Книга - The Single Dad Next Door

The Single Dad Next Door
Jessica Keller


Love Comes HomeAll Maggie West has ever wanted is a family to call her own. But her new neighbor, single dad Kellen Ashby, is definitely not the man to make that dream come true. His daughters are sweet and silly, the kind of kids Maggie used to imagine having herself. But Kellen has just inherited the inn Maggie manages–her former family home–and the two butt heads at almost every turn. He's handsome, and clearly a devoted father, but with all the changes taking place, Maggie worries she may soon be jobless, homeless or both. At war with her emotions, Maggie will have to decide what truly matters–heart or home.







Love Comes Home

All Maggie West has ever wanted is a family to call her own. But her new neighbor, single dad Kellen Ashby, is definitely not the man to make that dream come true. His daughters are sweet and silly, the kind of kids Maggie used to imagine having herself. But Kellen has just inherited the inn Maggie manages—her former family home—and the two butt heads at almost every turn. He’s handsome, and clearly a devoted father, but with all the changes taking place, Maggie worries she may soon be jobless, homeless or both. At war with her emotions, Maggie will have to decide what truly matters—heart or home.


She tried to pack away her dreams of a family.

Locked the wish up tight in an old chest in her heart and tossed the key. The days of hoping for a husband and longing for children were gone.

Yet in the car, listening to Kellen and his girls, the dream almost felt attainable again. If she couldn’t have a family of her own, perhaps she could grow old next door beside Skylar and Ruthy. Sure, it wouldn’t have the marriage part. A man like Kellen would never settle for a woman like her.

Maggie stole a glance his way.

He looked over at her again. Their stares collided and Maggie’s breath caught. Kellen was handsome. Ten times more handsome than any of the other men in Goose Harbor. And then there was that voice…

“Sing with us, Maggie.” He winked again.

“I…I don’t know the song.” Her gaze broke with his and skittered to look out the window.

That was the crux of everything, wasn’t it? I don’t know the song. What did she know of love and romance?


JESSICA KELLER is a Starbucks drinker, avid reader and chocolate aficionado. Jessica holds degrees in communications and biblical studies. She is multipublished in both romance and young-adult fiction and loves to interact with readers through social media. Jessica lives in the Chicagoland suburbs with her amazing husband, beautiful daughter and two annoyingly outgoing cats who happen to be named after superheroes. Find all her contact information at jessicakellerbooks.com (http://jessicakellerbooks.com).


The Single Dad

Next Door

Jessica Keller






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

—Romans 5:5


For Sadie, who, upon reading the first chapter of The Widower’s Second Chance (the first book in the Goose Harbor series), immediately asked when we’d hear Maggie’s story.


Contents

Cover (#u950614c5-76bc-56b2-90ba-230ec7e5ff15)

Back Cover Text (#u18d54722-f4ad-5c88-ac88-5c44a0f2ab99)

Introduction (#u1ebbb97c-b892-53cc-9197-4e37503cc128)

About the Author (#u9552f0fc-0998-511e-ae75-6811377db904)

Title Page (#uce4e05c8-d234-5a80-bc36-5b518cb14f70)

Bible Verse (#ub58badc1-1a69-50bd-a5e5-3db6c2090870)

Dedication (#u0d071e3a-2e27-51c7-94e8-77268e136da3)

Chapter One (#u861cb542-39b2-5d0d-9f32-e0fee494c55e)

Chapter Two (#uc1e68b64-dc15-5329-82d0-a8899b378df3)

Chapter Three (#u01f1331c-0621-5484-9e5b-7d80b9cbb469)

Chapter Four (#u9917e8d6-a8b7-59d0-b123-6bd0aaab0121)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_8d8efb47-3c6a-59fe-b256-2f0f93c91ae1)

A car door slammed outside, jolting Maggie West awake.

Like tugging a quilt to cover her body on a cold morning, she yanked on the edge of her dream in an effort to fall back to sleep again. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to force herself to rest a little longer. Being the manager of the West Oaks Inn, she so rarely had the opportunity to stay in bed past five in the morning. Under normal circumstances, she’d be in the kitchen right now, whipping up her latest gourmet creation for her guests. But she currently had no guests despite many schools being on spring break.

Tomorrow morning there would be guests to feed, but she’d prepared their rooms last night. She’d still go over the rooms one last time today before people arrived tonight, but for once, her plan had been to stay under her covers for most of the morning.

So much for that idea.

Oh well, eight in the morning was sleeping in long enough for her. Maggie let her eyes adjust to the bright light streaming in through her lace curtains. Her room was a mishmash of antiques, country charm and hand-me-downs. And she liked it that way. The sheet of glass that covered the top of the hundred-year-old dresser near the closet had once been the top counter of a pharmacy. She often tried to picture the people who had leaned against that counter to look at what was inside the case. Had they been sick people buying leeches? Or children with their noses pressed into the glass begging for the penny candy inside?

That was the joy of old things. They told stories. Each piece held a history worth remembering. Half the furniture that filled the rooms in the inn were pieces she’d saved from the curbside—stuff others were going to throw away. People were so set on making things modern or redesigning perfectly functional homes. They lost sight of the wonder of remembering days long ago when life was slower. Safer. Better.

She rolled onto her side and stared at her nightstand. The old trunk set on its narrow end had belonged to her grandmother and still smelled like Gran’s lilac lotion whenever Maggie opened it up. On top of the makeshift nightstand rested her cherished family heirlooms—her father’s favorite timepiece, the brooch her mother had always worn to church, as well as a photo of her sister, Sarah. All people who had left the world—left her—far too early.

Now she’d have to find something of Ida’s to place there. Maggie rubbed her palm over the ache in her chest.

Seeing those belongings each morning made her feel a little less alone. She knew their owners were gone but cherished remembering them all the same.

“Why’d you have to go, Ida? Why?” Maggie sat up in bed and pressed her fingers against her eyes. Maggie had revisited that day a month ago a hundred times in her mind, wondering if there was some way she could have saved her elderly neighbor. But the doctor said the heart attack had been quick. Too quick. That nothing could have been done to change things.

Once again, Maggie had been powerless to help the people she loved. At least now there was no one left to fail.

Ida Ashby hadn’t been related to Maggie by blood, but the bond had been just as strong. For the past couple years Ida had been the only family she had left after Caleb, her late sister’s widower, had remarried.

She couldn’t focus on her losses anymore. Taking stock would only depress her. Maggie refused to let herself feel that way. Besides, thinking about Ida brought to light the fact that the very room she was lying in at the moment might no longer belong to her. Not that it belonged to her in a monetary sense, but Ida had let her stay in the residential portion of the inn even though Ida owned it. What if the new owner kicked her to the curb?

Stop. Thinking like that would lead to no good.

Flopping back onto the pillows, she tugged her blanket to her chin again and scrunched her eyes shut. She pulled back her dream—the one she’d had a thousand times since high school. Okay, she wasn’t asleep again—it was too late for that—but she could picture everything as if she were.

Wearing a white, flowing dress, she stood barefoot in a valley as an army of dark characters stalked toward her. Her dream self let out a scream. As usual, a man riding a white horse, brandishing a sword, appeared at the top of the hill. Turning his steed, he charged down the steep cliff and leaned over to effortlessly scoop Maggie up into his arms and carry her away from danger. Every inch of her felt alive. She was safe in the arms of her hero—her knight in shining armor.

Just like always, he rode with her to a field of wildflowers and then slowed his horse. Slipping down, he gathered her in his arms and set her on the cool earth. Maggie leaned forward to lift up his helmet, to offer him a kiss.

Outside the inn, another car door slammed.

“No! No!” Maggie moaned, releasing the pillow she was snuggling with. In the years the dream had reoccurred, not once had she seen the face of her rescuer. If only...

Maggie shook that thought away and finally shoved out of bed.

Prince Charming was never coming. For the first few years of her thirties, she’d joked that he was only lost along the way to finding her and—so like a man—wouldn’t ask for directions. But Maggie had long stopped repeating that line. It hurt knowing that not even a lost prince was coming, but there it was. She might as well get used to the imaginary man in the shiny helmet, because he would be the only champion she’d ever have.

Voices sounded outside. They were closer than people walking on the sidewalk, which meant she possibly had drive-by business and someone wanted to book one of the open rooms for tonight.

Shoving her blinds apart, she squinted out the window. No vehicles were parked in the small lot in front of the inn. But then, where?

Her vision narrowed in on a green Subaru wagon parked in front of the home next door—Ida Ashby’s cottage. The home had stayed empty since her funeral. No one at the wake had known whom she’d left her house to, and Maggie had been too afraid to ask—fearing that knowing would lead to her being evicted from the inn quicker. And that couldn’t happen.

She fisted her hands.

The old West Mansion should be hers. After all, Maggie was the only West left. As a member of the town’s founding family, she should have a right to the home. Even if she couldn’t afford the place. When she almost lost it, Ida had swooped in and saved her. Ida purchased the mansion and proposed the idea of a bed-and-breakfast, offering to let Maggie live in a portion that would be converted for residential use and run the place. Most people in Goose Harbor still thought Maggie owned the place, and Ida hadn’t minded them assuming that. With Maggie’s culinary background, it had been the perfect solution.

Would the new owner announce that she was basically a squatter? It would ruin her reputation in town. Poor Maggie. All her family is gone and she couldn’t even hang on to her inheritance.

Maggie hadn’t been invited to the reading of the will, but she knew Ida hadn’t left the inn to her. She’d been foolish to assume Ida would. Ida had family to give her things to—even if that family had never visited her. Even if Maggie had been the one to take care of Ida every day since Mr. Ashby had passed away. A lawyer showed up on Maggie’s doorstep a week after the funeral and told her she was allowed to stay...for now. That was it.

Real comforting.

Why hadn’t she been saving money for an event like this? With not much in her savings, she didn’t have many options if she was told to vacate the inn. If she hadn’t given her money...

She shook her head. Thinking of him wouldn’t help. It never did.

Her hair probably looked fearsome. Thirty-some odd years of life hadn’t been long enough to learn how to tame her curls. No matter. She would just pin it here and there and put on some jeans and head over to meet whoever was in Ida’s home. Perhaps they were just stopping in to check on the place. Or maybe they’d turn her out on the street the instant they met her.

On second thought...her bed still looked like a pretty good place to spend the day.

No. Be strong. Put on a brave face. Like always. Don’t let them see fear.

She needed to stop hiding.

She needed to see how bad her future was about to become.

* * *

Kellen Ashby couldn’t stop groaning.

When the lawyer contacted him to say he’d inherited all of his aunt’s belongings—including her home in the picturesque tourist town of Goose Harbor—he’d envisioned something grander than a cottage. Much grander. The squatty house with its low ceiling looked as though it belonged on the set of the movie The Hobbit. Rounded front door included. Thick vine plants snaked over the side of the house and up onto the roof. If he took a machete to those, would they grow right back? Being raised in Arizona and then living in Southern California gave him little experience when it came to vine tending. Or any sort of greenery, come to think of it.

What had he gotten himself into?

Kellen scrubbed his hand down his face.

Would moving to Michigan just be one more mistake in his life? First rejecting the upbringing and religion of his parents, and then leaving home with his band to tour. The parties.

He shook his head.

The groupies—at least the one. Cynthia. Trusting that she cared about him had been his biggest mistake. She’d wanted his money. Wanted the fame that was within the band’s grasp. But not him. And not their daughters, either.

How could a woman walk out on her children? He’d never understand that.

Yes, there was a lot of wrong in his past. But two years ago when he finally gave up trying to live up to the world’s standards and instead, gave himself over to God—the mistakes had been washed away.

Right?

He fisted his hands.

Goose Harbor wasn’t a mistake. It was a provision. Plain and simple. Aunt Ida had no reason to leave her possessions to him, so the events had to be what his brothers always called a God thing.

Honestly he couldn’t remember what Aunt Ida even looked like. A picture inside would hopefully solve that mystery for him. He’d met the woman twice in his life. Both of those times had been in his childhood before he took off from home right after his eighteenth birthday.

His three brothers had questioned why their aunt had left him everything and hadn’t mentioned them in the will. But Kellen had no answer for them. He hadn’t kept in touch with her. Hadn’t thought about her over the past twelve years. Not once.

Yet here he stood on her property—now his property.

“Dad! This place is so cool.” Skylar, his oldest, rushed past him and yanked open the door. Her light red, crooked pigtails bobbed as she darted inside. She peeked her head back out the door again. “Do you think the Seven Dwarves lived here? It looks like their home, doesn’t it? Like the pictures in my book. Don’t you think so, Ruthy?” Skylar grabbed hold of her younger sister’s chubby hand and gently led her inside.

Kellen took a deep breath. He could make the tiny cottage work. For them. He’d have to. For the good of his girls he’d do anything. After everything, they deserved a safe life—and more. He’d moved here for them. Left a high-paying job managing the elite Casa Bonita Restaurant in Los Angles for them.

No. That wasn’t true, either.

He needed the move—the change of pace and the time together that life in a small town would afford—just as much as they did.

Maybe more.

If he squinted and didn’t pay attention to the cracked drainpipes, the paint-chipped shutters, the overgrown trees with branches pressing against the home and the sixty-some-year-old original windows—sure, the place looked like a hidden fairy-tale house. The kind a secret princess might visit or run away to for safety. No wonder his daughters both stared at it in gap-mouthed wonder when he’d pulled up the drive. At ages five and three, they would see the cottage as a playhouse come to life.

The charm he’d imagined only a moment ago faded away upon entering.

His family couldn’t live here. Not in its current condition. Doilies covered every inch of the front room. It smelled like mothballs and as if someone had spilled tea on the carpet countless times. A mauve color covered what he could see of the walls, but he couldn’t see much of them for the amount of old belongings stacked so high. The kitchen was mustard yellow. Everywhere. Mustard-yellow appliances, counters, linoleum floor and painted walls. He tried to turn on the oven. It clicked, but the burner wouldn’t start.

So it doesn’t work, probably like 90 percent of everything in the house. Excellent.

He yanked at his hair.

Maybe the will hadn’t been a way of God providing. What if it had been a test? What if he’d failed?

Kellen clenched his teeth. What made his aunt think the place would be a good home for a young family of three? It would take him a weekend just to childproof the place, let alone bring it up to code. Electricians and plumbers cost money. Ida had left him her savings—and there was a lot there. But without knowing what type of revenue the West Oaks Inn brought, he didn’t want to start dipping into funds he might need to live on at some point.

“You have to lean your weight into the knob to get it to start.”

The voice came from the doorway of the kitchen. He turned around and raised his eyebrows to the owner of it.

A woman with vivid, pale blue eyes stood there. Her eyes were the exact shade of the snow-fed streams high up in the Rockies where his parents used to take the family hiking every summer. A clear, pure color. She wore little or no makeup, something he could unfortunately spot after being around women in LA who painted beauty products all over their faces. Her skin had a healthy glow without the stuff. She looked—dare he say?—real. Her hair, on the other hand... She could have a lifelong career as the stand-in for the person who played Mufasa in The Lion King musical.

Kellen cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

“To start the oven.” She sidestepped him and leaned her hip against the oven while she twisted the knob. The burner ignited. “You just have to lean into it at the right angle. You’ll get used to it.”

He shook his head. “I won’t have to.”

“Oh.” She laced her fingers together. “So you’re not staying long term? I was hoping to meet my new neighbor.”

“I’m kind of stuck here.” He glanced out the window over the sink, which looked out onto the overgrown weed forest of a backyard. “Well—this is home for us, for now. If you catch my drift. And my first order of business will be tossing this oven—along with the rest of these old appliances.” He ran his finger over the dust on the countertop. The whole room needed to be gutted.

She crossed her arms. “I take it you don’t want to be here, then?”

Kellen scrubbed his hand down his face. “I’m here. That’s what matters.”

“That oven matters, too. To Ida.”

He clicked the burner back off. “Ida’s dead. I’m pulling this out tonight and putting it on the curb. So, no offense, but I won’t ever need to learn how to lean just right.”

She gasped. “You can’t get rid of that oven.” The woman touched the fridge as if feeling for a heartbeat. “Henry bought all these matching appliances for Ida to celebrate their one-year wedding anniversary. Ida cherished them and has taken the best care of them over the years. They were a gift of love.”

Kellen had met Uncle Henry all of once. He knew Henry had been the mayor of Goose Harbor for quite some time before he died. But that was really all he knew about his father’s oldest brother. The Ashby family had never been very close. Not with the age difference between the two brothers. Henry was sixteen years older than Kellen’s dad. No wonder they hadn’t kept in touch. Kellen’s family was close with his mom’s siblings growing up. Not the Ashbys.

“Well.” He shrugged. “It’s mine to get rid of, so...”

The woman shot him a glare.

His daughters pounded into the room.

Skylar—his little motormouth—ran right up to his knees and started tugging on his hand. “Outside there’s a cat with kittens living by the bushes. Can we keep them? Please, Dad? Please?”

Kellen lightly turned both his daughters around to face the woman in the room. “These are my girls. Skylar.” He placed his hand on her head. “And Ruthy.” His quiet three-year-old buried her chin into her chest and clutched his hand.

Disregarding the kitchen floor that badly needed to be mopped, the woman lowered herself to one knee to look the girls in the eye. “It’s wonderful to meet both of you. There haven’t been children living on this block in ages. You’ll have so much fun in town.”

“I don’t think I caught your name,” he said as he lifted Ruthy into his arms. Ruthy shoved her forehead against his shoulder.

“I’m Maggie. Maggie West.” She offered her hand and he shook it with the wrong hand because his right arm held his daughter.

Ah. Now it all made sense.

This was the woman named in his aunt’s will. What had the instructions said? That Kellen owned the inn but had to provide a place for Maggie West to live and let her continue working there.

He narrowed his eyes. Did she know she was protected in the will? The lawyer said that it would be up to Kellen to decide to tell her, but Ida might have told her when she drafted her legal paperwork. Or Maggie had suggested it to her. How much sway had the woman practiced over his aging aunt? Perhaps Maggie was a freeloader. Or had played on his aunt’s emotions in order to be taken care of by a rich woman with no kids.

Women were good at hiding their motives. Experts at displaying fabricated emotions. Cynthia had taught him that lesson all too well.

Kellen would have to keep an eye on Maggie West—figure her out as best he could, since he was stuck providing for her at the moment.

All the people he’d run across in the past twelve years had been fueled by greed or want of fame. If it was fame Maggie was after... No, she didn’t look as though she knew who he was. Maggie showed no signs of knowing that he’d once been a member of the rock band Snaggletooth Lions. So that—at least—was a small blessing.

He’d endured explaining to more than enough women that he signed away the rights to his royalties when he’d broken with the band. They all left the second they discovered he wasn’t rich and had no plans to pursue fame ever again. Not that he’d been famous. Not really. The Snaggletooth Lions signed their record deal and made it big a month after he left the band. But people who looked up the Snaggletooth Lions online knew about his early involvement—that he’d written most of their songs that filled the radio air these days.

“I’m Kellen Ashby.” He let go of her hand. “Ida’s nephew.”

Maggie tilted her head. “The one who’s a dentist?”

So Ida had bragged about his brothers and not him. He worked his jaw back and forth and swallowed hard. Why leave him the house, then? Easy. She’d pitied him. Like the rest of his family.

Poor Kellen—the prodigal. Walked away from the church. Kids out of wedlock. The washed-up band member. His daughters spend most of their life in day care while he works eighty hours a week at the restaurant to pay their bills. Why couldn’t he have turned out like his brothers? Like Bill or Tim or Craig?

He shook away his mother’s words as they jumbled around in his head. “No. I’m afraid that’s one of my far more successful older brothers. I have three to brag about if you want to hear their accolades sometime.”

“I see. Maybe another time.” Maggie took a step back. “Well. It was nice meeting all of you. I better get back over to the inn. You know where I am if you need anything or have questions about the house.”

He pursed his lips. No help from the woman named in Ida’s will would be needed. “I think we can figure things out just fine on our own. But thank you for the offer.”

She nodded, once, and left. Kellen watched her pick her way across the yard and enter the back door of the huge Victorian mansion next door.

“Can we keep the cats?” Ruthy finally spoke.

“You’ve always wanted a kitty, haven’t you?” He brushed her strawberry blonde bangs to the side and kissed her forehead.

Skylar bounced up and down beside him. “Our old landlord said no—but you’re the landlord now, Dad. Pleeeease.”

The past five years had been full of him saying no to Skylar asking for something. Or telling her to be quiet or settle down so she didn’t disturb the other people in the apartment complex they’d called home. He’d had to scold her so many times when she was just being a normal, excited kid. And shush her when she’d cried again and again, asking him why she didn’t have a mom.

A knot he didn’t realize was even there unwound from around his chest. For once he could say yes and let her enjoy a normal kid thing.

Holding tightly to Ruthy, Kellen got down on one knee. “No more landlords, sweetheart. This place is all ours. Go ahead and bring the kitties in, but keep them in your bedroom for now, okay? We’ll see how many there are and pick one or two to keep and find homes for the others.”

Ruthy couldn’t get out of his arms fast enough. She trailed her sister as they bolted outside.

Kellen straightened up and looked back across the yard to study the mansion next door. The mansion he owned. The mansion his family should be living in right now. Ida’s lawyer, Mr. Rowe, had shown him the inn’s floor plans, and the private section was especially large. Four bedrooms and ample living space. Of course, he’d have to see it before he could decide what to do.

His girls deserved a big place to wander around in. Room to play on the floors and a place big enough for those ugly plastic play kitchens to fit and corners that could house a box stage for puppet shows. After being a father who was never around, he now wanted to give them the perfect home to put down roots in.

He just needed to get a better handle on Maggie before he could decide how to shove her out of the inn.


Chapter Two (#ulink_b157bfba-d381-56ee-8088-351c6c74b2c0)

“I’m sorry to call you so early, but I don’t know what to do.” Maggie cradled the phone against her cheek as she peered out the kitchen window.

The Dumpster had arrived at eight in the morning. A Dumpster in Ida’s front yard. Kellen’s daughters buzzed around the cottage’s backyard without any clue that their father was in the front yard destroying a chunk of their heritage. Why couldn’t anyone understand that?

Watching Kellen pull Ida’s belongings one by one onto the yard made Maggie’s throat clam up. It felt as if someone had tied a heavy rock over her rib cage.

Paige, Maggie’s closest friend in town, yawned on the other end of the phone call. “It’s okay. I’m usually at school by now, but we’re still on spring break.”

“It isn’t the weekend yet?” Maggie spun around to see her calendar fixed to the refrigerator with duct tape. It wasn’t even on the right month anymore, and if it had been, she wouldn’t have been able to see the date anyway because most of the calendar was covered by magnets holding up pictures, notes and recipes. Since she worked almost every weekend because that was mostly when guests came to the inn, she always seemed to have her days of the week wrong.

“Still just Friday.” Paige’s voice started to sound more normal now. Maggie definitely woke her up. “What’s eating you, Mags? Bad guest? Is it that rude guy from Ohio again?”

Rude guy from Ohio? Mr. Boggs? He wasn’t rude. Just a terrible flirt. He’d asked Maggie out on a date again the last time he was in town, but she’d said no. Mr. Boggs was nice enough in a bushy-mustache-and-balding sort of way, but he lacked the qualities on her list of things she wanted in a man. She’d fallen for a guy who didn’t tick off everything on the list before. To make matters worse, Mr. Boggs was an art teacher—she’d dated the artist type once before, and that had ended terribly. Never again.

“Not that.” Maggie surveyed the mess she’d made while fixing breakfast. Eggshell pieces littered the counter. Flour spilled onto the floor making it look as if a pack of raccoons had ransacked the place. Sugar trailed along the edge of the huge sink. Dirty plates and spatulas covered every other spare spot. The sweet scent of the morning’s cinnamon rolls and maple sausage still lingered in the air. It mingled well with the sourdough bread turning gold in the oven.

Guests didn’t go hungry while staying at the West Oaks Inn. Maggie made sure of that. She’d enjoyed her day off yesterday but sprung into action to make meals for today’s guests.

The mess could be taken care of later. However, Kellen needed to be dealt with now. “Ida’s nephew moved in next door.”

“Is he cute?”

“Yes.” She pressed the tips of her fingers over her mouth.

Why had that come out so quickly?

Maggie felt heat on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the bread baking in the oven. But what else could she say? Kellen Ashby had the type of blond, mussed hair that looked as if he rolled out of bed that way but probably took him an hour of styling to accomplish. His strong jaw brought ample attention to perfectly shaped lips. When he talked, she’d fought the desire to watch his lips move—there was an art in the way he spoke and a melodic tone to his voice that had made her want to linger in their conversation. He struck her as the type of guy who popped up the collar on his coat even when it wasn’t cold out.

Basically not her type. At all.

He couldn’t even play a convincing Prince Charming in a B-rated movie. Well, in the looks department he could—but as yesterday’s ogre act about Ida’s appliances showed, the personality similarities were nonexistent.

Paige growled on the other end of the line. “You can’t just say yes and be done with it. Describe him.”

“He has two little girls.” She glanced around the curtain again. “I haven’t spotted a woman yet, though, so I don’t think there’s a wife. But who knows? Maybe she’s arriving later.” Better to assume he had a significant other and be proven wrong. “So let’s just say he’s attractive and once again another taken man in Goose Harbor.”

“Well, if you didn’t call me to dish about the new guy and get dating advice, then what did you need?”

“I think he’s getting rid of all of Ida’s things.” Maggie all but pressed her nose to the window to get a better look. Ida’s prized oven was out on the lawn. After Maggie told him how important it was. Did the man have no heart?

“And that’s a problem?”

“Paige, I don’t think you get it.” Maggie gripped the counter. “Those are Ida’s things.”

“Technically, if he inherited the house, then those are now his things.”

“No. They’re Ida’s. They’ll always be hers.” Maggie picked up a small porcelain rooster that had belonged to her mother. The painted feathers caught sunlight as she twisted the figurine around and around. “Shouldn’t he care about what was important to her?”

“Maybe you should ask him about it.”

“I can’t just walk over... Wait.”

Kellen stalked down to the end of the driveway and stuck a garage-sale sign in the ground.

“Oh no. No. No.”

“What, Maggie? You’re starting to get me worked up. It’s like talking to you as you watch a horror movie.”

“You might as well be.” It was one thing to think he was moving stuff outside to take stock or to part with a few of Ida’s belongings. But it was a whole different matter if he planned to sell all of Ida’s precious treasures. “I have to let you go. That man is about to get a piece of my mind.”

“Hey, Mags—one thing.”

Maggie patted her shirt, and a cloud of flour puffed into the air. “What?”

“Well, please say you won’t be mad.”

“Fine.” She tucked her shirt in. No time to change. Besides, arguing with Kellen didn’t require a wardrobe update. “Just tell me quick, because I need to get over there.”

Paige took a deep breath. “I want you to keep in mind that Ida chose him—not you—to hand her belongings to. Remember that when you speak to him. Ida was a smart woman. I’m sure she had her reasons.”

Paige didn’t get it. How could she? Paige grew up in a wealthy family, still had both her parents and ended up married to an amazing man. Maggie would know. Paige’s new husband, Caleb Beck, used to be Maggie’s brother-in-law. Sure, Paige had experienced some hurt in life. But one broken engagement couldn’t compare to losing a loved one to death. And Maggie had experienced the loss of four so far.

Ida had cared about those things Kellen was chucking into the Dumpster. So should he.

“Talk to you later.” Maggie hung up.

Slipping on an old pair of loafers, Maggie flung open the back door and stormed into Ida’s yard. Her heart pounded harder with every step. Kellen had set more of Ida’s belongings in the yard than she’d been able to see from her vantage point in the inn. Side tables. Old frames with family pictures still inside. Mismatched teacups lined the edge of one table.

Maggie snatched up a cream-colored teacup with hand-painted leaves around the gold rim. They looked as if they were blowing in the wind—always in motion. The cup was beautiful. Ida had scoured countless resale shops and country fairs in order to find the best cups for her collection. She never settled for second-rate or mass-produced china.

Kellen appeared next to her elbow. “I haven’t put prices on anything yet, so just make an offer on whatever you see that you like and let me know.”

She spun around and was almost nose to nose with him. He had no right to smell so good. Against her better judgment she took a deep breath—fresh lemon with a slight mossy scent. Whatever cologne he wore she wanted to spritz it in her room before she climbed into her reading chair with a good book. It made her feel cozy in the same way she wanted to open her windows after a good rainstorm just to enjoy the air.

Who puts cologne on to work a garage sale?

An overmanicured man. That’s who.

Exactly the type she didn’t like to be around.

Maggie took a step back, making space. “How can you do this to Ida?”

He tilted his head. “I’m not doing anything to Ida. How can I?”

“By selling all of her stuff. You’re hurting her memory.” Maggie gestured to wave her hand over all the possessions scattered on the lawn. “You’re basically saying you didn’t care about Ida at all.”

Kellen shrugged. “For starters, I didn’t really know Ida. It’s hard to care about someone you hardly knew.”

“But that’s just it. You can know her. See?” Maggie shoved the delicate china cup into his hand. “She loved drinking her daily tea from these mismatched cups. She had a different mug she used each day of the week and special ones for her friends. The one you’re holding she used on Saturdays. It was precious to her. It should be to you, too.”

He turned the cup around and around in his hand. “I guess it’s interesting—if you can call a mug that.” Kellen set it back in a box with the rest of Ida’s china. “But I don’t drink tea and it wouldn’t hold enough coffee for my taste. My preference leans toward huge, ugly travel mugs. Anyway, I have no use for her china, so it can be sold.”

Maggie picked the mug back up. “This cup has life because Ida loved it. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Kellen’s face fell—as though he was suddenly disappointed or tired. “Things are just that—material possessions. That cup holds no more life than a mailbox. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that we should be more concerned with the time we have with the people we love than with objects that can be lost or broken or taken away at any minute. In the end, accumulating stuff doesn’t matter. At least it shouldn’t.”

He couldn’t understand. He’d never get it.

Maggie’s arms trembled as she took a deep breath, easing the rage boiling right under her skin. Besides, who did he think he was—trying to teach her some sort of spiritual lesson? She knew better than anyone that time with people was the most important thing of all.

Maggie also knew that people left without warning, both in death and because they decided Goose Harbor wasn’t exciting enough for them to stay. In the end, their belongings helped her remember them and she saw no harm in holding on to a few old possessions if they allowed her to recall a few good memories. Was that so bad?

Maggie pursed her lips. “Ida mattered. Why can’t you see that? These things are your heritage. She chose to leave you her legacy and you’re tossing it all away.”

“No.” He rested his hands on his waist and surveyed the lawn. “The money I’ll make selling all of it—that is my heritage.”

“So that’s all you care about—the bottom line?”

Kellen laughed, once, in a clipped manner. The laugh held no humor. “I care so little about money...” He looked down the road and didn’t speak for a moment. The muscle on the side of his jaw popped. “What I care about is providing a good life for my girls. That’s what I’m doing.” His vision landed back on her.

Maggie blinked back tears. “How much for the mug?”

“You can have it. No charge.”

She had to get back to the inn before she started all-out crying. He’d already judged her for being materialistic. If she stayed any longer she’d start running her hands over everything that had belonged to Ida, remembering a story that went with each item. She’d turn into a blubbering mess and he’d think she had a screw loose. No one needed that.

Maggie nodded to him. Afraid to even thank him for letting her have the mug. On her way back home she made the mistake of walking past a table full of Ida’s old books. Maggie knew many of them were first editions and worth hundreds. Kellen probably didn’t know and would give them away for a song. Maybe he deserved that. Then again, if he needed money to provide for his girls, she should tell him. She stared at the pile, biting her lip.

One book had fallen onto the dewy ground. Maggie bent to pick it up and then froze. She turned and stalked back to Kellen. “Her Bible?” Her voice rose. “You were going to sell her Bible? There is something seriously wrong with you.”

Kellen’s eyebrows formed a deep V. “Excuse me. I think you’d better—”

“If you cared about nothing in that house—” she stabbed her finger in the direction of the cottage “—if you sold every piece of it and bulldozed the entire property, you should have kept this. Out of everything, at least her Bible should have mattered.” Maggie fanned the book open. Every available space on the pages was full of handwritten notes in Ida’s shaky script. Each page was covered with pink, green and orange highlighter, and most of the text had been underlined at one point or another.

Maggie thrust the book into his hands. “These pages record a woman’s faith journey. Do you see her notes in the margin? Every word in this book meant something to her. She held this Bible every day and it changed her life.” Maggie no longer fought the tears as they fell down her cheeks. She snatched the Bible back, pressed it to her heart and crossed her arms over it. “You don’t care about anything or anyone, do you, Kellen Ashby?”

He didn’t even deserve to share Ida’s last name.

Kellen worked his jaw back and forth. One of his girls giggled as they ran through the side yard together. He glanced at them and then back at Maggie. “I think you better leave.”

“I’m keeping Ida’s Bible. Someone who loved her should have it.”

“Fine. Just go.”

She turned her back to him but couldn’t hold her tongue. “Are you going to tear down her house?” If he did, all of Ida would be gone. Forever.

“Not yet.”

So he would someday. More than likely soon.

She clutched the Bible to her chest, splaying her palm against the grooves of the cross on the front cover. “But the cottage is beautiful. It has so much charm and fits in this town.”

“Frankly I don’t care about charm. I care about a house that fits the needs of my girls.” His eyes trailed to take in the West Mansion behind her. “For now I’m going to gut the place and get rid of everything. I have a truck full of my things on its way here that I need to make room for.”

“You’re heartless.” Where had that come from? Maggie never spoke like that. But this man, so far, brought out her worst.

He stalked forward, lowering his voice so his daughters, who were walking toward them, couldn’t hear. “You can think whatever you want about me. But hear this. That house—” he jutted his thumb toward the cottage “—I own it. Ida left it to me. So you don’t get a say in its future. For once in my life, no one is going to tell me how I should act or do things. Especially not a woman who has been freeloading off my aunt for who knows how long.”

“Freeloading?” Maggie jerked her head back.

“I guess I forgot to tell you.” He smirked. “Ida left me the inn, too.”

Ice water filled her veins. She’d wondered...but hearing him say he owned her family home was much worse than she’d imagined.

When she didn’t speak, Kellen continued. “So I’d be careful if I were you, Maggie. Because I have the right to sell the mansion, too.”

Maggie spun back toward the inn and staggered through the yard. She fumbled with the latch on the gate that connected the two homes. At the moment she wished the three-foot-high picket fence was a ten-foot-tall cement wall so she couldn’t see Kellen or the cottage. So she could block them out and pretend he didn’t exist. But what did it matter?

He owned the West Oaks Inn.

Kellen Ashby could kick her out and tear down or sell the home she’d grown up in. The man who didn’t care about the past owned her only connection to hers.

The legacy she’d lost.

Numb, Maggie opened the back door and strode past the mess in the kitchen.

She’d better start packing her things, because with the way she’d just spoken to her new boss, she could guarantee she was very soon to be homeless and unemployed.

* * *

“If you want to take in the sights, I can watch the girls for you.” Mrs. Rowe—the lawyer’s wife—smoothed her hand over the French braid she’d finished on Skylar’s hair.

“Me next.” Ruthy handed the older woman a hair tie and plopped down in front of her.

Kellen smiled as the three females laughed together. While his daughters loved when he gave them attention, they seemed to practically glow under the care of a woman. For the hundredth time he wished he could have given them a better mother in life. One day when he had to explain to them that their own mother hadn’t wanted them, what would he say? That they meant so little to her that she’d signed away her rights the second Kellen offered to give up his claim to all the royalties he earned for writing the Snaggletooth Lions’ popular songs?

He’d never pictured cozying up with Ida’s lawyer and his wife, but he didn’t know many people in town yet. Besides, they were a kind old couple who seemed taken with his daughters.

“We don’t have any grandchildren of our own. Both of my sons decided to pursue careers instead of families. I’m afraid that’s a thing with this generation.” She tickled the back of Ruthy’s neck, causing her to erupt with squeals.

He couldn’t blame the Rowes’ sons. Kellen had taken off from home with only his passion for music lodged in his heart. Not a dream of family. His daughters hadn’t been planned. Family fell into his lap. But he’d choose them now. “Maybe your sons will change their minds.”

Mr. Rowe ducked through the cottage’s small doorway. “How’d the sale go today?”

“Not as well as I hoped, but then again, it’s a Friday and people are working. I’ll try again tomorrow. I really need to clear out the place before the truck with my stuff gets here.”

“I could set you up for an auction. You might do better that way.”

The lawyer was probably in his midfifties. Even though he wasn’t working today, Mr. Rowe wore dress slacks with a tucked-in polo and shined dress shoes. Kellen doubted the man owned a single pair of jeans.

“That’s a good idea.”

“It’ll take one call.”

“Go ahead and do it.” Kellen leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and watched his girls as they chatted with Mrs. Rowe. The woman pulled a baggie of cookies from her purse.

“Oh! Let’s have a tea party.” Skylar jumped up and down and then proceeded to show Ruthy how to nibble her cookie “just-so.” Because that was how ladies ate, apparently.

He’d have to dig back through the garage and save a few of Ida’s unsold teacups for them. Maybe Maggie was right about keeping a few special belongings. His girls would imagine themselves queens of far-off lands if they were allowed to use Ida’s china.

The lawyer pulled a smartphone from his back pocket. “You look stressed, son. Why don’t you take a walk? It would do you good to have a breath of fresh air. My wife and I will stay with the girls.”

Kellen really didn’t want to leave Skylar and Ruthy with people he hardly knew. Then again, there was something he needed to take care of. “If you could stay with them for a couple minutes, actually that would be great.”

He bowed out of the room and started toward the Victorian mansion next door. The sun had begun to set, making the sky purple, but even in the dim evening light the sage clapboard and pink-painted details on the home were easy to spot. The carved wood that trimmed every dormer and corner of the house spoke of a long-forgotten time period. Guests must bump down the driveway, gasping when they first saw the place, and look forward to the rest and relaxation they’d find inside.

The inn might belong to him, but the way he’d delivered the information to Maggie West had been nothing short of cruel. When she challenged him about redoing Ida’s home, he’d spat out the word freeloader without thinking. She deserved an apology.

Maggie might be too attached to earthly treasures, but that was her beef to worry about, not his. It was just...he’d thought he’d escaped materialistic people by moving his girls away from Los Angeles. So much for his ideal vision of Goose Harbor being a safe haven to raise his family away from the worldly influences of the country’s pop culture. He welcomed the realization, though—no place was perfect and he’d never be able to shelter his girls from everything. Not completely. At least people didn’t walk around Goose Harbor half-dressed, although that could have more to do with the climate than anything else. Either way, that was one small victory.

Kellen eased through the gate that connected the two yards. He spotted Maggie right away. Knees in the wet dirt around the flower beds, Maggie yanked out weeds while mumbling under her breath. She worked quickly and had a smear of mud across her forehead. Kellen bit back a smile. The woman moved like the cartoon Tasmanian Devil. All frenzied motion. All passion.

Maybe that was why, despite wanting to steer clear of women who cared more about possessions than people, he felt drawn to her. When they’d argued earlier, a fire flicked across her eyes. Maggie West didn’t do anything halfway. Even if something was going to be done wrong, it would be done with ten times more zeal than it required.

He stopped about a foot behind her. She yanked out a dandelion and tossed it over her shoulder.

The weed landed on his leather shoe. “Are you able to take a break?”

Hand to her heart, Maggie jumped. “I didn’t hear anyone sneak up behind me.” She stopped her laugh when she looked behind her and caught sight of him. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Listen. I want to talk to you. Can we sit on the steps for a minute?” He pointed toward the pink steps leading to the front door.

“Sorry. I can’t stop.” She kept her back to him. “I have so much to get done and not enough hours to do it in. I really don’t have time to talk to you right now.”

“Please? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

She rocked back on her heels and squinted up at him. “Some people don’t have the luxury of relaxing all the time. We have to work while other people get things handed to them. Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I was freeloading, would I? Don’t you want the flower beds of your inn to look good for the next guests arriving tomorrow?”

He chose to ignore the freeloading barb she’d tossed into the conversation, seeing as he’d come to apologize.

A story from the Bible played across his mind, as they’d been doing so often lately since he’d started reading it again. It was the part in the New Testament when Jesus spoke at Mary and Martha’s house and Martha was too busy taking care of everyone to listen and became upset with Mary for sitting at the feet of Jesus instead of helping.

Did God want him to remind Maggie of that Bible story? It felt like it. But Kellen couldn’t be sure. He’d spent so many years ignoring when he felt God wanted him to do something to know for certain. He might be a grown man, but despite being raised in the church, he was still only a young Christian.

With the way he had acted this morning, he couldn’t blame her for being worried and upset after finding out he owned the place where she currently lived and worked—but he could end both of those emotions for her by being honest about the will.

He bent down to be eye level with her. “Martha, Martha. You are worried and upset about many things. Aren’t you?”

Maggie turned back to the flower bed. “Not that it probably matters to you, but my name isn’t Martha.”

“I know.”

She kept her eyes focused on the ground. “I’m surprised that you know the Bible at all, seeing as you were going to ditch Ida’s as quickly as an old newspaper.”

Kellen forced his shoulders to relax as he held back the response that came to his lips. “My dad is a minister.”

“Could have fooled me.”

It was going to take everything in him to apologize to Maggie without snapping back at her. Kellen took a deep breath and counted to ten before speaking. “You’re right. I wasn’t a good church kid growing up. I rejected everything my dad taught and lived life by my terms for a long time. God kept chasing me, though, and I’m His for good now. The funniest thing is, now my dad’s old sermons keep coming back to me at the oddest times.”

She yanked out another weed.

He moved a foot away and kneeled in the flower bed.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “You’ll ruin those fancy designer jeans.”

Kellen ran his fingers over the mulch. “I always wondered if Martha had just asked the people gathered to hear Jesus talk if they would help her, the chores could have all been done in a couple minutes and then she could have been sitting there at the Lord’s feet next to her sister.”

“Maybe she had no one to ask. Or maybe she knew it would be a waste of time to ask because no one would come to her rescue. Maybe Martha was all on her own and knew her sister wasn’t about to leave what she was doing to help.” She yanked out a weed with so much force it took out the flower next to it, as well. “Maybe, like me, she had no choice. What if she felt like she was drowning and losing what she cared about and she...?” Maggie shook her head. “So don’t talk to me about helping.”

Dare he challenge her? “Is it that you’re alone, or is it that you refuse to ask for help?”

“You don’t understand what I’m saying.” She shot him a glare and inched farther away. “I’m done talking to you.”

Kellen yanked out a weed.

Maggie rocked back onto her heels and let out a huff. “Just what are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Sharing the load.”

“I’d rather not be around you right now. I know this inn belongs to you and I’ll leave as soon as you say so, but for now I just want an evening to remember how beautiful it is and—”

Kellen sat down firmly and faced her. “Maggie, you need to chill for a second. I came here to tell you that I’m not going to— Ouch.” A small stabbing pain shot into the side of his neck. Then another. He swatted his neck, and his hand collided with a large bug. Another one buzzed near his ear. “Bees.”

No. Not again.

Maggie got to her feet. “Did they sting you?”

His throat was already closing up. A rush of blurry warmth flooded his brain. “Allergic.” He wheezed out the word. Why did it have to be his neck? Swelling there would make his breathing much harder than his normal reaction. The bees had chosen to inject their poison in the worst place possible.

Black dots painted across his vision. Kellen tried to stand, but he fell backward.

Maggie wrapped her arm around his shoulders and helped him stumble to a lounge chair.

“Do you only get a rash, or are you allergic-allergic? Is this a CPR type of thing? Because I took training once, but I’m not real confident. Do I need to call for an ambulance?” Her eyes were wide, searching his face.

Kellen fought to keep his eyes open, but the whole world was swirling. Maggie’s hair looked twice as big as normal. “EpiPen. My bathroom. Black bag. Quick.”

The last thing he saw was Maggie taking off across the yard.

If he died, what would happen to his girls?


Chapter Three (#ulink_bf7eb857-2cb3-53c0-aa43-288128cdef36)

Shoving open the front door to the cottage, Maggie banged into a couch that had been moved to a new location. Ida used to have all the furniture lining the walls. But this wasn’t Ida’s home any longer, was it?

Maggie’s body shook with adrenaline as she sucked in a ragged breath.

Four sets of eyes landed on her. All of them held questions.

Mr. Rowe grabbed her arm to steady her. “Maggie. You don’t look so well.”

“Emergency. It’s medical. Call 9-1-1.”

“What’s wrong, dear?” Diane, Mr. Rowe’s wife, wrapped her arms around the two little girls.

Maggie’s thoughts piled up together like an accident on the expressway. How much information should she tell them? No time. She needed to help Kellen.

The bathroom. She had to find the black bag.

Used to stressful situations as a lawyer, Mr. Rowe already had his cell phone to his ear. “Yes. We need an ambulance. Someone is hurt.” He rattled off the address to the cottage as he walked out the front door.

Maggie pointed at Skylar. “Do you know where your dad keeps his EpiPen?”

Skylar gave one brave nod before taking off. She returned a second later and handed the injector to Maggie. “A bee sting?” Her voice wavered.

Maggie wanted to stop and hug her, but she knew Kellen needed the shot. And although she wasn’t well versed when it came to allergic reactions, she also knew time mattered. She prayed that Mrs. Rowe would be able to comfort the girls.

“My dad is hurt?” Ruthy dissolved into tears. “Is he gonna die?”

“I want to go with you.” Skylar trailed Maggie to the door. Her little hands fisted at her sides.

Maggie wasn’t about to let the little girl see her dad wheezing and in pain. Not at such a young age. If only someone had protected her from the pain of learning about her own father’s death all those years ago. And more recently, of seeing her mother suffering from illness for so long. Maggie shook those thoughts away.

Action. Right now she needed to stop thinking and act.

Grabbing Skylar’s shoulders, Maggie squeezed them once. “Your dad needs you to go back inside and pray for him. That’s the best thing you can do for him right now. Can you do that? Mrs. Rowe will help you, okay? I need to go give this to him.” She waved the EpiPen.

Without waiting to see if Skylar had obeyed, Maggie sprinted back across the lawn. Thankfully Mr. Rowe had left the gate propped open so she wouldn’t have to worry about messing with the rusted latch.

The lawyer was still on the phone with 9-1-1 when she got back to Kellen. Being a blond, Kellen had a pale complexion to begin with, but his skin looked sickly and ashen. His head was tipped to the side.

Maggie tapped his shoulders. “Can you hear me? Kellen. Please. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Unresponsive.

Mr. Rowe covered the mouthpiece to the cell phone. “Open up the pen. Hold it to his thigh and press the trigger. Count to ten and then massage the area for ten seconds, as well.” He turned back to his phone. “Yes. I’m still here. The victim has lost consciousness. I’ll be at the end of the drive to flag them to the right location. I initially gave the address to the next-door neighbor’s house.”

He took off toward the street.

Please, God. Calm my nerves. Let Kellen be all right.

Following Mr. Rowe’s instructions, she removed the cap and held the end to Kellen’s thigh. Hopefully the shot was strong enough to work through his jeans.

She took a deep breath and pressed the button.

“One. Two. Three. Four.” She licked her lips and looked back at Kellen’s face. Be okay. Please be okay. His daughters needed their daddy. They shouldn’t have to grow up having lost their dad in a tragic accident as Maggie had lost hers. No little girl should experience that pain. “Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

She put the cap back on, covering the shiny needle that now showed, and then tucked it under the lounge chair. Maggie watched Kellen’s face, hoping to see an instant change. She put her hand where she’d used the EpiPen and massaged the area as Mr. Rowe had instructed her to.

Seeing no immediate change in Kellen’s condition, she took the advice that she’d told Skylar only a minute ago. Pray. That was the best way to help him.

“Please, Lord, save him. Let him recover without any lingering problems.”

All the stress from the past few minutes rushed over her, making her blink back tears. She shouldn’t have argued with him...again. If she’d gone to the porch and talked as he had asked, they wouldn’t have been near the bees. Sure, he might have been about to tell her to skedaddle, but being kicked out wouldn’t be as bad as letting him get hurt. If she wouldn’t have been so stubborn—like always—none of this would have happened.

“Don’t let anything bad happen to Kellen.”

Kellen shifted on the chair. Maggie looked back at his face to see him watching her through a half-lidded gaze. Never in her life had she been so happy to see a man’s blue eyes. She leaned forward and grabbed his hand. “You’re okay? Thank You, God.”

He put his free hand over his swollen neck. Letting her know he couldn’t speak yet. He squeezed the hand she held twice. She imagined that meant thank you.

A cool spring breeze swept over them, and Kellen shivered. From the cold, from shock or the medication coursing through his body, she didn’t know.

“I’ll go get a blanket.” She started to get up.

But Kellen tightened his hold of her hand and shook his head.

Maggie sat down on an open area of the lounge chair and stared at the flower beds surrounding the West Oaks Inn. Usually the sight of the happy flowers bobbing in the wind made her smile. But at the moment she wanted to pull them all up by the roots. Keep the bees away from Kellen for good. She’d have to warn him about the local beekeeper who lived a few blocks away. Kellen should avoid that part of town. And start carrying his EpiPen.

He shivered again, so Maggie cupped his hand in both of hers, hoping that comforted him.

Reflections from the emergency lights on the ambulance bounced off the mansion’s windows. A team of EMTs raced forward with a stretcher. Maggie caught sight of the dark-haired Joel Palermo, the newest member of the Goose Harbor Fire Department, as he strode toward them purposefully.

While the other men lifted Kellen onto the stretcher, Joel turned his attention toward Maggie. “Can you run through what happened?”

She gave him a play-by-play of the bee sting and estimated how many minutes between the stings and the EpiPen injection. “I hope I did it right.”

Joel smiled. “You must have, since he came to. Great work, Mags. We’ll take it from here, but this man has you to thank for saving his life.”

And for putting it at risk.

He shouldn’t have been weeding. By flowers. In spring. When bees were always out.

The EMTs maneuvered the stretcher into the ambulance.

Joel reached out to help Maggie climb into the back. “Are you coming with us?”

Suddenly very self-conscious, Maggie bit her lip. “Perhaps there’s someone closer to him who should go.”

Mr. Rowe pressed his hand into the small of Maggie’s back and propelled her forward. “Kellen doesn’t have a wife. It’s just him and the girls. Me and Diane will watch Skylar and Ruthy for as long as he needs. You go on with Kellen to the hospital. Call me when you need to be picked up.” He ushered her right to Joel’s outstretched arm.

Before Maggie could decide if accompanying Kellen was a good idea or not, the men in the ambulance closed the back door and turned on the sirens.

Joel pointed to a metal ledge near the stretcher. “Go ahead and have a seat. Hold his hand for me. It helps calm them down.”

Maggie grabbed hold of Kellen’s hand again. She looked back up at his face. Through the oxygen mask he offered her a small smile before closing his eyes again.

* * *

Maggie glanced through the blinds on the kitchen window for the tenth time, trying to see if Kellen had made it back home.

Her inn guests had raved about breakfast, but after getting back to the inn at one in the morning, she lacked the energy she usually saved for visiting with the tourists. They’d borrowed some of the bicycles she kept stocked in the garage and had headed into town for the day.

The mess in the kitchen was bigger than normal, but it could wait until later. Intent on taking a nap, she made her way back to her bedroom. Maggie dropped onto the bed and flung her hand to the side. It hit a lump under the cover. She moved back the sheets. Ida’s Bible. She trailed her fingers over the soft, worn leather cover.

Honestly a nap wasn’t going to happen. Every time she attempted to take one, it never came to fruition. She’d just lie there and think of fifty things she could be spending her time accomplishing. Relaxing always made her feel guilty—as if she should be doing something better with her time. If she did fall asleep, she always woke up grumpy. Those scientists who touted the benefits of a midday nap missed interviewing her.

Gathering the Bible under her arm, Maggie headed out to the back porch. As doubts and fears swirled in her heart, she would have loved speaking with Ida today, but reading the old woman’s notes in the margin of her Bible would be just as good.

Besides, Maggie probably needed to read scripture more than she needed to talk to her friend. It had been a while since she cracked the spine on her Bible. The problem was, more often than not anymore, doing so proved pointless. God’s promises weren’t for her. If they had been, her life would have been different.

She opened the cover and realized she had the book upside down. About to flip it back around, Maggie stopped when she saw a list of names. Hers was there, and scribbled next to it with an addition sign was Kellen’s. The top of the list read Pray For Daily.

Maggie dabbed her eyes. She’d known that Ida loved her but hadn’t known the woman had devoted time to praying for her every day. Had Maggie ever done that for another person? Sadly the answer was no.

She ran her finger down the list. Names had been added to the bottom later in a different ink—including Maggie’s friend Paige. Maggie pressed her fingers over her smile, remembering Paige’s first few days in Goose Harbor and how Ida had literally latched on to the new schoolteacher. Ida always said she knew when someone was ready to fall in love, and that had proved true with Paige and Caleb. Ida all but shoved those two together and now they were happily married.

Too bad Ida never found a Prince Charming type for Maggie. If only.

Maggie went back to her name. Odd how it shared a number with Kellen when there had definitely been more room to add one of their names to its own line. Next to their names Ida had scribbled two verses. Zechariah 1:3 and Romans 5:5. Beside the Romans reference in tiny letters it said: I will never stop hoping.

Maggie found the table of contents to see what page in the Bible the book of Zechariah started on. She flipped to it and read Zechariah 1:3—Therefore tell the people: This is what the Lord Almighty says: “Return to me,” declares the Lord Almighty, “and I will return to you,” says the Lord Almighty.

Was it possible that Ida worried that Maggie had fallen away from her faith in the Lord? The passage made Maggie feel that way. Had Maggie turned from God? Maybe a little. Was it possible to do something like that “only a little”? It seemed like an all-or-nothing sort of thing.

Maggie let her gaze lift up and rest on the small river that ran behind the West Oaks Inn and continued on past Kellen’s property. The backyard neighbor had a small working water mill that slapped against the water day and night. The sound always comforted Maggie—it was constant, but somehow she tuned it out most of the time. Or had just grown used to it.

Had God become like that mill in her life? There, but ignored? Was He making noise—trying to get her attention day in and day out with her ignoring Him? She’d never considered that. Sure, she was still frustrated about her lot in life. In her thirties without much to her name, no prospect of marriage, no family and about to lose the only home she’d ever known—the legacy of the West family.

Who wouldn’t feel defeated and abandoned after that?

But, as usual, her situation didn’t change the truth. God was God, and He got to decide if she lived a good life or not. She had to find her grit and keep moving forward. As she always did. Maybe He would have been easier on her if her heart wasn’t so prone to wandering and she wasn’t always getting distracted. There had to be something she was doing wrong. If not, her life would be different—He’d be blessing her, right? That was what they always said in church.

“God. Forgive me,” Maggie whispered. “I didn’t realize it, but I have been closed off to You. If I’m being honest, I’ve been mad that You’ve taken so many people that I loved from this earth. But maybe I should think of it as You had surrounded me with so many wonderful people—people You wanted to graduate to heaven quickly because they all loved You so much.”

A peace washed through her. Something she couldn’t quite explain. It was like drinking ice water on a one-hundred-degree day. Maggie closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling before opening them again and flipping to the book of Romans in the Bible.

She found Romans 5:5 right away—And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

Ida had written that she would never stop hoping. It clearly applied to both her and Kellen. Hoping that they’d return to the Lord? Hoping they’d realize God loved them? That Ida loved them?

Maggie would never know.

Ida was gone and she couldn’t ask her. But she knew one thing—Ida loved her and Ida loved Kellen. A woman didn’t put the name of someone on a list in her Bible and choose to pray for them daily unless she loved that person. If Maggie wanted to protect the belongings that were special to Ida, how much more important must Kellen be to the woman Maggie had looked up to? If the teacups mattered, Kellen mattered even more.

“Miss Maggie?” A small voice interrupted her thoughts.

Skylar and Ruthy stood at the bottom of her steps with Mrs. Rowe not far behind.

Maggie closed the Bible and set it on the bench next to her. “Hi, girls. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your beautiful faces?”

Mrs. Rowe nodded to them.

Skylar took Ruthy’s hand and helped her up the steps. Ruthy shoved a bouquet of wildflowers and dandelions toward Maggie.

Skylar smiled. “We came to thank you for saving Daddy’s life.”

Ruthy nodded solemnly. “I love him.”

Maggie leaned forward and accepted the flowers. “I’m glad I could help. How’s your dad doing?”

Ruthy finally offered a smile as she whispered, “He’s singing.”

Skylar patted Maggie’s knee. “That means he’s really good. Daddy likes to sing. It’s his favorite thing in the world.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. Do you girls want to come inside and help me find a vase?”

Skylar was at the door before Maggie got up from her seat. “You always smell like cinnamon.”

“Thanks.” Maggie grimaced at Mrs. Rowe. “I think.”

Mrs. Rowe yawned. She wore the same outfit she had on yesterday, meaning she had yet to be back home since the bee-sting incident and probably needed a break.

Maggie offered her hand to Ruthy, who shyly took it. “Diane, you can head home. Let Kellen know I have the girls entertained here and he can give a call whenever he feels up to having them come back home. They’re welcome here all day if he’d like to rest. Let him know that, okay?”

Diane Rowe mouthed Thank you and headed back toward the cottage.

Maggie continued into the kitchen and helped both the girls into aprons, folding the fabric over and tying the waist part under their armpits just like the way her mother used to do with her. “Who wants to help me make some brownies?”

“I do!”

“Me!”

“Know what, Miss Maggie?”

Maggie smiled down at Skylar, smoothing her hand over the girl’s hair. “What, sweetheart?”

“We picked the kittens we’re going to keep. A black one and an orange one.”

“The black one had white paws!” Ruthy chimed in.

Skylar nodded. “We’re naming them Pete and Repeat. Isn’t that silly?”

Maggie laughed along with them and promised to visit the kitties soon. “Now, let’s have some fun.” Maggie handed out spoons and cranked the volume on the local Christian radio station to high. Both girls started singing along. Their smiles were infectious.

If Maggie was going to get kicked out of the inn by their father anyway, she could still make a few fun memories with the two sweet little girls. Her eviction wasn’t their fault. All they knew was that their daddy could have died last night. Maggie would do whatever she could to erase the memory of their fear. Brownies were a good start.

* * *

Kellen winced on the way over to the inn.

He’d forgotten how sore an EpiPen shot could make his leg. The bruise it left was nothing short of impressive. Besides the soreness, he felt fine, though, so he needed to continue with getting things in order before Skylar started school on Monday. Mrs. Rowe had offered to watch Ruthy during the workday for the next month until he was settled and could decide if she’d stay around the inn with Kellen during the day or if he’d sign her up for formal day care.

First on the list, he needed to assess the business at the West Oaks Inn. Kellen didn’t want to. Not after Maggie had been so great last night. She’d stayed with him at the hospital. Refilled his water jug whenever it got down to the halfway mark and gone on a mission to find him trail mix from a vending machine located on a different level of the hospital. She’d seemed to thrive off of taking care of someone.

Or she was doing her best to get on his good side now that she knew he owned the mansion.

He almost wished he hadn’t told her. It would have been useful to study her a little longer and be able to decide if she was out to get something from his aunt or if she was what she appeared to be—a caring and passionate person who enjoyed serving others.

Kellen would probably never get to know the honest answer now. What did it matter? His track record at assessing people’s characters wasn’t all that great to begin with. Why start trying now?

He couldn’t put off seeing the ledgers and making choices concerning the inn any longer. He had to plan the best moves to provide for his family. If the inn was working in an efficient manner as he hoped, he could leave it be.

If her reaction to him gutting Ida’s home was any indication, change and Maggie didn’t go well together. He hoped the bed-and-breakfast worked like a well-oiled machine. If not, he’d have to make some changes whether or not Maggie West approved.

Back when his friend had offered him the restaurant-manager position at Casa Bonita as a favor, Kellen didn’t know how he would handle the pressure of such a different job. Lead guitar and singer of a rock band versus managing a five-star restaurant—talk about different worlds. But then, it hadn’t been such a stretch in retrospect. Long hours. Late nights. Lots of time on his feet.

During the Snaggletooth Lions’ early days, Kellen had been the one to schedule their tours, meet with marketing professionals and interview agents. Managing was already like second nature to him by the time he left the band. Good thing his friend had believed in him enough to hand over Casa Bonita. How would he have provided for his daughters if that job hadn’t fallen into his lap?

Kellen ran his hand through his hair.

God had provided. All along, even when Kellen wasn’t being faithful—God was there. Just as He was now. God had worked through Ida to provide a new life for his girls and him. A way out of the busy existence that had become the norm in LA. In Goose Harbor he’d have more time with the girls. He didn’t want them to be in day care eleven hours a day ever again.

As he neared, music filtered out the open kitchen windows with his girls’ laughter sprinkled in for good measure.

He tapped on the back door and waited for an answer. They couldn’t hear him. Kellen cracked open the door and couldn’t help the grin on his face.

Maggie, Skylar and Ruthy danced around the kitchen singing into spatulas. The kitchen looked as though a cookie factory had exploded inside it—mid mixing. Flour painted every surface, and chocolate chips littered the large island counter.

He loved seeing his daughters having a good time, but who paid for the flour and sugar and eggs that had been spilled everywhere? Perhaps he was mean-hearted to think about the bottom line, as Maggie had alluded to the other day. But was the waste Maggie’s goods or was she used to Ida footing the bill on everything and didn’t care what got spilled?

“Daddy!” Skylar spotted him first.

Maggie blushed profusely and set down her spatula. “I said just to call when you were ready for them.”

“I don’t have your number.” He hollered over the music. Kellen eyed the radio.

Maggie read his mind and turned the music down. “The number to the inn is on the internet. You could have looked it up.”

“I came to see the office.”

Skylar flashed a toothy grin. “We’re making brownies, Daddy. From scratch.”

“I can see that.” He cupped her head and dropped a kiss on her hair as he walked past.

Maggie twisted a dishrag in her hands. “The office for the inn?”

“That’s the only one I think is here.”

“It’s a mess.” She wiped the countertop with the rag but only succeeded in spreading the flour.

Kellen raised his eyebrows. “That sort of thing seems to be going around.”

She moved to block the hallway. “Why don’t you let me clean the office first? Come back next week.”

“The inn is my responsibility now.” Clearly the office was down the hallway. Kellen eased closer. “I’d rather have a look-see and get started on coming up with the best plan of action for moving forward.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Plan of action?”

“Just point me in the right direction.”

“Okay.” She pointed to the right. “It’s through the hall. Second door on the left. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Kellen stopped to hug both of his girls before heading to the office. The wooden floor creaked with every step. Was the whole house like that? Guests wouldn’t enjoy or return to a place with floors that creaked like mad. He’d have to walk the whole place with a pad of paper and a pen and document everything that needed to be updated.

He opened the door to the office, and his mouth dropped open.

Paper stacked a foot tall covered the floor except for a small walkway that led to the desk. And what was the point of a desk if he couldn’t even see the surface of it? Kellen entered the room and turned in a slow circle. If this signaled how Maggie kept—or didn’t keep—records, the inn was in worse shape than he’d thought.

He laced his fingers together around the back of his neck.

He’d manage. Didn’t he always? Casa Bonita had been a wreck, too, when his buddy hired Kellen to manage the restaurant. He knew nothing about the restaurant business when he started that job, and now Casa Bonita had one of the best revenue streams in the greater LA area.

Kellen would figure out the bed-and-breakfast industry, too.

Maggie peeked into the room. “I got the girls settled down in my living room with fresh brownies and a Disney movie. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine. Thanks for taking care of them this morning. It sounded like they were having a lot of fun.”

“Anytime. Seriously. They’re a blast to have around.”

“On that note.” Kellen took two steps toward her, which in the small room brought them within a stride of each other. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life last night.”

Maggie toed the floor. “You wouldn’t have been stung if I had gone and talked to you like you asked.”

“Who knows? The past isn’t worth worrying about or reliving. I say, keep moving forward without thinking about the could haves or should haves. You know?”

“Some of the past is worth reliving.”

And that was really the crux that divided Kellen and Maggie. She wanted to stay connected to the past. So much that, for what he’d seen of the inn so far, she filled every nook and cranny with half-broken antique junk. Whereas Kellen wanted to leave the past as it was. Reliving his past meant seeing every mistake he’d made over and over again. No, thanks. He’d rather focus on the future. On who he could become instead of the man he once was.

Keep moving forward.

“Yes.” He pressed his palms together and touched the tips of his fingers to his chin. “Take, for example, when you decided to start piling up all these documents—why don’t we relive that moment right now?”

“Are you going to get rid of me?” Her voice dropped so low he had to lean forward to hear her.

“No.” He answered honestly but decided to leave out the fact that even if he wanted to he couldn’t fire her. “But I am about to change every single aspect of this inn. I hope you’re ready for that.”

The fire blazing in her eyes said she’d never be ready.

Too bad.


Chapter Four (#ulink_9961414a-c4fa-5635-80c8-19dad1ce476c)

Maggie rooted through her dresser for a pair of jeans that weren’t completely worn out or stained from one too many cooking accidents. But finding something nice to wear had suddenly become the most difficult task in the world. How long had it been since she bought new clothes?

She ran her fingers down the sleeve of a sweater hanging in her closet. The hole in the elbow had been there when the garment belonged to her mother. Bunching the fabric, she rubbed it on her cheek. Soft. Comforting. Sensible. What clothes should be. What her entire wardrobe consisted of. Her clothes suited her, or at least had always seemed to.

Until now.

Today everything screamed rumpled, overlooked and dull. Had she really been walking around looking like that for the past ten or more years? How depressing. What must the people in town think? Probably the truth. There goes Maggie, all alone. So sad.

Not that it mattered. Clothes and looks shouldn’t—didn’t—matter. Right?

She let out a huff of hot air. Surely her friends Paige or Shelby could have told her. Someone who cared should have staged an intervention. But perhaps no one cared—not really. Not enough. Maggie always found herself in the position of rescuing, comforting and encouraging. Very rarely did her friendships go the other way around. She’d never thought about that until now.

Maggie fisted her hands.

The floorboard on the top stair of the grand staircase in the lobby creaked. Even from her bedroom in the private portion of the inn, she could hear it. It creaked again. And again. Kellen must be rocking back and forth on the step—trying to figure out how much replacing and refinishing the wood was going to cost him.

Just like every day in the past week, he’d been holed up in the inn’s office already when she got up to make breakfast for the guests. Then today after the last elderly couple checked out and the inn was empty, he’d set off with a ruler, a pad of paper and his phone. Said he had to assess the place. Whatever that meant.

After yanking a pair of dark-wash jeans from the bottom of the stack, she shook them out—they were so stiff from rarely being put on.

Sarah, her younger sister, had purchased the dressier jeans as a present for Maggie’s birthday almost three years ago. At the time, Maggie had told her sister that she was going to return them, but she hadn’t been able to do so after losing Sarah soon after that.

Maggie slipped them on and found a lightweight shirt without too many wrinkles to go on top—it was a shirt she normally saved for greeting new guests at check-in. But Maggie needed to look respectable—if only to give her the confidence boost she needed to ask Kellen for money. Anything to help her case.

On her way out the door she peeked in her mirror, adjusting the clip in her hair after she smoothed down wayward strands. With a deep breath, she stepped into the hallway. As she walked, she traced her fingers along the wall. The feel of the slight embossing of the wallpaper breathed strength into her veins. This was her home. She’d been born here. Took her first steps as a child in the grand entrance. Used to race her sister down the stairs by sliding on the banister. The mansion that made the West Oaks Inn had been in her family’s possession since the founding of Goose Harbor, and while it had been changed when it was first converted into an inn, most of the original character had been saved.

Well—not possession. Maggie had lost the title of owner five years ago. When she’d run out of funds. When her mother passed away, she’d left everything to both Maggie and Sarah, but after Sarah married Caleb she’d chosen to hand over everything to Maggie. Sarah said she and Caleb had enough to manage with starting a nonprofit; they couldn’t afford to help pay for the mansion’s expenses, as well. That left Maggie to pay all the bills, but her job as a cook at a local diner hadn’t brought in enough income. Expenses on the mansion ate into the savings like ants in a picnic basket. And the savings hadn’t amounted to the great West fortune that they were known for. Not after using it to pay for so many medical expenses for her grandmother and mother toward the end. Experimental treatments weren’t covered by insurance.

Thankfully Ida had offered to purchase the house and let the rest of town believe that Maggie still owned it. Converting the old home into a bed-and-breakfast had been Ida’s idea, as well. Think, Magpie. Just think. A ready income right from the mansion. Ida and her husband had possessed the ability to see possibilities and hope when no one else did. Whether it be in relation to business, government or matters of the heart.

Prior experience told Maggie that the ache in her chest would last for the rest of her life. Ida hadn’t been a blood relation, but she had been as close as family. And now she was gone. Just like everyone else important to her. At least now there was no one left to lose.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jessica-keller/the-single-dad-next-door/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.