The Inn at Rose Harbor (12 page)

His stepfather gasped for breath; he looked like he was having some sort of attack.

“Call nine-one-one,” Josh shouted.

A moment later, Michelle assured him that an ambulance had been dispatched. They should arrive soon.

Josh just hoped they would get there before it was too late. He rushed into the master bathroom and thrust open the medicine cabinet. The shelves were lined with row upon row of medications. It took him a heart-stopping minute to find what he wanted.

Aspirin.

Shaking four mini-dose tablets into the palm of his hand, he hurried back into the family room and placed the tablets in Richard’s mouth.

“Chew them, Richard,” he demanded. “Chew and swallow. Get them down as quickly as possible.”

The ambulance arrived and transported Richard to the Bremerton Hospital. Josh and Michelle followed behind in his truck. After Josh filled out the necessary paperwork, Michelle sat with him in the ER. He reached for her hand, needing an anchor. They waited for nearly an hour before a physician approached them. His badge identified him as Dr. Abraham Wilhelm.

Josh stood to meet the physician eye to eye. “How is he?” he asked.

The doctor’s concerned look said far more than any words the
man might have uttered. “Stable for now. The bottom line is that he doesn’t have much longer in his weakened condition. I’d like to admit him, but he refuses.”

“When you say he doesn’t have much longer, what exactly does that mean?” Michelle asked.

“I wish I could be more precise, but I can’t. His heart is in bad shape.”

“Did he have a heart attack?”

“Actually he’s had several.”

“What about surgery?” Josh asked.

Dr. Wilhelm shook his head. “His heart is far too weak to sustain surgery. I think it’s time for hospice.”

“Hospice,” Josh echoed. “Richard agreed to that?”

The physician cracked what resembled a smile, although Josh couldn’t be sure. “When I mentioned hospice to Mr. Lambert, he said he wanted out of the hospital. His words were, and I quote, ‘Get me out of here. I don’t care what you have to do but I want out. People die here.’ ”

Josh chuckled. “I see what you mean.”

“Mr. Lambert prefers to die at home and so I urge you to take him there. I’ll arrange for hospice to make a visit as soon as possible.”

Josh nodded. “Thank you.”

Dr. Wilhelm slapped him across the back. “He has a strong will.”

“He’s stubborn all right,” Josh agreed.

“You’re family?”

“His stepson, but I’m all the family he’s got.”

Dr. Wilhelm nodded. “In that case, I’d say he’s fortunate to have you.”

I’d just finished changing the towels in Abby Kincaid’s room when the doorbell chimed. I bebopped down the stairs, thinking it might be someone looking for a room, which would be nice.

When I opened the door I discovered a rather tall, thin man standing on the other side of the threshold. He wore coveralls over a thick flannel shirt in an orange and brown plaid and was easily six-three or six-four, which was a good seven or so inches taller than me. His eyes were dark brown, and the instant he saw me, he frowned.

“Can I help you?” I asked, unwilling to let him into the house until I knew exactly who he was and why he was at my front door. I drew myself up to my full height—not that it did any good—and stared at him, unwilling to flinch under his glare.

“You called me.”

I relaxed. “You’re Mark Taylor?”

He nodded, and I stepped aside. He came into the foyer and stopped to sniff appreciatively. “You’ve been baking.”

“Chocolate chip cookies. You interested?”

“Does a bear …” He stopped talking abruptly and cast me an apologetic look. “I can’t remember the last time I had home-baked cookies. You have coffee to go with that?”

“Does a bear …” I teased. I hadn’t been sure what to expect of the handyman Peggy Beldon had recommended. He’d seemed a bit of a grouch … or at least an odd duck. Seeing him now, he was outwardly exactly what one would expect a handyman to look like.

To my surprise I actually liked him. We hadn’t started off on the right foot—I’d found my phone conversation with him more than a bit disconcerting. But despite my hesitation I was pleased I’d decided to give him a chance. His eyes were dark but honest, and while he wasn’t exactly Mr. Personality, he seemed, in a word, interesting.

His hair was a dark blond and a tad long. I could tell it bothered him because his bangs fell into his eyes and he impatiently brushed them aside a couple of times.

“You take your coffee black?” I asked when he followed me into the kitchen.

“Please.”

I carried two mugs to the kitchen table and piled cookies onto a plate and brought those over, too.

Mark sat down and reached for a cookie while I retrieved from my office the sketches of the sign I’d envisioned.

Mark stood when I returned. The gesture surprised me. I wasn’t accustomed to such old-fashioned but thoughtful behavior in men. Then again, perhaps he was just looking to make a good impression
to get my business. It was an odd contradiction with his gruffness.

After I sat down, he relaxed in the chair, leaning against the back of it. “So, what do you have in mind?”

“I need a new sign made for the front of the inn.”

“Not a problem. I enjoy woodwork. Show me what you want.”

I’d drawn up a couple of ideas. I wanted it freestanding in front of the short driveway so that guests who were driving to the inn would know that they’d reached their destination as soon as they came down the street. I wanted it painted white to match the house, with red lettering, and red roses painted on each side of
ROSE HARBOR INN
.

Mark looked over the drawings and asked a few questions. “You want this to stand, what, five feet high?”

“Yes, I think that would be perfect … with lettering that’s legible from the street.”

He nodded.

“What would that cost me?”

He named a figure that I found more than reasonable. Mark’s quote was half that of the estimate I’d gotten before I took possession of the inn.

“How soon could you have it done?”

Mark finished his cookie, brushed the crumbs from his hands, and reached inside the pocket of his coveralls for a small black book. He licked his finger before he turned several pages.

I looked away in an effort to hide my amusement. Before smart phones, most little black books were used for women’s phone numbers instead of jobs. It begged the question of whether there was a love interest in Mark’s life.

“I could have that for you by the end of the month,” Mark told me, after flipping several pages. Apparently he already had plenty of jobs lined up over the next few weeks.

“That long?” I hated the thought of waiting three weeks to identify the inn. Although I feared the more expensive estimate might require even more time.

“I’ll see what I can do to make it happen sooner,” he suggested.

“I’d appreciate that. One question. Did my age move me up or down the list?” I teased.

He grinned. “Do you want me to go ahead, then, with the sign?”

“Please,” I said, the decision made. Peggy thought highly of Mark and his work. He was local and I liked doing business with the neighboring merchants. It was good practice. I wanted to establish myself in this community, especially since I planned to live here a good long while.

Mark removed a stubby pencil from his shirt pocket and listed my name in his little black book. “I’ll do a good job. I guarantee all my work.”

The new business sign wasn’t the only job I had in mind. “Do you know anyone who’s willing to do yard work?” I asked. While he leaned back I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the tabletop.

“I can.”

He didn’t seem overly keen on the idea, though.

“You sure?” His body language said otherwise.

“If it’s something I’d rather not do, I’ll tell you, okay?”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Perhaps you’d like to recommend someone else.”

“First tell me what you want done.” Another cookie disappeared and he reached for a third.

“A rose garden,” I explained. “I want to plant a big, beautiful, and rather elaborate rose garden.” I handed him the sketchbook I’d used and flipped it open to the appropriate page. I’m no artist, but I felt I’d done an adequate job of illustrating what I wanted done. My idea would require a large portion of the lawn to be removed.
I wanted an arched entry into the garden and a stone pathway between the flowering bushes. In addition, I hoped to have benches along the pathway, and perhaps, if it wasn’t too elaborate, a gazebo. Not right away, but once I was more established. A gazebo would be perfect for special occasions, even weddings.

Mark studied my drawings for several moments. “This is quite the rose garden.”

“I know. It’ll be a large project.”

He nodded. “It makes sense you wanting a rose garden planted seeing that you renamed the inn Rose Harbor Inn.”

I agreed, but didn’t mention Paul. “Do you think this is a project that would interest you?”

He frowned. “I don’t know that much about roses.”

Fact was I didn’t either, but I certainly intended to learn what I could. “I’ll purchase the roses and plant them myself. I want to get as many antique rosebushes as I can find.”

“Antique roses? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“They’re older, obviously, stock from before growers started cross-breeding them. The flowers tend to be smaller but they’re especially fragrant. I’d also like to plant a few hybrid bushes. I thought it would be a nice touch once the garden is complete to place a bouquet of roses in the rooms of my new guests.”

“That would be nice; a little something extra; a welcome to Cedar Cove and your inn.”

“So, what do you think … about the garden I mean?” I’d need to get an estimate from him regarding that as well. This would be a large project requiring lots of time and it’d be expensive.

“I’d say I’m your man.”

“Great.” I relaxed. “Put together an estimate and I’ll look it over.”

“I might see about finding someone else to come in and remove the lawn and prepare the soil. And if you plant the bushes yourself it’ll cut down on the expense.”

“I’d like an arched trellis leading into the garden, too,” I said and pointed to my drawing. “Maybe more than one … but I’ll need to get a price first.” It would be easy to go overboard on this, and I’d hoped to keep the costs down as much as possible.

“No problem; I can build you as many as you want.”

“What about benches? Could you build those, too, or would it be more economical for me to just buy them ready-made?”

He mulled over the answer. “If you’re looking to save money, buy the benches, but I need to tell you that if you decide to have me build them, then I guarantee it will be as solid as they come and will last longer than anything you could purchase.”

Again, it depended on price. “Add it to the estimate and I’ll make that decision later.”

He nodded and reached for another cookie. The plate, however, was empty. He’d stuffed down six cookies, one after the other, with barely a pause in between. These weren’t small cookies, either. I wasn’t about to let him gobble up the entire batch so I didn’t offer to refill the plate. He was probably one of those fortunate people with a high metabolism who could eat anything they wanted and still remain as thin as a pogo stick.

He sipped his coffee and studied me as he raised the mug to his lips. “You’re younger than I expected.”

“Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”

He shrugged. “Most people assume I’m older, retired, making a little extra income on the side. Fact is I’m busy all the time. I’ve got more projects going than I can handle.”

“Where did you work before?” I speculated that he’d been an employee at one of those big box hardware stores. From what Peggy Beldon told me, Mark knew enough about electricity, plumbing, and carpentry to build his own home, which he’d apparently done.

“I didn’t.”

“You’ve never had a job?” I found that hard to believe.

“I was military.”

That caught me by surprise. “That’s a job.” I’ve always had huge respect for the men and women of our military and the service they provided for our country, even before meeting Paul.

“In a manner of speaking, being in the military is a job, but it’s much more than that. I had a few issues when I was discharged so I decided I preferred to be self-employed.”

“Thank you for your service to our country,” I said simply. Whatever his issues had been, he clearly didn’t want to elaborate. That was fine by me. Everyone had issues. I certainly had my own and it seemed my two guests did, too.

He looked away as if my appreciation made him uncomfortable.

“What’s your story?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Nothing special. I came into an inheritance and decided to make a career change. The idea of opening a bed-and-breakfast appealed to me and so I went for it.”

“With no experience in this particular area?”

“None.” I had to admit it did sound rather foolish. “I’m a quick learner and I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on about owning and operating a bed-and-breakfast.”

“So you’ve met Grace?”

“Grace? No, sorry, I can’t say that I have. Who’s Grace?”

“Grace Harding, the head librarian. You should introduce yourself. I did some work for her after her husband disappeared. I get a lot of my work from widows and single women.”

“Her husband disappeared?”

“That was years ago now. She’s since remarried. Harding is the name of her second husband. Good people, you’ll like Grace and Cliff.”

“Thanks.” I’d intended to get down to the library before long.

“At some point you’ll probably meet Grace’s best friend, too. That would be Olivia Griffin. Her husband’s the newspaper editor.”

I doubted I’d be able to remember all these names. “Where does Olivia work?”

“Courthouse. She’s a family court judge. Have you eaten at the Pancake Palace yet?”

“No.” I’d been cooking, trying out new recipes I hoped to serve at the inn, so I hadn’t been to any of the restaurants in town.