“Sherryl Woods always delights her readers— including me!” —No.1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

“Compulsively readable … Woods’s novel easily rises

above hot-button topics to tell a universal tale

of friendship’s redemptive power.”

—Publishers Weekly on Mending Fences

“Sherryl Woods always delivers a fast, breezy … romance.”

—Jayne Ann Krentz

“Sherryl Woods gives her characters depth, intensity,

and the right amount of humour.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Sherryl Woods is a uniquely gifted writer whose deep

understanding of human nature is woven

into every page.”

—Carla Neggers

The Inn at Eagle Point

Sherryl Woods

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Launching a new series is one of my very favourite things. I get to enter a whole new setting, meet fascinating, complex new characters and, hopefully, create situations and conflicts that will resonate with all of you. When I was deciding the details of this latest series, I kept coming back to the Chesapeake Bay, an area near and dear to my heart. Though I don’t actually live on the bay, my summer home is on the Potomac River just above where it enters the bay. There are few places on earth more beautiful and serene.

Setting, however, isn’t the only thing that matters. Even more important are the characters who will fill these pages, and for this I wanted a huge, complicated, dysfunctional family. Thus, the O’Briens. You’ll meet four generations of them over time, many of them with major issues with each other. There will be stories of betrayal, reconciliation and, of course, love. There will be meddling and matchmaking and tough choices. And along the way, there will be lots of laughs and a few tears.

The Inn at Eagle Point is Abby’s story, but it is also a story about sisters and how they stand up for each other without question. It’s a story of a powerful love, first lost, then found again. And of two proud men who struggle to believe in second chances.

So welcome to Chesapeake Shores. I hope you’ll come to love the O’Briens and their world.

All best,

Sherryl Woods

For Morgan and Taylor … Welcome to the world,

little girls! You’re definitely going to keep your

moms and dads and big brothers on their toes!

Prologue

The arguing had gone on most of the night. In her room just three doors down the hall from her parents’ master suite, Abby had been able to hear the sound of raised voices, but not the words. It wasn’t the first time they’d fought recently, yet this time something felt different. The noisy exchange itself and fretting about it kept her awake most of the night.

Until she walked downstairs just after dawn and saw suitcases in the front hallway, Abby hoped she’d only imagined the difference, that the knot of dread that had formed in her stomach was no more than her overactive imagination making something out of nothing. Now she knew better. Someone was leaving this time—quite possibly forever, judging from the pile of luggage by the door.

She tried to quiet her panic, reminding herself that her dad, Mick O’Brien, left all the time. An internationally acclaimed architect, he was always going someplace for a new job, a new adventure. Again, though, this felt different. He’d only been home a couple of days from his last trip. He rarely turned right around and left again.

“Abby!” Her mother sounded startled and just a little edgy. “What are you doing up so early?”

Abby wasn’t surprised that her mother was caught off guard. Most teenagers, including Abby and her brothers, hated getting up early on the weekends. Most Saturdays it was close to noon when she finally made her way downstairs.

Abby met her mother’s gaze, saw the dismay in her eyes and knew instinctively that Megan had hoped to be gone before anyone got up, before anyone could confront her with uncomfortable questions.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Abby said flatly, trying not to cry. She was seventeen, and if she was right about what was going on, she was the one who was going to have to be strong for her younger brothers and sisters.

Megan’s eyes filled with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Finally, she nodded.

“Why, Mom?” Abby began, a torrent of questions following. “Where are you going? What about us? Me, Bree, Jess, Connor and Kevin? Are you walking out on us, too?”

“Oh, sweetie, I could never do that,” Megan said, reaching for her. “You’re my babies. As soon as I’m settled, I’ll be back for you. I promise.”

Though her declaration was strong, Abby saw through it to the fear underlying her words. Wherever Megan was going, she was scared and filled with uncertainty. How could she not be? She and Mick O’Brien had been married for nearly twenty years. They’d had five children together, and a life they’d built right here in Chesapeake Shores, the town that Mick himself had designed and constructed with his brothers. And now Megan was going off all alone, starting over—How could she not be terrified?

“Mom, is this really what you want?” Abby asked, trying to make sense of such a drastic decision. She knew plenty of kids whose parents were divorced, but their moms hadn’t just packed up and left. If anyone had gone, it had been the dads. This seemed a thousand times worse.

“Of course it’s not what I want,” Megan said fiercely. “But things can’t go on as they have been.” She started to say more, than waved it off. “That’s between your father and me. I just know I have to make a change. I need a fresh start.”

In a way, Abby was relieved that Megan hadn’t said more. Abby didn’t want the burden of knowing what had driven her mother to go. She loved and respected both of her parents, and she wasn’t sure how she would have handled careless, heated words capable of destroying that love she felt for either one of them.

“But where will you go?” she asked again. Surely it wouldn’t be far. Surely her mother wouldn’t leave her all alone to cope with the fallout. Mick was helpless with emotions. He could handle all the rest—providing for them, loving them, even going to the occasional ball game or science fair—but when it came to everyday bumps and bruises and hurt feelings, it was Megan they all relied on.

Then again, why wouldn’t Megan assume Abby could handle all the rest? Everyone in the family knew that Abby took her responsibility as the oldest seriously. She’d always known that her parents counted on her as backup. Bree, who’d just turned twelve-going-on-thirty, and her brothers would be okay. With Megan gone, Bree might retreat into herself at first, but, mature and self-contained, she would find her own way of coping. Kevin and Connor were teenage guys. They were pretty much oblivious to everything except sports and girls. More often than not, they found their exuberant, affectionate mother to be an embarrassment.

That left Jess. She was only a baby. Okay, she’d just turned seven last week, Abby reminded herself, but that was still way too young not to have her mom around. Abby had no idea how to fill that role, even temporarily.

“I won’t be that far away,” Megan assured her. “As soon as I’ve found a job and a place for all of us, I’ll come back for you. It won’t take long.” Then, almost to herself, she added, “I won’t let it take long.”

Abby wanted to scream at her that any amount of time would be too long, any distance too far. How could her mother not see that? But she looked so sad. Lost and alone, really. Her cheeks were damp with tears, too. How could Abby yell at her and make her feel even worse? Abby knew she would simply have to find a way to cope, a way to make the others understand.

Then she was struck by another, more terrifying thought. “What about when Dad goes away on business? Who’ll look out for us then?”

Megan’s expression faltered for just an instant, probably at the very real fear she must have heard in Abby’s voice. “Your grandmother will move in. Mick’s already spoken to her. She’ll be here later today.”

At the realization that this was real, that if they’d made arrangements for Gram to move in, then this separation was permanent and not some temporary separation that would end as soon as her parents came to their senses, Abby began to shake. “No,” she whispered. “This is so wrong, Mom.”

Megan seemed taken aback by her vehemence. “But you all love Gram! It’ll be wonderful for you having her right here with you.”

“That’s not the point,” Abby said. “She’s not you! You can’t do this to us.”

Megan pulled Abby into her arms, but Abby yanked herself free. She refused to be comforted when her mother was about to walk out the door and tear their lives apart.

“I’m not doing this to you,” Megan said, her expression pleading for understanding. “I’m doing it for me. Try to understand. In the long run it’s going to be best for all of us.” She touched Abby’s tearstained cheek. “You’ll love New York, Abby. You especially. We’ll go to the theater, the ballet, the art galleries.”

Abby stared at her with renewed shock. “You’re moving to New York?” Forgetting for a moment her own dream of someday working there, making a name for herself in the financial world, all she could think about now was that it was hours away from their home in Chesapeake Shores, Maryland. A tiny part of her had apparently hoped that her mother would be going no farther away than across town, or maybe to Baltimore or Annapolis. Wasn’t that far enough to escape her problems with Mick without abandoning her children?

“What are we supposed to do if we need you?” she demanded.

“You’ll call me, of course,” Megan said.

“And then wait hours for you to get here? Mom, that’s crazy.”

“Sweetie, it won’t be for long, a few weeks at most, and then you’ll be with me. I’m going to find a wonderful place for us. I’ll find the best private schools. Mick and I have agreed to that.”

Abby desperately wanted to believe it would all work out. At the same time she wanted to keep her right here answering questions until she forgot all about this crazy plan, but just then a taxi pulled up outside. Abby stared from the taxi to her mother in horror. “You’re leaving right this minute, without even saying goodbye?” She’d guessed as much earlier, but now it seemed too cruel.

Tears streamed down Megan’s cheeks. “Believe me, it’s better this way. It’ll be easier. I’ve left notes for everyone under their bedroom doors, and I’ll call tonight. We’ll be together again before you know it.”

As Abby stood there, frozen with shock, Megan picked up the first two bags and carried them across the porch and down the front steps to the waiting cab. The driver came back for the rest, followed by Megan.

Standing in the empty foyer, she tucked a finger under Abby’s chin. “I love you, sweetheart. And I know how strong you are. You’ll be here for your brothers and sisters. It’s the only thing that makes this separation okay.”

“It is not okay!” Abby replied vehemently, her voice starting to climb. Until now, she’d mostly kept it together, but the realization that her mom wasn’t even sticking around to handle the initial fallout from this made her want to scream. She wasn’t an adult. This wasn’t her mess to solve.

“I hate you!” she shouted as Megan walked down the steps, her spine straight. She shouted it again just to make sure her mother heard the anger in her voice, but Megan never looked back.

Abby would have gone on shouting until the taxi was out of sight, but just then she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Jess, her eyes wide with confusion and dismay.

“Mommy,” Jess whispered, her chin wobbling as she stared through the open doorway at the disappearing taxi. Her strawberry-blond hair was tangled, her feet bare, the imprint of her old-fashioned chenille bedspread on her cheek. “Where’s Mommy going?”

Calling on that inner strength everyone believed she had, Abby steeled herself against her own fear, tamped down all the anger and forced a smile for her little sister. “Mommy’s going on a trip.”

Tears welled in Jess’s eyes. “When’s she coming back?”

Abby gathered her sister in her arms. “I’m not sure,” she said, then added with a confidence she was far from feeling, “She promised it won’t be long.”

But, of course, that turned out to be a lie.

1

15 years later

Being an overachiever sucked, Abby O’Brien Winters concluded as she crawled into bed after midnight, mentally and physically exhausted after a roller-coaster day on Wall Street. She’d managed about twenty minutes of quality time with her twin daughters before they’d fallen asleep barely into the opening paragraph of The Velveteen Rabbit. She’d eaten warmed-over Chinese takeout for the third straight night, then pulled out a half-dozen voluminous market analysts’ reports she needed to absorb before the stock exchange opened in the morning. Her bedtime reading was a lot more challenging than what Caitlyn and Carrie chose.

She was good at her job as a portfolio manager for a major brokerage company, but so far it had cost her a marriage to a great guy, who’d tired of playing second fiddle to her career, and more sleep than she could possibly calculate. Though she shared custody of the twins with Wes, she often felt as if she was barely acquainted with her five-year-old daughters. It sometimes seemed as if they spent more time with the nanny—and even her ex-husband—than they did with her. She’d long since lost sight of exactly what she was trying to prove and to whom.

When the phone rang, Abby glanced at the clock and groaned. At this hour, it could only be an emergency. Heart thudding, she reached for the receiver.

“Abby, it’s me,” her sister Jessica announced. Jess was the youngest of the five O’Brien siblings and the real night owl among them. Abby stayed up late because it was the only way to cram enough work into a twenty-four-hour day. Jess did it because she was just starting to hit her stride when the moon and stars came out. “I called earlier, but the nanny said you weren’t home yet. Then I got distracted with a project I’m working on. I hope it’s not too late. I know you’re usually up till all hours.”

“It’s fine,” Abby assured her. “Is everything okay? You sound stressed. Is something going on with Gram? Or Dad?”

“Gram’s amazing. She’ll outlive us all. And Dad is off someplace building something. I can’t keep track of him.”

“He was in California last week,” Abby recalled.

“Then I guess he’s still there. You know he has to oversee every single detail when one of his projects is being built. Of course, then he loses interest, just the way he did with Chesapeake Shores.”

There was an unsurprising note of bitterness in Jess’s voice. As the youngest of five, she, more than the rest of them, had missed spending time with their dad. Mick O’Brien had already been making a name for himself as an architect and urban planner when he’d designed and built Chesapeake Shores, a now-famous seaside community on the Chesapeake Bay. He’d done it in partnership with his brothers—one a builder, the other an environmentalist. The town had been built around land that had been farmed by Colin O’Brien, a great-great uncle and the first of the O’Briens to arrive from Ireland in the late 1800s. It was to be the crown jewel in Mick’s body of work and the idyllic place his family would call home. It hadn’t turned out that way.

Mick and his brothers had fought over the construction, battled over environmental issues and even over the preservation of the few falling-down historic buildings on some of the property. Eventually they’d dissolved the partnership. Now, even though they all coexisted in or near Chesapeake Shores, they seldom spoke except on holidays, when Gram insisted on a pretense of family harmony.

Abby’s mother, Megan, had lived in New York since she and Mick had divorced fifteen years ago. Though the plan had been for all of the children to move to New York with her, for reasons Abby had never understood, that hadn’t happened. They’d stayed in Chesapeake Shores with their mostly absent dad and Gram. In recent years, one by one they had drifted away, except for Jess, who seemed to have a love-hate relationship with the town and with Mick.

Since moving to New York herself after college, Abby had reestablished a strong bond with her mother, but none of the others had done the same. And not just Jess, but all five of them had an uneasy relationship with their father. It was Gram—who’d been only a girl when her family had followed their O’Brien predecessors to Maryland—with her fading red hair, twinkling blue eyes, ready smile and the lingering lilt of Ireland in her voice, who held them together and made them a family.

“Did you call to complain about Dad, or is something else on your mind?” Abby asked her sister.

“Oh, I can always find something to complain about with Dad,” Jess admitted, “but actually I called because I need your help.”

“Anything,” Abby said at once. “Just tell me what you need.” She was close to all her siblings, but Jess held a special place in her heart, perhaps because of the big difference in their ages and her awareness of how their mother’s departure and their father’s frequent absences had affected her. Abby had been stepping in to fill that gap in Jess’s life since the day Megan had left.

“Could you come home?” Jess pleaded. “It’s a little too complicated to get into on the phone.”

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t know,” Abby began, hesitating. “Work is crazy.”

“Work is always crazy, which is exactly why you need to come home. It’s been ages. Before the girls came along, you used work as an excuse. Then it was the twins. Now it’s work and the twins.”

Abby winced. It was true. She had been making excuses for years now. She’d eased her conscience with the fact that every member of her family loved visiting New York and came up frequently. As long as she saw them all often, it didn’t seem to matter that it was almost always on her turf rather than Chesapeake Shores. She’d never stopped to analyze why it had been so easy to stay away. Maybe it was because it really hadn’t felt like home after her mother had left.

Before she could reply, Jess added, “Come on, Abby. When was the last time you took a real vacation? Your honeymoon, I’ll bet. You know you could use a break, and the girls would love being here. They should spend some quality time in the town their grandfather built and where you grew up. Gram could spoil them rotten for a couple of weeks. Please. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

“Life-or-death important?” Abby asked. It was an old exchange, used to rank whether any crisis was truly monumental or only a temporary blip in their lives.

“It could be,” Jess said seriously. “At least in the sense that my whole future’s at stake. I think you’re the only one who can fix this, or at least the only one I’m willing to ask for help.”

Struck by the somber tone in her voice, Abby said, “Maybe you’d better tell me right now.”

“You need to be here to understand. If you can’t stay for a couple of weeks, then at least come for a few days. Please.”

There was something in her sister’s voice that Abby had never heard before, an urgency that suggested she wasn’t exaggerating her claim that her future was at stake. Since Jess was the only one of the five siblings who’d been floundering for a focus since reaching adulthood, Abby knew she couldn’t turn her back on her. And admittedly a break would do Abby herself a world of good. Hadn’t she just been bemoaning her workaholic tendencies earlier tonight?

She smiled, thinking about how wonderful it would be to breathe the salty Chesapeake Bay air again. Even better, she would have uninterrupted time with her girls in a place where they could swing on the playground her father had designed for the town park, build sand castles on the beach and run barefoot through the chilly waters of the bay.

“I’ll work something out tomorrow and be down there by the weekend,” she promised, giving in. She glanced at her jam-packed schedule and grimaced. “I can only make it for a couple of days, okay?”

“A week,” Jess pleaded. “I don’t think this can be fixed in a day or two.”

Abby sighed. “I’ll see what I can work out.”

“Whatever you can arrange,” Jess said at once, seizing the compromise. “Let me know when your flight’s getting in and I’ll pick you up.”

“I’ll rent a car,” Abby said.

“After all these years in New York, do you actually remember how to drive?” Jess teased. “Or even how to get home?”

“My memory’s not that bad,” Abby responded. “See you soon, sweetie.”

“I’ll call Gram and let her know you’re coming.”

“Tell her not to go to any trouble, okay?” Abby said, knowing it would be a waste of breath. “We’ll go out to eat. I’ve been dying for some Maryland crabs.”

“No way,” her sister countered. “It’s a little early in the season, but if you want steamed crabs, I’ll find ‘em somewhere and pick them up for Friday-night dinner. We can eat on the porch, but I’m not about to stop Gram from cooking up a storm. I say let the baking begin.”

Abby laughed at her enthusiasm. Gram’s baking—pies, tarts, cookies, scones, cakes—was pretty amazing. There’d been a time in her life when Abby had wanted to learn all those traditional family recipes and open a bakery, but that was before she’d discovered an interest in and aptitude for the financial world. That had been her ticket out of Chesapeake Shores.

Now, after more than ten hectic years away—years spent climbing a treacherous corporate ladder, marrying, giving birth to twins and divorcing—she was going home for a real visit, something longer than a rushed weekend with barely time to relax before it was time to fly back to New York. She couldn’t help wondering, based on the dire tone in Jess’s voice, if that was a good thing or not.

“Couldn’t you at least put on a tie?” Lawrence Riley grumbled, scowling at his son. “If you’re going to take over this bank, you need to set a good example for the employees. You can’t come in here looking as if you just climbed off the back of a Harley.”

Trace regarded his father with amusement. “That’s exactly what I did. My bike’s in the parking lot.”

His father’s frown deepened. “I thought I told you to drive your mother’s car. You have an image to uphold now.”

“What was Mother supposed to do?” Trace asked reasonably. “I couldn’t see her riding my Harley to her garden club meeting.”

“She has a dozen different friends who would have been happy to pick her up,” his father countered.

“And apparently not a one of them had any desire to run all her errands with her after the meeting,” Trace responded.

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” his father grumbled. “This situation is never going to work if you don’t take me or this job seriously.”

“I always take you seriously,” Trace said. “As for the job, I don’t want to take it at all. I have a perfectly good career in New York. Just because I don’t have to wear a suit or use a calculator doesn’t mean it’s not respectable.” In fact, his career as a freelance design artist not only paid well, enabling him to live and work in a large loft in SoHo, it didn’t require him to answer to his father. That was quite a perk in his book.

His father’s scowl deepened. “So, what? I should let this community bank get gobbled up by one of the big banking conglomerates?”

“Maybe so,” Trace said, knowing his response would only push his father’s hot button. “That’s the way the banking world is going.”

“Well, this bank won’t, not as long as I have any say about it,” his father said stubbornly. “Chesapeake Shores Community Bank serves the people in this town in a way that one of those faceless, impersonal behemoths never could.”

Trace couldn’t argue the point. He just didn’t want any part of running the place, family heritage or not. “Why not put Laila in charge?” he asked, referring to his younger sister. He warmed to the topic. If he could convince his father to put Laila in the job she’d always wanted, he could be on the road back to New York by morning. All he had to do was sell his father on the idea. “Think about it, Dad. She has a head for numbers. Her SAT math scores were through the roof. She aced all of her college business courses. She has a master’s degree from the Wharton School of Business. She’d be a natural.”

“I thought of that,” his father admitted. “I even spoke to her about it, but your sister told me to take a hike.”

That was unexpected, Trace thought. “Why?”

His father shrugged. “She said she wasn’t going to be anybody’s second choice, even mine.”

Trace regarded him with bewilderment. “But you asked her first.”

“When has your sister ever paid any attention to logic? She’s convinced I only asked her because I knew you wouldn’t want the job.”

“I don’t suppose you tried to convince her she was wrong,” Trace said.

“How could I when she was right?”

“Do you think you two will ever learn to communicate?” Trace grumbled. He and his dad might be at loggerheads ninety percent of the time, but Lawrence Riley and Laila were rarely on the same page about anything, from a choice as inane as breakfast cereal to a decision as critical as who ought to run the bank. It had been that way from the moment she learned to talk.

“You mean communicate the way you and I do?” his father retorted wryly.

“Yeah, at least that well,” Trace responded. “Look, I’ll talk to her. I’ll smooth things over between the two of you. Her pride’s been hurt because you’ve made it plain over the years that you want me back here, but she’ll come around.”

His father hit his fist on the desk. “Dammit, you’re the one who needs to come around, Trace. What ever happened to family loyalty? A man works his whole life to build up something good for his son, and you toss it aside without a second thought.”

“I’ve had a lifetime to think about it. You’ve never made a secret about what you expected. I’ve given it a second thought and a third, for that matter, ever since you called. Dad, come on, you know the whole nine-to-five drill would never work for me. I like a job that’s creative, a word that tends to make bankers nervous as hell.”

The faint hint of a smile finally touched his father’s lips. “True enough,” he admitted. “How about this? We give it six months. If you still hate it, you can take off again with my blessing. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

As a respected and in-demand artist working freelance for several of New York’s top ad agencies, Trace had the flexibility to do as his father asked. He could even keep up with a few accounts to keep himself from going totally stir-crazy in Chesapeake Shores. If it would buy him his freedom permanently, surely he could survive six months in a suit. He owed his father that much respect. And in the long run that short-term display of loyalty would be wiser than causing a family rift.

Moreover, he could spend the time trying to convince his sister to forget about her stupid pride and being second choice. She’d wanted this job since she’d learned to count. She ought to grab it, rather than wasting her talent by keeping the books for a few local businesses. Unfortunately she’d inherited their father’s stubbornness. It would probably take Trace every single day of the allotted six months to make peace between the two of them.

“Okay, six months,” Trace agreed. “Not one day longer.”

His father beamed at him. “We’ll see. You might discover you have an aptitude for banking, after all.”

“Or you’ll realize I’m incompetent when it comes to math.”

“I have your college test scores and grades that say otherwise.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Welcome aboard, son.”

Trace shook his hand, then studied his father intently. There was a glint in his eyes that suggested there was more to the negotiations than Trace had realized. “What are you up to?” he asked warily.

“Up to?” Lawrence Riley had a lousy poker face. Half of his pals at the country club would testify to that. For the past thirty years, they’d lined their pockets with his losses.

“Don’t even try to play innocent, Dad. You’re up to something, and it has nothing to do with me becoming your protégé around here.”

“We’ve made a business deal, that’s all,” his father insisted. “Now let me show you your office. It’s fairly Spartan now, but if you decide to stick around you can decorate it however you want. Meantime, I’ll have Raymond go through some loan folders with you. We have a meeting of the loan committee first thing Tuesday morning. You’ll need to have your recommendations ready then.”

Trace held up a hand. “Hold on a second. I don’t know enough to make recommendations on whether loan applications should be approved.”

“Raymond will show you the ropes. He’s been my right hand for years. And they’re not all loan applications. There’s a possible foreclosure in there, too.”

Trace’s stomach knotted. “You want me to decide whether or not someone’s home should be taken away and put up for auction?”

“It’s a business, not a home. And you won’t be deciding on your own, of course. The board will have the final say, but we’d likely act on your recommendation.”

“No way,” Trace said. Who was he to rip someone’s dreams to shreds? Businesses in Chesapeake Shores were small, family-owned operations. It would be like taking the food right off someone’s table, someone he knew, more than likely. He wasn’t sure he had the stomach to do that.

“You can’t be softhearted, son. It’s strictly business, a matter of dollars and cents. You’ll see once you’ve taken a look at the paperwork.” His father patted him on the back. “You start looking over those files and I’ll send Raymond in.”

Trace scowled at his father’s departing back, then turned to the stack of folders sitting neatly in the middle of the huge mahogany desk that took up most of the corner office. Right on top sat one with a large, ominous red sticker pasted on the front.

He sat down in the leather chair behind the desk, his wary gaze on that folder. Curiosity finally got the better of him, and he flipped open the file and stared at the first page.

“Oh, hell,” he murmured as he read it: Possible notice of foreclosure—The Inn at Eagle Point. Owner: Jessica O’Brien.

He knew Jess O’Brien, but it wasn’t her image that immediately came to mind. It was that of her older sister, Abigail, the woman who’d stolen his heart years ago on a steamy summer night, then disappeared without even a goodbye. Over the years he’d told himself it was ludicrous to cling to such an elusive memory. He’d tried to chase it away with other relationships, most of them casual, but even a couple that had promised a deeper intimacy. In the end, he hadn’t been able to shake his desire for someone with auburn hair, laughing eyes and a daredevil spirit that matched his own.

Now he was supposed to decide the fate of her sister’s inn? One thing he knew about the O’Briens, they stuck together. If he took on Jess, he’d be taking on the rest of them, Abby included. Was that what had put the gleam in his father’s eye earlier?

He shook off the possibility. His father couldn’t know that he’d been carrying a torch for her all these years. No one did.

Except Laila, he realized. His sister had been Abby’s best friend. She’d even covered for the two of them that amazing night they’d spent together in a secluded cove on the beach. Could she and his father be conspiring?

Damn straight, he thought with a shudder. Maybe he was finally about to get his wish and see Abby again. Or maybe he was about to land in a whole mess of trouble. He wondered if, with Abby involved, he’d actually be able to tell the difference.

An hour later with the inn’s dismal financial figures still in his head, Trace climbed on his bike and took a drive to see the property. He was hoping he’d find something—anything—to convince him to let the loan stand. He needed arguments he could take to the board and his father with total confidence.

Winding along the coastal road, he breathed in the salty air and relaxed as the sun beat down on his shoulders. It was late spring, but there was still the scent of lilacs on the breeze as he rounded the curve by the Finch property. Widow Marjorie Finch, who’d been bent and wizened when he was a boy, loved her lilacs. They’d been allowed to grow and spread until they formed a hedge all along the road. When honeysuckle had grown up in the bushes, she’d attacked it as if it were an alien invader. Her loving attention had paid off. The bushes were heavy with fragrant, delicate blossoms.

To his right, along the narrow strip of land that ran along the beach, ospreys were building their nests back in the same bare branches where they’d built them for years. To his amusement, one intrepid osprey was constructing an elaborate configuration of branches, bits of string and even a strand of yellow police tape on a post at the end of someone’s dock. The owner was going to be ticked as hell to discover that his dock would be off-limits for the rest of summer while the birds of prey took up residence.

Eventually he reached the turnoff to the inn, converted from what had once been a sprawling Victorian home on a pinnacle of land overlooking the bay. The last time he’d been here, the place had been badly in need of paint, its boards weathered by the sea air and harsh winter winds. The Adirondack chairs and rockers on the porch had been in an equally sad state of disrepair. The once perfectly manicured lawn had gone mostly to crabgrass, the gardens to weeds. The Pattersons hadn’t put a dime into the place for years, and the neglect had shown.

Now, though, there was plenty of evidence that Jess had been hard at work remodeling the inn. The exterior was a soft white that seemed to reflect a hint of blue from the nearby water. Shutters were a bold red. The grass wasn’t as lush as it had once been, but it was green and well-trimmed. The azaleas and lilacs were in bloom, and one overgrown purple rhododendron spilled its huge blooms over a porch railing at the back of the house. The inn’s sign had been freshly painted and hung from brass hooks on a new pole at the edge of the driveway. It looked to him as if the place was ready to make a comeback.

Jess’s payment record, however, told a different story. Since taking out the loan a year earlier, she already had a history of late payments, had missed several altogether. She’d spent every penny of her small-business loan, and no opening date for the inn had been set. Her cash flow was nonexistent. She’d already had a couple of formal warnings from the bank. Ever since the credit disaster in the mortgage industry, banks were getting jittery about loans that looked as if they were going bad. On paper, it appeared the bank had no choice except to issue a foreclosure notice. Trace cringed at the prospect.

Even as he sat on his bike in the driveway, the door opened and Jess stepped outside. She caught sight of him and frowned.

“What are you doing here, Trace?” she asked.

Scowl in place, she crossed the lawn, hands on hips, her feet shoved into a pair of rubberized, all-weather clogs from one of the big outdoor apparel companies. Her jeans and T-shirt were splattered with paint—white, plus something close to Williamsburg blue, if he remembered his color palette correctly.

When she was standing practically toe-to-toe with him, her defiant gaze locked with his, she reminded him of another O’Brien with a fiery Irish temper.

“Well?” she challenged.

“Just looking things over.”

“For your father, no doubt.”

“For the bank,” Trace corrected.

“I thought you’d left town years ago, that you wanted no part of the bank.”

“I don’t. I’m just filling in for a few months.”

“Long enough to make my life hell?”

He grinned at that. “Maybe longer.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the house and grounds. “You’ve been busy.”

“It’s taken a lot of work. I’ve done most of it myself to save money,” she said, her chin lifted with pride and a hint of belligerence.

“Might have made more sense to hire people and get it done sooner, so you could open.”

“I didn’t see it that way.”

“Obviously not.”

“Do you want to take a look around inside?” she asked, her expression hopeful, her tone filled with enthusiasm. “Maybe once you’ve seen how great it looks, you’ll be able to go back and tell your father to be patient.”

“It’s not that simple, Jess. I know he’s warned you that you’re getting too far behind. The bank looks at the bottom line, not at whether or not you’re doing a good job with a paintbrush.”

“When did you turn into a hard-ass, by-the-numbers guy like your dad? You weren’t that way when you were seeing my sister.” She gave him a considering look. “Or were you? Is that why the two of you split up?”

Trace stiffened. “You really don’t want to go there,” he warned. “Abby has nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t she? For all I know, you’re absolutely thrilled by the prospect of payback for whatever she did to you. She was the one who broke it off, wasn’t she?”

The comment was not only intrusive, it was insulting. “Dammit, Jess, you don’t know a thing about what happened back then and you sure as hell don’t know anything about me if you think I’d use you to get even with your sister.”

“Really?” she said, her expression innocent. “She’s coming back, you know. She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Trace tried not to let his immediate and unsteady reaction to the news show. “Tell her I said hey,” he said mildly. He started his bike. “See you around, Jess.”

Her show of defiance faltered. “What are you going to tell your father, Trace?”

“I have no idea,” he said candidly. He looked into her eyes. “But I will promise you this, it won’t have anything at all to do with Abby.”

She nodded slowly. “I’ll take you at your word about that.”

As he rode off toward town, though, he couldn’t help wondering if she should. When it came to his conflicted feelings for Abby O’Brien, his word might not be entirely trustworthy.

2

“Where are we going, Mommy? Tell us again,” Caitlyn commanded.

“When are we gonna get there?” Carrie whined. “We’ve been driving and driving forever. I wanna go home.”

“It’s barely been a half hour since we left the airport,” Abby told Carrie, her patience already frayed by the long security line at the airport in New York and the even more tedious wait at the car-rental counter in Baltimore. The flight itself, less than an hour from LaGuardia to BWI in Baltimore, had gone smoothly. The girls had been excited to be on a plane, but now they were tired and cranky and completely uninterested in the scenery as they drove south toward Chesapeake Shores. They might have been pacified by a stop for ice cream or some other treat, but Abby was determined not to reward them for bad behavior just to get a few minutes of peace.

“Why don’t you try to take a little nap?” she pleaded, glancing in the rearview mirror for a glimpse of them in their car seats. “When you wake up, you’ll be at Gram’s, and I know she’s going to have sugar cookies and milk for you. Remember how much you loved those when she baked them for you last time she visited us in New York?”

“I like chocolate chip better,” Carrie grumbled, clearly determined to be displeased about everything.

“Well, I love sugar cookies,” Caitlyn countered. “So I’ll eat them all.”

“No, you won’t!” Carrie screamed. “Mommy, tell her she can’t have all the cookies. Some are mine.”

Abby bit back a groan. “I’m sure there will be plenty of cookies for both of you. Now close your eyes. If you’re this impossible when we get there, you can forget about getting any treats. You’ll be going straight to bed.”

The girls fell silent, but another glance in the mirror revealed them making faces at each other. Abby let it pass. She needed to focus all of her attention on the traffic, which had increased at least tenfold since the last time she’d driven home. She could hardly wait to turn onto some of Maryland’s less-traveled roads.

Unfortunately, the traffic never completely let up. It seemed everyone had the same idea about heading to one of Maryland’s many seaside communities on a Friday night. Once, the only traffic nightmare had been getting to Ocean City or the other beaches along the Atlantic coast, but now it seemed people had discovered the smaller towns on the western shores of the bay, as well.

She pulled out her cell phone and hit Jess’s number on speed dial.

“The traffic is awful,” she said when her sister answered. “At this rate, it’s going to be another hour before we get there.”

“I’ll let Gram know,” Jess said. “I’m on my way over there now. Take a deep breath. I’m picking up crabs and I’ll have wine waiting.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Abby said. “See you soon.”

It turned out to be an hour and ten minutes before she could make the turn into the community of Chesapeake Shores. At last, though, the traffic had eased. She debated going straight to the house, but since the girls were finally asleep, she wound through downtown, getting reacquainted with the Main Street businesses that lined a four-block stretch from the waterfront up to the town square.

There was one visible vacancy, but all the other shop windows were filled with colorful displays. Barb’s Baby Boutique was next to Ethel’s Emporium, which carried everything from souvenirs and penny candy to fancy hostess gifts and locally produced jams and jellies. The Kitchen Store, which sold every gourmet gadget imaginable, was next to Seaside Gifts, where all the items had a nautical theme. There was a designer clothing store, which carried resort wear. And all of the stores had pots overflowing with colorful pansies and trailing vines by the doors and crisp blue-and-white awnings shading the windows. The pansies would be exchanged for bright red geraniums once spring turned to summer.

With her car window open, she drew in a deep breath of the familiar salt air, then heard the soft refrains of an outdoor concert drifting up from the banks of the bay. She’d forgotten about the tradition of free Friday-night performances in the band shell during the late spring, summer and early fall months when the weather drew crowds to the town. It was jazz tonight, a little heavy on the sax, it seemed to her.

She smiled, thinking of the debates she’d once had with her father about the appropriate mix of music for the early concerts. If it had been up to Mick and Gram, every week would have featured Irish singers and dancers.

“Mommy, I hear music,” Carrie murmured sleepily. “Are we going to a party?”

“Nope, but we’re almost home,” Abby told her. “Five minutes and we’ll be there.”

She turned away from downtown and took the shore road to the very end where it began a winding climb up a gentle hill. At the top she made a left into the long driveway that ended in back of a classic beachfront home with a wraparound porch, lots of glass to take in the spectacular bay views and lights shining from every window. Two figures, one spry, the other a bit more stooped, emerged from the shadows on the porch as she pulled to a stop.

“Gram!” Caitlyn shouted, already struggling to free herself from the car seat.

“And Aunt Jessie!” Carrie boomed, trying to get the door on her side open. Abby released the child safety locks and Carrie sprang free, racing across the lawn to fling herself at her favorite aunt.

Jess stumbled back, then caught her niece up in a massive hug, even as Caitlyn reached up to her great-grandmother for a more demure embrace, as if she knew instinctively to take more care with the older woman.

Abby took in the scene with a smile. Why hadn’t she done this more often? Was she truly so busy? Or had she been making excuses because of her mixed feelings about home and the way she’d forced herself to walk away without looking back? Until now she hadn’t realized how much she missed being right here, with the sea breeze rustling through the trees, the sound of waves lapping against the shore and the promise of a whole pile of Maryland crabs and cold wine waiting on the porch, along with whatever Gram had baked that day.

Her grandmother caught her eye and gave her a knowing smile. “It’s good to be home, is it not?”

“It’s better than I expected,” Abby admitted. “How are you, Gram? You look good.” She certainly didn’t look her age, which was somewhere near eighty by Abby’s calculations, though her grandmother wouldn’t admit to it. Whenever any one of them had tried to pin her down, even for the sake of genealogical research, the date of her birth shifted to suit her.

“I’m better with the three of you here for a bit,” Gram said. “Shall we feed the girls first, then have our own meal when it’s quieter?”

“That sounds perfect,” Abby said.

“Why don’t I take them inside and show them their room, then? I’ve put them in Connor’s since he has the twin beds in there. I can’t get your brother to take away a single one of his sports trophies and ribbons, though. It looks as it did when he was still sleeping there himself.”

Abby grinned. “Cluttered and messy, then,” she said. “They’ll love it.”

After the three of them had gone inside, she turned to her sister and gave her a fierce hug. “Now then, are you ready to tell me why I’m here?”

Jess gave her a wry look. “Always eager to cut to the chase, aren’t you? Can’t you even take five minutes to relax?”

“Not if you expect me to solve this problem, whatever it is, in a few days.”

“I think it can wait a little longer. I don’t want to get into it until after Gram’s gone to bed. I don’t want her worrying.”

Abby frowned. “It’s that serious?”

“I told you life or death, in a manner of speaking,” Jess said impatiently. “Come on. I need a glass of wine—maybe two—before we get into all this.”

Judging from her sister’s mood, Abby had a feeling she might need a few glasses of wine herself.

Jess wasn’t entirely sure how she’d made such a mess of things. All she knew for certain was that she dreaded admitting any of it to her confident, successful big sister. Still, when her plans had gone south and she’d realized just how deep a hole she’d dug for herself, calling Abby—the family’s certified financial whiz—had seemed like the only sensible thing to do.

She didn’t want to lose the inn. Even as a little girl, when she’d first seen the sprawling structure less than a mile away from their own house, Jess had imagined herself owning it. Just over a year and a half ago, right before Christmas, in fact, she’d spotted the For Sale sign in front of the inn as she was driving home. Bored silly by her job at Ethel’s Emporium, her heart had immediately done a stutter step. For the first time since she’d come home after college, she could feel a sense of anticipation and excitement building deep inside. This was it, her chance to grab the brass ring, to give herself a sense of purpose, to build the kind of future her family would approve.

Initially, she’d told no one in her family of her plans. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Probably because she’d feared their ridicule or their lack of faith that she could possibly succeed. She was, after all, the baby and the wild child. She’d never stuck with anything for long. Unlike her sisters or her brothers, she’d never displayed a real passion for work, never found her niche. She’d been drifting, and everyone in the family had known it. Worse, they’d expected nothing more of her.

“Oh, you know Jess. She never sticks with anything for long.” How many times had she heard some family member say that, especially her father? When it came from Abby or her brothers, she took it in stride. When Mick said it, it cut Jess to the quick. She’d grown up believing she would never measure up to the high standards he set for all of his children. The inn was her chance to prove him—to prove all of them—wrong.

Fortunately Jess, like her siblings, had a modest trust fund that had come due when she’d turned twenty-one. It had been invested wisely, the amount growing, especially since Abby had taken over managing the account. It was enough, she’d hoped, for a down payment.

Impulsively, she’d made an appointment the next morning with the Realtor. Naively and because she was caught up in the dream, she hadn’t asked to see the books or any other proof that the inn could be operated in the black. She’d done a cursory inspection and found it to be in good shape. After all, one thing she knew about her father and Uncle Jeff, they designed and built things to last. She’d made a conservative bid, which had been accepted at once. The Pattersons were anxious to leave. All that remained was to get the financing in place.

That’s when she should have called Abby, she realized now. Or her father. Even her brothers could have offered sound advice, but, stubbornly independent to the end, she’d handled it all herself. To keep the payments within reason, she’d accepted an interest-only loan for the short term, then planned to refinance once the inn was open and operating at a profit.

Best-laid plans, she thought now, sipping her wine as she waited for Abby to come back from tucking the kids into bed. Nothing had gone as she’d anticipated. The Pattersons had never installed any kind of up-to-date reservation system. The heating and air-conditioning systems were barely functioning and needed to be replaced with something more energy-efficient. While the building itself was sound, the rooms were shabby, the curtains faded, the linens unacceptable. The exterior looked dilapidated, which had been easy enough to fix, but even a coat of paint cost money.

The down payment had depleted her funds, so she’d applied for a business loan, using the inn as collateral. She’d been approved easily.

Filled with excitement, Jess had finally revealed her purchase to the rest of the family. Predictably, Gram and her siblings had been delighted for her. Mick had asked a thousand and one perfectly reasonable questions for which she didn’t have adequate answers. That was when she’d gotten the first nagging sense that she was in over her head.

Then, a few months ago, while she was still trying to complete the necessary redecorating, she’d gotten a letter from the bank pointing out that she was behind on her payments for the mortgage and for the business loan. She’d scrambled to come up with the cash, embarrassed that in her zeal to spruce up the place, she’d overlooked the due dates for those payments. It had happened again a couple of months later. With her funds depleted, she’d missed two payments in a row after that.

That’s when she’d received the warning notice that she was in violation of the terms of both agreements, her mortgage and her small-business loan.

“Meaning what?” she asked Lawrence Riley when she’d called the bank in a panic.

“Meaning with your very spotty payment history, we could start foreclosure procedures. I’ve been keeping an eye on things at the inn. You have no cash flow.”

“I’m renovating. The grand opening is scheduled for July first. I’d hoped to make it by Memorial Day, but it just wasn’t feasible.”

“How do you expect to make these next payments or the ones the month after?”

“I’ll find the money,” she assured him, even though she had no idea where.

“Maybe you should speak to your father,” he suggested. “I’m sure he’d be willing—”

Jess cut him off. “This is my project. My father’s not involved.”

Her comment silenced him, which she thought was a good thing. But then he said, “If I thought your father was backing you, I could look the other way for the short term….”

“Well, he’s not,” Jess repeated. “You’ll get your payments, Mr. Riley. You know what potential the inn has. You know it’s going to be a success.”

“With the right management, yes,” he said. “I’m no longer convinced you’re the person who can accomplish that.”

His condescension and lack of faith infuriated her. She would have told him off, but even Jess was wise enough to recognize her already precarious standing with the banker.

“Please, be patient,” she said instead. “These are good loans, Mr. Riley. You know me. You know my family.”

“As I said, if you want to bring your father in, we can discuss—”

“No,” she’d replied fiercely.

“It’s your decision, of course. I’ll expect the payments on my desk on time,” he said. “Good day, Jessica.”

That conversation had taken place on Tuesday. She’d called Abby on Wednesday, the minute she’d realized there was no way she’d have the money in time. She knew Abby was going to flip out when she heard the kind of deals Jess had made without consulting her, but in the end she’d help her fix things, because that was what Abby did. She made things right. Even when her marriage was falling apart, she’d found a way to keep her equilibrium, stay on track at work and give the twins the kind of attention they needed to get through the turmoil. If she’d handled all that, this would be a piece of cake, Jess thought confidently.

Of course, that was before she’d realized that Trace was part of the equation. She had no idea exactly what had happened between him and Abby all those years ago, but it hadn’t been good. There was a history there, and despite Trace’s assurance that he wouldn’t let it interfere with the bank’s decision, Jess wasn’t a hundred percent sure she could believe him. Nor was she certain how Abby would feel once she knew she’d be dealing with her old flame. It might be better not to mention that at the outset.

When Abby finally joined her on the porch, Jess asked about work, how the girls were doing in kindergarten, whether there were any new men in Abby’s life. Abby finally regarded her with impatience. “You’re stalling,” she accused.

Jess flushed. “Maybe a little, but I did want to catch up. We never get to have a real heart-to-heart anymore. I miss that.”

Abby’s expression softened. “Me, too. But a life-or-death problem tops catching up. Talk to me.”

An hour later, after Jess had spilled her guts and seen the dismay in Abby’s eyes, she wasn’t so sure this was going to be as easy to fix as she’d hoped.

“We can straighten this out, can’t we?” she asked her sister, unable to keep a plaintive note out of her voice. “I know I’ve made a mess of things so far, but when you see the inn again, you’ll understand why I had to do it exactly this way. It’s going to be amazing.”

“It will only be amazing if you can keep the bank from foreclosing,” Abby said direly. “Why didn’t you call me sooner? I would have loaned you the money.”

“I don’t need your money,” Jess insisted. “I can do this on my own. I just need to buy a little more time. A couple of months, max.”

“You have reservations coming in?”

“We’re booked solid the rest of the summer, and we’re starting to get reservations for the fall,” Jess said proudly. “Plus, once word of mouth kicks in about how cozy the place is and how fabulous the food is, that should take care of the rest of the year, at least on weekends. I’m going to offer some holiday specials, too, to try to boost bookings in November, December and even the long weekends in January and February. I really do have a great marketing plan, Abby.”

“In writing?”

“No, but I can put it on paper, if that will help.”

Abby nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Do that. Maybe it’s the bargaining chip you need. First thing tomorrow I’ll meet you over there and we’ll go over all your financials. We can put together some realistic budget projections, then I’ll go with you to the bank on Monday.”

Which meant, Jess knew, that she’d come face-to-face with Trace. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. “I know how busy you are. Once we put everything together, if you need to go back to New York, I can take the paperwork to the bank.”

“It’ll be okay. Let’s face it, I speak their language and you don’t. This is your dream, and you tend to get sidetracked by all your plans. I can talk hard, cold facts and numbers.”

Jess gave in, because she knew Abby was right. She’d get emotional, while her sister could keep her cool. “If you’re really sure it won’t be too big an imposition, then thank you. I’ll never be able to repay you for doing this for me, Abby. I have to keep the inn. I just have to. It’s the first thing that’s really mattered to me, ever. It’s my chance to prove I’m as good as the rest of the O’Briens.”

Abby stared at her with a shocked expression. “What are you talking about, Jess? Of course you’re as good as the rest of us.”

“Come on. I’ve always been the screwup, the hyper one with no ability to focus. You probably expected me to mess this up from the beginning.” The belated diagnosis that she had attention deficit disorder had come when she was ten and struggling in school. From then on, it had been her curse and, all too often, an easy excuse for her failure to follow through on things.

“That is not true,” Abby said, though her expression said otherwise. “Sweetie, you have ADD. We all understand that. Despite that, look at all you’ve accomplished. You graduated from high school near the top of your class. You got your college degree. Those are huge accomplishments for someone with ADD. You’ll figure out how to manage everything at the inn, too.”

“I barely got through college because I kept changing my major. And I’ve drifted through half a dozen dead-end jobs since then,” Jess reminded her, determined to keep it real. “I’m twenty-two and I’ve never even had a relationship that’s lasted more than a few months.”

“Because you haven’t found the one thing or the one person you were passionate about,” Abby argued. “Now you have the inn. I remember how you used to talk about it when you were little. You loved going over there. I was so excited for you when you told me you’d finally bought it.” Her expression turned determined. “Stop worrying. I intend to do everything in my power to see that you keep the inn.”

“Short of bailing me out with money,” Jess reiterated. “I won’t let you do that.”

“Let’s just see how it goes, okay? I have the money to invest in a sure thing and I have faith in you.”

Tears welled up in Jess’s eyes. “I love you, sis.”

“Love you more. Now let’s get some sleep, so we can get started on all this first thing in the morning. What time should I meet you at the inn?”

“Nine?” Jess suggested. She owed her sister one lazy morning at least.

“Make it eight.”

Despite her emotions being all over the place, Jess grinned. “Not bad. You must be relaxing. I was figuring you’d say seven.”

“Watch it, kid. I could change my mind.”

Jess was on her feet at once. “See you at eight,” she said hurriedly, then started down the steps. At the bottom, she turned back. “I’m glad you’re home, Abby, but I’m sorry I dumped all this on you.”

“That’s what family’s for,” Abby said. “Don’t ever forget that.”

Despite her sister’s words, Jess wondered if she’d ever truly believe that, at least where her disapproving father was concerned. Once Mick heard about this, there’d be plenty of I-told-you-so’s to go around.

And once Abby realized that she was going to be dealing with Trace Riley and that Jess had kept that fact from her, Jess was very much afraid she might walk away and leave Jess to fend for herself.

Abby walked into the kitchen shortly after dawn, awakened by the sound of the robins, bluebirds and wrens outside her open bedroom windows. She’d forgotten how noisy nature could be, especially in the spring. As early as it was, she wasn’t surprised to find her grandmother there ahead of her.

“You’re up early,” Gram said, her tone chiding. “I thought you’d sleep in for a bit on your first morning home.”

“I have a lot to do today,” Abby said, pouring herself a cup of the strong tea Gram had brewed. She laced it with milk, then sighed with pleasure after the first sip. “It never tastes like this when I make it.”

“That’s because you use tea bags and brew it in the microwave, I’ll bet.”

Abby grinned. “Could be.”

“A good pot of tea takes time to steep. If you put a little time and love into it, it shows.”

“I have enough trouble finding time to love my girls without worrying about how my tea feels,” Abby replied.

“Which means you’re working too hard. You never have learned how to relax. Why don’t you grab a book and take it outside to the hammock this morning. I’ll keep an eye on the girls. I’ll take them into town and show them off.”

“If you wouldn’t mind watching the girls, I’ll take you up on that,” Abby told her. “But the hammock will have to wait. I promised Jess I’d meet her at the inn in an hour.”

Gram’s expression immediately sobered. She sat down across from Abby and stirred her tea, then lifted her gaze to Abby’s. “She’s in trouble with that, isn’t she?”

Abby didn’t want to betray her sister’s confidence, but she’d always been a lousy liar. She settled for asking, “What makes you think that?”

“For one thing, this is Chesapeake Shores, where gossip is everybody’s favorite hobby. For another, Violet Harding’s sister works at the bank. She told Violet that she’d seen something about foreclosure on a file with Jess’s name on it. Of course that old gossip couldn’t wait to spread the word. The Hardings are still furious that Mick bought up all their family’s land to develop this town. Never mind that it was their good-for-nothing father who sold it to him because he needed cash, somehow it’s Mick’s fault that they don’t own all that acreage anymore.” She waved off the topic. “None of that matters. Is Jess going to lose the inn the way Violet said?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Abby told her firmly. “And please don’t tell her you know. She’s so afraid of letting all of us down.”

Gram shook her head. “Does she honestly believe we care more about that inn and whether she succeeds or fails than we do about her?”

Abby nodded. “I think she does. She wants desperately to prove herself, especially to Dad.”

“Now that I understand,” Gram said, her mouth set in a grim line. “Why those two can’t communicate without starting a fight is beyond me.”

“It’s because they’re exactly alike,” Abby said. “They both have more pride than sense and a mile-wide stubborn streak. And neither one of them can stand to be wrong about anything. Even though I wasn’t around when Jess bought the inn, I’m sure Dad was the first to suggest she was making a mistake and will be the first to say I told you so if she fails.”

“That’s it in a nutshell,” Gram agreed. “I don’t remember him being that ornery with the rest of you.”

“Trust me, he was,” Abby said. “But with the rest of us, we could let it roll off our backs. We knew we had you and Mom in our corners, no matter what. With Mom gone, Jess has always taken everything Dad said to heart, even offhand comments he’s forgotten about as soon as he’s made them.”

“You’re right. I’ve talked to him about that myself, but he doesn’t see the problem. Your father’s always believed that blunt honesty is a virtue, even when it hurts. He thinks mollycoddling is a waste of time. He believes you children should know without a doubt that he loves you, no matter how harsh his criticism might be.”

“That worked fine with the rest of us, but not with Jess. She’s had too many obstacles to overcome.”

Gram regarded her worriedly. “Are you going to be able to help her to straighten this out?”

“I’m going to try,” Abby said. “Don’t worry, Gram. I know how important this is. The bank won’t take that inn away from her without a fight from me.”

Gram’s expression turned thoughtful. “Maybe it would be better if she had to save it for herself, instead of letting you rush to the rescue.”

“It probably would be,” Abby admitted. “But based on what she told me last night, I don’t think that’s going to be an option. She’s waited too long, and now there’s not enough time for her to pull everything together.”

“Does she want to borrow money?”

Abby shook her head. “She’s adamantly opposed to that. All she’s asked for is my business expertise.”

“Is that going to be enough?” Gram asked.

“I won’t know until I see her books,” Abby said honestly.

“Well, Jess made the right decision when she called you,” Gram said. “She’s been counting on you since she was a little bitty thing, and you’ve never once let her down.”

“Pile on the pressure, why don’t you?” Abby replied as she stood up. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to her grandmother’s cheek. “Thanks, Gram. I love you.”

“I love you, too. And Jess. It’s going to be okay. When O’Briens stick together, there’s nothing we can’t do.”

“That’s what you’ve always taught us,” Abby agreed.

Unfortunately, she was very much afraid it was going to take a lot more than family spirit and loyalty to save Jess’s inn.

3

Mick hadn’t been home for a month, not that Chesapeake Shores felt much like home anymore. He’d spent most of that time in a frustrating battle of wits with officials over building permits for his latest planned community north of San Francisco. Given the number of hurdles, he was beginning to question the wisdom of going through with the development. Then again, he’d put his reputation on the line for this one, and what would it say if he folded up and went away without a fight?

He’d just finished a meeting with his associates from O’Brien & Company, his contractors and the subcontractors about the latest delay when his cell phone rang. Glancing at caller ID, he saw that it was his mother, who rarely ever called him these days. In the past she’d only called in an emergency, and there’d been plenty of those with five kids in the house.

“Hey, Ma, how are you?” he said, walking away from the other men so he could have the conversation in private.

“Fit as a fiddle,” she said. “Wish I could say the same for your daughter.”

Mick felt his pulse speed up. “Is something wrong with Abby? Or Bree?” he asked. Then added almost as an afterthought, “Or is it Jess?”

“Interesting that your concern for Jess came last,” she said, her tone accusing. “That’s always been the problem between you two. Sometimes I think you forget you have three daughters. It’s little wonder the girl works so hard to try to get your attention.”

“I hope you didn’t call just to give me another lecture on how I’ve shortchanged Jessica. We’ve had that conversation too many times to count.”

“Then it amazes me that it has yet to sink in,” she retorted. “And actually that’s exactly why I called. When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“A few days ago, I suppose,” he said, searching his memory, but unable to come up with anything more precise. That gave some credence to his mother’s accusations, but he wasn’t planning to admit that anytime soon. He hadn’t spoken to Abby or Bree, either.

“More like a month, I imagine,” she said. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was when she drove you to the airport. I doubt you’ve given her a second thought since then.”

He winced as the barb hit its mark. “Okay, that’s probably right. What’s your point? She’s a grown woman. She doesn’t need her dad checking up on her.”

“Checking up on her, no,” his mother agreed with undisguised impatience. “But how about checking in just to see how she’s doing, maybe asking how the inn is coming along, inquiring if she could use any help in getting it ready to open? Would those things be too much to expect from a loving parent, especially one with an entire construction company at his disposal?”

Mick bristled at the suggestion that he wasn’t interested in his own daughter’s life or that he’d been unwilling to help her out. “Jess made it plain she didn’t want my interference. You sat right there at the kitchen table when I offered to send one of my guys around to look things over and she turned me down flat.”

“Mick, for a bright man, you can be denser than dirt,” she chided. “Maybe she didn’t want one of your men over there. Maybe what she needed was you.”

Mick might be past fifty, but he still hated being called on the carpet by his own mother. He’d rather face down a hundred bureaucrats than be made to feel that somehow he’d let down his family. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know he’d failed them by making life so miserable for Megan that she’d left him. He hadn’t been able to fix that, and it was likely that whatever was going on right now with Jess wasn’t something he could fix, either. What kind of man was he? He’d built an international reputation as an architect and urban planner, but he couldn’t keep his own damn family together.

“Ma, why don’t you just say whatever’s on your mind? Is Jess in some kind of trouble? Does she need money? One of my crews? What? You know I’ll do whatever I can to help. All she needs to do is ask.”

His mother sighed heavily. “Mick, you know she’ll never do that.”

“Why, for God’s sake?” he asked, frustrated. “Who else should she ask? I’m her father.”

“Exactly. And she’s been trying to prove herself to you since the day her mother left. She thinks that was her fault because she was too much trouble, because she wasn’t smart enough.”

“Jess is smart as a whip,” he protested, exactly as he always did.

“Well, of course she is, but learning came hard for her. She thinks that was what sent her mother running. Kids as young as Jess was back then always think a divorce is their fault.”

“You’ve been watching Dr. Phil again,” he accused. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze my relationship with Jess.”

“Well, somebody has to fix it. It’s way past time. How soon can you get back here?”

“A few weeks, maybe. Longer unless you tell me what the hell is going on in plain English that my poor denser-than-dirt male brain can comprehend.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me. I’m still your mother.”

Mick nearly groaned. “Ma, please.”

“I think it’s possible she’s going to lose the inn before she even gets the doors open. If that happens, it will break not only her heart, but her spirit.”

The news caught him completely off guard. Even he recognized how that could affect his daughter, assuming it was true and not just the product of the local gossip mill. “What makes you think she’s going to lose the inn?”

“I’ve heard rumors the bank is considering foreclosure. And before you dismiss that as nothing more than speculation, I’ll tell you my source was reliable.”

Mick’s frustration mounted. “Dammit, I knew she was getting in over her head, but she signed all the paperwork and plunged into this without talking any of it over with me.”

“Because she needed to prove to you that she could do this all on her own.”

“Well, exactly what will she have proved, if the bank forecloses?”

“Michael Devlin O’Brien, don’t you dare come back here if all you’re going to do is throw her mistakes in her face. She needs her father, not a judgmental businessman.”

Now it was Mick’s turn to sigh heavily. If what his mother was saying was true, it put him between a rock and a hard place. “Ma, we both know I could fix whatever’s going on with one call to Lawrence Riley, but you know as well as I do that Jess won’t thank me for it.”

“True enough,” she admitted. “But we have to do something, Mick. Jess needs to make a success of this.”

“Do you really think she could lose the inn? Maybe it’s not that bad.”

“Jess called her sister, that’s how bad it is. Abby’s here now trying to help, but from the grim expression on her face this morning, it could take more than some sort of financial wizardry on her part to fix this. Come home, Mick. Whether she admits it or not, Jess needs your support right now. And of course, if you flew home tonight, you’d be able to spend some time with Abby and your granddaughters.”

“Tonight?” he asked, trying to work out the all-but-impossible logistics in his head. “I doubt I could get on a flight on short notice.”

“Spend some of that fortune you make on something important for once. Hire a private jet, if you have to.”

He thought of having one daughter and his only grandchildren under his roof again, of being there when another daughter might actually admit she needed him, and made a decision. His mother was right. If ever there was a time he belonged at home with his family, this was it.

“I’ll see what I can arrange,” he said at last.

“That’s good,” his mother said. “And let’s just pretend, you and I, that we never had this conversation.”

Mick laughed for the first time since the uncomfortable conversation had begun. “You’re still a sly one, aren’t you, Ma?”

“I pride myself on it, in fact.”

Abby spent all day Saturday buried in paperwork at the inn. As her sister had assured her, the projections were positive, but Jess clearly had little sense of money management. If she’d wanted fancy, top-of-the-line shower curtains or thick, luxurious towels, she’d bought them, even if it broke the budget.

Not that she’d ever put a budget on paper in the first place or even the sort of business plan that Abby would have expected the bank to require. Obviously she’d been flying by the seat of her pants, and the bank had let her get away with it because she was an O’Brien in a town where that meant something. Any national bank would have adhered to much stricter guidelines than the Chesapeake Shores Community Bank apparently had followed.

Abby sat Jess down at the kitchen table on Saturday night and laid it all out for her while Gram was upstairs reading the girls their bedtime story. “You have little to no operating capital. How were you planning on buying supplies for the restaurant? Or soaps and toiletries for the rooms, for that matter?”

“Credit?” Jess said weakly, looking as if she were about to cry. “I haven’t maxed out my credit cards yet.”

Abby bit back a groan. “You’ll dig a hole so deep doing that, you’ll never get out. Like it or not, I’m going to give you an infusion of cash and a strict budget. Assuming, that is, that we can get the bank to go along with this. I’m just praying that they haven’t officially started foreclosure proceedings. I’m going to be on the doorstep over there at nine sharp Monday morning and we’ll see where we stand.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jess said. “This is my project.”

Abby agreed reluctantly. “Okay, but let me do the talking, unless they ask for information I don’t have.”

“Fine,” Jess said, not meeting her gaze.

Abby studied her sister. Jess’s cheeks were faintly flushed. Maybe it was just embarrassment that she’d let her finances get so messed up, but Abby thought it was something else. She looked guilty.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Abby asked her. “Has the foreclosure process gone further than you’ve admitted? Are there more bills you haven’t wanted me to see?”

Jess hesitated, then declared, “No. You’ve seen every single piece of paper, every bill I owe.”

“Then why do you look guilty?”

“Guilty?” She widened her eyes in an attempt to look innocent.

Abby didn’t buy it. “Don’t even try that act with me. I’ve known you too long and too well. That’s the look you used to get when you’d snuck out the bedroom window at night to meet Matt Richardson and Gram called you on it.”

Jess’s flush deepened. “Okay, maybe there is one other thing you should know before Monday.”

“Tell me,” Abby ordered, the knot of dread forming yet again in her stomach. “Don’t you dare let me walk into that meeting and get blindsided.”

Before Jess could reply, the door burst open and their father strode into the kitchen. Jess looked from him to Abby and back again.

“I see the cavalry’s arrived,” Jess said sourly. She scowled at Abby. “Did you call him?”

“Of course not,” Abby said, trying to soften Jess’s reaction by standing up to give her father a warm hug. She beamed up at him. “Why didn’t you let us know you were coming home?”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” he said, casting a wary look toward Jess. “Something going on you didn’t want me to know about?”

“Nothing,” she said firmly, shooting a warning look at Abby that pretty much tied her hands. With obvious reluctance, Jess stood and gave Mick an obligatory kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Dad. Welcome home. I’d love to stay and catch up, but I need to get home.”

“Last time I checked, this was your home,” he said.

“I’m staying at the inn now,” she said, as she gathered up all the papers on the kitchen table and shoved them into a briefcase. Clearly she didn’t intend to take a chance that Mick would lay eyes on them.

She was already heading for the door when she said, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Abby.”

Abby wanted to argue that they still had things to discuss right here and now, but clearly Jess didn’t want anything revealed in front of their father. She’d just have to wait until Sunday to find out what Jess had been keeping from her.

As soon as her sister was out of earshot, Abby turned to her father. He looked tired, but otherwise robust. There were threads of gray in his curly, reddish-blond hair, but his broad shoulders and trim waistline testified that he was still maintaining his fitness regimen even with all the traveling and dining out he did. His complexion was ruddy from working outdoors and there were a few more lines around his blue eyes, which were filled with concern as he stared after Jess.

“Gram called you, didn’t she?” Abby asked him.

He hesitated for a split second, then nodded. “She wanted me to know you and the girls were here. I caught the first flight I could get, so I could spend a little time with you. It’s been a long time since you’ve graced us with your presence down here.”

“Too long,” she admitted. “Was that all she told you?”

Mick went to the counter and poured himself a cup of tea, then sat down without replying. He stirred sugar into the strong brew and took a sip, then met Abby’s gaze. “Sure. Is there something else going on?”

“Don’t play games with me, Dad. You’re really back because she told you Jess is in trouble.”

His lips twitched at that. “Did she really? Are you a mind reader now? Or did you eavesdrop on a private conversation?”

“Of course not.”

“Then take what I’m telling you at face value,” he ordered. “It’s better that way. Now tell me where my darling girls are.”

“Asleep, I hope,” she said. “And we’re not going to wake them up at this hour. I’ll never get them back to sleep if we do. They’ll be too excited if they see you. You can spend all day tomorrow with them.” She gave him a stern look. “And no spoiling them rotten, either. I think you bought all the toys in FAO Schwarz the last time you were in New York.”

“It’s a grandfather’s privilege to do a little spoiling,” he argued. “That’s what we’re meant to do.”

Abby rolled her eyes. A few days of all that extra attention from Gram and now Mick, and the twins would be little terrors by the time she got them back to New York.

She realized that Mick was studying her over the rim of his cup. “You look worn-out, Abby. You’re working too hard.”

“That’s the nature of what I do.”

“Does it leave you enough time for those sweet girls?”

“Not really,” she admitted, then added pointedly, “but you should know better than anyone what it’s like to make hard choices, to do what’s best for your family.” In some ways they were two of a kind, which she supposed made at least some of her criticism sound hypocritical.

“I do know about hard choices,” he said, not taking offense. “And you should know as well as anyone what the cost was. I lost a woman I loved. And not a one of you could wait to leave this place. So what good did all this money and success do for me in the end?”

“Jess is still here.”

“And not a day goes by that I don’t wonder why.”

“I think I know the answer to that,” Abby said. “She loves it here, more than the rest of us ever did. And she’s still trying to prove herself to you, here, in a place that once meant everything to you. I think she believes it will create a bridge between you eventually.”

“There’s nothing she has to prove. My love for you, Jess, Bree and your brothers is unconditional.”

Abby saw that he honestly believed it was that simple and that obvious. She decided to be candid for once, rather than skirting around the real issues this family had. “Dad, when Mom left, you might as well have. From that moment on, you passed through our lives when you could spare a few days, but you didn’t know anything about us. For Connor, Kevin, me and even Bree, it was hard, but we were almost grown by then. Jess was still a little girl.”

He frowned at that. “What are you talking about? I knew everything there was to know about all of you. I knew when you were sick. I knew when one of you won an award at school or scored a touchdown. I was there for graduation. I paid the bills for college and saw the report cards.”

Abby’s temper stirred. “And you thought those things were all that mattered? A private investigator could have told you any of that stuff, though of course in your case it was Gram who filled you in. We needed our father here, cheering for us, drying our tears, calling us on it when we made mistakes.”

His cheeks flushed and his tone turned defensive when he reminded her, “You always had your grandmother for that.”

“And she was wonderful. She did all of those things, but she wasn’t you or Mom.” Abby shook her head, resigned to the fact that he would never understand. “What’s the point of fighting about this now? It’s all water under the bridge. We survived. Not every kid has an idyllic family, and our lives were certainly better than most.”

“I did the best I could,” Mick protested.

She gave him a pitying look. “Perhaps you did, but you know what? Maybe it’s because I’m the oldest, but I remember a time when you were better than that.”

She stood up then, rinsed out her own cup and put it in the dishwasher. “Good night, Dad. The girls are going to be thrilled to see you in the morning.”

She wished she could say the same. Though she knew with everything in her that he’d come home to try in some way to help with Jess’s predicament, she had this awful feeling that his presence was only going to make things worse.

Sunday morning Trace was sitting on the family’s dock, his feet dangling in the water, when Laila appeared. In her short shorts, halter top and with her long blond hair caught up in a careless ponytail, she looked about sixteen, not twenty-nine.

She handed him an icy can of soda. “How’s the prodigal son?” she inquired, kicking off her flip-flops and dropping down beside him on the smooth wood that had been warmed by the sun. Overhead, an eagle swooped through the air, then settled high in an old oak tree to watch over the scene from his lofty perch.

“Chomping at the bit to get back to New York,” he responded. “Which I could do if you weren’t so obstinate.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, admit it. You like being here.”

“For a visit,” he insisted. “I’ve never wanted any part of the bank. That was your dream, not mine.”

“Unfortunately, Daddy doesn’t see it that way. In his male-dominated world, the family estate must go to the eldest son. Daughters get whatever’s left over.”

He frowned at her. “Not the way I heard it. Dad said he offered you a position at the bank.”

“Did he happen to mention what that position was?”

“The same one I’m in, I assume.”

“Well, you assume wrong. He expected me to work as Raymond’s assistant, which, in case you haven’t figured out the pecking order there yet, amounts to a clerical job that any high school kid could do.”

Trace winced. “That was not the impression he gave me.”

“Ask him, if you don’t believe me.”

Unfortunately, Trace believed her. It would be just like his father to dangle a job in front of Laila, knowing that it was beneath her and that she’d turn it down. Then he could claim—as he had to Trace—that he’d given her a chance.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter, but Trace knew better.

“Don’t be sorry,” she claimed anyway. “It was just Dad being his usual sexist self. I’m used to it by now.”

“I don’t know if it helps, but I’ve told him you’re the one he should be grooming to take over.”

“Oddly enough, it does help.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before she glanced his way. “Abby’s in town. Did you know that?”

“I’d heard she might be coming for a visit,” he replied neutrally.

“Have you seen her?”

He shook his head. “But I imagine we’ll cross paths before she leaves.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“We’re adults,” he said with a touch of impatience. “It’s been a long time. I’m sure we’ll manage to be civil, Laila.”

“I didn’t ask how you expected to behave. I asked how you feel about seeing her again. We both know she was the love of your life and you’ve never gotten over her.”

He regarded her wryly. “Oh, we both know that, do we?”

“Well, I know it,” she said, giving him a crooked smile. “You, however, may be too stupid and stubborn to admit it. You are a guy, after all.”

“I’m not discussing Abby with you.”

Laila wasn’t easy to deter once she’d gotten her teeth into a subject. “Come on, Trace. Admit it. It just about killed you when she left town. I was here. I saw what it did to you.”

“Then why would you want to remind me of all that now?”

“Because this could be your chance to find out what happened.”

“I know what happened. Abby made a decision to cut me out of her life. End of story.”

“That’s not the end of the story,” his sister contradicted. “It’s only the part of the story you know. Find out the rest. Maybe it will put an end to that whole episode once and for all, so you can move on.”

“I moved on years ago,” he claimed.

“Baloney!”

He stared at her, his lips twitching. “What are we, five?”

“I’m not, but that seems to be your maturity level when it comes to this one thing. Adults face each other and deal with their issues.”

“I’m not the one who left. Have you had this conversation with Abby?”

“I did ten years ago,” Laila admitted.

Trace flinched. “Really? And what did Abby reveal to you that she didn’t bother telling me?”

“She told me to butt out, as a matter of fact.”

He laughed, but there was little humor in the sound. “Seems like good advice to me.”

He was struck by the same nagging thought that had come to him at the bank on his first day there. “You haven’t shared any of this with Dad, have you?”

“About you and Abby? No, why?”

He studied her face, trying to decide if he could trust what she was saying. “It just seems awfully convenient that Dad decides to push this whole idea of getting me to work at the bank right when there’s going to be a battle with the O’Briens that was bound to bring Abby back to town.”

“You mean that possible foreclosure at the inn?” she asked innocently. “Do you think that’s why Abby’s here?”

“Don’t you?”

“I suppose that makes sense,” she conceded. “Abby’s always been smart about business, and she’s always been the first one Jess turns to.”

“And none of that crossed your mind when you heard about the bank foreclosing on Jess’s property? Or when you heard that Dad was dragging me back here?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t spend a lot of my spare time coming up with conspiracies with Dad. And if it had been up to me, you’d still be in New York, and I’d be in that big corner office at the bank dealing with Jess.”

“Okay, then,” Trace said, deciding he might as well take her at her word. He was probably imagining a conspiracy where none existed. After all, Abby was here and he was just about one hundred percent certain to see her. How that inevitable confrontation had been set into motion hardly mattered. He just had to brace himself for it, so he didn’t make a complete fool of himself when they crossed paths. Throwing her across his desk and kissing her was probably a bad idea. And actually he hoped he wouldn’t want to.

Gram fixed a Sunday dinner that could have fed an army and insisted that all of them sit down at the table together, including Caitlyn and Carrie, whose table manners left a lot to be desired. Still, Abby thought they provided an excellent buffer between her sister and her father. Jess was shooting distrustful glances at Mick, to which he seemed to be oblivious. He kept asking questions about the inn that were supposedly innocent. Under the circumstances, though, they were as highly charged as an entire crate of explosives.

“No business at the table,” Gram finally said when Jess looked as if she was about to throw down her napkin and bolt. “I’m sure we can think of other things to talk about. After all, when was the last time we had a chance to be together under this roof? Let’s make this meal as special as the occasion calls for.”

“How are Uncle Jeff and Uncle Tom?” Abby asked, seizing on the first thing that came to mind.

“How would I know?” Mick responded bitterly. The implication in his tone was that he didn’t much care, either. Obviously neither time nor Gram had mellowed his mood when it came to his brothers.

The breakup of the business partnership had taken a personal toll. It had exposed all of the philosophical and environmental differences of the brothers. Since like all O’Briens, none of them were willing to back down from a stance, working together had been a really bad idea from the beginning. That they’d actually completed Chesapeake Shores at all had been a miracle.

Gram scowled at Mick, then turned to Abby. “They’re fine. Tom’s working on legislation to protect the bay and trying to get funding to clean up the waters of both the bay and its tributaries. Jeff’s running the management company that handles the leases on the shops downtown. His daughter, Susie, is working for him.”

“Gosh, I haven’t seen Susie in ages,” Abby said. “She was still a kid when I left for New York.”

“She graduated from college last year,” Jess said. “Magna cum laude, right, Gram?”

Gram ignored the hint of sarcasm in Jess’s voice and said evenly, “I believe that’s right. Jeff was real proud of her.”

“How’s your mother, Abby?” Mick suddenly blurted. “You see her, don’t you?”

Abby saw the deep hurt in his eyes and felt the same pity she always did when her mother plied her with questions about the rest of the family. “We get together for lunch every couple of weeks and she spends time with the girls on Saturdays when she can. She’s doing well. She loves living in the city.”

“I’m sure she does,” Mick said with undisguised bitterness, clamping his mouth shut when Abby pointedly nodded toward the girls to remind him that they didn’t need to hear so much as a whisper spoken against their grandmother.

“Grandma Megan’s beautiful,” Caitlyn said, then looked at Mick with confusion. “Do you know her?”

Abby realized that since her kids had never seen Mick and Megan together, they couldn’t possibly understand the complexities of the relationship.

The shadows in Mick’s eyes deepened as he responded to his granddaughter. “I used to,” he said softly.

“Grandma Megan used to be married to Grandpa Mick,” Abby explained.

That stirred a spark of interest in Carrie’s eyes. “Did you get a ‘vorce like Mommy and Daddy?”

Mick nodded. “We did.”

“Did you still love your kids?” Caitlyn asked worriedly. “Mommy and Daddy say they’ll love us forever and ever, even if they don’t love each other anymore.”

“Moms and dads never stop loving their children,” Mick assured her. His solemn gaze flicked to Jess when he said it, as if trying to communicate that message to her. She resolutely turned away, focusing her attention on cutting the meat on her plate into tiny pieces which she then shoved aside and left uneaten.

Sensing that this topic was no safer than business, Abby stood up. “Girls, why don’t I get you some ice cream and we can eat it outside? You’ll excuse us, won’t you?” She was already rising when she asked and didn’t wait for a reply.

Carrie and Caitlyn scrambled down from their chairs with a shout and raced for the kitchen, Abby on their heels. It wasn’t until she was safely away from the tension in the dining room that she sighed with relief. Okay, she’d just thrown Jess to the wolves in there, but right this second it felt like every woman needed to fend for herself.

“What kind of ice cream can we have, Mommy?” Carrie asked, tugging on her slacks.

“Let’s see what Gram has in the freezer,” she said, though she knew the answer. There had never been a time when the freezer wasn’t stocked with strawberry, Gram’s favorite, and with chocolate, which had always been Mick’s, hers and her brothers’ first choice. Jess’s had always been vanilla fudge ripple, so that was bound to be there, too.

She gave the girls their choices—they agreed on strawberry, for once—then dished up a scoop for each one. “Outside,” she said as she handed them the plastic bowls and spoons. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She gave herself a double scoop of chocolate, then covered it with hot fudge sauce for good measure. The way this day was going she was going to need every bit of chocolate decadence she could find to get through it.

4

Abby was glad she’d flown home still dressed in the black power suit she’d worn to work on Friday morning. She pressed it before putting it on Monday morning, then drove over to pick up Jess. When Abby arrived, Jess was still wearing paint-splattered shorts and a faded T-shirt. Abby barely held in a sigh. It looked as if Jess had gotten distracted by one of her decorating projects.

“Sorry,” Jess said, her expression flustered. “I lost track of the time. I couldn’t sleep, so I started painting at the crack of dawn, then someone called in a reservation—”

Abby cut her off. “Jess, we don’t have time for this. You can’t go to the bank like that,” she said, trying not to lose patience. Jess was obviously tense enough without Abby yelling at her. “You know how important this meeting is. It’s critical that we handle it as professionally as possible. Change, and do it fast, please.”

“Five minutes, I promise. You go on ahead. I’ll meet you there.”

Abby nodded and drove off, relieved in some ways that she was going in alone. She could say things then that she wouldn’t want to say in front of her sister, admit to Jess’s failings but stress that her sister had backup now and that things would be on track from here on out.

When they opened the door at Chesapeake Shores Community Bank, she walked in as if she owned the place and headed straight for Lawrence Riley’s office. She beamed at Mariah Walsh, who’d been working there as far back as she could recall.

“Abby, what on earth are you doing back in town?” Mariah asked.

“Visiting family,” she said. “How’ve you been?”

“Same as always. Just a few more years on me.”

Abby nodded toward Mr. Riley’s office. “Is he in?” she asked. “I need to speak to him.”

“What’s it about?” Mariah asked, already picking up the phone.

“Jess’s loans on the inn.”

Mariah frowned and hung up. “Then you’ll need to speak to Trace.”

Abby felt her heart lurch at the mention of Trace Riley. It had been years since they’d seen each other, and it was ridiculous that hearing his name was enough to make her falter. But in that instant, she realized exactly what Jess had been keeping from her. Jess had known that Trace was involved in this situation and that Abby would have to deal with him and not his father.

Trying to recover her equilibrium before Mariah could see how thrown she’d been, she said, “Trace is working here? I’m surprised.” He’d always sworn that hell would freeze over before he’d work in a bank, much less for his father.

Mariah grinned. “Hell’s sure enough frozen over, huh? He just started last week and he says it’s just temporary. His father’s hoping that’ll change. In the meantime, though, he’s in charge of the loan department.”

Damn, Abby thought. Maybe that could work in her favor, but she doubted it. The last time they’d seen each other, she’d slept with him, told him she was in love with him and then she’d taken off for New York without another word.

Over the months and years that followed, she’d convinced herself that she’d had no choice, that Trace was a distraction she couldn’t afford. In fact, she’d had a whole litany of reasons that had made perfect sense to her at the time. She’d even told herself she was cutting things off for him as much as for herself.

Of course, she should have had the guts to tell him that in person, though. Instead, she’d taken the coward’s way out, because he tempted her in ways she’d found all but impossible to resist. Had she seen him one more time there was no telling what might have happened to her resolve to go to New York and start a career on Wall Street. She might even have been persuaded to stay with him right here. He’d obviously caved in to parental pressure, just as she’d always feared he might. That fear had made it impossible to trust all the pretty words he’d said, all the promises he’d made about their future.

Mariah gave her a knowing look. “His office is down the hall on the left. Want me to call and tell him you’re on your way in?”

“I think I’d better surprise him,” Abby replied, then stiffened her spine and headed for his office. She’d had enough uncomfortable meetings to steel her resolve for this one. She tapped on the door, then walked in without waiting for a reply.

Trace was on the phone, his gaze directed out the window. Distractedly, he waved her toward a seat without even turning around. She breathed a sigh of relief at the reprieve. It gave her time to study him.

He looked good. Really good. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing tanned forearms. The laugh lines that fanned out from his eyes were carved a little deeper now. His hair, thick and dark brown with golden highlights from the sun, was a little long and windblown. She grinned. She’d bet anything he’d ridden to work on his Harley. That bike had been his first major rebellion way back in high school, and the possibility that he’d never given it up gave her an unexpected sense of hope. That was the Trace she remembered, not a man who’d turned into a by-the-book banker like his dad. She could deal with that man, challenge him to bend the rules.

When he finished the call, he swiveled around and caught sight of her for the first time. Something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes, but he kept his expression neutral. “Well, look who the cat dragged in.”

“Hello, Trace.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t expect to find me here,” he said.

“It was a pleasant surprise, all right.”

“Pleasant?” he inquired doubtfully.

“For me, yes. We were friends, Trace. Why wouldn’t I be glad to see you again?” she asked, though she knew the answer. She’d just hoped to finesse her way past the awkwardness. The simmering anger in his eyes suggested that wasn’t likely.

“Friends?” he echoed with a lift of one brow. “That’s not exactly the way I remember it. Maybe my memory’s faulty, but I thought we were more than that.”

Heat stained Abby’s cheeks. “It was a long time ago, Trace. A lifetime, in fact.”

He hesitated for what seemed like an eternity, his gaze level, then finally he looked away and reached for a folder with an ominous red sticker on the front. “I imagine you’re here about this,” he said, his tone suddenly abrupt and very businesslike. “Jess has gotten herself into quite a mess.”

Taking her cue from him, Abby opened her briefcase. “We’re aware of that, and we’re prepared to give the bank every reassurance that things will change from here on out.”

“You’ll have to do quite a bit of tap-dancing to pull that off,” he said. “She doesn’t have any management skills. I think that’s plain. I have no idea why the bank approved these loans in the first place. I imagine they did it as a courtesy to your father.”

Just then the door to his office opened again, and Jess stepped in. She frowned at his words. “You couldn’t be more wrong, Trace. They did it because it was a sound investment. That’s exactly what your father said when he called me to tell me the mortgage and the loan had been approved.” She regarded Trace unflinchingly and added, “It still is.”

“Not according to these papers I have in front of me,” Trace countered. “It’s time to cut our losses, and that’s exactly what I intend to recommend to the board tomorrow.”

“No,” Abby said fiercely. “Not until you’ve heard us out.”

She tried not to notice the alarm on Jess’s face or the brick-red color that flamed in Trace’s cheeks. Instead, she plunged on, throwing diplomacy to the wind. “If you have even an ounce of business savvy in that rock-hard head of yours, you’ll see that this plan makes sense.”

“Why should I believe anything you tell me?” he asked.

Abby swallowed hard. This was all going to blow up just because she and Trace had a history. Why hadn’t Jess warned her? If she had, Abby would have stayed far, far away from the bank. But since she was in the thick of it now, she refused to let him goad her into backing down.

“Don’t make this about us, Trace,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t reflect well on you or the bank.”

Trace scowled at her. “Well, aren’t you full of yourself? Trust me, you had nothing to do with my decision. It’s all right here in black and white. People might lie, but numbers don’t.”

Abby knew he was right about that, but she wasn’t giving up without a fight. She’d seen the flicker of guilt in his eyes when she’d accused him of letting his feelings for her get into the equation. She intended to use that to force his hand and make him reconsider.

She tempered her tone. “Will you at least hear me out? You owe us that much.”

“Really?” he said quizzically. “How do you figure that?”

“You want to prove that you’re making a totally unbiased decision, don’t you? Then you have to consider all the facts. Otherwise I’ll have to insist on meeting the board myself, and you’ll wind up with egg on your face after barely a week on the job.”

Again, he gestured toward the file. “The facts are in here.”

“Not all of them,” she insisted. She handed him a set of the papers she’d spent all Sunday afternoon preparing, partly because she’d wanted them to be strong enough to make her case and partly as a way to steer clear of Mick. “Take a look. As you’ll see, there’s a new investment partner. Jess has more than enough cash now to make good on the loan payments and to capitalize the running of the inn for the first six months, longer if she’s careful. There’s a solid business plan on pages two and three. And on page four there’s a plan for refinancing that egregious interest-only mortgage that should never have been offered in the first place. I think we could make a case that the bank was hoping she’d get herself into financial trouble just so they could foreclose and lay claim to the inn once she’d poured a lot of money into renovations.”

Trace stared at her incredulously. “You can’t be serious. You think this was the bank’s fault?”

She smiled. “I do.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Want to test my theory in court? I think people are furious over the kind of lending practices that turned the whole industry upside down. I think we could make Jess into a very sympathetic victim.”

Trace regarded her with a glimmer of new respect. “Not bad. You almost had me going there for a minute.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Abby assured him. “My next stop will be a lawyer’s office unless I can make you see reason.”

He looked taken aback. “I’ll have to take this proposal of yours to the board,” he said eventually.

“Of course. They meet tomorrow?”

“At ten o’clock,” he told her.

“Then you should have an answer by noon?”

He nodded. “I’ll meet you at the yacht club at twelve-fifteen and fill you in over lunch.”

Abby hesitated. She could stay, had planned to stay, in fact, but with Trace involved it was too complicated. “Jess will be there, but I can’t be. I have to get back to New York tonight.”

His gaze clashed with hers. “You’ll be there if you expect this to be approved.”

“Why? This is Jess’s business, not mine.”

“You’ll be there because I intend to recommend that the board approve this on one condition only.”

Jess sat up a little straighter. “What condition?” she asked suspiciously.

Trace looked at her as if he’d forgotten she was even in the room. “That your sister take over as manager of the project.”

“No!” Abby and Jess said at once.

“It’s my inn,” Jess protested. “You have no right to dictate who manages it.”

“I do when this bank’s money is involved and you have a history of failing to make your payments,” he said, his gaze unrelenting. “Abby stays or it’s a deal-breaker.”

“But the plan,” Abby began.

“Isn’t worth the paper it’s written on unless you remain involved,” he said. “There’s no assurance it won’t be frittered away on who knows what before the next payment’s due.”

“Come on, Trace, be reasonable,” Abby pleaded. “I need to get back to New York. I have a job. Jess knows what has to be done. I trust her.”

“You’re her sister. I’m her banker,” he said. “Unless you agree to my terms, we’ll proceed with the foreclosure.”

He looked from Abby to Jess, then back again. “Well, what’s it going to be? Will I see you tomorrow?”

Abby bit back the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue and nodded slowly, afraid of what she might say if she spoke. She held her breath, praying that Jess would be as diplomatic. When she glanced at her sister, she discovered Jess looked furious, but at least she remained silent.

For the moment, he had them both over a barrel and they all knew it. Once the board went along with this insane plan of his, though, Abby was convinced he’d be satisfied with the victory. After that, she could make him see reason. She was sure of it.

Then again, she’d learned a long time ago that a man whose pride had been damaged could turn into a fierce and stubborn adversary. For now, anyway, Trace Riley held all the cards, so she and Jess were going to have to play the game his way … at least until she could come up with a new set of rules, and then make him believe that he’d come up with them all on his own.

Outside the bank, Jess stood on the sidewalk, trembling. She whirled on her sister.

“What the hell just happened in there? I thought you were on my side.”

“Of course I’m on your side,” Abby said, looking genuinely bewildered by Jess’s attack. “This was all about keeping you from losing the inn.”

“I might as well have lost it,” Jess snapped. “He’s put you in charge. Way to go, sis!”

Abby frowned. “Jess, calm down. Let’s go to Sally’s for a cup of coffee and talk about this. We need to plan our strategy.”

“Strategy for what? Getting your name on the deed?”

“Jess!”

There was a flash of hurt in Abby’s eyes, but Jess didn’t feel like relenting. She was spitting mad and she needed someone to take it out on. Her sister was the most obvious choice, since Jess couldn’t go back inside the bank and start pummeling Trace. Even in her fury, she knew that would be counterproductive.

“I should have let Mick handle it,” she said. “He’d have made a couple of calls and the bank would have backed down. I might have had to listen to his I-told-you-so’s from here to eternity, but that would have been better than being stabbed in the back by you.”

Temper flared in Abby’s eyes, and Jess knew at once she’d gone too far.

“That’s it,” Abby said, her tone icy. “I came down here because you asked me to. I didn’t create this mess, but I found a way out of it. I convinced Trace to go along with it, so you could keep the inn.” Her scowl deepened. “And now you want to blame me because Trace put a condition on his terms for not foreclosing? Did you hear me ask for this? Didn’t you hear me tell him no? Do you honestly think I want to be tied to Chesapeake Shores for who knows how long, when my life is in New York?” She shook her head. “It really is true—no good deed goes unpunished.”

With that, she turned and walked away. Guilt flooded through Jess. Abby was right. She hadn’t asked for this outcome. And maybe, just maybe, if Jess hadn’t kept the fact that she was going to be dealing with Trace from her, Abby would have expected something like this and could have come up with a different strategy. As it was, she’d been blindsided, exactly as she’d warned Jess she didn’t want to be. And Trace had clearly gone back on his promise not to let his personal feelings interfere with the bank’s decision. No way had this been about anything except getting even, forcing Abby to remain in contact with him, just so he could … What? Humiliate her? Date her? She hadn’t figured that part out yet.

Jess drew in a deep breath, then ran after her sister. “Abby, wait!”

Abby didn’t even slow down. In fact, she was in such a fit of temper that she’d just stormed right past her rental car. Jess finally caught up with her in the next block.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault. I know that. He just made me so furious.”

“Join the club,” Abby said dryly. “Why didn’t you tell me Trace was working at the bank and that he was involved in this? You knew, didn’t you?”

“Not when I called you,” Jess swore to her. “He hasn’t lived here in years. Right before you got here, he came by the inn to look things over. That’s the first I knew about him being back in town, much less working at the bank. I was afraid if you knew, you’d bail on me.”

Abby lifted a brow. “Don’t you know me better than that?”

“I had no idea how deep the bad blood ran between the two of you. You never said why you broke up with him. Everyone in town knew you broke his heart. What no one seemed to know was why, or if maybe he’d broken yours, too. You never wanted to talk about it. Remember, I asked about a million times until you told me if I mentioned him one more time you were going to stop calling home?”

“You really were a pest,” Abby said, but her lips quirked at the reminder. “Okay, I suppose I understand why you didn’t want to tell me I’d be dealing with a man I’d dumped.”

“Let’s not forget that I did try to tell you,” Jess reminded her. “Dad arrived home, remember?”

Abby nodded. “I remember.”

Jess extended an olive branch. “Want to go have that coffee, after all? I’ll treat.”

“With what?” Abby retorted. “Every penny you possess has to go into the inn. I’ll treat.”

Jess grinned. “Fine by me, but just so you know I’m ordering two eggs, bacon and waffles, too. My stomach was too queasy for me to eat breakfast before the meeting. Now the whole infuriating discussion has left me famished. How about you?”

“If Sally served liquor, I’d have a double shot of something, but since she doesn’t, waffles sound good,” Abby replied.

They were silent until they got to the café in the next block. When Abby reached out to open the door, Jess put her hand on top of her sister’s, then waited until Abby met her gaze. “I really am sorry for what I said.”

Abby sighed. “I know.”

Jess studied her sister, then grinned. “Bet I know something you don’t know.”

“What’s that?”

“Trace Riley still has the hots for you.”

“You’re crazy.”

Jess shook her head. “Know something else? I’m almost a hundred percent certain it works both ways.”

Abby drew herself up until her back was ramrod-straight, her expression regal and dismissive. “You could not be more wrong.”

Jess wasn’t impressed by her sister’s performance. “We’ll see.”

In fact, watching the two of them trying to deny what was obvious to any observer, might be just about the only amusing part of this entire messed-up situation.

Abby was in no mood for the interrogation that awaited her at home. Gram and Mick were going to insist on hearing every detail about the meeting, and she wasn’t sure she had the stomach for filling them in. Of course, it had occurred to her more than once that one sure way of extricating herself from the situation would be to let her father step in. Even Jess had mentioned that possibility, though she’d looked thoroughly defeated when she’d said it. Abby had known right then that she couldn’t do it.

When she got to the house, she found Mick on the porch looking more frazzled than she could ever recall seeing him. There were unidentifiable stains on his shirt, his complexion was pale and he was leaning over the railing drawing in deep breaths.

“Dad?” she asked, alarmed. “Are you okay?”

Color flooded his cheeks.

“Dad, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“With me? Nothing. It’s the girls. Both of them started complaining of headaches and looked glassy-eyed right after you left here this morning. I figured they didn’t get enough sleep last night, but your grandmother seems to think they both have the measles. She said you didn’t get them vaccinated.”

“That’s right—at the time the thinking was that the MMR vaccine might overwhelm an immature immune system, and there was even a theory it caused autism. I didn’t want to take the risk. How are they now?”

“They’re asleep, so I came out here for a couple of minutes.”

“You probably ought to shower and change your clothes,” she said, astounded by the obvious signs that he’d pitched in and helped. “I’ll go up and take over from Gram. I’m sure she could use a break, too. I wish you’d called me.”

“We agreed that the meeting at the bank was too important to be interrupted. Besides, we’ve both had plenty of experience with sick kids before. They weren’t in any danger,” he said defensively.

“I know that. Thanks for taking care of them.”

“Part of the job,” he said with a shrug. “You want to tell me how the meeting went?”

“I really want to check on the girls first.”

He nodded. “Of course you do. You need anything, holler.”

Inside, she was on her way upstairs when she met her grandmother coming down. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with all this. If I’d had any idea they’d even been exposed to measles, I wouldn’t have brought them down here to visit.”

“Pretty hard to keep children from getting sick when they’re around other kids. Tricky with two of them, especially. It’s a good thing your father was here. Did you see him?”

“He’s on the porch. I think seeing them sick rattled him more than he wants to let on.”

“No one wants to see someone they love in pain,” Gram said. “Your father’s no tougher than the rest of us on that score.”

“Well, as soon as I’ve looked in on the girls, I’ll come down and make you both some lunch or some tea, whatever you want.”

Upstairs, she changed quickly into shorts and a blouse, then slipped into Connor’s old room and noted the pile of dirty sheets beside the door. She’d take those downstairs with her and get them into the washer. Kneeling between the twin beds, she was able to put a hand on each girl’s forehead. They were feverish, but not burning up. For the moment, they seemed to be resting comfortably, oblivious to the itching that was bound to set in soon given the spreading rash on their skin.

“Love you, babies,” she whispered, then rose and picked up the sheets and took them down to the laundry room off the kitchen. Gram was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, Mick across from her with a beer.

“They okay?” her father asked, his gaze filled with real concern.

“Sound asleep,” she said. “How about lunch? Have either of you eaten?”

“I could eat a sandwich,” Mick replied. “Ma, what about you?”

“Maybe some of that potato soup I made yesterday,” she said. She started to stand up.

“Sit,” Abby ordered. “I can fix a sandwich and warm up some soup. Dad, you want soup, too?”

“Sounds good. What about you?”

“Jess and I ate a late breakfast at Sally’s after our meeting at the bank,” she said, deliberately keeping her back to them as she prepared the meal. She was hoping that would discourage more questions, but of course, it didn’t.

Once she’d served them, she sat at the table with her own cup of tea. “Okay, here’s where things stand,” she said, summarizing what had happened at the meeting.

Mick looked increasingly agitated. When she finished, he was on his feet and reaching for the phone. “I’ll put an end to this right now.”

Abby grabbed the phone from him. “No, Dad, leave it alone. Trace will get the bank to back off. They won’t foreclose.”

“And you’re willing to stick around here the way he wants you to?” he demanded.

“I’ll call my boss and work something out. A lot of what I do can be handled online and by phone or fax. Once Trace has had time to think about it, he’ll see how absurd he’s being.”

“Not if it’s his way of keeping you underfoot,” Gram said, her expression knowing.

“What are you talking about?” Mick asked.

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes, Mick, Trace always did have a soft spot for Abby. Surely you remember the way he was always hanging around here? It wasn’t just to play catch with Kevin and Connor, I can tell you that.” Her gaze met Abby’s. “Maybe his feelings for you ran deeper than you ever said, am I right? I always had the feeling something happened between the two of you before you took off for New York.”

Mick looked confused. “So what then? He’s blackmailing her into staying here?”

“Don’t make it sound ugly, Mick,” Gram chastised. “Men in love will do a lot of crazy things to get their way.”

“Trace is not in love with me,” Abby protested. “Come on, Gram, we’re focusing on the wrong thing here. All that matters is helping Jess keep the inn.”

Now it was Mick’s turn to give her a considering look. “If that’s the only thing that matters, then why not let me call Lawrence Riley? Is it because you’re happy with this turn of events?”

Abby frowned. “Of course I’m not happy with it, but I can handle it. I can handle Trace.”

“Doesn’t look that way from where I’m sitting,” Gram said, though she seemed surprisingly pleased about it. “If you handled that man all that well, he wouldn’t still be carrying a torch for you ten years later.”

“Will you stop it?” Abby pleaded. “I’m going upstairs to check on the girls. Then I’m going to call the office and tell them I’ll need to work from here for a few more days until I can get all this sorted out.”

She hadn’t gone far when she heard her father say, “Abby and Trace Riley? Why didn’t I know about that?”

“Because you weren’t around,” Gram replied. “And you never listened to half of what I told you, especially if it concerned your daughters’ love lives. If it had been up to you, none of them would have gone on a date before they hit thirty.”

“You say that as if it would have been a bad thing,” he grumbled.

Abby sighed. At least her father wasn’t trying to interfere in Jess’s business for the moment. Apparently he’d suddenly discovered that her life was a lot more fascinating. Unfortunately, who knew where that could lead? To nothing good, that’s for sure. The only thing worse than having a disengaged father was having one who meddled.

5

Mick stood up from the kitchen table, his mind made up. He couldn’t sit on the sidelines and let Trace Riley manipulate things in a way that was bound to cause problems between his daughters. He didn’t care what Abby said about it.

“Where are you going?” his mother asked suspiciously.

“Thought I’d take a drive,” he said evasively.

“Into town?”

“Possibly. Is that a crime?”

“It is if you’re thinking of stopping at the bank. You heard Abby. She’ll work this out.”

He regarded her with frustration. “Ma, how can I let Trace Riley get away with this? You know how it’s going to end. Jess will wind up resenting Abby the same way she’d resent me for interfering. I’m used to it. I can live with Jess’s anger and with Abby’s, for that matter, but I don’t want anything to come between those girls. Abby’s always looked after Jess, and Jess has always turned to her big sister. The bond those two share shouldn’t be risked over a couple of loans I could guarantee with the stroke of a pen.”

“Leave it alone, Mick. They’ll figure things out for themselves,” his mother said confidently. “You said it yourself, those two have always stuck together. There’s no point in making things worse between you and Jess, which is exactly what would happen if you step in and try to fix things at the bank. Abby probably wouldn’t be happy about it, either.”

“You’re asking me to sit back and do nothing,” he grumbled. “That’s not my nature.”

She gave him a chiding look. “Did I ask you to do nothing? Seems to me that a man who’s feeling restless could use a walk,” she said, her expression sly. “The inn’s only about a mile away. It wouldn’t hurt to ask your daughter to give you a tour, show you all the improvements she’s made.”

Mick considered the idea. He had to admit he was curious about the work Jess was doing. Finally, though, he shook his head. “She’ll just think I’m over there spying on her.”

“Or maybe she’ll think you’re taking an interest in something that really matters to her. Just keep your opinions to yourself unless she asks for them.” When he was about to reply, she held up a hand. “I know that goes against your nature, too, but for once just listen to me and follow my advice. I didn’t spend twenty-five years married to the world’s most stubborn man and raise three impossible boys without learning a thing or two about biding my time.”

“Take a walk. Tour the inn. Keep my mouth shut,” he mimicked. “Do I have that right?”

She gave him a satisfied smile. “I think that sums it up. I’m going up to take a nap. I hate to admit it, but taking care of those girls this morning just about wore me out.”

Mick regarded her with concern. “Are you okay? Should I call your doctor?”

“Heavens, no. I’m just a little tired. Spend the afternoon with Jess. That’s where you’re needed.”

“Okay, then,” he said, bending down to press a kiss to her brow. “If you need anything, or the girls do, I’ll have my cell phone with me.”

“We’ll be fine. Just focus on mending fences with Jess.”

There was a breeze blowing in off the bay as he set out on his walk. It kept the air cool, despite the warmth of the sun. Since it was a weekday there were only a handful of pleasure boats bobbing on the water. He spotted a couple of watermen checking their crab pots for needed repairs, but most of them had returned to dock by this time of the day, especially this early in the season. In another few weeks, they’d be out before dawn, chugging along, trying to make a living from the dwindling supply of crabs, croakers and rockfish in these beautiful but increasingly polluted waters.

It made him sick the way people took the bay for granted. Thank God for people like his brother Thomas. They might have mixed like oil and water when they’d tried to work together, but Mick admired the way Tom fought for the environment, trying to protect the bay’s natural resources. Mick had tried to build Chesapeake Shores responsibly, but even with all of his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to meet his brother’s high standards. And neither of them had been much good at compromise, though eventually they’d hammered out a plan they could both live with.

He’d left more open spaces than he’d initially planned, steered well away from the wetlands and tried not to remove any trees that didn’t absolutely have to go. He’d landscaped with plants from a very specific list his brother had compiled for him. If Tom had had his way, not a single tree would have been felled and the dilapidated general store once owned by some O’Brien ancestor or another would have become the centerpiece of downtown. Mick had agreed to renovate the family’s original farmhouse and to save an old structure that had doubled as a school and church, but that’s where he’d drawn the line.

He was still thinking of the lively shouting matches they’d had over all that when he rounded the final curve in the road and saw the inn for the first time since Jess had bought it. He was taken aback by how good it looked. She’d brought back its inviting facade, almost as if she remembered how welcoming it had originally looked when he and Jeff had first built it. But Jess had only been a baby back then. How had she remembered it so clearly? The Pattersons certainly hadn’t kept it looking like that in years. The yard was shaded by ancient oaks, and there were even a few weeping willows far enough from the house that they wouldn’t mess with the water pipes. The inn had gotten its name from a lone eagle that his brother had spotted during construction. Since then, there were more in the region, including a pair that took up residence in the highest branches overlooking the bay and the inn.

“Dad!”

He heard the surprise in Jess’s voice, then spotted her sitting on the porch with a glass of iced tea, her bare feet propped up on the railing. “Hey, Jess,” he greeted her, trying to keep his tone casual. “I was out for a walk after lunch and found myself heading in this direction.”

“Why?” she asked, radiating suspicion.

“I just wanted to see what you’ve done with the place,” he admitted, sitting down next to her. He glanced sideways, saw the tension in her shoulders and inquired, “Any more of that tea?”

She hesitated, looking as if she weren’t all that happy about the prospect of spending time with him. Then she stood, ingrained hospitality winning out over her reservations. “Sure. I’ll be right back with some.”

Mick sighed after she’d gone. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him, he concluded. Then, again, why should she? Ma was right about one thing. He’d always criticized her. Early on, he’d excused it, thinking he’d been as tough on all his kids. But then, when they’d found out that Jess had a relatively mild case of ADD, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from continuing with the same pattern, as if he’d thought she could change her behavior if she wanted to badly enough, even without the medication that doctors thought she probably didn’t need. Mick sighed, wondering if they shouldn’t have revisited that. Maybe she had needed it.

Because he’d recognized that his attitude wasn’t helping, he’d always assumed she was probably happier when he was away, but maybe that hadn’t been true. Maybe she’d felt abandoned, just as his mother had suggested. He vowed to try a different approach.

When Jess returned with his glass of tea, he lifted it in a toast. “Congratulations, Jess! You’ve done a fine job here. It hasn’t looked this good since the day Jeff and I sold it to the Pattersons.”

“They really did let it fall apart,” she said. “But thanks to you, it had good bones. Most of what I’ve had to do is cosmetic.”

“I’d like to see what you’ve done inside, if you have time to show me around.”

She looked surprised by that. “Really?”

“Why not? I’m here. Unless you don’t have time.”

“No, come on,” she said, though she seemed to be struggling to balance her eagerness to show off what she’d accomplished with her fear of his reaction. “I can at least take time for the fifty-cent tour.”

Mick followed her inside, reminding himself to keep all of his comments positive and superficial, no matter how badly he wanted to give advice. By the time they’d reached the third floor, though, he realized that his mental warning had been unnecessary. She was doing a great job without any input from him. She had her uncle Jeff’s intuitive sense of style. Mick could design a structure that would last, a development that could become a community, but it was Jeff who’d given each home its individual character.

“I’m impressed,” he said when they’d toured all of the rooms, including the kitchen where every stainless-steel surface gleamed. The old appliances looked a little time-worn by contrast. “You really do have a knack for this, Jess.”

To his surprise, she blinked back tears. “Thanks,” she murmured, then turned away, busying herself by pouring more tea.

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m really proud of you.”

She turned slowly, her eyes welling up with tears. “You’ve never, ever said that to me before.”

“Of course—”

Her jaw set stubbornly. “No, Dad, you haven’t.”

“Then I’m sorry. This is certainly not the first time it’s been true.”

The smile that broke slowly across her face made his heart ache. How had he not seen how much she needed a simple thing like him voicing his approval? He vowed to be more generous with his praise. Right now, though, he had another issue that needed to be dealt with, and he was wise enough to know he had to tread cautiously, even if that wasn’t his usual blunt style. Still, he hesitated about bringing up the meeting at the bank and ruining this moment of hard-earned peace with his youngest child.

In the end, because the outcome of that meeting still stuck in his craw, he couldn’t stop himself. “Jess, how do you feel about what happened at the bank?”

She frowned and backed away, ending their rapport and literally putting distance back between them. “I’m not happy about it, but I guess I see Trace’s point. Abby’s better at finances than I am, and it’s not like she’s going to take the inn away from me. She’ll just stay involved until I’m on a solid financial footing.” She met his gaze, worry in her eyes. “Why? Did she say something? She’s not going to back out, is she?”

“No, she’s determined to see this through. I just wanted to be sure it wasn’t going to cause problems between you, because I could call Lawrence Riley and put an end to Trace’s plan.”

“How?”

“I’ll cosign your notes.”

“Absolutely not,” she said at once. “I don’t want you to bail me out.”

“It wouldn’t be a bailout. It would just make me your backup, so your sister could get back to her life. It’s my signature on a few papers. That’s it.”

She gave him a wry look. “That wouldn’t be it, Dad, and you know it. You’d think your signature entitled you to make a few suggestions and the next thing you know you’d be running things.”

“I won’t even be around,” he protested. “I’ll be heading back to California in a few more days. Come on, Jess. Let me do this for you.”

“Why are you pushing so hard for this?”

“Because you’re my daughter. I want to help out with something that matters to you. You’ve finally found the one thing you really seem to care about. I don’t want that taken away from you.”

“Abby will see to that, Dad. She’s always been there for me. And having her here again, that’ll be great for both of us. Maybe she’ll actually learn how to relax. And it’s going to be wonderful for Caitlyn and Carrie, too. This will be a win-win, Dad. I’m sure of it.”

He sighed. “I hope so.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer. I really do, but it’s better this way. Abby won’t boss me around.”

Mick gave her a disbelieving look. “Have you met your sister? She grew up bossing people around.”

Jess laughed. “True, but she doesn’t scare me.”

“And I do?”

“More than you know,” she admitted.

That was another thing he’d have to live with and figure out how to change.

“Okay, then, I’ll back off,” he said, brushing a strand of hair back from her cheek. “But if things get tense between you two, remember that the offer’s on the table. I don’t want anything to come between you and Abby, okay? Promise me you’ll call me if you think that could happen.”

“I will,” she said. “I’m glad you came by.”

“Me, too. Is there anything else I can do for you? I’m still halfway decent with a paintbrush. I could help with the last of those rooms upstairs.”

He saw her struggling with herself. She was too bloody stubborn to admit she could use any help at all, even from him. Maybe especially from him. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Never mind. I know you want to do every single thing yourself. But that offer’s on the table, too, if you change your mind.”

“Thanks for understanding, Dad.” To his surprise, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Love you.”

“Right back at you,” he said. “You coming over for dinner tonight?”

“I might.”

“I should warn you that Caitlyn and Carrie have the measles.”

“Oh, my gosh, Abby must be beside herself.”

“She has Gram and me for backup.”

“Then you all have more than enough to do. I’ll skip dinner, but call me if any of you need anything.”

“Right,” he said. He was halfway down the walk when he called back, “By the way, I noticed that rhododendron in back of the porch could use trimming.”

To his surprise, Jess laughed. “I knew it. I knew you couldn’t get away from here without finding at least one thing to criticize.”

He silently cursed himself for speaking up. He tried to brush off the comment. “Hey, it’s only a bush. No big deal.”

Jess shook her head, her lips still twitching with amusement. “If you want to, bring your clippers over tomorrow and trim it yourself.”

It was part invitation, part challenge, but Mick felt as if his daughter had just opened the door a tiny crack to a real relationship. Now he just had to wiggle through without causing a ruckus that would send them back to square one.

Trace was feeling very pleased with himself over his strategy to keep Abby around where he could get to know her again. He had no idea what was going on in her life these days, but he’d noted the lack of a ring on her left hand about two seconds after he’d realized she was the woman in his office. Years ago he’d seen her with another man, seen an engagement ring on her finger, in fact, but that ring had been nowhere in sight yesterday. He had no idea why this mattered so much to him, but it did. Maybe he just wanted a chance to even the score, to get her all tied up in knots so he could abandon her the way she’d walked out on him. The prospect of payback did have a certain sweetness to it.

Then again, if he’d learned nothing else in that meeting, he’d discovered that she was a woman who could hold her own. She’d come in there prepared for battle and she’d handed over a sound financial proposal to back up her position. He wondered if Jess had any idea how lucky she was to have someone with that much business savvy in her corner.

Convincing the board to hold off on the foreclosure and to give the new management a chance to get the inn on solid ground had been relatively easy. Not that he intended to let Abby know that. He wanted her to be grateful that he’d fought the good fight on her sister’s behalf.

He walked into the Chesapeake Shores Yacht Club promptly at twelve-fifteen, expecting to find Abby waiting for him. He’d deliberately chosen the yacht club where they’d be seen by the town’s movers and shakers. Abby had always hated its pretentious atmosphere, which meant he’d have the upper hand.

A scan of the dining room showed she was nowhere in sight. Had she bailed on him, after all? The possibility rankled.

“Hey, Liz,” he greeted the hostess, who’d been in his high school class. “Any sign of Abby O’Brien?”

“It’s Abby Winters now,” she corrected him. “She called and said she was running late. Something about the twins getting sick. She’ll be here as soon as she can get here. She said to call her if you don’t feel like waiting.”

Trace winced at the mention of a married name and nearly groaned at the mention of twins. Maybe he’d gotten it all wrong after all. Maybe Abby wasn’t available. Maybe that was why she was so anxious to get back to New York. If so, he’d just gone out on a limb for nothing. Well, not for nothing. The inn did deserve a chance to make it, but he couldn’t deny that he’d had his own agenda.

He took the slip of paper that Liz held out with Abby’s number written on it. After dialing, he jotted down a takeout order for Liz as he waited for Abby to pick up. “Ask the kitchen to put a rush on this, would you?” he asked Liz, just as Abby finally answered. She sounded completely frazzled.

“Good, you’re still there,” he said, then announced, “I’ve ordered takeout. I’m on my way over.”

“Bad idea, Trace,” she protested. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Which means I can just as easily be there in twenty minutes,” he reminded her.

“But it’s a little chaotic over here.”

“Then you need to stay put,” he said. “I’ve ordered the food. It’ll be ready in a few minutes and I’ll head on over. Tell your grandmother not to fix lunch. There’s plenty for her, too.”

“Why are you being so nice?”

“Because I’m a nice guy.”

“A nice guy wouldn’t be blackmailing me into staying in Chesapeake Shores.”

“I prefer to see it as protecting the bank’s investment,” he countered. “See you soon.”

Actually he was delighted by this turn of events. Ever since he’d seen Abby again, he’d wanted to check out the lay of the land, so to speak. What better way than to survey it for himself?

The last person Trace expected to find waiting for him when he reached Abby’s was her father. Mick was sitting on the top step, his expression forbidding, his seemingly deliberate positioning on that step pretty much blocking Trace’s path.

“Heard you were coming over,” Mick said, his tone not the least bit welcoming.

Trace held up the takeout bags. “I have a meeting with Abby. I brought lunch.”

Mick patted the step beside him. “Maybe you should sit down so you and I can have a talk before you get together with Abby.”

Just as Mick uttered the words, the screen door banged open. “Trace, you’re here!” Abby said with forced gaiety. “Come on inside.”

Mick scowled. “Trace and I were about to have a chat.”

Abby scowled at her father. “It can wait,” she said firmly.

Trace watched with interest, wondering how the test of wills would play out. To his amusement, it was Mick who finally backed down. He stood up and moved out of the way.

“Guess I’ll go over to the inn and deal with that overgrown rhododendron,” he muttered, picking up a pair of hedge clippers.

Abby faltered. “Does Jess know you’re coming?”

“It was her idea,” Mick assured her.

“Then it sounds like a great idea,” Abby enthused.

After watching Mick amble away, Trace turned to Abby. “Why do I have the feeling that you just saved me?”

“Because I did. He’s not happy about this little scheme of yours.”

“It’s not a scheme. It makes perfect financial sense,” he reiterated.

“Blah-blah-blah,” she said. “We both know otherwise.”

Trace met her gaze and held it. “Do you really think I’d use Jess’s loan as a way to, what, get even with you? I thought we’d settled that the other day.”

“Not to my satisfaction,” she told him. “From what I hear, you’re trapped here for at least six months. Why not make my life miserable by trapping me here, too?”

“I’m not trapped. I made a deal with my father. This is a six-month trial run. Of course, I know the outcome will mean I leave and Laila will get the job she should have had all along, but my father’s optimistic things will work out differently.”

“Would you be here working at the bank if your dad hadn’t forced you into it?”

“He didn’t force me into it,” Trace said. “I agreed mostly to prove a point.”

“What point?”

“That my sister should be the one working there.”

She smiled. “By doing what? Failing miserably?”

“Not miserably,” he said. “Just look at the deal I struck with you. I’d say I proved myself with that.”

“We’re not going to agree on what’s going on here, are we?”

He shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Then let’s have lunch. Gram’s set the dining room table. She seems to think this meeting requires more formality, being strictly business and all.”

Trace chuckled. “Is she as ticked at me as your dad is?”

“Pretty much.”

“Then this should be fun,” Trace said, holding the door, then following her inside.

To Abby’s regret, Gram was nowhere in sight when they reached the dining room, and the table had only been set for two. Trace grinned when he saw it.

“Now, isn’t this an interesting turn of events?” he murmured. “Could it be that your grandmother’s matchmaking?”

“Absolutely not!” Abby said fiercely.

“Because you’re married? At least I assume with kids, there must be a husband in the picture.”

“There was,” she admitted, regretting the divorce for a fleeting moment, if only because she sensed the existence of a husband would get that wicked gleam out of Trace’s eyes.

“Separated? Divorced?” he asked, as he removed containers of chopped salad from the bags he’d brought. Without asking, he went about dishing the salad onto the formal, gold-trimmed china Gram had put on the table.

“Divorced,” she said, gritting her teeth against the personal turn the conversation was taking. “Look, we’re here to discuss the inn, not my life.”

“Just catching up,” he said, as he reached into a second bag and removed a container of what appeared to be the yacht club’s decadent chocolate mousse, one of Abby’s all-time favorite desserts. Sometimes that mousse had been the only way Trace or her family could lure her into that stuffy atmosphere. They’d even ladled an extra dollop of whipped cream onto the top, just the way she liked it.

She frowned as he set it in front of her place. How had he remembered that? And why had he bothered? Was this just another way to get to her, to throw her off-kilter right before he hit her with some other blow she wasn’t expecting?

She waited warily until he sat down, then asked, “What’s going on here, Trace?”

He regarded her innocently. “We were supposed to meet over lunch. I brought lunch. I don’t see anything sinister in that. In fact, I thought I was being downright considerate given that your kids are sick. Twins, right? I think that’s what Liz said.”

“Carrie and Caitlyn,” she said tightly, still not entirely trusting all this thoughtfulness. “They came down with the measles yesterday. In fact, they should be waking up soon from their naps, so we need to get our business out of the way. Did the board meet?”

“They did.”

“Don’t make me drag this out of you. Just tell me what they decided.”

“Everything remains in place, as long as you’re on board.”

Abby wasn’t sure why she’d been hoping for a reprieve. Maybe she’d thought that collectively the board might see through Trace’s scheme and overrule him. Obviously she hadn’t taken into account his persuasiveness or his determination.

Swallowing her desire to start another argument she wouldn’t win, she leveled a look at him. “How do you see this working? I do have a career, Trace, and it’s in New York. I can easily oversee all the expenditures from there, stay on top of payments and so on.”

He shook his head. “Not good enough. Come on, Abby, you know Jess. The second your back is turned, she’ll go right back to her impulsive spending, and you’ll be scrambling to cover for her.”

She regarded him earnestly. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. You have my word on it.”

“Not good enough.”

She bristled at that. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve had some experience with how unreliable your word is, remember?”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s another situation entirely. And besides, I never gave you my word about anything ten years ago.”

“You told me you loved me. I took you seriously.”

“I did love you,” she said, frustrated by his determination to use old news to manipulate the present.

“And yet you vanished without so much as a goodbye, much less an explanation. I’m not taking any chances on that happening again, not until the bank feels comfortable that these loans are protected.”

“You mean until you feel comfortable,” she said. “It has nothing to do with what anyone at the bank needs. There’s plenty of cash in the inn’s account to cover expenses, and you know it. This is payback, pure and simple, Trace, and I resent it. You’re taking out our drama, if you want to call it that, on my sister. You know perfectly well she’ll pay back every penny of those loans. So does the bank. This is about you and me.”

“Is it really?” he said, his expression innocent.

“I had no idea you could be so vindictive and hateful.”

“Which just goes to prove that we never really knew each other at all, because I didn’t have any idea you were capable of being cruel and a coward.”

His words cut right through her. She knew she deserved them, because that was exactly what she had been, cruel and cowardly. That didn’t make it any easier to hear them or to have them coming back to haunt her all these years later.

She regarded him with bewilderment. “If you think so little of me, why on earth do you want me around here now?”

“Because you were always the most intriguing, infuriating person in Chesapeake Shores,” he said. “I figure your presence will keep the next few months from being boring.”

“So, what—I’m the mouse and you’re the big bad cat who gets to toy with me just for entertainment?”

“Something like that.”

She stood up, shaking with indignation. “You’re despicable,” she said, grabbing the crystal pitcher filled with ice water.

His gaze narrowed. “You really don’t want to do that,” he warned.

“Oh, but I do,” she countered, dumping the contents over his head. She gave him a considering look as he sat there drenched, his expression startled. Then she smiled in satisfaction. “Yep, that was exactly what I wanted to do.”

Then she whirled around and went upstairs to check on the girls. Pleased with her little demonstration of temper, she was taken aback when she heard his laughter echoing after her.

She met Gram in the hallway.

“What’s going on?” her grandmother asked.

“I just dumped a pitcher of water over Trace’s head.”

Her grandmother’s eyes twinkled, but she fought to contain a grin. “Was that wise?”

Abby sighed. “Probably not, but it felt darn good.”

Thinking of how she—and perhaps even Jess—were likely to pay for it, though, made her just the tiniest bit nervous.

6

Making himself at home, Trace wandered into the kitchen, found a dishtowel to mop up his face and sop some of the water from his shirt, then took another towel into the dining room to clean up the mess there. He regarded the dish of chocolate mousse with regret. It hadn’t exactly turned out to be the peace offering he’d intended it to be.

“Chocolate mousse? Abby’s favorite,” Nell O’Brien noted as she walked into the dining room and spotted it in his hand. “Nice touch, though I imagine suggesting the yacht club for your meeting was your idea of a power play. You know perfectly well she hates that place.”

He winced at the accuracy of her comment. “None of it worked out quite the way I’d planned,” he commented wryly.

“I don’t suppose she poured that pitcher of water over your head because you brought her dessert,” she said.

“No, I believe it had more to do with a few unflattering things I said to her.”

She shook her head. “You two act like you’re six and still on the playground. Go in the kitchen and take off your shirt. I’ll throw it into the dryer, and then maybe I’ll give you a few tips on handling my granddaughter.”

Trace frowned at her, not entirely trusting the seemingly magnanimous offer. Nell hadn’t been one of his biggest fans ten years ago. He couldn’t imagine why that would suddenly change.

“Why would you do that?” he asked.

“Because it’s obvious to me that the two of you will manage to mess it up for a second time, if you’re left to your own devices,” she said with more than a touch of impatience. “And I’d like to see my granddaughter happy.”

“What is it you think we’re going to mess up?” Trace asked, though he knew she wasn’t talking about their new and mostly awkward business relationship.

She merely rolled her eyes, as if she found the question ridiculous, the answer obvious. “Go,” she ordered.

Trace left, stripping off his shirt as he went. Nell carried in a tray filled with the remains of their aborted lunch and set it on the counter, then took the shirt from him and tossed it into the dryer.

“Shall we have a cup of tea while we wait?” she asked, not waiting for his reply as she put cups on the table and started pouring.

Trace was smart enough not to object to the ritual. He’d learned years ago that Abby’s grandmother marched to her own drummer and it was best to go along. Those who didn’t want to do that at least had the good sense to stay out of her way.

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