Sanctuary Island (11 page)

“All right!” Ella had to laugh at Grady’s fervent declaration, grateful for the sudden lightening of tension in the air. “They’re amazing. She’d make a bundle serving these for breakfast at a B and B.”

Grady’s jaw went granite hard, and Ella threw up her hands.

Pushing back from the table and carrying her empty plate to the sink, she couldn’t help saying, “What on earth is your problem? This is Jo’s house, not yours.”

It was Ella’s great-aunt Dottie’s house. It had been in her family for generations.

The memory of that letter from the county floated in front of her eyes as she ran the faucet to wash the crumbs off her plate.

“My problem,” Grady growled, “is that you keep bringing up this damn B and B idea, and eventually Jo might decide it’s a good way to keep you and your sister on the island, helping her out with it.”

Ella froze. She hadn’t considered how Merry might react if she knew Jo was in trouble.

But Grady wasn’t done. “Your mother would die if she actually had to spend all her time cooped up in this house playing hostess to a bunch of vacationing mainlanders, no matter how much money she might make. What is it with you and money, anyway?”

The scorn in his tone raised the small hairs at the back of Ella’s neck, and she whirled to face him.

“First off, I don’t have a thing about money.” She hated the way that sounded, as if she were shallow and mercenary, or judgmental of people who didn’t wear the right clothing brands or something. That wasn’t it at all. “But I don’t think it’s somehow wrong to expect stability and security in return for hard work. What have you got against the hospitality industry, anyway?”

Shaking his head, Grady stretched his long, denim-clad legs out under the table and regarded her contemplatively. “Hospitality isn’t an industry. Around here, it’s a way of life … a dying one, maybe. But it’s how we still look at the world, down in backwater places and small towns like Sanctuary. And the last thing hospitality ought to be about is making money.”

“I still don’t get why it’s such a big deal to you,” Ella protested. “Surely the island attracts plenty of tourists. You said yourself, your family used to come for the summers!”

He tipped his head back and blew a sigh up at the ceiling. “It’s hard to explain in words.” Tilting his chin in her direction, he smiled. “But I could show you.”

Ella narrowed her eyes. “I was kidding before, but maybe I was right—you are here to babysit me. Did my mother put you up to this?”

She expected him to hedge, but instead he said, “I’ve ridden over every inch of this island, and I love it. So, yes, your mom asked me to play tour guide because she wants you to get to know Sanctuary. And she’s smart enough to accept that you’re not ready to see it with her.”

Deep down, Ella wasn’t at all sure touring the island with Grady instead would pose less of a hazard to her heart, but she had made that promise to learn about her family’s legacy on the island.

And unlike some people, Ella took her promises seriously. Plus, this would give her time to figure out what to do about the letter.

Not that she owed Jo anything, but now that she’d spent time here, she found she hated the idea of the house leaving the family. After years of convincing herself she didn’t need anything from her absent mother, the magnetic pull she felt toward her family history surprised her. This house was a part of it, and so was Sanctuary.

“Fine,” she decided. “Show me what’s so special about this island of yours.”

Surprise and delight fired Grady’s gaze with a brilliant light, and as the smile stretched across his face and crinkled at the corners of his eyes, Ella couldn’t help thinking that no matter how picturesque Sanctuary might be, it would be hard to find a more appealing view than the one right here in her mother’s kitchen.

CHAPTER 11

Jo fiddled with the truck’s climate controls, trying to find the perfect temperature to stop Merry’s teeth from chattering.

Early April mornings were still pretty nippy, but she’d made sure they were both bundled up before they drove away from the house in the gray predawn light.

Forty-five minutes and one spectacularly pink and orange sunrise later, there was still enough of a chill on the air to have Jo and Merry shivering.

“That was awesome.” Merry sighed. She didn’t seem to notice or mind the cold, in spite of the fact that her lips were tinged a worrying blue. “Do we have to go back to the house yet?”

“We probably should. Don’t you need to eat?” Jo didn’t want to cut this outing short, but she wanted her baby girl warm and comfortable more than she wanted to drag out the sweetness of this moment.

Besides,
she told herself,
I’ll have at least two more weeks of sweet moments with my Merry, and the hope of more with Ella, eventually.

Be grateful for what you have,
she reminded herself,
even if it’s not everything you want, as fast as you want it. There was a time when you thought neither girl would ever let you back into her life, and now here they are.

“I had three biscuits before we left,” Merry pointed out. “I mean, Baby and I will be hungry again before too much longer—I swear, it’s like I swallowed a tapeworm—but we’re good for now.”

Jo wasn’t going to argue too hard. “Well, what were you hoping to do instead?”

Merry’s shy smile cracked Jo’s heart in at least three places. “Last night at dinner, you said something about stables?”

“You want to see my barn? That’s pretty convenient, since it’s just behind Aunt Dottie’s house.”

Merry blinked. “Really? I didn’t realize it was so close.”

“It’s screened pretty well by a stand of red cedar trees.”

“I love how green it is here. The whole island feels so alive.”

Jo shifted into drive, hiding a wince at the grinding of gears. “The old gray mare, she ain’t what she used to be,” she said with a rueful smile.

Merry shrugged. “Hey, at least you own your own car. And house. And business. I think that’s cool.” Her hand drifted up to rest against the roundness of her tummy. “I haven’t got much of anything except Baby, here.”

Fighting the urge to ask about the baby’s father, Jo gripped the wheel until she lost circulation in her fingers. “When I first came to Sanctuary, I was like you—I had nothing. Not even my babies, because when your father left, I wasn’t fit to be near you, and I knew it. I gave up my rights … and then you were gone. And I was all alone, until your great-aunt Dottie took me in.”

“You miss her a lot.” Merry’s voice was muffled and a little choked. Jo took a chance and reached out a tentative hand to her younger daughter, who grabbed it and held on with a strength that surprised Jo.

“I do miss her. She was an incredible lady, although she hated that term.” Jo managed a damp laugh. “Aunt Dottie always referred to herself as ‘an old broad,’ and she was proud of it.”

Merry’s dimples popped out. “She sounds like someone I would’ve liked.”

“She was. Dottie would have loved you; I’ll always regret the fact that my mistakes deprived her, and you and Ella, of the chance to know each other.”

“Mom,” Merry choked out, and Jo felt a sob rise up in her throat.

“It’s been so many years since I heard that word from one of my girls.” The shock and joy of it stole her breath—but it wasn’t surprising that it had come from Merry.

Almost too open and trusting—and oh, how Jo shuddered to imagine the target that innocence painted on Merry’s back. Jo felt Merry’s yearning for closeness as if it were the mirror of her own emotions.

“Well, you are my mom,” Merry said, almost defiantly, as if she expected Jo to snatch back the right to that relationship.

“Call me whatever you’re comfortable with,” Jo hurried to say. “Personally, I love ‘mom.’”

Merry’s shy smile made Jo want to laugh and cry and jump up and down, but all she could do was lace her fingers tightly with her younger daughter’s, and hold on.

“Tell me more about Aunt Dottie,” Merry said, tilting her head back against the passenger seat’s headrest.

Jo cleared her aching throat. “There have been Hollister women on Sanctuary since the town was first built up, after the Great Depression. Dottie’s mother, Eleanor, is who Ella is named after.”

“I always thought she was named after you! Jo Ellen.”

Shaking her head, Jo smiled a little. “Nope, she’s named after your great-grandmother, Eleanor Hollister. Who was quite the broad, herself—she ran a boardinghouse in town, and she never married because, back then, marrying meant giving up her independence. Which is something a Hollister woman would never do.”

Jo laughed, but Merry was noticeably quiet beside her.

“I’m not very good at being independent,” Merry confessed. “Every time I try, I screw up my life in the worst possible way. Sometimes I feel like a lost cause.”

“Sweetheart.” Jo’s heart burned against her ribs. “There’s no such thing as a lost cause. Sanctuary Island and your great-aunt taught me that. And believe me, if I could build a life to be proud of out of the wreckage of my weakness and fears and terrible mistakes, so can you.”

Merry’s smile was hesitant, but it lit up her eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”

Jo debated with herself for all of ten seconds before the offer came tumbling out. “You can stay here as long as you need to. I want you to know, you’re always welcome here. You and Ella both. This island has always been good to the Hollister women.”

Merry ducked her head, a swath of wavy magenta hair swinging forward to hide her expression. “I … thanks. That means a lot to me.” Her voice grew fierce, and Jo caught a glimpse of the spunky girl who matched the rock-and-roll edge of the clothes she tended to wear. “But I want you to know, that’s not why I came here. I’m not looking for a handout.”

“I never thought you were. But it would mean a lot to me to be able to help you, any way I can. I’ve got quite a few years to make up for. You don’t have to decide right this minute, but think about it.”

“I will,” Merry promised, as the truck turned onto the back road that circled up to the barn, and Jo caught sight of the cars parked out front.

Uh-oh.

One of the cars was a regular fixture out at Windy Corner Stables. The dented green covered-bed truck with the salt-corroded wheel wells and the shiny, brand-new trailer hitched to the back belonged to the island’s resident large-animal vet and farrier, Ben Fairfax. He came out about once a week to see who’d thrown a shoe, who needed shots, and so on.

But the other car … that was a surprise, and Jo felt her heart kick at her ribs like a startled mule.

She pulled up beside the white SUV and squinted at the dark, smoked windows. There was movement inside, and Jo closed her eyes, wondering if this was the moment when her worlds collided.

Then, like an answer to a prayer, Ben stuck his dark, curly head out the barn’s double doors. Hopping down from the truck cab, she flagged him down with a perky wave.

“Benji! How’s my favorite vet today?”

His scowl made Jo grin. “Terrible. I’m taking White Lightning back with me. I need a closer look at that cut on her forelock, but stitches are going to be the only way to get it to close right. And don’t call me Benji.”

Jo’s smile faded. Stitches. Damn it. That would mean antibiotic ointment, special leg wraps—more stuff she couldn’t really afford.

None of which was Ben’s fault, so she rallied. “No worries. But before you go, let me introduce you to my daughter Merry.”

Dr. Ben Fairfax had a reputation for being gruff and difficult with anyone who wasn’t one of the animals in his care, but he was still a good Southern boy. With those long, lanky legs of his, he easily beat Jo to the passenger side of the truck so he could open Merry’s door for her.

Jo glanced over at Harrison’s SUV, trying to keep his doors locked and closed with the power of her brain.

When she looked back, she had to blink twice to make sure the look on Ben’s face wasn’t an illusion.

Terse, taciturn, perpetually cranky Ben Fairfax was staring at Merry as if he’d never seen anything so amazing in his life.

Well, goodness. These girls of mine sure are heartbreakers.

Ben’s gray eyes were wide and shocked as he held out a hand to help her down from the tall truck cab. “Here, let me just…”

Merry took his hand as she levered herself out of the seat, but the moment she was on the ground, she jerked away as if she’d grabbed onto a live wire, her eyes wide and startled.

Ben’s face closed down at once, resuming its normal stern lines. He stomped off without another word, heading back to the barn. Merry watched him go, and Jo noticed her baby girl’s cheeks were flushed a bright, pretty pink.

Jo didn’t have time to do more than note this very interesting development before the sound of a car door opening had her moving to intercept Harrison before he could climb out of his SUV.

“Ben, can I ask for a quick favor?” she called, moving swiftly to herd a visibly reluctant Merry in the direction of the barn’s entrance. “Merry’s interested in seeing the horses, could you give her the short version of the tour? I’ll be along in a second, honey, I just need to speak with this gentleman about some business matters—it won’t take but a minute.”

Jo hoped.

Ben threw her a glance that was part fury and part gratitude, and part something indecipherable. But all he said was, “You owe me. Big-time. Come on … Mary, was it? Let me guess, an angel came to you in a vision and nine months later…”

“Not the saintly kind of Mary. Merry, as in short for Meredith.” Merry’s hands went protectively to her baby bump, but her voice was full of brittle humor. “And trust me, there’s nothing holy about my ex. Unless you count his godlike sense of self-importance. Which reminds me, hey, if you’re too busy to give me a tour, feel free to go about your business with the horses. I can take care of myself just fine.”

Jo blinked. That was the most she’d ever heard Merry say about her baby’s father.

“I guess it won’t be the worst chore in the world. You seem marginally less objectionable than most people.”

“Wow. Put away the charm, Mr. Suave, I’m getting all faint and swoony.”