his family’s domestic drama soon enough, he might as well let her know right off the bat.

“There is one thing that might cause a problem, so if you’re going to be around the house during work hours—”

“That would be my plan.”

“Then you need to know that my parents are currently separated.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head. “I’m sorry. That must be difficult for you. Being in the middle.”

“It’s not a walk in the park. But the reason I’m telling you up front is that it might concern you, too.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because my mom’s dating again.”

“I guess that’s a good thing? For her, anyway.”

“It seems to be. But here’s what could be a problem...the guy she’s seeing is your uncle.”

“Uncle Mike?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how serious things have gotten between them, but I had dinner with them at Leaf—which is this new vegetarian place that’s opened up since the last time you were here—”

“I saw the building. Near the park. Did you do the work?”

“Yeah. They hired a designer for the interior decorator stuff, but I drew up the plans and did the construction part of the job.”

“You’re awfully modest for a man who won an award for environmental historical renovation and remodeling.”

“Sounds like you really checked out the town’s website.”

“As I said, I’ve been homesick. I saw your award. That’s impressive.”

He shrugged. “There’s a lot happening in the historical environmental field right now,” he said, shaking off the cloud that had returned to hang over them. “I enjoy attending seminars on the various views and options.”

Not wanting her to think he was blowing his own horn, something his dad had taught him at an early age Harpers didn’t do, he didn’t tell her that he’d given a lot of those seminars himself. Just like they weren’t that generous with compliments, Harper men weren’t that good with accepting them. Another possible reason his mother seemed so attracted to Mike Mannion, who appeared to hand them out like penny candy.

Once again, Seth was forced to consider the idea that his parents’ separation could well become permanent. Then, once again, he reminded himself that they were adults and their relationship, whatever the hell it was or wasn’t these days, was none of his business.

“Anyway, getting back to Dad, he might not be all that cooperative.”

“Believe me,” she said on a laugh, “in the hospitality business you learn to deal with uncooperative people. Many of whom are males.”

Her rich, warm laugh caused a tug of something he’d thought he’d never feel again. Something that was too close to desire for comfort. Which was why Seth immediately shut it down. Even if he were looking for any kind of relationship, which he wasn’t, getting involved with his wife’s best friend would just be too weird.

Which made Brianna Mannion definitely off-limits.

As he used his key to open the lockbox on the door, Seth reminded himself that he’d be wise to remember that.

CHAPTER EIGHT

HE HADN’T BEEN EXAGGERATING. However, from what he and Kylee had told her, Brianna had expected the cobwebs, mouse droppings and graffiti she remembered from those youthful days of breaking in. The graffiti was still there on the unfortunately ugly wallpapered foyer walls, but the only thing covering the floors was taped-down paper, sawdust and a few scattered nails. Scaffolding and sawhorses supporting long pieces of Sheetrock as tabletops took up much of the covered floors.

“The interior walls are all gone.” That had been a spooky, but in a weird way, fun thing about the house. Going from parlor to parlor, never knowing what lurked around a corner. Pipes and wires between studs were all that remained.

Broad shoulders lifted and fell in what appeared to be a resigned shrug. “They thought open concept on the first floor would make for a communal experience.”

“I can’t argue with that. Especially when you’re hosting a group that wants to spend time together. But they seem to have overdone the concept.”

“Again, we’re in full agreement.”

“Could you put some walls back in?”

“Sure. We’ll have to move some electrical and plumbing, and you’ll probably need to change the HVAC, but it’s doable. Were you thinking of going more back to the original layout?”

“A combination would be good.” She’d decided that on the long drive home. “Some small parlor rooms for more intimate conversations, and even private meals. But I want a wide-open kitchen with plenty of room to serve breakfast.”

Attacking her research the same way she had in her previous occupation, she’d bought two audiobooks about the business of establishing and running a B and B that she’d listened to along the drive, pulling off at exits every so often to write down notes in the three-ring binder she’d bought before leaving Las Vegas. She also had three more books on her Kindle waiting to be read.

She looked a long way up. “The mural is still there.”

Rather than depicting the mythological figures popular at the time the house was built, these were scenes of the peninsula—from the cliffs and crashing waves, to the glaciers of Mount Olympus, standing tall over Hurricane Ridge, to the towering hemlock and Douglas firs, the fields of lavender farms, the strait leading to the Puget Sound cities of Seattle, Tacoma and Olympia, the dazzling blue bay that Honeymoon Harbor had been built on.

Scattered throughout the quadrants were the Native American original settlers, the ships, including Captain Vancouver’s Discovery, fishermen and builders like Seth’s family. Unsurprising, given that the house had been contracted by a timber baron, loggers claimed the center.

“I had to fight to keep that,” he revealed. “The doctors wanted to paint over it and hang a massive chandelier they were bringing in from some old Italian chateau. Fortunately, the historical preservation folks stepped in to back me up since it turned out to have been painted by Whistler.”

“The Whistler? As in James McNeill Whistler?”

“The very same. The original owner of this place had seen one he’d painted on the dining room in the home of some wealthy Liverpool shipowner and wanted something like it for this house. The fact that he was an American pulled a lot of weight with the historical committee.”

“That makes it even more special. If I make a separate page for it on the website, it might even bring in historical art lovers wanting to stay here. Whistler’s got to have a following, right?”

“Could be,” Seth agreed. “The same way people go around the country searching out certain architects’ work.”

“Though, of course, that alone might not cause them to stay more than a single night. Fortunately, with the National Park and the proximity to the coast, and Victoria, BC, we’ve lots of other local things for visitors to do that will keep them here for at least a weekend, or longer. I’m going to make a list and put together packages on the site.”

“You’ve thought this through if you’ve gotten to planning a website.”

“It’s a nineteen-hour drive and a two-hour ferry ride from Las Vegas to Honeymoon Harbor. That gave me a lot of time to think. And I can tell from the expression on your face that you think it’s just a whim, but it’s not. Maybe the idea sounds impulsive, but it’s been percolating in the back of my mind for a long time. It just took an inciting incident to bring it to the surface.”

Seth thought about asking what incident that might be, wondered if it had anything to do with a guy, then decided the less he knew about Brianna’s personal life, the better.

“Except for updating all the wiring in the place to keep the house from being a fire hazard, the second floor hasn’t been touched,” he said as they walked toward the back stairs.

Bandit usually took the opportunity to patrol the perimeter for renegade squirrels if no worker was around to mooch from, but today he seemed to have decided to tag along with the pretty new lady.

“The circular stairway in the front entry is a showcase, but if it were the only one, the owners—who I guess would now be you—would have to keep running into guests.” Which he personally wouldn’t enjoy. Then again, ever since his wife got blown up, no one would refer to him as Mr. Hospitality on his best day.

“Good point,” she said.

“The third story attic’s been turned into a penthouse with its own kitchen. The previous owners intended to live there.”

She shuddered. “I remember bats.”

“They’re all gone. Though there is a bat house at the far end of the property, not far from the pond. Not only are they good for pollinating plants, one little brown guy can eat a thousand mosquitoes a night.”

“That’s a plus,” she allowed.

“All the windows, including those in the attic dormers, have been reglazed,” he assured her. “That wavy glass was a better insulator back then and, hell, it just looks better.”

Brianna paused on the landing leading up to what was once an attic crowded with junk. And mice. And, yes, bats. She’d gotten one tangled up in her hair one night, he recalled. He’d managed to free her, but not before she’d practically blown out his eardrums with her screeching.

While Zoe had long dark curls, Brianna’s hair was the color of caramel streaked with gold. As he got a whiff of its citrusy scent, he wondered if the streaks had been created by the blazing desert sun, or if she’d paid for them in some chichi salon. Not that he cared. It was just a random thought.

“I can tell why you deserved to win that award,” she said, thankfully unaware of his thoughts. “You really care.”

“Harpers built most of these old buildings,” he said. “It only makes sense that I’d want them to stay true to the original vision.”

“Yet with your credentials, you could work anywhere. You’d undoubtedly be in demand in lots of big cities where you could make more money.”

“I have all the money I need. And I like it here just fine. Though I have done a couple jobs, for cost, in Portland and Seattle for preservationists wanting to save them from the wrecking ball.”

She gave him another slanted-head look, as if working for free hadn’t been a concept in her high-flying world. Which, he figured, it probably hadn’t been.

“Let me show you the penthouse.” As he followed her up the stairs, it would have been impossible not to notice that she had a very fine ass filling out the back of those skinny jeans.

Off-limits, he reminded himself firmly.

CHAPTER NINE

“OH, WOW.” Brianna stopped in the doorway of what she’d remembered as a spooky, cluttered bat attic. “This is an amazing space.” She walked in and turned around, arms outspread. “You could have the entire cast of Swan Lake dancing on these floors.” Which were natural light maple coated to a soft sheen.

“Different strokes. I pictured the Trail Blazers running up and down the court.”

“That’s ’cause you’re a guy.” A fact that, as she felt herself drowning in two deep pools of hot fudge, she was all too aware of. She glanced a long way up. “I don’t remember the ceiling being this high.”

“It wasn’t. We raised the roof another four feet, which brought it to twelve feet.”

“I couldn’t tell from the outside. But this makes it so bright and airy. Especially with the open beams and skylights you’ve added to the original dormer windows.”

She walked over to the window and looked out over the water, where a successful haul had a pair of fishing boats moving slowly and heavily into port. A gleaming bridal-white and grass-green ferry chugged across the bay. In the distance, the wooded islands appeared like emeralds on a bed of sapphire silk.

He gave her a brief tour, showing her the small three-quarters bath with a large shower with two walls glass, and the other two subway tile with gray grout. There was also a long counter with double sinks. She would have liked a tub, but lounging in a tub probably wasn’t something she’d have time for anyway.

The walls had been painted a soft grayish sage that blended with the various shades of green outside the windows. A kitchen area with maple cabinets and a gray quartz counter ran along one wall, and a large island divided the living space. The new gas fireplace featured a surround created by vertical strips of marble in grays and whites.

“It’s interesting that they chose such calming colors when the exterior is so discordant,” she mused.

“I figured they thought people would expect bright colors on a Queen Anne,” Seth said. “Or maybe they’d always dreamed of owning a painted lady of their own back home in San Francisco.”

“Whichever, paint can always be changed. Meanwhile, this space is lovely. You’ve almost made me forget the bats.”

“All the vent openings are well screened,” he assured her. “They can’t get in.”

“That’s good to know.” She crossed the room and looked out the windows facing the opposite side of the house, toward the snowcapped mountains, where blue and yellow wildflowers danced in the meadows. “The heron nests are still there.”

The great blue heron was iconic to the Pacific Northwest, celebrated in art going back to the earliest Native Americans. The massive nests on this property had been built in towering Douglas firs over years of breeding seasons, with birds building new nests with sticks and twigs every year. Glancing out, she could count five, though she remembered as many as a dozen at one time.

“Lucky,” he said. “Now you won’t have to change the name.”

She glanced over her shoulder and realized he was standing close behind her. Close enough for her to breathe in the brisk scent of his soap, like the towering fir trees blanketing the mountains, along with an undernote of workingman musk that was clouding her mind. “Lucky,” she murmured, knowing that he was joking. Despite the town’s long-ago name change, tradition was taken seriously in Honeymoon Harbor. Whoever owned the house, whatever it became, this would always be known as Herons Landing.

“As much as I love my parents, I’d feel like a teenager living there all the time it’s going to take to remodel,” she said, moving out of the danger zone before turning around to face him again. “I thought I’d rent in town for now, then eventually live in the carriage house for more privacy when I got up and running, but for now, this would be perfect.”

“And noisy,” he warned her. “Because you’d be living over a construction zone.”

“Ah, but it’d be convenient, because I’d be on-site instead of having to drive in from the farm every day.”

“You really do intend to be hands-on.” The tone was neutral, but she sensed that he was wary about that idea. Given the previous buyers’ choice of exterior paint, she understood his caution.