Two months later
“How’s it going, boss?”
I looked up from the bucket of drywall mud and beamed with delight at the familiar face at the doorway. “Dad! How are you?”
“Couldn’t be better,” he said, looking relaxed and happy. I hadn’t seen him in a while and I had to fight back the wave of emotion that grabbed hold of me. It wouldn’t be cool to burst into tears on a construction site.
I glanced over at my head carpenter, Sean Brogan. “Can you take it from here?”
“Sure. I’ll get Todd to help out. You go visit with your dad.”
“Thanks.” I wiped the beads of perspiration from my forehead, walked across Rafe’s new master bedroom, and gave Dad a light hug. “I don’t want to get any drywall powder on you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said with a grin, then turned back. “Thanks, Sean.”
“You bet. Good to see you, Jack.”
Dad and I strolled down the wide hall toward the front part of the house. “Man, this place is going to be fantastic. Love the open concept.”
“I do, too. It’s slow going, though. The demo took a few extra weeks because instead of simply pounding down the walls with sledgehammers, Rafe wanted to save everything. You know, like the original woodwork and the plaster ceiling molds. All those special Victorian touches.”
“I guess I don’t blame him.”
“I don’t, either. He’s into repurposing, so we’ve already got plans to panel his new office with the old wood planks from the porch. It’s going to be awesome.”
Dad nodded. “Sounds neat.”
“Niall’s going to use the bricks from the old chimney in the new patio, and Marigold snagged the staircase balusters to use in the garden. She thinks they’ll be perfect for growing squash and beans.”
“Everything old is new again,” Dad murmured.
“Yeah. The master bedroom is the first room to be dry-walled. I want to finish one room completely so Marigold will be able to see how beautiful it’s going to be. She visits for a while every day and watches us frame walls and install new pipes. We’re still working on the wiring and yesterday we started on the ventilation system. It can get a little boring, you know?”
“How can you say that?” he demanded.
I laughed. “Hey, I’m never bored. But you know—civilians.”
He chuckled along with me. “She’s going to love everything.”
“I think so, too.” In the newly framed dining room I pointed up. “Coffered ceiling’s going to be gorgeous.”
He smiled warmly. “You do good work, kiddo.”
“I had a pretty good teacher.”
He slung his arm around my shoulder. “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
We walked out the front door and down the newly built staircase, then crossed the wide plot of dirt that would become the front yard in a few months. Along the side of what would be Rafe’s driveway was a utility table that held a large coffee urn, an electric teapot, plenty of mugs, cream and sugar, and a completely empty box of donuts.
We made small talk while we each poured a cup of coffee and strolled out to the bench that sat by the old barn. The sun was moving toward the highest spot in the sky but the air was breezy enough to cool me off.
I gazed at him fondly. “How are you, Dad?”
“I’m good. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too. You don’t park your RV in my driveway anymore.”
He shrugged. “The marina has free parking for boat owners.”
I knew that, but still. I sighed. “It probably wouldn’t matter anyway. I’ve been so tied up with this job, I don’t even know what day it is. What’s going on with you?”
“I’ve been keeping busy,” he said. “Helping out at the winery. Taking my boat out on the weekends.”
“Fishing?”
“You bet. Brought home some beautiful salmon last week.”
“Really?” I gave him a look. “I don’t recall seeing any salmon in my freezer.”
He grinned. Usually when my father and uncle went fishing, they brought back enough fish to feed the whole town. My freezer was always packed with their bounty.
“We just caught enough for one meal this time. Pete and I grilled it for some friends.”
“That’s what I get for being out of touch.” I stared at him over the rim of my coffee cup. “Which friends are those?”
His smile had turned dreamy, causing alarm bells to ring in my head. “They’re new in town. I don’t think you’ve met them.”
“You may be right. I don’t get out as much as I usually do.”
And the “friends” Dad was talking about would be gone in another week anyway, I thought. He and my uncle Pete loved the ladies, had always enjoyed dating women who were on vacation in the area. But there had never been a hint of a long-term commitment from either of them. They were perfectly happy to wine and dine a pair of visiting tourists for a week or two and then say good-bye.
“Do you have enough help on this job?” he asked. “I could get a couple of the guys together and we could give you a hand.”
“Aw, thanks, Dad,” I said, a little choked up by his offer. He and his cronies had been building houses in the area for as long as I had been alive. Last Christmas, they had helped me out on a project and it was wonderful to have them around. “But I’ve got a full crew and we’re making good time. It’s just that we’ve got several other structures to build in time for Rafe’s conference in October, along with a full conference site and parking area to be graded and landscaped.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about that conference. Pete’s doing a wine tasting one of those nights.”
“That’s right. Maybe you’ll come with him.”
“Maybe,” he said.
“And we’re doing a barn raising.”
He did a double take at that. “A barn raising. Sounds serious.”
I laughed. “It is.”
He glanced around, then homed in on me. “Do you know what you’re doing there?”
Still laughing, I shook my head. “To tell you the truth, no. I’ve never actually built a barn. But I’ve built everything else under the sun and the guys and I watched a bunch of videos and studied up on the techniques. And Sean just found out from a friend that there’s an Amish family in Pennsylvania who’s getting ready to build a new barn. I’m going to send him back to learn all about it.”
“For real?”
“Yeah.” I gave a quick shrug. “I’m hoping he’ll bring back a consultant or two for the event.”
Dad nodded, but still didn’t look convinced. “Might be a good idea.”
“Oh. And we’ve got a firm of structural engineers working on the plans with us.”
Now he grinned. “You could’ve mentioned that earlier.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Have a little confidence, Dad. You taught me everything I know. Remember?”
“Yeah, and I did a pretty darn good job.” He nudged his shoulder against mine. “And I have more than a little confidence in you, sweetheart.”
I soaked up the closeness, breathed in his familiar scent of Old Spice mixed with fresh sawdust. Maybe the sawdust aroma was coming from me this time, but it didn’t matter. It took me back to a time when we worked side by side every day.
“I miss you, Dad.” I had to laugh. “I guess I might’ve mentioned that.”
“Yeah. But you know I’m only a few blocks away.” He chuckled. “But I miss you, too. We get busy and go along, forgetting that life could change in a heartbeat. I don’t want so much time to pass before we get together again.”
The breeze ruffled my hair and I pulled my baseball cap down more firmly. I could hear the sounds of a table saw whirring, the breathy rhythm of a nail gun, and the intermittent beat-beat-beat of a hammer in the distance. It was like familiar music, these sounds I’d heard my whole life.
After a few more seconds I straightened and gazed at my father. He was hedging. “What’s really going on with you, Dad?”
He frowned. “Never could put anything over on you.”
His expression was so serious, my eyes widened in real concern. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. Shoot.” He scowled, then rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m blowing this.”
I jumped up from the bench. “Blowing what? I’m really worried now. Just tell me, Dad, before I completely freak out.”
“It’s nothing.” He laughed ruefully. “Except that I’m a knucklehead.”
“But why? Come on. Spill it now.”
“Okay, okay.” He shook his head, then started to smile, and finally his entire face split into a joyous grin. “It’s just that, I’ve met a woman.”
I stared at him, trying to figure out exactly what he was telling me. He met women all the time, but this sounded serious. And he looked so darn happy. But before I could ask him anything, I heard my name shouted from the house.
“Shannon! We’ve got a problem.”
I turned and saw Sean waving from the front porch. “Oh, shoot. Can you wait a few minutes, Dad?”
“No, you go ahead, honey. I’ve got to get going anyway.”
“But we have to talk,” I said.
“We will,” he said, and gave me a big hug. “We’ll talk soon.”
A month later, the tower went up. Thanks to Niall and his small team of bricklayers and stonemasons, it took less than a week to finish. Record time, I thought. And it was just as Rafe had described it, a cement bunker, forty feet high and twenty-by-twenty-feet square. Inside there were three floors and a rooftop. There were stairs between the floors as well as ramps that led up to the next level. The second and third floors were open, like lofts, with railings where you could look over and see the floor below. It was a pretty clever design, if I said so myself. I had worked it out with Niall, Rafe, and Julian, the plant guy who would be filling the place with greenery.
We had left plenty of seemingly random open spaces in all four walls to act as windows where we would be installing the solar-tracking louvers Rafe and I had discussed.
Rafe had gone through a dozen names for his concrete vertical garden tower before settling on the name “Ecosphere.” He wrestled with the fact that the tower wasn’t technically spherical, but calling it the “Eco-Tower” didn’t work for him. Neither did Eco-Cube, Eco-Spire, Eco-Square, Eco-Quad, or Eco-whatever else we tried. “Ecosphere” worked, and that’s what he settled on.
Before Niall started working on the tower, I had asked Rafe whether or not he planned to have the tower demolished after the conference. He had decided to keep it intact and maybe use it for other purposes later. Because of this, I decided to add some flourishes to the basic design. Nothing fancy, just smooth wood framing around the ground-floor entryway and around each of the windows, plus a foot-wide ledge of thick, sturdy wood on top of the concrete block walls of the rooftop.
It looked good, and I had a fleeting thought that I would love to show it to my Dad. It had been a month since I’d talked to him. We had left messages back and forth, but I was so busy on this job that I just hadn’t been able to find time to get together. I wanted to hear more about the woman he had mentioned. I would have to try and carve out some time to visit him, but knowing what my schedule looked like for the next few months, I wasn’t sure when that would happen.
A week after the tower was finished, a large flatbed truck rolled onto the property and headed straight for the tower. The back of the truck was packed with every sort of tree, bush, and plant I could possibly name. Rafe and another man hopped out and walked toward me.
“Shannon,” Rafe said. “You remember Julian Reedy, the plant guy?”
“Sure,” I said, shielding my eyes from the sun. “Hi, Julian.”
“Howdy,” Julian said, his tone friendly as he reached to shake my hand. He had a full head of wavy brown hair and was good-looking in a tall, thin, and sinewy way. His arms and hands were strong, and I imagined he’d developed those muscles after hauling hundreds of large pots of trees and bushes and then shoveling dirt to plant them.
“Can my crew and I help you carry your plants into the tower?”
“No,” he said curtly. “Nobody touches my plants but me.”
I held up both hands. “Okay then.”
Rafe grinned at me. “I’m not sure I mentioned that Julian isn’t merely a plant guy, but is actually an ethnobotanist.”
“Huh,” I said with a shaky smile. “I’m not even sure what that means, but I’m impressed.”
I was relieved when Julian managed to lose the scowl. “Sorry to be so touchy. I’m usually pretty upbeat and easygoing, but when I see people hurting plants, I get defensive.”
“We don’t want to hurt any plants here,” I said quickly.
“Good.” And he smiled happily, as though he hadn’t been ready to strike out a minute ago. “Among the many aspects of my job, I study the influences of human beings on plants. As you might suspect, the effects are mostly negative, so I have taken it upon myself to fight for the rights of the plant world. It can be frustrating, but every small victory is its own reward.”
He seemed to lose himself in his words and now wore a dreamy smile.
He was one of Rafe’s true believers, I thought. His plants were his cause, his raison d’être, the main thrust of his life. There would be plenty more like him at the conference in a few months.
I knew the Ecosphere was one of Rafe’s most important exhibits so I wanted to make sure everything was perfect.
“I’ll try not to get in your way,” I said to Julian, “but I hope you’ll allow me to assist you in the Ecosphere.” I spoke carefully, not wanting another rebuff. “My guys and I can move stuff around or dig holes or get mulch or whatever.”
He studied me for a moment. “You’ll do as I say?”
“Of course. That’s your world.”
He twisted his lips, probably looking for a way to say no. But finally he nodded. “I will need help. So, yes. I appreciate your offer.”
“Great. Just tell me what you need and I’ll make sure you get it.”
Four months later
As the sun began its slow slide down behind the hills along the western border of Rafe’s property, I stood and stretched my aching muscles. I watched Niall Rose pack up his chisels and tools in his worn leather satchel and then pick up a broom and begin sweeping the patio area clean. He was a meticulous worker and took responsibility for leaving his work space in the same condition he found it every morning. Hiring him was one of the smarter moves I’d made this year.
“The fireplace and hearth look awesome, Niall,” I said. “And the patio is just fantastic.” I wasn’t exaggerating. The fireplace and chimney was the centerpiece, bordered on each side by an eight-foot wall of stone—mostly variegated slate, with bits of colorful glass and chunks of granite. On one side of the fireplace was a wide hearth perfect for sitting near the warmth of the fire. On the other side was an outdoor kitchen that included a massive barbecue grill, a wide counter, warming drawers, and a fully operational sink. As soon as Niall’s stonework was finished, my guys would build a pergola over the spacious patio and Marigold would add lots of comfortable outdoor furniture.
“Aye, it’s coming along,” Niall said modestly, his thick Scottish brogue making even the simplest words tricky to comprehend.
But even if I couldn’t understand every word, it was no hardship to talk with him. The man was, to put it bluntly, drop-dead gorgeous. He was well over six feet tall with the broad chest and shoulders of a WWE fighter. He had warm chocolate brown eyes and he wore his light brown hair in a close-cropped buzz cut. His usual work uniform consisted of faded blue jeans, work boots, and a black T-shirt that showed off his amazing chest and arm muscles. At the end of each day, he pulled on a thick plaid Pendleton jacket and drove off in a dirt-encrusted four-wheel-drive Land Rover.
The guy was just so . . . masculine. But he was a true artist as well and as gentle as a lamb, unless he was forced into a tangle—as he put it—with someone looking for a fight. My friend Emily, Niall’s sister, had revealed that back home in Edinburgh, there were always one or two idiots in the pub looking to take on a guy like Niall.
Having grown up with only one sister, I just couldn’t fathom the odd male characteristic that delighted in fighting. According to Emily, something similar had occurred in our very own pub right here in Lighthouse Cove. More than once. Maybe it was the kilt. I couldn’t say for sure, but Niall still ran into the occasional drunken tourist who would take one look at him and decide he needed to be brought down a peg.
Emily’s simple explanation was that men were crazy.
I wondered if maybe there were some guys who thought they could become an Internet sensation, courtesy of one of their friends’ camera phones. Which again, equaled crazy when you thought about it.
Niall, not being as crazy as some, had made a strategic decision early on to get to know our police chief, Eric Jensen. The two big men had become fast friends and their small circle had grown to include Rafe, my boyfriend Mac, Emily’s beau Gus, Lizzie’s husband Hal, and some of the other good guys in town.
These days, if he ran into any tourists tanked up and crazy enough to want to start a fight, Niall simply signaled the bartender to give the chief a call. Naturally, the bar phone had Eric on speed dial.
“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it lately, Niall,” I said as I walked him out to his car, “but I’m really happy to have you on my crew. You do beautiful work.”
“Aye, you might’ve mentioned it a time or two,” he said, grinning. “But ’tis I who’s happier still to have a sister with such good taste in friends.”
I gave him an appreciative smile. “We’re all very lucky.”
“Aye, we are,” he said with a wink as he opened his car door. “See ya tomorrow, Shannon.”
“Enjoy your evening, Niall.”
I walked back to the front garden in time to see Marigold slapping her gloved hands together and swiping at the smudges of dirt on her sweatshirt. She had just finished planting a wide row of flowering succulents mixed with rosemary, lavender, and a few different grassy plants.
“That looks really pretty, Marigold,” Jane Hennessey said, hands on her hips as she surveyed the results of our long day in the garden. She turned when she saw me. “Did Niall leave?”
“Yes. He’s almost finished with the patio. Doesn’t it look beautiful?”
Jane shrugged. “It’s nice.”
“Nice?” I tried not to gape at her. “You think it’s just nice? Jane, the man is an artist. Everywhere he goes, he collects all sorts of beautiful glass and shells and rocks and then turns it into artwork. Nice isn’t the word for it.”
“Okay, it’s very . . . it’s very attractive,” she said.
I chalked up her understatement to exhaustion and gazed around, taking in all the beautiful colors and clever designs. “This is coming together.”
Marigold nodded. “We do good work.”
“We sure do.” I bent down to pick up my trowel and the three-pronged cultivator I’d been using to blend potting soil in with the dirt. “I don’t know what we would’ve done without your help, Jane.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she said, and gave a little curtsy.
She was joking around, but I knew she loved this stuff. The girl had a green thumb and a real gift for landscaping. The Hennessey Inn, owned and operated by Jane, had become renowned for its lovely gardens, so Marigold and I were both thrilled when Jane agreed to help us out.
Jane was my oldest—and still tallest—girlfriend. Ever since kindergarten when we were both taller than all the boys in the class, the height thing had been a running joke between the two of us. Jane had grown up to be a few inches taller than me, but I liked to think I held my own at a mere five foot eight.
Lizzie Logan leaned against me. “I’m so glad I came out here today. Got to hang with my buddies.”
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Speaking of height, Lizzie barely scaled five foot one. But as she always insisted, she made up for it with her great big heart. “Thanks for being here.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it.” Lizzie was a few years younger than Jane and me, but she had grown up in Lighthouse Cove so we had known her forever. She and her husband Hal owned Paper Moon, the book and paper store on the town square. Hal had taken over the duties at the store while Lizzie pitched in to help us finish up the outside of Marigold’s new home.
Lizzie, Jane, Emily, and Marigold were my best friends. The five of us tried to get together at least once a month for dinner, where we shared our deepest secrets, triumphs, and fears. And wine. And pasta. There was always pasta.
I was happy that Rafe had found jobs for all of us. Jane had been put in charge of hotel accommodations, naturally. Lizzie and Hal’s books and paper shop had designed the conference programs and notepads for the attendees. They would also be setting up a number of book signings and had ordered books for those participants who had written them. Emily was the official caterer, of course. Marigold would be giving one workshop on quilting and another on her Amish background and ways that her Amish community had lived off the grid. The whole gang was involved, much to our delight.
“It looks fantastic, Shannon.”
I turned and saw Rafe standing on the other side of the front gate, just staring at the beautiful results of our long day of landscaping.
“You like?” I asked, giving him a cheeky smile.
“I’m blown away,” he said.
I smiled. “That was the goal.”
“You guys really kick butt when you get together.”
“We sure do.” I gazed at my friends, who were finishing up in different areas of the spacious, colorful garden. “Jane is the real powerhouse. We just do whatever she tells us and it always works out.”
Last month, Rafe and I had discussed xeriscape landscaping and he had confessed that despite wanting to stick with an environmentally responsible garden, he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of seeing a bunch of cactus plants everywhere. His tone made me chuckle and I had quickly explained that there were a surprising amount of leafy green and flowering plants and grasses that were drought resistant, too. Of course, I had every intention of slipping in a few of my favorite cactus plants here and there because I knew they would add some striking pops of color and texture to the space.
But Rafe shouldn’t have worried too much anyway, since our little corner of the world had an average rainfall way above the rest of the state. It had to do with the amount of fog that rolled in off the ocean and settled in the pocket between the coast and the nearby mountains.
Rafe had finally suggested that I work with Marigold to come up with something special for the landscape that would “blow him away.”
From Rafe’s reaction just now, it appeared that we had succeeded.
The landscapers had taken care of planting small and medium-sized trees all around the house and along the road. Once they grew in, they would provide even more privacy as well as a natural sound barrier.
Niall and his crew had built a smooth stone driveway from the road to the house, with two-foot-high stone barriers along the sides. The reclaimed stone was craggy and uneven and looked as if it had been standing there for a hundred years. Rafe loved the rustic look of it.
Marigold walked over, kissed Rafe quickly, and then turned to admire the whole picture. “Isn’t it great?”
“Made even greater with you here,” Rafe said with a grin and wrapped his arms around her.
“Okay, you two . . .” I laughed and some of the tension in my neck melted away. Rafe was a great guy, but he could be a little zealous. Seeing him relax and simply enjoy being with Marigold made me feel better about a lot of things, including their relationship. After all, they had gone through almost a year of home renovation craziness and were now plunging themselves into a very important business conference that promised to take up every minute of their time to the very end.
“You guys did an amazing job, Shannon,” Rafe said.
“You know what? I agree.” I laughed. “We really did.”
The entire yard around the house was now bordered by a three-foot hedge with a front gate that opened to a charming brick and stone walkway that Niall had designed. The walkway led to the stairs up to the new porch and the very impressive thick oak double doors with classically Victorian leaded glass windows.
The interior of the house was sensational, if I did say so myself. It was now three stories and everything inside and out had been updated. New windows everywhere brought massive amounts of sunlight into all the rooms. The small top floor was one big room with windows on all sides, designed like a lookout post, ideal for watching the sunset—preferably while drinking a glass of wine.
The outside of the house was covered in thin horizontal wood siding that we had painted classic white with dark sage green trim on the shutters and eaves. The brand-new porch wrapped around the entire house and was wide enough to provide an outdoor seating area with a teakwood couch, two chairs, and several tables. At Marigold’s request, we had also hung a pretty porch swing near the front door.
Rafe and Marigold were both very happy, to say the least.
I was happy, too, and relieved, because we had made our deadline with two weeks to spare. The house, the patio, and the landscaping were finished. The fireplace and hearth would take a few more days to complete since Niall had spent so much time constructing the vertical tower for the conference, along with the driveway and various decorative stone borders across the property.
The new barn foundation had been poured and the plumbing and electrical were mapped out. The framing for all the walls had been completed but nothing had been nailed into place. The massive side frames were currently stacked along the edge of the foundation and they would be raised and fitted into place on the second day of the conference.
The barn raising would be an immense undertaking. I had scheduled the manpower: fifty reliable construction workers, all vetted by Wade; Carla; my head carpenter, Sean; and me.
Rafe planned to give a short speech about green technology before we began the barn raising. He was pretty excited about it.
I was completely exhausted.
“Are we still meeting at the pub later for a celebratory burger and beer?” Lizzie asked. “I think I can talk Hal into joining us.”
I winced. “I would love to see Hal, but right now I’m honestly ready to drop. Would you mind if we moved the celebration to later in the week?”
Jane drooped next to me. “Thank goodness you said that. I’m totally beat. And filthy.” She grimaced as she held up her dirty hands.
“Yeah, we’re all a mess,” I said with a tired laugh.
But it had been a good day. Jane, Marigold, Lizzie, and I had met the landscapers at six o’clock that morning. Their big truck was loaded with dozens of trees, bushes, plants, flowers, succulents, rocks of all sizes, wood chippings, planting soil, and fertilizer. And we all got to work.
Niall had arrived shortly after that and went out to finish the patio.
At noon, our friend Emily had shown up with sandwiches, salads, and sodas from her tea shop on the town square. With Emily, our little circle of best friends had been complete.
Now it was after five o’clock and while the others cleaned up and prepared to leave, I took a stroll down the walkway and out the front gate to get some different perspectives of the house and surrounding yard and trees.
Wandering around to the finished back patio, I took a closer look at Niall’s stonework. The fireplace itself was large and imposing, a beautiful work of art. The stones of the hearth had been fashioned into intricate wave patterns, while the floor of the patio was a winding, circular design that wove its way across the wide space.
I thought again how lucky I was to have him on my crew. And I would have to commend him for juggling all of the other jobs he’d done for Rafe, especially the three-story tower. We had started building it almost five months ago. It was a simplistic design, basically a bunker-style structure, and it only took the ten of us a few weeks to complete.
I gazed across Rafe’s field to the tower that Julian Reedy had used to create the incredible vertical gardens, inside and out. The interior was now the lush green tropical haven Rafe had described in our very first conversation. A combination of magical fairyland and verdant jungle, with moss and ferns hanging everywhere and vines streaming down the walls. Every type of flowering plant and greenery was tucked along the pathways and ramps and terraces, and they had all grown so thick so quickly that you could no longer see the concrete structure beneath. Julian had even managed to plant a colorful circle of tulips in one of the corners.
The louvers that covered the windows were another amazing feature. When I first had them installed, I watched as they slowly moved with the sun as it passed over the tower. It was a real thrill to actually feel the temperature rise or drop inside the tower, depending on which way the louvers moved. I couldn’t wait to install them inside some willing client’s house. Or my own. Someday.
For some reason, the thought reminded me of my father. I wanted him to see the Ecosphere. He needed to come out here and see the progress we’d made. I was so proud of everything we had done here, and I knew I would see that same pride reflected on his face when I showed him around.
It was a miracle that we had been able to keep to our precise timeline for the rehab and all the added jobs we’d taken on for Rafe’s conference. Those included building the tower; grading two acres of property to level the conference center area and make it comfortably walkable for the attendees; grading another acre, then trucking in enough pea gravel to make a suitable parking lot; and various other jobs. There could’ve been so many more problems if we hadn’t worked out the logistics from the beginning. For instance, if Niall hadn’t finished the tower on time, then Julian couldn’t have started planting the vertical garden on time, and the Ecosphere would’ve been a bust. Instead, it was guaranteed to be one of the major highlights of the conference.
Now if only Julian would lighten up about people traipsing all over his ground cover. After all, that was the whole point of the Ecosphere, wasn’t it? The conference goers were supposed to experience the green space, breathe the clean air, and make the connection that plants could be grown anyplace, no matter the climate or how small the space. And frankly, it worked. It felt like a miracle to walk those first few steps into the Ecosphere and actually feel every muscle begin to untwist. Maybe it was because the plants themselves were, according to Julian, resilient and renewable.
Julian, on the other hand, was anything but resilient. He had grudgingly allowed me to help him work with the plants to create the atmosphere within the tower, but he had made it more than perfectly clear that others were not allowed inside. He obviously loved his plants a lot more than he loved people, and he took everything personally, especially when anyone accidentally stepped on an errant leaf that had grown along one of the pathways. How would he react when hundreds of people began to descend on his beloved Ecosphere?
It was a mystery. Especially because, despite his curmudgeonly attitude, Julian had built dozens of these green-space environments all over the world. He knew how to behave. I wanted to believe that he would be professional at all times, but I would be watching him. I didn’t want him to start haranguing the conference goers with dire warnings of severe penalties to anyone who brushed against one of his precious, fast-growing ficus trees.
I stopped and took a good long breath. In and out. In and out. Rolled my shoulders. Relaxed my neck. And sighed. It would all work out, I promised myself.
With fingers crossed, I packed up my toolbox, said good-bye to my crew and my girlfriends, and trudged at last to my truck.
I parked in the driveway and miraculously managed to keep upright as I slid out of the truck, grabbed my backpack, and plodded through the back gate and into the kitchen.
“Honeys, I’m home,” I called after locking the door, and was instantly greeted by Robbie and Tiger. Robbie, a gorgeous little Westie with a huge personality, barked for joy, while Tiger, my beautiful orange and white tabby, wound her way in and out of my legs and head-bumped my ankles, possibly in hopes of tripping me so I would tumble down to her level.
“Nice try,” I murmured, and picked her up to rub my cheek against her soft fur. Naturally, this caused Robbie to bark even more loudly. In dog talk, I figured he was saying, What am I, chopped liver?
“Okay, okay. Equal time.” I set Tiger down on the floor and switched over to Robbie, lightly rubbing his back and scratching between his ears. After a few seconds, he rolled over so I could rub his belly.
“You’re so accommodating,” I said with a laugh, then picked him up and snuggled for a minute.
Setting him down, I stood up and stretched my back. “Oh. Oh. Ouch. I worked too hard. I need to take a hot bath.”
Robbie and Tiger sat on the floor and stared up at me.
“Right,” I said, instantly contrite. “Hot bath can wait. It’s time for dinner.”
I prepped their meals, and while they wolfed down their food and slurped from their clean water bowls, I sat down at the kitchen table and checked off the last few items on my spreadsheet for Rafe’s house.
“Now it’s bath time,” I murmured, and headed upstairs.
A while later, I was halfway down the staircase when the doorbell rang. Robbie let out a happy bark and ran to the door. Who could that be? I wondered, and followed him through the living room.
“Mac,” I said softly when I opened the door. “You’re home.”
“Hey, Irish,” Mac said, then walked into the house and wrapped me in his arms.
MacKintyre Sullivan, world-famous author, former Navy SEAL, all-around hero, and love of my life, had been in New York for the past ten days. I had spoken to him every night and had enjoyed hearing about his meetings with agents, dinners with editors, and parties celebrating the opening of the film based on another one of his Jake Slater books. And then there was the New York premiere of that film. He had invited me to join him, but I’d had to stay in town to finish Rafe’s house.
“I missed you,” he murmured in my ear.
Part of me still couldn’t quite believe that when the fancy lunches and dinners and parties were all over, he continued to come home to me. But since we’d been together now for almost two years, I guess it was about time I started to believe it.
“I missed you, too.”
He kissed me then and I could’ve stayed there in his arms all night.
He cupped my cheek with his hand. “You look a little tired, but you smell great.”
I chuckled, happy that I’d had time to take a bath. “I’m exhausted. But more than anything else, I would love to have a glass of wine. Will you join me?”
“Absolutely.” Wrapping his arm around my waist, we walked into the kitchen, where Mac received more frenzied greetings from Robbie and lots of head butts and slinky ankle strokes from Tiger.
I smiled at him. “Guess they missed you, too.”
“The feeling’s mutual. Hi, guys.” He hunkered down to play with them for a few minutes while I poured two glasses of wine.
When he stood up, I handed him a glass. “I didn’t think you’d be back until next week.”
He shrugged. “I canceled a few lunches. A meeting or two. They weren’t important. I wanted to get back home.”
“I’m glad.” We sat at the kitchen table and quietly sipped our wine, enjoying the moment. Finally I said, “You’re home just in time for the survival conference.”
He said nothing, but scowled, surprising me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure I’m going to do the workshop Rafe wanted me to moderate. Just found out who else is on the panel with me.”
“Who?”
His lips tightened. “Have you heard of Sketch Horn?”
“Sure. He’s a writer.”
“If you want to call him that,” he grumbled.
“What do you mean?”
He breathed heavily through his nose, clearly annoyed. “He’s a blowhard and a liar. He claims to have been an Army Ranger. Did a bunch of black ops missions, he says. But I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Seriously? You think he’s lying about something like that?”
“No doubt in my mind.”
“So I take it you’ve met him.”
“Oh, yeah,” Mac said. “I’ve met him plenty of times at writers’ conferences and book events.” He stood and began to pace the room “You know, I don’t even think Sketch Horn is his real name.”
“Oh?” I smiled weakly. “Well, but a lot of writers use pseudonyms, right?”
He brushed aside my logic and muttered, “Pretentious jerk.”
I almost laughed. “You really don’t like this guy.”
He glared at me. “You think?”
“Just a feeling I’m getting.”
He gave me a reluctant half smile and sat back down to finish his wine. “Sorry. Can you tell that I just can’t stand him?”
“But why? I mean, besides the fact that he’s apparently a liar and a blowhard and a pretentious jerk?”
“He cheats on his wife. Blatantly. And he’s just not very smart. He says stupid things, interrupts conversations, talks out of school.”
“What does that mean?”
“He once revealed to a room full of readers that his agent got a nose job.”
“Ew. That’s not good.”
“Right? And another time, he was drinking with some other writers and he started whining about his wife. Said some horrible things about her that I won’t repeat here.”
“That’s just stupid. And awful.” I reached out and touched his hand. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry you’re stuck with him.”
“Ah, but I’m not.” His eyes narrowed as he seemed to map out a plan. “I have a few alternatives. I’ll propose them to Rafe tomorrow.”
“Good.” I stared at my wineglass and wondered. “I’ve never read a Sketch Horn book, but I guess he’s pretty popular. Is he a good writer?”
He hesitated. “I wouldn’t say he’s a bad writer, but that’s only because I’m certain that his wife writes his books for him.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“It’s been a rumor for years, but I know it’s true.” He frowned. “His wife knows a lot more about the books than he does.”
I frowned. “It must be weird to do all the work and have someone else take all the credit.”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t strangled him in his sleep,” he grumbled.
I would’ve laughed if he didn’t sound so miserable. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” Frustrated, he raked his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I really hate to hear myself whining.”
I grabbed the wine bottle and poured us both another half glass. “As soon as you talk to Rafe, you’ll feel better. I’m sure he can switch things around for you.”
But I had to wonder why Rafe had invited the other man to speak at his conference in the first place. If all those rumors were out there, Rafe had to know about them. He made a point of researching anything that touched his life, plus he was aboveboard and earnest about everything else. Why would he have invited someone like Sketch Horn to his conference?
“I don’t want to make trouble for Rafe,” Mac said, “but you know, I spend a lot of time writing out questions and working on notes before I show up for a panel or a workshop. I don’t want to expend all that energy and then wind up dealing with someone I don’t respect.” He took a slow sip of wine, then set the glass down and shook his head in disgust. “And now I sound like a sanctimonious toad.”
“No, you don’t. I think you’re being perfectly reasonable. Your panel will be discussing a really serious subject. How can you expect the audience to trust your words if you can’t even trust the other people on the panel?”
“Good point,” he murmured. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Thank you.”
Mac’s presentation was centered on worst-case scenarios and ways to overcome them. The subject fit perfectly with Rafe’s overall conference theme of survival, but it would also be entertaining—because it was Mac, who always made things more interesting and fun. Or maybe I was just biased.
A while back, Mac had told me that because we lived so close to the ocean, he wanted the panel to explore topics like flooding and tidal waves and boating accidents. Serious stuff. And who knew more about overcoming disasters than someone famous for writing those very scenarios for their characters? But again, knowing Mac, he would have fun with it because that was how he lived his life. He was a really wonderful speaker so I had a feeling his workshop would be one of the highlights of the conference.
But having to work with Sketch Horn would take all the fun out of it for everyone. I couldn’t blame Mac for wanting to get rid of the guy.
Sketch Horn was turning out to be the actual living embodiment of a worst-case scenario. How weirdly ironic was that?