Summertime Dream (2 page)

The same doubting look as the bartender at Debi’s wedding last month narrowed her stranger’s lovely green eyes.

“I’m completely legal. Twenty-four. Twenty-five in two months from today actually. My wallet’s in my bag there if you’d like to card me.”

“Ah, not to be rude, but yeah, I should.”

Far from offended, she hopped off the swing, the sandy dust warm against her feet. She liked a sense of responsibility in a man. She fished her wallet from her bag. As she offered up her license, she spoke playfully, embracing this opportunity to be a little other than quiet, sensible Margie. “See, Marguerite Lauren Olsson, September fourth of the year perfectly legal. Or you could check with my dad, mom, brother, and anybody from town down at the ball game. Mr. Jansson, our police chief, is coaching first base. Although, my brother Joe still seems to think I’m five and should stick to milk and cookies. Acceptable proof?”

“Sorry. Just…” He smiled and cleared his throat. “You, ah. Well, you look...”

“Look like a kid. Happens all the time.”
All
the time. On the other hand, if looking like a kid now helped keep her looks as Grandma June had, she should count her blessings.

“Not a kid, ah…Sorry, Marguerite, one cold beer coming up. I’m Christopher Gordon.” He opened two bottles, a microbrew she’d never tried before, and handed her one.

“Thanks. Very nice to meet you, Christopher. You can call me Margie.” After taking a sip of the bright, fizzy lager, she held the bottle to her temple and enjoyed the icy chill for a moment. There weren’t any Gordons here in town, but he had to have family here. Why else would a stranger come to Falk’s Bend for the Fourth of July?

Laughter and cheers rang from the softball game.

“Sounds like they’re having a fun time over there. Why aren’t you there?” He nodded at the ball field.

“Why aren’t you? You’d be able to see better from the bleachers.”

“The shade feels good and I’ve got a fine view.” He sipped at his beer. His eyes met and held with hers, instigating all sorts of intriguing, unsettling ideas.

She eyed the long board of the swing seat. Room for two. Would he? Should she offer? “Visiting family for the holiday?”

“Not exactly.”

What an odd answer.

He shrugged. “Mrs. Dodd, at the motel, told me I should come to the picnic. I just arrived last night and wasn’t sure, but she was, ah…”

“Irrepressible? That’s Miriam Dodd all right. No one’s a stranger at the Wander Inn Motor Court.”

A grin lit his face. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Would you like to share the seat?” She patted the swing and ignored her blush. This was her little adventure to enjoy. “The swing’s sturdy enough for two.”

****

Christopher was staring and couldn’t help himself.

She
might not be a kid, but she’s still way too young for you.

He
dragged his mind off the way her soft rosy mouth closed on the bottle. Marguerite. Margie. Olsson? He’d run into another Olsson when he first arrived. A friendly guy with an odd name, Mats, old enough to be Margie’s dad or grandfather. He could see some resemblance about the eyes. Margie’s wide, hazel eyes sparkled like a deep trout pool…

Snap out of it.

She was sure cute, though. With her fresh young face, he’d taken her at first glance for a college kid. Well, at almost twenty-five, she wasn’t long out of college. A fascinating line of white buttons ran from mid-calf to collarbone on her sleeveless, light blue dress sprinkled with red, white, and navy flowers. The same light pink polish sparkled on her bare toes as on her fingers. No rings. She wore her sunny brown hair caught up in a red ribbon bow, with curls escaping everywhere, and the desire to pull that ribbon and let down her hair was dizzying.

He swallowed hard. Yeah. He’d definitely been working too hard lately, because three sips of beer couldn’t account for how this cute slip of a woman made his head spin.

“If you sit on that side, back against the rope, it’ll be easier to chat.”

The swing’s supporting branch, ropes, and long, heavy board looked old, but sturdy. He sat carefully. The swing swayed and sank under his added weight. Another cheer rose from the softball game. He chuckled at the timing.

“So where are you visiting from?”

“I live in Los Angeles at the moment.”

“Oh, California. I’ve never been there. It must be fantastic living where you can have an orange tree in your garden.”

Margie could read him a spreadsheet with that shy sweet voice and he’d be rapt. He gave himself a mental shake. “Yeah, if I had a garden, I’d like that—well, I live in an apartment on the seventh floor, there’s barely room on the balcony for my tomato plant and some herbs.”

“I love to garden.” Her sharp breath slid into a sigh.

He raised a brow. “Something wrong?”

“No, not anymore. Long story.” She sipped at her beer and smiled brightly. “So, if you’re not exactly visiting family, what brings you to our little town?”

Why was he here?

Pull it together, Gordon, or she’ll think you’re an idiot.

“I had a meeting yesterday with Kevin Sorensen, the lawyer for Reba Falk’s estate. She was my great-grandmother. I needed to sign some papers and get the keys and all. Now I have to decide what to do about the house and contents.”

“Your great-grandmother was Reba Falk? You own the Falk house now? Wow. Then Loretta Falk must be your grandmother. That’s wonderful!”

Wonderful? Sorensen had mentioned the house had been vacant and boarded-up since Reba died six years ago and had seen better days. What was wonderful about having to deal with a rundown property in this tiny, middle-of-nowhere town?

“Yes, Loretta was my grandmother. I never knew about Reba. I gather from Sorensen some family falling out occurred long before I was born, but she left everything to Grandma Loretta, and after Sorensen sorted through and tracked family down, apparently I’m the heir. I could have handled everything by mail and phone, and let Sorensen make the arrangements to put the place up for sale, but I figured, what the heck, I could make the time, and I admit I’m kind of curious to see where my dad’s family came from.”

Her pretty eyes widened with dismay. “You’re selling it?”

Why was that? “I don’t need a house and being a landlord doesn’t interest me.”

“Have you seen the house yet?”

“No. I haven’t had a chance. Had to work this morning.” Only, after hours of number crunching, he’d conceded working indoors was a waste of a sunny Saturday and national holiday. Mrs. Dodd’s invitation to the picnic offered an easy option to escape his rut.

“Ah, you missed the parade down Main Street then.”

“There was a parade?”

“Oh, yes, it’s a major Fourth of July tradition here, with the high school marching band, Apple Queen float, and all.”

The town had definitely decked out to the max for the holiday. Patriotic bunting and crepe paper bows slathered the park in splashes of red, white, and blue. Fourth of July in Falk’s Bend belonged in a Norman Rockwell painting.

The loudest energetic cheer yet rose from the softball field.

“Sounds like the game is over. That was fast. They’ll finish cooking now, we’ll stuff ourselves silly and talk for hours, and then the band will play and the fireworks over the river will finish the evening. We’re very proud of our fire department’s yearly display.” She glanced around, frowning lightly. “Now, where did I kick my sandals to?”

“I see one. Hold on, I’ll grab them for you.” He rose from the swing.

He retrieved and set the pair of girly white sandals by her feet. Heck, even her pink-polished toes were cute. He sighed to himself. Since when did feet interest him? Dave might just be right when he ragged on him about needing to get a life.

“Thanks.” She slipped into her sandals and stood. She was taller than he expected and that pretty dress of hers now showed off some real nice curves to her slim figure. “Would you like to sit with my family? There’s room enough at our table.”

Margie or Mrs. Dodd? Easy answer there. “Sure. Thank you.”

As he followed Margie, the noisy tide of softball fans flowed into the picnic area.

“Oh, look! There’s my brother Joe and my best friends, Debi and Baxter Hayes.” She waved. “Here I am.”

A mustached, broad-shouldered younger version of Mats Olsson with sweat-plastered blond hair and wearing a dusty, navy blue T-shirt emblazoned
Falk’s Bend Fire Department
and grass-stained baseball uniform pants waved back. “Hey, Margie, ready to eat? I’m starving.” Then his gaze locked on Christopher and his warm grin snapped into an icy scowl.

Uh oh.

Margie blithely leapt into introductions. “Christopher, this is my brother, Joe Olsson. He’s the head chef at our restaurant and a volunteer fireman.”

Christopher offered his hand. Maybe a territorial big brother was no different than a hostile CFO. “Christopher Gordon.”

Joe plastered on a thin smile and shook hands with a hard
don’t mess with me or my sister
grip. “Pleased to meet you. Visiting family for the holiday?”

“I’m here on business. Mrs. Dodd at the motel insisted I should come to the picnic. Hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure. Tons of food to share. Nothing’s open in town for you to eat elsewhere anyhow. Have to head over to Collingswood if you plan to eat out today.” Joe had the same bright hazel eyes as his sister, but his were as cold and unwelcoming as Margie’s were sweet and friendly and his grudging tone left no doubt Joe wanted him to make that drive.

An unfamiliar obstinacy filled Christopher. Damned if he’d bow out gracefully.

Margie softly touched Joe’s elbow. “And guess what? Christopher is Reba Falk’s great-grandson and Loretta’s grandson.”

Joe eyed him again and not so subtly laid an arm over Margie’s shoulders. “You? I thought I’d heard Sorensen had located an heir.”

“Whoa, really?” Baxter shook hands with enthusiasm. “Glad to meet you.”

The petite redheaded Debi was a cute match to her linebacker-big husband. “That’s so awesome. Having someone live in the poor old place after all these years will be great.” She took Christopher’s hand in a warm, brisk shake and nailed him with a sharp grin and intense blue eyes. “So…single, or married with children?”

Left feeling weighed, judged, and provisionally approved, Christopher couldn’t help a chuckle. “Single, never married. I won’t be staying. I’m only here to settle matters so the house can be sold and then I’m heading back to Los Angeles.”

Margie slipped free of her brother’s grip. “I invited Christopher to eat with us. Joe, you and Baxter better wash up quick and get to the grills. Keith’s waving for you to hurry.”

Baxter clapped a brawny hand on Joe’s shoulder and nudged him along. Joe shot Margie a torn look, and walked off stiffly.

“Margie, sweetie, there you are! Oh, hello again.” Mats Olsson arrived hand in hand with the woman who’d without a doubt given Margie her sunny brown hair and sweet smile. A stouter version of Joe, Margie’s dad had a quick smile and thoughtful eyes, deep worry lines, and dark blond hair liberally salted with gray. He turned to his wife and two couples accompanying him, “This here’s that great-grandson of Reba’s I was telling you about,” and dove into introductions.

Lars Olsson, Margie’s grandfather, resembled a Santa without the beard. “At least we know now Loretta didn’t come to a bad end. That’s a relief.

“Loretta was my dad’s mother.” Murky guilt stirred up by Sorenson’s first call lingered. How bad was it he never knew where Grandma came from, or anything about her family? Why hadn’t he ever asked? Yeah, he’d been a kid, but still…

Margie’s blonde and sprightly grandmother June looked young enough to be Margie’s mother. “Oh, my! It’s so good to meet you. Loretta was only nineteen when she just up and disappeared in 1948 and it’s always been a mystery.”

A shiver crawled up his spine.

“Until now, of course, since you’re here,” Carole, Margie’s mother chirped.

Christopher nodded, still troubled. “Probably will remain a mystery, unless there’s some answer left in the house. Grandma Loretta passed when I was eighteen. Grandpa Will, William Gordon, her husband, died when I was two. They had three sons, my dad, Nicholas, who was the oldest, and my uncles Bill and Wayne. My uncles never married and died in the service, far too young. We lost Dad three years ago and I’m an only child. So that’s how I ended up with the place.” His mom had been as astounded as Christopher at Sorensen’s news. Grandma had never talked about her past.

“Since Reba passed, Kevin Sorenson, Tim Olhouser, and a few others have been keeping the yard mowed and the mischief makers run off,” Mats said.

“Sorensen’s been very helpful. My plane was late coming in and he was kind enough to meet with me yesterday evening before he left for his vacation.”

Lars nodded. “Yep, he’s a good kid. He’s visiting with his sister in St. Louis. First time he’s been away since coming here to take over his granddad’s practice. He’s had his hands full ever since.”

“Tim’s around here somewhere. We’ll have to introduce you to him.” Stig, Mats’ brother, tipped up the brim of his cap as he scanned the crowd. Although leaner than Mats, he had their father’s jolly face.

At that, Margie’s family launched into introducing him to picnickers left and right. Christopher’s consulting business made people glaze over a bit with vague
that’s nice
comments, but they were downright rapt the moment they learned he was the missing Loretta’s grandson and that he’d inherited the Falk house. The number of times he’d heard variations on “Good luck, you’ve got your hand full with that place” left him wishing he’d asked Sorensen for details on the house and to email him some pictures.

A man whose name Christopher didn’t catch added, “Can’t tell you how happy everyone will be to hear young Sorenson found you and you’ll be taking over the house. And I can tell you the roof doesn’t leak anymore. Old Sorensen had that fixed after the bad storm we had three years ago damaged the roof slates on the east side.”

Lars nodded and popped the cap on a fresh beer. “Young Kevin shoulda taken over a few years sooner. Old Sorensen was slipping and too proud to retire or ask for help. Just wasn’t ever the same after his wife Clara passed. She was his only secretary, too. I imagine that’s why you weren’t found sooner.”