Three

With his eyes on the cross emblazoned in front of him, Ross listened to the Bible verse as God’s Word sank into his heart. “And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.” How many times had he heard Colossians 3:23–24? But today the message held a different meaning.

Do it heartily, as to the Lord. He’d thought about good deeds, kindness, and witnessing but never thought of his job, his work on the ranch, in that way. His father had not given his blessing to his decisions, and Ross realized his own pride and spirit of independence had stood between him and his father. Now it was too late to make amends. His father lived in heaven. Still, at times the longing to relent and beg his father’s forgiveness smothered him.

He eyed Alissa sitting on the other side of his mother. She looked ahead without blinking, as if she had always worked for the Lord and could reap His reward without hesitation.

Ross lowered his head, studying the nubby-patterned carpet in earthen colors, colors that reminded him of the soil beneath his trees and vines. God watered them with rain, and his business had grown. So why would he even think the Lord didn’t approve of his work? The answer rang in his head. Because my earthly father disapproved, and I was to honor him.

That was the core of his struggle. Which one to believe, his earthly father who had strong sentiments about what was right and wrong according to the Lord or God’s Word that seemed so hard to understand because people tended to put their own spin on the meaning? How convenient to interpret God’s Word to fit a person’s needs and wants.

Ross rubbed his temple. Had he done that?

The congregation rose and startled him. He’d been too deep in thought to listen to the pastor’s final message. Words to the next song flashed on the screen, and the band began to play while people’s arms rose in praise as music and words blended into a joyful song to the Lord: “Glorify His Name.” Ross sang along, wishing he were closer to Alissa to hear her singing voice. A comfortable feeling washed over him. He did glorify God’s name in all he did. At least he hoped he did.

The next song flashed on the screen—“Seek Ye First”—as if the Lord wanted to put a pin in his balloon. The text filled his mind as if affirming his early thoughts. What had he been seeking when he went against his father’s advice and bought the vineyard? Was it financial success? Yes and no, but the business seemed to have no relationship to God’s Word in Ross’s eyes. Why hadn’t his father seen that?

In the softer sounds of the song, Alissa’s voice drifted to his ears, and a Bible verse pounded in his head. “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” Ask. It seemed so simple yet so late to ask God now what He thought of decisions made and contracts signed too long ago.

Thoughts weighed on Ross’s shoulders, and he closed his eyes, wishing the Lord would lift his burden. Ask. Ask. Ask. His eyes snapped open. He needed to seek the Lord and ask. It was as simple as that.

Outside in the sunlight, Ross shooed away his darker thoughts. Once again Alissa seemed as lustrous as the morning sun. Her dark blond hair glowed with that buttery beige color he’d noticed before. Today, though, not only her hair sparkled but also her eyes, with light and a dark blue color that made him think of violets. Beautiful eyes to go with her beautiful face.

“You’re thoughtful,” Alissa said, walking beside him to the car.

He’d insisted on driving today since he’d been on that route for the parade, and he jingled his keys in his hands, wanting to respond but not wanting to be specific. “I guess I am” was all he could think of.

“Did you enjoy the sermon?” she asked.

Enjoy wasn’t the word.

“We all needed to hear that message, don’t you think?” Her mother’s voice jutted between Alissa’s question and his attempt to find an appropriate response.

He grinned at her. “That’s why it’s God’s Word,” Ross said, grateful for the direction she gave to the conversation.

They all chuckled, and Alissa’s question, to his relief, went by the wayside.

He hit the remote, unlocking the car doors, and he helped his mother into the back where she’d wanted to sit again then closed the passenger door for Alissa. As they headed back to the inn, he dug deep to find conversation. “I noticed you’ve named your guest rooms.”

Alissa glanced his way, a crooked grin stealing to her mouth. “They’re butterflies.”

He thought of the small marker outside his room. “Emperor?”

She nodded. “Yes, emperor is a butterfly as are admiral, viceroy, monarch, mosaic, shasta, angelwing, and painted lady, your mom’s room. Each room is named after a kind of butterfly.”

“Thanks for letting me be the emperor. I’ve always wanted to oversee something huge.”

“You do,” his mother said.

Ross wished she hadn’t been listening.

Alissa’s eyes widened.

“She means my business,” he said to explain.

“What is your business? You’ve never mentioned it.”

“I have an avocado ranch near Santa Barbara in San Luis Obispo and another ranch in Paso Robles. That’s where I live.” He winced, waiting for his mother’s next comment.

“Avocados. I love them,” Alissa said. “They’re great in salads, and guacamole is wonderful. Sometimes I put out chips and make it for my guests in the afternoon.”

He thanked the Lord for the distraction. “Then you’ll have to try my special recipe.”

She tilted her head as if to see if he was joking.

“Really. It’s great. I’ll e-mail it to you when I get home.”

Her eyes flickered as if she were still questioning him. “When you get home.” She paused. “I’d like that.”

Her voice had softened as if she were disappointed, and he wondered if she didn’t want to wait that long. “I could call up and see if my housekeeper can find it.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have to do that.” Her face brightened. “Speaking of avocados and guacamole, it’s lunchtime. I should get back home and let you eat at one of the great restaurants on the wharf on Cannery Row.”

Grasping the opportunity, he let his heart respond. “Would you care to join us?”

“I’d love to, but I need to get back. Fern has plans, and I can’t be away much longer.”

The hope he’d had fluttered away like dried leaves. “Maybe next time.”

“Who knows?” she said, her eyebrows rising.

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. A rousing yes or for sure would have pleased him. Her who knows left him disappointed.

❧

Alissa waved as Ross and Maggie pulled away. An uncomfortable loneliness settled over her. She’d developed a feeling of attachment to Maggie. And Ross? He’d aroused sensations in her that she hadn’t felt in years—heart palpitations, pulse skipping, flush rising—foolish and impossible feelings that kept growing.

Using the back door, Alissa slipped inside, expecting the scent of home-baked cookies. Instead she smelled nothing. She dropped her handbag on a kitchen chair and strolled into the parlor and registration area. As she passed the buffet, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted past her, and except for Fern on the telephone, the room was empty. She moved closer and peered over Fern’s shoulder, watching her chicken scratches entering something in the reservation book.

“Two for October eighteenth,” Fern said, making a notation in the book.

Alissa thought of the mess-up with Ross and his mother. “Is that two people or two rooms?”

Fern shot her a frown and dropped the pencil.

Alissa gave her an apologetic look and walked away.

“That’s two rooms for the eighteenth,” Fern repeated.

Alissa watched Fern’s face as she scratched out something in the registration book. “One room. Two people. Good. May I have a credit card to hold the room?”

Alissa headed back to the kitchen, expecting an argument but not wanting one in the guest area. She glanced at the buffet, hoping to see the cookies on the platters along with the coffee. Her shoulders relaxed as she spotted two plates piled with cookies, but as she neared, tension flared. She slipped her fingers beneath the plastic wrap and lifted one. From the feel, she had her answer, and though she had no need to test, she did anyway and took a bite. She knew it. Glowering at Fern’s profile, Alissa charged into the kitchen and tossed the store-bought cookie she’d tasted into the wastebasket.

She’d prided herself on nothing but homemade in her bed-and-breakfast. She’d never taken shortcuts, so why had Fern taken it upon herself to bring bought cookies into the inn? Before she could calm herself, the swinging door flew back and Fern stomped into the room.

“You are always questioning me, Alissa, and I’m tired of it.”

Alissa raised her hand to calm her, but she noticed her own fingers trembled as she did. “I’m sorry, but I just told you about the misunderstanding with the Cahills’ reservation. We have to make sure we understand clearly what the guest wants. Apparently you didn’t, because I saw you scratching out the other information.”

“If you’re going to spy on me, then you need to find someone else to do this job.”

Her heart bucking inside her chest, Alissa bit her lip a moment to regulate her tone. “Please, Fern, I don’t want to argue. It’s Sunday, and—”

“Oh, so no arguing on Sunday, but I suppose Monday through Saturday is fine.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She opened the freezer door and pulled out a few cookies she’d frozen, thinking she’d save them for herself, but now she had no other choice today.

“What are you doing?” Fern swung her hand toward the two plastic containers Alissa had taken from the freezer.

“They’re cookies.”

“We have cookies. I filled the plates already.”

Alissa pried the lid off the first container. Peanut butter. Ross liked those. “They’re store-bought. I serve homemade.”

Fern put her hand on her hip. “I didn’t feel like messing around with baking this morning. As you just reminded me, it’s Sunday, and I’m heading for the late service.”

“We have aprons. That would protect you from the mess.”

Fern flashed a fiery look at Alissa. “These aren’t store-bought anyway. They’re from a bakery.”

“They’re still store-bought.” Alissa raised her hand again. “Let’s stop this now. Please.”

“Great.” Fern did a dramatic curtsy, grabbed her handbag, and charged out the back door.

Alissa stood there a moment, tears blurring her vision, before she sank onto a kitchen chair and braced her head in her hands. Why did she get into these verbal attacks with Fern? She wanted to be a good sister, but Fern and she disagreed on so many things. Lord, You know what I should do. Please give me wisdom and even a hint of what I can do to bring peace to our relationship.

The prayer hung above her as a chill prickled down her back. Words from Ecclesiastes filled her thoughts. “Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof: and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.” The verse sank into her mind, leaving her uncertain. The beginning of the verse gave her hope if that was God’s purpose in sending her the verse. She sensed the Lord was telling her things would end better than they were now. That’s what she wanted.

But what about the last part? Patience is better than pride. She’d tried to be patient with Fern. Was Fern’s pride getting in her way? Fern had been envious of their mother’s bequest. Alissa knew that from day one, but Fern had received a greater portion of the life insurance. She should have been happy, and what had she done with her money besides squander it away? And in such a foolish way at that.

With the questions still nudging her for understanding, Alissa pulled out two crystal platters and filled them with the frozen cookies. By the time any guests came back, she hoped the cookies would be thawed. She carried them into the guest area, replaced the store-bought ones with her homemade ones, and returned to the kitchen. She looked at the cookies and tossed them into the wastebasket. No store-bought cookies for her. She prided herself in homemade.

❧

Ross watched his mother head down the hallway while he let his nose lead him toward the kitchen. The scent of something sweet and lemony filled the air. He glanced at the buffet but saw nothing lemon; then he spied a peanut butter cookie like the one he’d enjoyed the day he arrived. He lifted one and took a bite. As he did, the swinging door flew open, and Alissa strode through, a smudge of flour on her face.

“Something smells good,” he said, longing to brush the flour from her cheek.

“I made lemon bars for tonight.”

“I love those things.”

“I know. You told me.” Her expression looked as if she’d just caught herself from stepping into a rabbit hole, and a tinge of pink brightened her expression.

“So I did. Thank you.”

She shook her head as if clearing away the cobwebs. “They’re for all my guests.”

“I know.” He opened his mouth to add, But you knew I love them. Instead he let well enough alone. She’d already embarrassed herself by telling him as much as she did.

She moved toward the buffet and transferred the cookies from one of the two platters to the other then draped the plastic wrap over the top. “Did you have a nice lunch?”

“We did. We ate at Bubba Gump’s. It’s a fun place.”

“It is. I always chuckle when I see the ‘Run Forrest Run’ flip cards.”

He grinned. “Afterward we sat on the wharf awhile watching the waves roll in.”

“Sounds relaxing.” She lifted the empty plate.

“It was, and now I’d love a nap, but Mom has other plans.”

Alissa laughed, the plate tucked against her slender waist. “And what is that?”

“She wants to go to the butterfly sanctuary. She’s in changing from her church clothes, and I’m about to do the same. I can’t see looking at trees in dress pants.”

He loved her smile. She gave him a nod. “Jeans work better.”

“And sneakers.”

She grinned. “Well, you’d better get ready, or she’ll beat you.”

“You’re right.” He gave her a playful salute and charged up the stairs, feeling heady and confused. He bantered with his mother, but the lighthearted chitchat with Alissa had never been his style. A businessman talked business, usually with businessmen. What did he know about women anymore? That hobby—and he knew he called it that in self-defense—had been put on a shelf like model cars and video games.

He used the key and pushed open his bedroom door. The flowers still stood on the table, but beside them, he spotted a bowl of fruit—an apple, an orange, a banana, and a plum. Nice touch. Alissa had added so many nice amenities to her inn, including those wonderful home-baked goodies.

He slipped off his shoes and tossed himself onto the bed, closing his eyes a moment to sort out his thoughts. His ranches needed attention, he knew, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to contact anyone to find out what new problems had arisen, if any. They had his cell phone number in case of an emergency. Since he’d bought the vineyard, his life had revolved around work. Running two different produce ranches kept him hopping. His father had told him that, among other things, but his wealth had grown as he thought it would.

Wealth. What good was it in the bank? He reinvested, but otherwise it was just piling up. No wife to leave it to, no children to benefit. He’d leave his money to his church perhaps, or. . . He pulled a pillow from beneath the bedspread and tossed it over his face. Stop thinking about death and bequeathals. It was too depressing.

His father filled his mind again, and Roger. . .his brother.

He tossed the pillow to the foot of the bed and raised himself on his elbows. Outside was a blue sky with promises of a bright day, a pleasant day, so why had he filled his mind with gloom and doom?

Ross rose and slipped off his dress pants, hung them over the rocking chair, and grasped his jeans from a chair, though he’d left them on the floor. He figured Alissa hadn’t cleaned his room, but in case she ever did, he needed to be more careful. Neater for sure. He tugged off his shirt and grabbed a knit pullover from a dresser drawer where he’d tossed his folded clothes. Tucking his shirt into his pants, he did a balancing act while slipping on his shoes. A mirror reflected his image—hair messed and a hint of a five o’clock shadow. Before going down, he grabbed his shaving kit and headed into the bathroom.

❧

Hearing someone in the other room, Alissa left her pan of lemon bars and stepped through the swinging door. Maggie stood beside the coffeepot as if considering whether she wanted a cup. “Would you like some tea instead?” She motioned inside the kitchen. “I have water on the stove.”

“Thanks, but I suppose I don’t need anything. We had a lovely lunch.”

“Ross told me, and he said you’re going over to the Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary now.”

“We are.” She gave a little nod, but her eyes looked past Alissa into the kitchen.

Alissa guessed at her thoughts. “Would you like to look around?” She motioned inside.

“I’d love to.” Her steps quickened as she passed through the doorway and stopped. “This is so nice. Everything so clean and bright, and look at those.” She pointed to the lemon bars. “Ross loves those things.”

“Yes, I—yes, he told me earlier.”

Her eyes softened when she looked at Alissa. “He’s a good son. Ross. I’m proud of him.”

“I’m sure you are. He’s a successful businessman, and that would make any mother proud.”

“You never had children?”

“I never married. Time ran away with itself. I dated a few nice gentlemen, but I never met anyone I’d consider a soul mate, and I never felt the Lord encouraging me to give my heart to any of them.”

“God will bless that strong faith,” Maggie said, resting her hand on Alissa’s. “And don’t give up. You never know when that special someone will appear in your life. One day you’ll feel an immediate connection and. . .”

Though Alissa heard the rest of Maggie’s comments in the periphery of her mind, she felt frozen to the floor. That exact feeling had washed over her the day she’d met Ross. He’d been irritating and cool, but when they’d talked later after his apology, she sensed a connection, a strange sensation that they’d known each other forever. The emotion seemed so foolish under the circumstances. She’d just learned his name, and she saw his eyes. How could anyone recognize a soul mate based on that little bit of information?

But she had.

“Ross is an only child?” Alissa asked, forcing herself to concentrate.

Maggie’s face darkened. “No, he had a younger brother.” She closed her eyes. “Roger.”

“I’m sorry. Had he been ill?”

“Yes, but not in the way we think of illness.”

Alissa felt herself frown, confused by Maggie’s comment. “Was it a rare disease?” She shouldn’t probe, but her desire to know more about the Cahills overshadowed good sense.

“It’s very common. Roger died in a car accident. A drunk driver accident.”

“That’s so tragic.”

“Our faith is strong, and we chose not to drink alcohol in our family.”

“I understand. I’ve never indulged either. It’s safer that way. Alcoholism sneaks up on people without their even realizing it.”

Maggie’s head lowered. “It does, and no matter what a family does, it doesn’t help.”

“Alcoholics need the Lord,” Alissa said, hoping to soothe the woman’s sorrow. “Did the driver die in the crash? So often they survive.”

Maggie’s head lifted, her eyes glazed. “Roger was the drunk driver. He killed a mother and her child.” Maggie rested her cheek against her hand. “It’s difficult to forgive him for that.”

Air escaped Alissa’s chest as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. Maggie’s tone, so harsh and bitter, seemed out of place coming from this gentle woman. Alissa struggled for words of comfort. “But we must forgive.”

She opened her arms, and Maggie melted into her embrace. They stood there until Alissa heard Ross’s footsteps on the stairs. Was this the dark shadow she’d witnessed in his eyes when he didn’t realize she was looking? Feeling guilt for someone else’s sin seemed natural when it came to family. She thought of her relationship with Fern and faced the truth. She’d never felt guilt for her sister’s envy. Maybe it was time to put herself in Fern’s shoes.

“Thank you,” Maggie said. “I don’t talk about that often, and maybe I should.” She stepped back and pushed open the swinging door.

Through it, Alissa saw Ross standing near the registration desk, his hands in his pockets, looking toward the outside door. Across the highway, the ocean sprawled before them, dashing against the rocks as if trying to shatter the hard stone. Life seemed that way. Waves of guilt, fear, and sadness lashed against life’s stability, and only a rock could endure the usual corrosion that destroyed life’s beauty.

Alissa knew she had her Rock, her Savior, but how often she found herself wallowing in the waves without clinging to the Rock for support. How long did it take God’s children to trust in Him and believe His promises? He is my Rock and Fortress, she reminded herself.