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Maggie snatched up a cream-colored teacup with hand-painted leaves around the gold rim. They looked as if they were blowing in the wind—always in motion. The cup was beautiful. Ida had scoured countless resale shops and country fairs in order to find the best cups for her collection. She never settled for second-rate or mass-produced china.
Kellen appeared next to her elbow. “I haven’t put prices on anything yet, so just make an offer on whatever you see that you like and let me know.”
She spun around and was almost nose to nose with him. He had no right to smell so good. Against her better judgment she took a deep breath—fresh lemon with a slight mossy scent. Whatever cologne he wore she wanted to spritz it in her room before she climbed into her reading chair with a good book. It made her feel cozy in the same way she wanted to open her windows after a good rainstorm just to enjoy the air.
Who puts cologne on to work a garage sale?
An overmanicured man. That’s who.
Exactly the type she didn’t like to be around.
Maggie took a step back, making space. “How can you do this to Ida?”
He tilted his head. “I’m not doing anything to Ida. How can I?”
“By selling all of her stuff. You’re hurting her memory.” Maggie gestured to wave her hand over all the possessions scattered on the lawn. “You’re basically saying you didn’t care about Ida at all.”
Kellen shrugged. “For starters, I didn’t really know Ida. It’s hard to care about someone you hardly knew.”
“But that’s just it. You can know her. See?” Maggie shoved the delicate china cup into his hand. “She loved drinking her daily tea from these mismatched cups. She had a different mug she used each day of the week and special ones for her friends. The one you’re holding she used on Saturdays. It was precious to her. It should be to you, too.”
He turned the cup around and around in his hand. “I guess it’s interesting—if you can call a mug that.” Kellen set it back in a box with the rest of Ida’s china. “But I don’t drink tea and it wouldn’t hold enough coffee for my taste. My preference leans toward huge, ugly travel mugs. Anyway, I have no use for her china, so it can be sold.”
Maggie picked the mug back up. “This cup has life because Ida loved it. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Kellen’s face fell—as though he was suddenly disappointed or tired. “Things are just that—material possessions. That cup holds no more life than a mailbox. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that we should be more concerned with the time we have with the people we love than with objects that can be lost or broken or taken away at any minute. In the end, accumulating stuff doesn’t matter. At least it shouldn’t.”
He couldn’t understand. He’d never get it.
Maggie’s arms trembled as she took a deep breath, easing the rage boiling right under her skin. Besides, who did he think he was—trying to teach her some sort of spiritual lesson? She knew better than anyone that time with people was the most important thing of all.
Maggie also knew that people left without warning, both in death and because they decided Goose Harbor wasn’t exciting enough for them to stay. In the end, their belongings helped her remember them and she saw no harm in holding on to a few old possessions if they allowed her to recall a few good memories. Was that so bad?
Maggie pursed her lips. “Ida mattered. Why can’t you see that? These things are your heritage. She chose to leave you her legacy and you’re tossing it all away.”
“No.” He rested his hands on his waist and surveyed the lawn. “The money I’ll make selling all of it—that is my heritage.”
“So that’s all you care about—the bottom line?”
Kellen laughed, once, in a clipped manner. The laugh held no humor. “I care so little about money...” He looked down the road and didn’t speak for a moment. The muscle on the side of his jaw popped. “What I care about is providing a good life for my girls. That’s what I’m doing.” His vision landed back on her.
Maggie blinked back tears. “How much for the mug?”
“You can have it. No charge.”
She had to get back to the inn before she started all-out crying. He’d already judged her for being materialistic. If she stayed any longer she’d start running her hands over everything that had belonged to Ida, remembering a story that went with each item. She’d turn into a blubbering mess and he’d think she had a screw loose. No one needed that.
Maggie nodded to him. Afraid to even thank him for letting her have the mug. On her way back home she made the mistake of walking past a table full of Ida’s old books. Maggie knew many of them were first editions and worth hundreds. Kellen probably didn’t know and would give them away for a song. Maybe he deserved that. Then again, if he needed money to provide for his girls, she should tell him. She stared at the pile, biting her lip.
One book had fallen onto the dewy ground. Maggie bent to pick it up and then froze. She turned and stalked back to Kellen. “Her Bible?” Her voice rose. “You were going to sell her Bible? There is something seriously wrong with you.”
Kellen’s eyebrows formed a deep V. “Excuse me. I think you’d better—”
“If you cared about nothing in that house—” she stabbed her finger in the direction of the cottage “—if you sold every piece of it and bulldozed the entire property, you should have kept this. Out of everything, at least her Bible should have mattered.” Maggie fanned the book open. Every available space on the pages was full of handwritten notes in Ida’s shaky script. Each page was covered with pink, green and orange highlighter, and most of the text had been underlined at one point or another.
Maggie thrust the book into his hands. “These pages record a woman’s faith journey. Do you see her notes in the margin? Every word in this book meant something to her. She held this Bible every day and it changed her life.” Maggie no longer fought the tears as they fell down her cheeks. She snatched the Bible back, pressed it to her heart and crossed her arms over it. “You don’t care about anything or anyone, do you, Kellen Ashby?”
He didn’t even deserve to share Ida’s last name.
Kellen worked his jaw back and forth. One of his girls giggled as they ran through the side yard together. He glanced at them and then back at Maggie. “I think you better leave.”
“I’m keeping Ida’s Bible. Someone who loved her should have it.”
“Fine. Just go.”
She turned her back to him but couldn’t hold her tongue. “Are you going to tear down her house?” If he did, all of Ida would be gone. Forever.
“Not yet.”
So he would someday. More than likely soon.
She clutched the Bible to her chest, splaying her palm against the grooves of the cross on the front cover. “But the cottage is beautiful. It has so much charm and fits in this town.”
“Frankly I don’t care about charm. I care about a house that fits the needs of my girls.” His eyes trailed to take in the West Mansion behind her. “For now I’m going to gut the place and get rid of everything. I have a truck full of my things on its way here that I need to make room for.”
“You’re heartless.” Where had that come from? Maggie never spoke like that. But this man, so far, brought out her worst.
He stalked forward, lowering his voice so his daughters, who were walking toward them, couldn’t hear. “You can think whatever you want about me. But hear this. That house—” he jutted his thumb toward the cottage “—I own it. Ida left it to me. So you don’t get a say in its future. For once in my life, no one is going to tell me how I should act or do things. Especially not a woman who has been freeloading off my aunt for who knows how long.”
“Freeloading?” Maggie jerked her head back.
“I guess I forgot to tell you.” He smirked. “Ida left me the inn, too.”
Ice water filled her veins. She’d wondered...but hearing him say he owned her family home was much worse than she’d imagined.
When she didn’t speak, Kellen continued. “So I’d be careful if I were you, Maggie. Because I have the right to sell the mansion, too.”
Maggie spun back toward the inn and staggered through the yard. She fumbled with the latch on the gate that connected the two homes. At the moment she wished the three-foot-high picket fence was a ten-foot-tall cement wall so she couldn’t see Kellen or the cottage. So she could block them out and pretend he didn’t exist. But what did it matter?
He owned the West Oaks Inn.
Kellen Ashby could kick her out and tear down or sell the home she’d grown up in. The man who didn’t care about the past owned her only connection to hers.
The legacy she’d lost.
Numb, Maggie opened the back door and strode past the mess in the kitchen.
She’d better start packing her things, because with the way she’d just spoken to her new boss, she could guarantee she was very soon to be homeless and unemployed.
* * *
“If you want to take in the sights, I can watch the girls for you.” Mrs. Rowe—the lawyer’s wife—smoothed her hand over the French braid she’d finished on Skylar’s hair.
“Me next.” Ruthy handed the older woman a hair tie and plopped down in front of her.
Kellen smiled as the three females laughed together. While his daughters loved when he gave them attention, they seemed to practically glow under the care of a woman. For the hundredth time he wished he could have given them a better mother in life. One day when he had to explain to them that their own mother hadn’t wanted them, what would he say? That they meant so little to her that she’d signed away her rights the second Kellen offered to give up his claim to all the royalties he earned for writing the Snaggletooth Lions’ popular songs?
He’d never pictured cozying up with Ida’s lawyer and his wife, but he didn’t know many people in town yet. Besides, they were a kind old couple who seemed taken with his daughters.
“We don’t have any grandchildren of our own. Both of my sons decided to pursue careers instead of families. I’m afraid that’s a thing with this generation.” She tickled the back of Ruthy’s neck, causing her to erupt with squeals.
He couldn’t blame the Rowes’ sons. Kellen had taken off from home with only his passion for music lodged in his heart. Not a dream of family. His daughters hadn’t been planned. Family fell into his lap. But he’d choose them now. “Maybe your sons will change their minds.”
Mr. Rowe ducked through the cottage’s small doorway. “How’d the sale go today?”
“Not as well as I hoped, but then again, it’s a Friday and people are working. I’ll try again tomorrow. I really need to clear out the place before the truck with my stuff gets here.”
“I could set you up for an auction. You might do better that way.”
The lawyer was probably in his midfifties. Even though he wasn’t working today, Mr. Rowe wore dress slacks with a tucked-in polo and shined dress shoes. Kellen doubted the man owned a single pair of jeans.
“That’s a good idea.”
“It’ll take one call.”
“Go ahead and do it.” Kellen leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and watched his girls as they chatted with Mrs. Rowe. The woman pulled a baggie of cookies from her purse.
“Oh! Let’s have a tea party.” Skylar jumped up and down and then proceeded to show Ruthy how to nibble her cookie “just-so.” Because that was how ladies ate, apparently.
He’d have to dig back through the garage and save a few of Ida’s unsold teacups for them. Maybe Maggie was right about keeping a few special belongings. His girls would imagine themselves queens of far-off lands if they were allowed to use Ida’s china.
The lawyer pulled a smartphone from his back pocket. “You look stressed, son. Why don’t you take a walk? It would do you good to have a breath of fresh air. My wife and I will stay with the girls.”
Kellen really didn’t want to leave Skylar and Ruthy with people he hardly knew. Then again, there was something he needed to take care of. “If you could stay with them for a couple minutes, actually that would be great.”
He bowed out of the room and started toward the Victorian mansion next door. The sun had begun to set, making the sky purple, but even in the dim evening light the sage clapboard and pink-painted details on the home were easy to spot. The carved wood that trimmed every dormer and corner of the house spoke of a long-forgotten time period. Guests must bump down the driveway, gasping when they first saw the place, and look forward to the rest and relaxation they’d find inside.
The inn might belong to him, but the way he’d delivered the information to Maggie West had been nothing short of cruel. When she challenged him about redoing Ida’s home, he’d spat out the word freeloader without thinking. She deserved an apology.
Maggie might be too attached to earthly treasures, but that was her beef to worry about, not his. It was just...he’d thought he’d escaped materialistic people by moving his girls away from Los Angeles. So much for his ideal vision of Goose Harbor being a safe haven to raise his family away from the worldly influences of the country’s pop culture. He welcomed the realization, though—no place was perfect and he’d never be able to shelter his girls from everything. Not completely. At least people didn’t walk around Goose Harbor half-dressed, although that could have more to do with the climate than anything else. Either way, that was one small victory.
Kellen eased through the gate that connected the two yards. He spotted Maggie right away. Knees in the wet dirt around the flower beds, Maggie yanked out weeds while mumbling under her breath. She worked quickly and had a smear of mud across her forehead. Kellen bit back a smile. The woman moved like the cartoon Tasmanian Devil. All frenzied motion. All passion.
Maybe that was why, despite wanting to steer clear of women who cared more about possessions than people, he felt drawn to her. When they’d argued earlier, a fire flicked across her eyes. Maggie West didn’t do anything halfway. Even if something was going to be done wrong, it would be done with ten times more zeal than it required.
He stopped about a foot behind her. She yanked out a dandelion and tossed it over her shoulder.
The weed landed on his leather shoe. “Are you able to take a break?”
Hand to her heart, Maggie jumped. “I didn’t hear anyone sneak up behind me.” She stopped her laugh when she looked behind her and caught sight of him. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Listen. I want to talk to you. Can we sit on the steps for a minute?” He pointed toward the pink steps leading to the front door.
“Sorry. I can’t stop.” She kept her back to him. “I have so much to get done and not enough hours to do it in. I really don’t have time to talk to you right now.”
“Please? It’ll only take a few minutes.”
She rocked back on her heels and squinted up at him. “Some people don’t have the luxury of relaxing all the time. We have to work while other people get things handed to them. Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I was freeloading, would I? Don’t you want the flower beds of your inn to look good for the next guests arriving tomorrow?”
He chose to ignore the freeloading barb she’d tossed into the conversation, seeing as he’d come to apologize.
A story from the Bible played across his mind, as they’d been doing so often lately since he’d started reading it again. It was the part in the New Testament when Jesus spoke at Mary and Martha’s house and Martha was too busy taking care of everyone to listen and became upset with Mary for sitting at the feet of Jesus instead of helping.
Did God want him to remind Maggie of that Bible story? It felt like it. But Kellen couldn’t be sure. He’d spent so many years ignoring when he felt God wanted him to do something to know for certain. He might be a grown man, but despite being raised in the church, he was still only a young Christian.
With the way he had acted this morning, he couldn’t blame her for being worried and upset after finding out he owned the place where she currently lived and worked—but he could end both of those emotions for her by being honest about the will.
He bent down to be eye level with her. “Martha, Martha. You are worried and upset about many things. Aren’t you?”
Maggie turned back to the flower bed. “Not that it probably matters to you, but my name isn’t Martha.”
“I know.”
She kept her eyes focused on the ground. “I’m surprised that you know the Bible at all, seeing as you were going to ditch Ida’s as quickly as an old newspaper.”
Kellen forced his shoulders to relax as he held back the response that came to his lips. “My dad is a minister.”
“Could have fooled me.”
It was going to take everything in him to apologize to Maggie without snapping back at her. Kellen took a deep breath and counted to ten before speaking. “You’re right. I wasn’t a good church kid growing up. I rejected everything my dad taught and lived life by my terms for a long time. God kept chasing me, though, and I’m His for good now. The funniest thing is, now my dad’s old sermons keep coming back to me at the oddest times.”
She yanked out another weed.
He moved a foot away and kneeled in the flower bed.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “You’ll ruin those fancy designer jeans.”
Kellen ran his fingers over the mulch. “I always wondered if Martha had just asked the people gathered to hear Jesus talk if they would help her, the chores could have all been done in a couple minutes and then she could have been sitting there at the Lord’s feet next to her sister.”
“Maybe she had no one to ask. Or maybe she knew it would be a waste of time to ask because no one would come to her rescue. Maybe Martha was all on her own and knew her sister wasn’t about to leave what she was doing to help.” She yanked out a weed with so much force it took out the flower next to it, as well. “Maybe, like me, she had no choice. What if she felt like she was drowning and losing what she cared about and she...?” Maggie shook her head. “So don’t talk to me about helping.”
Dare he challenge her? “Is it that you’re alone, or is it that you refuse to ask for help?”
“You don’t understand what I’m saying.” She shot him a glare and inched farther away. “I’m done talking to you.”
Kellen yanked out a weed.
Maggie rocked back onto her heels and let out a huff. “Just what are you doing?”
