Redemption at Mirabelle

Not your concern any longer, Mar.

She snuggled under the covers, closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Instantly, the memory of how Adam Harding had looked in the moonlight last night flashed through her mind and her body came fully awake. Had she really been so frank with him as to suggest he was in denial? Yes, but then hadn’t he suggested she was nothing more than a drama queen? The man had balls, she’d give him that. After shifting from one side to the other, flopping onto her back and then onto her stomach, she realized more sleep was simply not on her horizon.

She hopped out of bed and grabbed her cell phone to find Colin had already called twice this morning. Too bad. After shutting off her phone, she went downstairs to find her mother already up and sipping a cup of coffee in the kitchen, the patio door open to the sounds of chirping birds. “Morning, Mom.”

“Good morning.” She glanced at Marin. “Sleep well?”

“Actually, very.” Marin poured herself a cup of coffee and noticed the sun rising over Lake Superior. A thin strip of hazy clouds obstructed an otherwise clear sky and in the distance she could just make out the shape of some kind of huge cargo ship heading, no doubt, to the port of Duluth.

“Isn’t the view stunning?” her mother murmured.

“Yeah.” Marin took a sip of coffee. Curious about those unemployment figures, she reached to turn on the small TV on the kitchen counter.

“Don’t you dare turn that on.”

“Why not?”

“The last thing I want to hear over the sweet chirping of chickadees and cardinals is the drone of CNBC.” Marin laughed.

“Sit down and relax.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Marin—”

“I’m going to work out.” Figuring there wasn’t a gym on Mirabelle, she put on her running gear. A glass of water and a yogurt later and she was outside stretching in preparation for a run. It was a gorgeous morning. Crisp, cool and she simply could not get over how clean the air smelled. She was bent down touching the sidewalk with her fingertips when the front door of the Harding house opened and Adam came outside.

Dressed in khakis and striped polo shirt, he looked cool and composed. Except for the fact that his still damp hair hung haphazardly over his forehead. “Morning,” he said, a travel mug in one hand and a roll of what looked like some kind of building designs under his arm.

“Hi.”

“You run every day?”

“No, I have an elliptical at home and a gym membership. Running’s my stopgap.”

He smiled and headed toward the street. “Do a few sit-ups for me, okay?”

From what she could tell, the man got enough of a work-out on the job. Sit-ups didn’t appear to be the least bit necessary. “Will do,” she said, in any case, as she headed toward the street. “Who’s taking care of your kids?”

“My assistant, Phyllis. For now, anyway.” He hit the boardwalk at about the same time as did she. “Hey, and about last night,” he said. “Sorry about what I said. I had no right to make light of what you’re going through.”

“No worries. Besides, I’m the one who should apologize. I was pretty blunt back at you.”

“You live your life. I’ll live mine.” His cell phone rang. “I have to answer this. Have a good run.” Without taking his eyes off her, he answered the call.

As she took off down the canopied residential street, a breeze came toward her bringing along with it the scent of a man’s spicy aftershave. Damn, but that man smelled good. Was it wrong for her to want to turn around and bury her face in his neck? She almost stopped and turned, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he just might still be watching her.

“WHY HAVEN’T YOU STARTED doing anything yet?”

“Where are all these crews you promised us?”

“Start construction already, would ya?”

Adam sat at a table at the front of a large room in the community center, letting the islanders spill their guts for several long and drawn-out minutes. Several members of Mirabelle’s city council were sitting alongside him, trying to keep the audience calm. On Adam’s right were Carl Andersen, mayor and owner of the Rock Pointe Lodge, the largest resort on the island, and Garrett Taylor, the island police chief. Sarah Taylor, Garrett’s sister-in-law and island wedding planner, and Marty Rousseau, manager of the Mirabelle Island Inn, were off to the left.

Carl, Marty and, to a lesser degree, Sarah, had been on board with Adam and his company from the initial phone call Carl had put in to Adam’s company asking for a bid. Garrett, on the other hand, was still skeptical about working with one general contractor.

While Adam would’ve preferred not holding these meetings at all, he’d learned the hard way over the years that he could either face everyone at once at a time of his own choosing, or he could deal with them one at a time over the phone. Day in and day out.

Questions came at Adam like rifle fire, but he was used to this kind of reaction, at least initially. It had been the same in each and every community he’d rebuilt, especially at the beginning of every job. Everyone in this filled-to-capacity room was worried. Everyone was impatient. Everyone wanted his or her house repaired, street fixed or business up and running first. They wanted their lives back as quickly as possible and it was hard to fault any of them for being human.

“All right. All right.” Adam finally stood and held up both hands. He connected eye-to-eye with as many individuals in the room as possible. His gaze caught with Missy Abel’s and he found himself unaccountably searching for her sister, Marin. As he recalled her fresh, energetic appearance in running gear at the start of this very long and drawn out day, he forgot what he’d been saying, and everyone in the room stared at him expectantly.

Oh, right. Questions.

“One person at a time, so I can hear you,” he continued. “I will answer questions until every person in this room is completely satisfied. I promise.”

Hands flew into the air.

Adam made it a point to memorize as many names as he could prior to starting every job. If there was one thing that helped people in these situations feel better, it was being treated like a person as opposed to a number. He pointed first at an older man in the front row who owned buildings on Main Street that had gotten hit head-on in the storm. “Ron Setterberg, correct?”

The man nodded. “How long before you’ll know if my buildings are structurally sound?”

Adam felt Garrett glance sideways at him. The worse the structural damage, the longer repairs would take, and Ron’s buildings had suffered some of the heaviest damage from the storm. Garrett’s wife, Erica, owned Duffy’s Pub, the most popular bar and restaurant on the island which also happened to have been located in the hardest hit of Ron’s buildings.

“I have a crew of experts making assessments as we speak,” Adam said. “They have assured me they will have their findings on every single building impacted by the tornado ready for me by the end of the week—”

“But what’s your gut feel?” Garrett blurted out.

Adam turned to the man sitting next to him. “I’m sorry, Chief Taylor, but I don’t guess when it comes to ensuring people’s safety. I deal strictly with facts. By the time we’re finished here, I will personally guarantee you that every building will be one hundred percent safe to be open for business.”

Adam held Garrett’s gaze. He’d never been stared down by a police chief, and Garrett Taylor was one intimidating man.

“How will you communicate these findings?” Ron asked.

He caught Missy’s gaze again. Marin apparently wasn’t here. He took a deep breath and continued. “My admin team has already set up a Mirabelle website which is noted in the pamphlet of information you were given when you walked into the room. This site will be updated at the end of every day with any notices or changes in project status. The experts’ findings will be posted on this website as soon as we have them.”

He’d learned the hard way on his first job that a website was the only way to minimize the chances of getting woken up at ungodly hours with anxious phone calls. So he’d hired a communications specialist to update the website and field calls who was based at the home office outside of St. Louis, along with his accounting staff.

“You can call me directly, if you prefer,” Adam went on. “But you’ll likely get my voice mail given the amount of time I spend on the jobsite. I do return every single call, but it might take a few days. You’re more likely to get the information you need in the timeliest manner from the website. The website knows what I know.”

Ron nodded, as did several others in the audience.

Adam pointed to a middle-aged woman in the third row looking as if she was going to bite his head off. Another thing he’d learned? It didn’t do any good to try and stall the disgruntled. “Delores, you have a question?”

“I own the—”

“Bayside Café with the reputation for the best cheeseburgers in Wisconsin,” he said giving her a slight smile. “Yes, Mrs. Kowalski, I know.”

With that acknowledgment, a little of the heat had gone out of her gaze. “Well, I’m losing more than just tourist business right now. I’m missing local business and I could be servicing your construction crews, as well. Why can’t the Bayside get repaired right away? We didn’t have that much damage.”

“That’s a good point. Your café is scheduled to be one of the first businesses completely up and running. I guarantee that.” But it still wouldn’t happen fast enough for her. Nothing ever happened fast enough for people whose livelihood had been destroyed. “The priorities as stated in our bid will be…first businesses crucial to the day to day lives of the island residents. The businesses that are geared toward tourism will be lower priorities given this is the off-season—”

“But what about our fall Apple Festival?” someone called out from the audience. “That’s a big weekend.”

“And the snowmobilers?”

“Not to mention the skiers and snowshoers?”

Heads bobbed up and down in agreement, and Adam could’ve sworn he heard Garrett growl beside him.

“I understand everyone’s concerns.” He looked around the room. “Believe it or not, I’ve studied your hotel occupancy reports. I know which weekends are the busiest. My crews and I will do our best to have as many businesses up and running by the Apple Festival, but our agreement for full functionality was Christmas.”

That met with murmurs of disgruntled acceptance.

“Remember, folks, our biggest enemy in this process is going to be the weather,” he said, glancing out over the entire group. “Our goal is to repair all exterior structural damage, such as roofs, windows and doors, and outside walls well before the first snowfall. Then we can concentrate on interior repair.”

He pointed to an older woman in the front row. Mrs. Miller. Before she opened her mouth, based on her pursed lips and superior air, he would’ve put money on her being a bad apple in the group.

“You’ve been here more than a week, and it looks to me as though nothing is getting done. I could probably fix my ice cream shop faster myself.”

He was tempted to tell her to go ahead and try and he’d have one less thing to worry about, but that wouldn’t solve anything. “Well, Mrs. Miller, it looks as though things are moving slowly because, quite frankly, they are. For now. We’re still organizing things, making assessments, and getting supplies ordered and delivered. When my core construction workers are operating at full steam, things will come together pretty fast. If you still have a complaint two to three weeks from now, you let me know.”

And she would. He had no doubt about that.

He answered dozens of questions before the group seemed to start running out of steam. Several people had already left or were standing up to leave.

“One more thing,” said Missy Abel. “What can we do to help?”

Adam smiled at Marin’s sister. Already, he liked some of these islanders much more than others, but unfortunately, Missy’s store, Whimsy, wasn’t going to be one of the first businesses back up and running. “The most important thing you can all do is to be patient. The less time I have to spend making you all happy, the more time I have for making your community whole again. If you happen to have construction experience, that’s a different story.

“I’ll hire anyone who knows what he’s doing. Understand that you will be working for me. Taking orders from my foremen. If you can work toward a common goal rather than setting your own agenda please see me after this meeting.”

More people left. “I want you all to know that I will have Mirabelle one hundred percent open for business by Christmas. We’ll have to put a few finishing touches on in the spring, but she’ll be better than ever by Memorial Day and the start of your tourist season. Thanks for coming.”

“That went pretty good,” Carl said.

“Yeah, not bad.” Adam gathered up his files.

“If there’s anything at all you need…”

“I’ll call.”

Carl nodded and headed toward the door while Sarah and Garrett hung back. “You got a second?” Garrett asked.

“Sure.” Adam turned and reminded himself that the intimidation radiating off this man was all because he cared deeply about this island and its residents. “What can I do for you two?”

“My brother, Jesse, is the best carpenter on the island,” Garrett said.

“Jesse’s my husband,” Sarah added. “He couldn’t be here tonight, but I know he’d want to work for you.”

“Tell him to stop by my trailer as soon as he can and we’ll figure out what crew to put him on.”

“No references, or resume?” Sarah asked.

“Nope. I don’t say this about everyone I meet, but your word’s good enough for me.” He paused and turned to Garrett. “By the way, Duffy’s was in a pretty old building. The layout of the place was a bit antiquated by today’s standards. It wouldn’t cost any more for you and Erica to sit down with an architect and tweak the designs a bit. It might even save some money.”

Garrett nodded. “That’s a damned good idea. I never did like the fact that I couldn’t see the lake from the bar.”

“There’s your silver lining.” Adam patted him on the back. With the way this project was going, he had a feeling he was going to need every friend he could get.

CHAPTER FOUR

“FREE TRADE GOODS. MADE BY women in the U.S.A.” Marin analyzed the Whimsy business files on Missy’s home computer. “I hate to tell you this, sis, but you’re spending way too much for the inventory at your gift shop.”

“And I hate to tell you this,” Missy said as she continued folding laundry at her kitchen table. “But that’s exactly the point.”

Frustrated, Marin flipped through month after month of profit and loss statements. Some months, her sister was barely making any money and others she was losing her shirt. “Who does your accounting?”

“I do my monthly stuff and an accountant in Ashland does my taxes. A payroll company pays Gaia and any other summer help I need.”

“Speaking of which, you’re paying your employees too much.”

“College is expensive these days. I’m doing what I can to help my staff.”

Marin pulled up several more files on Missy’s computer and continued poring through one spreadsheet after another. Her sister was the worst businesswoman Marin had ever run across. “Your profit margins suck. In some cases, you’re actually losing money on the stuff you sell.”

Missy smiled. “I know.”

“You need to raise your prices and start buying cheaper goods from China.”

“Next thing I’ll be outsourcing everything.” Her sister laughed. “Marin, my gift shop isn’t about making money. I’m lucky enough to have a balance in my trust fund that lets me do whatever I want. And part of what I want is to give back. My gift shop helps me do that by buying goods from people all over the world who are struggling so that they can put food in their mouths. And help to support single, working moms here in the U.S. so they can feel good about getting a fresh start.”

Marin sighed. “Okay, I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Kind of.” Marin shrugged. “But I guess it’s hard to slough off the whole bottom line thing.”

“Tell me something,” Missy said, snapping out a T-shirt. “Do you really like all that business stuff? I mean really, really love it.”

“Well, I—”

“Just think about it for a minute.”

“There are parts of it I enjoy. Like the fact that it feels vital and in the moment. But I have to admit that there are days I’m not crazy about what I’m doing.”

“So do something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you take this time on Mirabelle to get all that finance mumbo jumbo out of your head so you can recharge. Get some perspective on life.”

“And how do I manage that?”

“I don’t know. Paint your nails. Daydream. Read a book.”

Snorting, Marin returned to analyzing the spreadsheets.

Missy stalked over to her then and flipped a switch on the computer, shutting it down.

“What did you do that for?”

“When’s the last time you read something other than the Wall Street Journal? Something purely for entertainment?”

“High school.”

“Then you’re long past due.” She grabbed a book down from the stack on her desk hutch and held it out toward Marin. “Here.”

The book cover depicted a bare-chested man and a woman in a flowing gown in what looked like a desperate embrace. Marin laughed out loud. “A romance? Seriously?”

“Try it. You might like it.”

“HIGHER, GAMMA!”

“Higher!”

“Okay, here we go!” Angelica announced as she pushed the two boys in their swings, one part of an elaborate backyard play system that Jonas had built.

A picture-perfect late summer day, like all the others had been since they’d arrived on Mirabelle, the sun was shining, a light breeze was blowing and the scent of petunias was in the air. Marin was bent over weeding Missy’s vegetable garden when Missy came outside with a pitcher of iced tea and several glasses. “Time for a break, Marin.”

Marin slipped off the gardening gloves she’d borrowed from Missy, sat beside her on the patio and took a long drink of cold sweet tea.

Missy sat on one of the other chairs and watched their mother with her two boys. “What do you suppose is the crux of the issue between her and Dad?”

“He’s a self-absorbed ass and she’s fed up.”

“It’s never that simple.” Missy sighed. “She’s such a good grandma.”

“Not surprising, considering how devoted she’s always been as a mother.”

Suddenly, Michael started fussing for no apparent reason. A moment later, Nate followed suit.

“Time to go read, boys.” Missy stood. “Aka, naptime,” she whispered to Marin.

Their mother lifted the boys out of their swings and walked them across the yard. “I’ll see you boys later.”

“Bye, Gamma,” they both called together. “Bye, Mairn.”

“It’s so cute the way they say your name.”

“Yeah. Cute.”

The minute the door closed, Angelica sat in the chair next to Marin and sipped her iced tea. “I love the city,” she said. “But I might be able to get used to this.”

“We’ve only been here a few days,” Marin said. “Wait a few weeks. I have a feeling you’ll be bored out of your mind.”

“Oh, I’m already a bit bored, but I’m sure I could find plenty to do here.”

“Do you mean you’re thinking of, like, living here?” Marin asked, astounded. For as long as she could remember, her parents had split their time between D.C. and Manhattan. The Camden idea of wilderness had been Cape Cod.

“Goodness, no.” Angelica shook her head. “I love being here and getting to be grandma, but I’d miss the hustle and bustle of the city too much. Some extended time over the summer, though, would be nice.”

Angelica glanced out across the yard and seemed to focus on something in the distance. “We need to meet those children,” she murmured almost to herself.

Marin followed her mother’s gaze to find Adam’s kids taking turns going down the rickety slide of a rusty old swing set while his assistant, a tall, thin woman with short salt-and-pepper hair who appeared to be in her late fifties, stood nearby talking on a cell phone. The picture had been some variation of the same theme for each of the past several days. The children entertained themselves while the woman talked on the phone or worked on her laptop.

Just then the woman started pacing. A moment later, she stopped at the picnic table where her laptop was running and lit a cigarette.

“I wonder how their mother died,” Marin’s mom said as she set down her tea.

“I should’ve asked Adam.”

Her mother raised her eyebrows. “When did you talk with him?”

“The other night when I went home early. He was sitting outside having a beer.”

“And you joined him. Hmm. He’s a handsome man.”

“Don’t even think about it, Mom. Me getting involved with any man right now is entirely out of the question. And a man with children? Never, ever gonna happen.”

The kids, bored with the slide, wandered over to a large, but sickly looking pine tree. The girl boosted her brother up to the lowest branch and slowly but surely they both climbed up the tree. Get off the phone, lady, and take care of those kids. Hell, even Marin, as inexperienced as she was around children, could tell that was an accident waiting to happen.

“Good Lord,” her mother murmured. “If they’re not careful, they’re going to break their little necks.”

They climbed higher and higher.

“That’s it,” her mother said, pushing off from her chair. “I can’t stand it.”

Oh, oh. Knowing exactly where this was going to lead, Marin followed her mother across the lawn. Angelica Camden was the sweetest person in the world until she was crossed or found a cause to support, and then the barracuda in her came out with a vengeance.

“Hello, I’m Angelica Camden,” Marin’s mother said as she approached the other woman.

Clearly surprised, the woman spun around. “I’ll have to call you right back.” She flipped her phone closed and set her cigarette in an ashtray on the picnic table. “Phyllis Pennick. Adam Harding’s personal assistant.”

“Did Mr. Harding ask you to watch his children?”

“Yes.” She didn’t look happy to be caring for two youngsters, but was entirely resigned to her fate. “Just until he can find a replacement nanny.”

“Well, in that case, I suggest you pay more attention to your charges, or there won’t be a need for a new nanny.” Angelica stalked over to the tree. “Children, why don’t you come down? You can play in the playhouse in my daughter’s yard.”

“We can?” the little girl said, her big brown eyes widening with excitement.

“Absolutely.”

“Awesome!”

“Only for a little while,” the assistant added.

The two kids scrambled down the tree, ran to Missy’s backyard, and immediately climbed the ladder into the tree house. The assistant, on the other hand, stayed in Adam’s yard, but now kept vigilant eyes on the children.

The little girl poked her head out from the window. “This is high,” she said, smiling at Marin and exposing permanent teeth that looked too big for her little face. For a kid, Marin had to admit, she was adorable. With brown hair, cut in a long bob, much like Marin’s, and brown eyes, she looked like her father.

“What’s your name?” she found herself asking.

“Julia.”

“And your brother’s name?”

“Wyatt.” He poked his head out from one of the other windows and smiled. His brown hair was cut very short, showing off cute little ears that bent a bit outward at the top like an elf. “And I like this.”

“Well, you both can come over here anytime you want,” Angelica said to them. “As long as it’s all right with your dad.”

Soon they were alternating between the slide, the fireman’s pole and the monkey bars, and Angelica was having the time of her life. “How old are you, Julia?”