Rose Harbor in Bloom (2 page)

Even now, after five months, he avoided questions and never talked about anything personal. I didn’t know if he’d ever been married or if he had family in the area. Despite all our conversations, most of what I knew about him I’d deduced on my own. He lived alone. He didn’t like talking on the phone, and he had a sweet tooth. He tended to be a perfectionist, and he took his own sweet time on a project. That was the sum total of everything I’d learned about a man I saw on average four or five times a week. He seemed to enjoy our chats, but I wasn’t fooled. It wasn’t my wit and charm that interested him—it was the cookies that often accompanied our visits. If I hadn’t been so curious about him he probably would
have gone straight to work. Well, from this point forward I would be too busy for what I called our coffee break.

Grumbling under his breath, Mark returned to digging up the grass and stacking squares of it around the edges of the cleared space. He cut away each section as if he was serving up precise portions of wedding cake.

Despite my frustration with the delay and his persnickety ways, I continued to lean against the porch column and watch him work. The day was bright and sunny. I wasn’t about to let all that sunshine go to waste. Window washing, especially the outside ones, was one of my least favorite tasks, but it needed to be done. I figured there was no time like the present.

The hot water had turned lukewarm by the time I dipped the sponge into the plastic bucket. Glancing up at the taller windows, I exhaled and dragged the ladder closer to the side of the house. If Paul were alive, I realized, he’d be the one climbing the ladder. I shook my head to remind myself that if Paul were alive I wouldn’t own this inn or be living in Cedar Cove in the first place.

Sometimes I wondered if Paul would even recognize the woman I’d become in the last year. I wore my thick, dark hair much longer these days. Most of the time I tied it at the base of my neck with a scrunchie. My hair, which had always been professionally groomed for the office, had grown to the point that when I let it hang free, the tendrils bounced against the top of my shoulders.

Mark, who rarely commented on anything, made a point of letting me know I looked like I was still a teenager. I took it as a compliment, although I was fairly certain that wasn’t his intent. I doubt Mark has spent much time around women, because he could make the rudest comments and hardly seem aware of what he’d said.

My hairstyle wasn’t the only change in my appearance. Gone
were the crisp business suits, pencil skirts, and fitted jackets that were the customary uniform for my position at the bank. These days it was mostly jeans and a sweater beneath a bib apron. One of the surprises of owning the inn was how much I enjoyed cooking and baking. I often spent the mornings in my kitchen whipping up a batch of this or that. Until I purchased the inn there hadn’t been much opportunity to create elaborate meals. These days I found I could read a recipe book with the same rapture as a
New York Times
bestseller. Baking distracts me and provides afternoon treats for my guests and wonderful muffins and breads I take such pride in serving for the breakfasts. I’d put on a few pounds, too, no thanks to all the baking I did, but I was working on losing weight. Thankfully, my favorite jeans still fit.

Some days I paused, wondering if Paul would know the new me—mainly because I didn’t recognize myself any longer. I’d changed, which I suppose was only natural. My entire world had been set upside down.

After dipping the sponge in the soapy water, I headed up the first three steps of the ladder, ready to wash off several months’ accumulation of dirt and grime. I wrinkled my nose at the pungent scent of vinegar, which my mother had recommended for cleaning windows. Unfortunately, I failed to write down the proportions. Seeing that it was a big bucket, I emptied half a bottle into the hot water. At this point, my bucket smelled more like a pickle barrel.

“What are you doing?” Mark shouted from across the yard.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I asked, refusing to let his bad mood rile me. Being Mark’s friend required more than a fair share of patience.

He stabbed the pitchfork into the grass and marched across the lawn toward me like a soldier heading into battle. A thick dark frown marred his face. “Get down from there.”

I remained frozen on the third step. “Excuse me?” This had to be some kind of joke.

“You heard me.”

I stared at him in disbelief. No way was I going to let Mark dictate what I could and couldn’t do on my own property.

“Ladders are dangerous,” he said, his fists digging into his hip bones.

I simply ignored him, climbed up one additional step, and started to wash the window.

“Don’t you know sixty percent of all home accidents involve someone falling off a ladder?”

“I hadn’t heard that, but I do know sixty percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.” I thought my retort would amuse him. It didn’t. If anything, his frown grew deeper and darker.

“You shouldn’t be on that ladder. For the love of heaven, Jo Marie, be sensible.”

“Me?” If anyone was being unreasonable, it was Mark.

“It’s dangerous up there.”

“Do you suggest a safety net?” He made it sound as if I was walking along a window ledge on the fifty-ninth floor of a sixty-story building instead of on a stepladder.

Mark didn’t answer my question. He pinched his lips into a taut line. “I don’t want to argue about this.”

“Good, let’s not. I’m washing windows, so you can go back to planting my rose garden.”

“No,” he insisted.

“No?”

“I’m staying right here until you give up this foolishness and come down from there.”

I heaved an expressive sigh. Mark was treating me like I was in kindergarten instead of like a woman who was fully able of taking care of herself. “I suppose I should be grateful you’re concerned.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “For all I care you could break your fool neck, but I just don’t want to be around to see it happen.”

“How kind of you,” I muttered, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. His attitude as much as his words irritated me, so I ignored him and continued washing the windows. When I was satisfied the top two were clean, I carefully backed down the rungs just to prove I was capable of being cautious. Mark had his hands braced on the ladder, holding it steady.

“Are you still here?” I asked. I knew darn good and well he was.

Again he ignored the question.

“I’m not paying you to stand around and watch me work,” I reminded him.

He narrowed his eyes into slits. “Fine, then. I quit.”

I didn’t believe him. “No, you don’t.”

Within seconds he was off the porch and stalking across the yard, every step punctuated with irritation.

I jumped down the last two rungs and followed him. I don’t usually lose my temper, but he was pushing all the wrong buttons with me. I’m far too independent to have anyone, especially a man, dictate what I could and couldn’t do.

“You can’t quit,” I told him. “And you certainly can’t leave my yard torn up like this.”

Mark acted as though he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. Instead he gathered his pitchfork and other tools, most of which he’d left in the grass.

“We have a contract,” I reminded him.

“So sue me.”

“Fine, I will … I’ll have my attorney contact you first thing in the morning.” I didn’t have an attorney, but I hoped the threat of one would shake Mark up enough to realize how foolish he was behaving. I should have known better; Mark didn’t so much as blink.

Rover followed me across the lawn and remained at my side. I couldn’t believe Mark. After all these months he was ready to walk away over something completely asinine. It made no sense.

With his pitchfork and shovel in one hand and his toolbox in the other he started to leave, then seemed to change his mind, because he abruptly turned back.

I moved one step forward, grateful he’d come to his senses.

“Give your lawyer my cell phone number.”

“Yeah, right. You forget to carry it half the time, and if you do, the battery is low.”

“Whatever. Give your attorney the number to my business line, seeing that you’re so hot to sue me.”

“I’ll do that.” My back went rigid as Mark stalked off the property. I looked down at Rover, who’d cocked his head to one side as if he, too, found it difficult to understand what had just happened and why. He wasn’t the only one.

“He isn’t worth the angst,” I advised my dog, and then, because I was half afraid Rover might be tempted to run after Mark, I squatted down and patted his head. “Everything takes ten times longer than he estimates, anyway.” Raising my voice in the hopes that Mark would hear me, I added, “Good riddance.”

I stood back up and remained in the middle of my yard until Mark was completely out of view. Then and only then did I allow my shoulders to sag with defeat.

This was nuts. Barely an hour earlier we’d been sipping coffee and tea on the porch, and now I was threatening Mark with a lawsuit. And the way I felt right then, he deserved it.

Returning to my window washing, I was so agitated that I scrubbed and washed the glass until the shine nearly blinded me. I finished in record time, the muscles in my upper arms aching from the vigorous scrubbing I’d done. For half a second I was tempted to contact Mark and let him know I’d survived this dangerous feat but then thought better of it. He would have to apologize to me because he’d been way off base, treating me like I was a child.

My apologizing to him simply wasn’t going to happen. But I
knew him well enough to realize how stubborn he could be. If he said he wasn’t coming back, then I had to believe he meant it.

My anger carried me all the way into the evening. I didn’t want to admit it, but the truth was I would miss Mark. I’d sort of grown accustomed to having him stop by every so often, if for no other reason than coffee. He offered great feedback on the cookies and other items I baked. We’d grown comfortable with each other. He was a friend, nothing more, and I appreciated that we could be simply that: friends.

In an effort to distract myself, I emptied the dirty wash water from the bucket in the laundry-room sink, rinsed out the sponge, and set it out to dry, and then went into my small office.

I had guests arriving this weekend, which was the good news and the bad news. The first name I saw on the list was for the mysterious Mary Smith. I took the reservation shortly after taking over the inn, and it had stayed in my mind. Mary had sounded unsure, hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing booking this room.

A party had booked the inn as well. The original call had come in from Kent Shivers, who hadn’t sounded the least bit excited about all this hoopla his family had planned for him. Kent and his wife, Julie, were about to celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary by renewing their vows. Other room reservations had been added at later dates, all from family members. Seven of my eight rooms were booked for Saturday.

Only one of the guests would be here through Sunday evening, though, and that was Mary Smith. Remembering her hesitation, I’d half wondered if she’d cancel at the last minute, but to this point I hadn’t heard otherwise. Her room was made up and ready.

I didn’t have much of an appetite for dinner and ate chips and salsa, which wasn’t anything I’d normally choose. Because I was restless and at loose ends I decided to bake peanut-butter cookies,
one of my favorites. It wasn’t until they were cooling on the countertop that I remembered they were Mark’s favorite, too.

Rover curled up on the rug in front of the refrigerator, one of his favorite spots. He seemed content, but I was restless, pacing the kitchen, and then a short while later moving from one room to another. Once in my private quarters, I tried to knit, but I ended up making one mistake after another and finally stuffed the project back into the basket. Television didn’t hold my interest, either. A book I’d found fascinating just the night before bored me now.

I might as well admit it. All this fidgeting was due to my argument with Mark. In retrospect I wished I’d handled the situation differently. But really, what could I have done? Mark seemed bound and determined to argue with me. He was the one who’d gone completely off his rocker. Oh, great, now I was thinking in clichés, but it was true—our clash of wills was all due to his being high-handed and completely unreasonable.

Really, who else would go ballistic over something so ridiculous as washing windows because I chose to stand on a stepladder? He’d been rude, demanding, and utterly irrational. I wasn’t putting up with that. Not from him; not from anyone.

Still, it saddened me that it had come to this.

Rover lifted his head from his spot in front of the fireplace and then rested his chin on his paws.

“Just think of all the money I’ll save in flour and sugar,” I said in a weak attempt at making a joke.

It felt flat even to my own ears.

Okay, I’d admit it. I was going to miss Mark.

I didn’t sleep well, which wasn’t surprising after my tiff with Mark. I did feel bad about our disagreement, but I couldn’t allow him, or anyone else, to dictate to me what I could and couldn’t do in my own home.

If he was intent on breaking the contract, then so be it. The threat of a lawsuit hadn’t fazed him in the least. I’d spoken in the heat of the moment and regretted that. I’d leave matters as they were for the time being until we’d both cooled down.

With no guests to prepare breakfast for, I took my time, luxuriating in not having any demands placed on me first thing in the morning, although Mary Smith would be arriving sometime before lunch. Rover followed me into the kitchen, where I brewed myself
a cup of coffee. I walked out on the front porch, leaning against the round column, holding my mug while Rover did his business, watering the front lawn. When he finished, he leaped up the porch steps, bounding with such energy that I couldn’t keep from smiling.

The sky was overcast and gray, threatening rain. My hope was the sun would burn off the clouds and eventually shine. Sipping my coffee, I looked over my torn-up yard where I’d hoped to have roses in bloom and slowly exhaled, feeling frustrated and irritated.