The Inn at Eagle Point Read online

  She hung up and turned to find Gram staring at her with a dismayed expression.

  “What have you done?” Gram asked.

  “I’ve invited Mom to the opening party at the inn,” she replied with a touch of defiance.

  Her grandmother’s face filled with dismay. “Oh, Abby, why would you do such a thing? You know it will go badly.”

  “I don’t know that,” Abby insisted.

  “It’s Jess’s big night. Did you ask her what she wanted?”

  “No, because she would have told me not to do it, even though having Mom here would mean the world to her. She’s too angry and scared of rejection to reach out, so I did it for her.”

  “And your father? How do you think Mick will feel? If he learns about this, he’ll stay right where he is, all the way across the country, rather than see Megan under this roof again. It was hard enough on him having her back here to visit you children.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” Abby said, though with less confidence than she’d felt a few minutes ago. Gram knew Mick better than any of them. “Maybe they can finally mend fences, or at least find a way to be civil so the family can celebrate holidays and other important occasions together.”

  Gram shook her head. “You always were an optimist. Well, you didn’t ask me what I thought ahead of time, so it’s all on you. I hope you don’t come to regret it.”

  Abby sighed at her dire tone. She was already praying that Gram had it wrong and that this wasn’t going to blow up in her face. To prepare for the possibility that she’d need some allies, she called Bree next. Her sister, who’d won a grant to write scripts for a regional theater in Chicago, wasn’t home, so Abby left her a message. She tried Connor at his apartment in Baltimore and wound up leaving a voice mail for him, as well. Though his final year of law school studies kept him busy, she was sure he’d make time for this.

  Now all that was left was to tell Jess what she’d done. And she was pretty sure that it would be best not to do that until she had firm commitments from all of them. At least that would give her a few days to come up with a strategy that wouldn’t end with Jess accusing her once again of trying to run—or maybe ruin—her life.

  Jess had spent several days back in April interviewing potential chefs for the inn and had finally found the perfect candidate. Gail Chambers had solid credentials, despite only being in her late twenties. She’d been a sous-chef in several excellent restaurants on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, but was eager to run her own kitchen. She was also recently married to a man with two children, and they wanted to settle in a small, close-knit community, where the kids would get a solid education but within comparatively easy commuting distance to her husband’s job in Annapolis. Chesapeake Shores and the inn were a perfect fit with their needs.

  The only issue had been that the inn’s kitchen wasn’t state-of-the-art. Jess had promised to look into upgrading the appliances, with a professional quality range at the top of Gail’s wish list. Now that she had Abby’s infusion of cash, Jess decided she could make good on that promise.

  “I’m going to meet with the new chef,” she told Abby as she headed out at midmorning on Monday.

  Abby barely glanced up from the paperwork that she always seemed to be obsessed with. “Have fun,” she murmured and went right back to whatever she’d been doing.

  Jess was actually relieved for once that Abby hadn’t given her full attention. She’d been anticipating an argument about this purchase. She thought she had lots of valid reasons for buying the equipment now, but she had a hunch Abby would find fault with them.

  An hour later she and Gail were engrossed with shiny, stainless-steel appliances that could have made any chef weep with envy. One glance at the price tags almost had Jess weeping herself. She’d had no idea that professional commercial-grade equipment could cost this much. She’d looked at their bank balance, though, and knew there was money there for this kind of an investment in the inn’s future.

  Swallowing her anxiety over Abby’s reaction, she turned to Gail. “Okay, we have to be prudent here. If you can only pick one thing, which would it be? A new range? A bigger refrigerator? Something else?”

  Gail immediately gravitated to the huge Viking dual fuel range with its convection oven, multiple burners and special cooking surface for grilling. Jess winced at the price.

  “It’ll last forever,” Gail said, clearly sensing her reluctance. “It’s the kind of investment you won’t regret. If you buy something on the cheap, the repair bills will eat up whatever savings you have in the short run.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Jess said, seeing the logic immediately. Surely, as pragmatic as Abby was, she would get that, too. Still, Jess could envision her sister’s reaction. “Is there another model, maybe a smaller version of this one, that would work as well? I mean, we’re probably not going to be catering to huge crowds very often.”

  “But when we do, you’ll want something this size. Otherwise there are certain events you simply won’t be able to take on. You said something about wanting to do weddings at the inn. Even for a reception of fifty or so, you need the kind of capability this will give you.”

  Gail had hit on the strongest selling point yet. Jess had big plans for building the inn’s private-event business. Obviously they couldn’t handle conventions, but small, classy weddings or family reunions would work nicely. Her chef would need the right equipment if they were to pull off that kind of event.

  “Okay, we’ll get it,” she said decisively. “Let’s find that salesman and make the arrangements.”

  She just prayed she’d be alone at the inn when it was delivered. Once it was in place in the kitchen, it would be a whole lot harder for Abby to insist it be sent back. In fact, since her sister seldom went into the kitchen except to grab a soft drink or tea from the refrigerator or to pour herself a cup of coffee, maybe she wouldn’t even notice the new purchase. Jess glanced at the monstrous stove and sighed. Hardly likely, she thought. It was much more likely that they were going to have the mother of all fights the instant Abby spotted it.

  Jess steeled herself for the argument that would follow. She’d just have to pull rank for once. Her inn. Her decision.

  Abby’s money, a voice in her head nagged.

  No, Jess thought defiantly. It was the inn’s money now. Abby had made an investment. She hadn’t been given control, except by Trace, but on paper at least, the inn belonged to Jess and Jess alone. She still had the power to write the checks.

  Oh, who was she kidding? She’d been spoiling for a fight with her sister over control ever since Trace had put Abby in charge of the finances. It might as well be over a magnificent piece of equipment, instead of all the nickel-and-dime stuff they’d been bickering over up until now.

  “You look a little pale,” Gail observed. “Are you sure that buying this is okay? It’s my dream equipment, but I don’t want you to blow your budget to smithereens to get it. I’d like to be able to buy quality produce and meats in a few weeks, not skimp on ingredients.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Jess said firmly, reaching for the credit card receipt and scrawling her name across the bottom.

  She was able to narrow down the window for the delivery to a couple of hours and carefully made a note of the date and time. Abby had said something earlier about running up to New York for a couple of days, so the timing should be ideal. It was going to be fine, she reassured herself.

  Of course, if she was so sure about that, why was she working so hard to make sure the delivery happened when Abby was away? Rather than think about that, she turne
d to Gail. “Do you have time for lunch? We could start talking about menus.”

  The chef’s eyes lit up. “Fabulous. I already have lots of ideas.”

  For the next two hours, they sat in a fast-food restaurant jotting down notes about possible main courses, appetizers, breakfasts and, of course, the decadent desserts they both thought were a must. Jess used every piece of paper in her purse, including the one with the delivery information on it. Gail ran out of pages in her notepad, as well. As they left the restaurant, she turned all of her notes over to Gail.

  “I’ll be in touch in a day or two with some daily menus, as well as a list of possible appetizers for the opening party,” Gail promised as they parted.

  Jess hugged her, grateful for her enthusiasm and her obvious expertise. “I think we’re going to work really, really well together.”

  “Me, too.”

  Jess drove home, her head spinning. She was almost as excited as she had been on the day she’d signed the papers to buy the inn. It was all coming together, just the way she’d envisioned it. The opening was only a few weeks away, and after that it would be smooth sailing.

  She considered going straight back to the inn to share her excitement with Abby as she’d planned, but decided instead to tell Gram. Somewhere deep inside, she recognized that she was afraid that Abby would find a way to cast a damper over her enthusiasm. Just for today she wanted to bask in what she’d accomplished, rather than listening to another lecture about the mistakes she’d made. There’d be time enough for that when Abby discovered the bill for the new range.

  Abby had dealt with all of the inn’s bills by lunchtime and had turned her attention to the job that actually paid her bills when she looked up to find Trace studying her.

  “You look cute with your brow all furrowed like that,” he commented with a grin.

  Abby leaned back in her chair. “You have an odd standard for cute.”

  “Nope. It’s just you. I think you’re cute all the time.”

  She gave him an exaggerated scowl. “Just what every woman hopes to hear.”

  He laughed at her indignation. “How many times have I told you you’re beautiful? Didn’t that sink in? And sexy. Have I mentioned how sexy you are?”

  She caught herself before she smiled. “I don’t believe you have. Not the sexy part, anyway.”

  “I guess I thought that went without saying, since I’ve been kissing you every chance I get.”

  There hadn’t been that many chances, she thought to herself, but the few there had been were definitely memorable. He clearly didn’t need to hear that, though. His ego was massive enough as it was. “What are you doing here, by the way?”

  “We have a date. Don’t you remember?”

  “A date?” she repeated blankly.

  “Ice cream with the twins. I figured I’d toss in lunch, too.”

  “You really want to spend that much time with the twins?”

  He frowned at the question. “Why wouldn’t I? They’re great kids.”

  “I could change your mind about that by letting you take them to town on your own. I think you’d come away with a different opinion entirely.”

  He pulled a chair up and sat down beside her. “Abby Winters, are you dissing your own adorable daughters? I’m shocked.”

  “Just being realistic.” She looked over his designer suit, crisp white shirt and silk tie. Great attire for banking, but not for dining with her girls. “What exactly did you have in mind for lunch? You look as if you’re dressed for the yacht club.”

  “I was thinking hot dogs from the vendor at the end of Main Street,” he said at once. “The girls can run around outside and work off some energy, while you and I enjoy a little adult conversation.”

  She shook her head. “You really are a dreamer. And if that’s your plan, I suggest you stop at your apartment and change, unless you’re experienced at getting mustard, ketchup and ice cream out of your clothes.”

  “I’m a very neat eater.”

  “Carrie and Caitlyn aren’t.”

  “Ah, I see. Okay, I’ll leave the jacket and tie in the car.” He studied her with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Or were you hoping to get a look at my apartment and sneak a peek at me in my underwear?”

  “With two five-year-olds present? I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, then, let’s go pick them up and get this show on the road.”

  Abby stood up, but before she could gather up her purse and the sweater she’d worn on her walk over to the inn earlier, Trace snagged her wrist.

  “I think I’ll have my dessert first,” he said, leaning in for a slow, lingering kiss that steamed up the room. “Yep, sexy. No question about it.”

  Shaken, Abby regarded him with dazed eyes. “That wasn’t supposed to be on the menu.”

  “Really?” he said innocently. “I could have sworn it was today’s special.”

  She gave him a smug look. “Well, since you’re so satisfied with that, no ice cream for you later. And no more stolen kisses, either.” She didn’t think she could take the damage to her nerves. It was getting harder and harder to tell herself that she and Trace were nothing more than old friends, because she was beginning to remember with total, sizzling clarity just how much more they had been.

  “Mr. Riley, can we have another ice cream cone?” Carrie begged, even though she already had chocolate pretty much head to toe from the last one. Of course, some of it had ended up on the ground when she’d been running after her sister.

  Caitlyn was covered with strawberry ice cream and still had several bites of her cone left, but she bounced up and down beside her sister. “Yes, please,” she said, placing her sticky, strawberry-coated hand on his thigh, leaving behind a streak of pale pink ice cream.

  Trace glanced at Abby, who was turned away, clearly trying not to laugh. So far he had a streak of mustard down one sleeve, a splash of ketchup on the front of his shirt and now strawberry ice cream. He was pretty sure there was a smudge of chocolate on his face, because Carrie had crawled up onto the bench and patted his cheek earlier while thanking him for the first cone. She’d tilted the cone precariously in the process, and he’d almost wound up with the whole thing in his lap.

  He gazed into those earnest little faces and struggled with what to tell them. Logic told him they couldn’t possibly still be hungry, not after one and a half hot dogs each, French fries and a double-scoop cone of ice cream. However, he had promised them all they could eat.

  Again, he looked toward Abby for guidance, but she pretended to be gazing at the bay, leaving him to handle the situation.

  “Okay,” he said at last. “But only one scoop and this time let’s get it in a bowl. Then you can sit over there under that tree and eat it with a spoon.”

  “Okay,” Caitlyn said agreeably. “I want vanilla this time.”

  “Me, too,” Carrie said.

  “Abby, what about you? Do you want more ice cream?”

  “I think one hot-fudge sundae—which you pushed on me, by the way—is more than enough.”

  He grinned. “I notice you ate every bite, though.”

  “Well, of course I did! You can’t let hot fudge go to waste. That would be a crime.”

  “Okay, then, two scoops of vanilla ice cream in bowls,” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He hadn’t taken two steps when sticky little hands seized his, one on each side.

  “We
’ll help,” Carrie declared.

  Something turned over deep inside Trace at the feel of those hands in his. They were so sweet, so trusting. He felt a powerful surge of paternal protectiveness that he’d never anticipated. He knew in that instant that he’d do anything necessary to be sure that nothing or no one ever hurt them.

  A few minutes later, with the girls settled in the shade with their bowls of what was rapidly becoming vanilla soup, he turned to Abby.

  “They’re really amazing, you know. You’re clearly a great mom.”

  To his surprise, she sighed.

  “I don’t always feel like one,” she confessed. “Back home, I work too long. Some days I barely get to spend an hour with them before they go to sleep. I wonder if one day they won’t start to resent me for that, the way Jess resents Mick.”

  “It’s not the amount of time you spend with them, it’s the quality. They obviously adore you.”

  “You might think this is crazy, but some days I look at them and the relationship they have with the nanny, and I actually get jealous. I think she knows them better than I do. She was there for so many of their firsts, and I wasn’t.”

  “Hey, don’t beat yourself up for that. You set your priorities, and you did it because it was best for them.”

  “Did I? Or was it my own ambition that drove me?”

  He frowned at the question. “I hear Wes talking now. How many times did he say something like that to you?”

  “More than once,” she admitted. “Just because he was the one to say it doesn’t make it wrong.”

  “It does if it made you question yourself as a mother. I’ve seen dysfunctional mothers and, believe me, you don’t even reach the bottom rung on the ladder. Remember Delilah Bennett? Now she was a bad mother.”

  Just as he’d hoped, Abby grinned. “You mean because she was basically running a prostitution ring and drug operation out of her house?”