Chapter 3

 

August 1922

 

The scent of freshly milled lumber permeated every inch of Wyatt Noble’s office. It clung to his clothes when he went home each day and filled his dreams each night. But the smell was both familiar and welcome, a tangible connection to his past and to those he’d lost—his mother, father, sister, and brother-in-law.

He drew in a full breath of the calming aroma and returned his gaze from the large picture window to the contract on his desk. Even though the demand for lumber to build airplanes and ships had eased with the end of the Great War, the Noble Logging Company still continued to be successful and profitable. His father would likely be proud of that fact, though Wyatt had discarded the man’s underhanded, ruthless tactics when he’d taken over. He regretted never having had much of a relationship with his father until the very end, but Wyatt would never be sorry for choosing to run the company from a position of faith and honesty. And apparently his customers felt the same, judging by the new contract before him—the second this week.

The memory of a conversation he’d had years ago, one he hadn’t thought of in a very long time, replayed inside his mind. A conversation with a beautiful, compassionate young lady, regarding his fear of losing his faith and integrity once he became president of the logging company.

“I don’t think you will,” Loralee had said in that singsong, confident voice he’d loved from the moment he first heard it.

While this particular recollection hadn’t entered his thoughts in years, the woman herself had more times than he could count. Loralee Brown, he thought, tapping his desk with his pen. Or rather, Loralee Love.

She was a famous singer now—and a very talented one at that. Wyatt hadn’t heard her sing since the summer they’d shared in Bayocean when he was twenty, but he’d been given a glimpse back then of her amazing gift. And he’d followed her career through the newspapers.

Not for the first time, Wyatt wondered if she had a beau. He figured he would have read about her wedding if she’d married, but she might wish to keep the relationship of a sweetheart as private knowledge. Something akin to regret pierced him at the thought, bringing a frown to his mouth. No other girl had captured his heart the way Loralee had eight years ago, though he’d made a concerted effort to get to know other young women since then. At least until taking over the company. His work, and becoming guardian to his niece at the death of his sister and brother-in-law, had taken over his life, leaving him little time and energy to pursue romantic attachments.

Wyatt tried to focus on the contract before him once more, but his mind refused to let go of the memories of his first love. The summer they’d spent together had been the happiest time of his life. But she’d been so young, four years his junior, and his father had refused to condone the match. So Wyatt and Loralee did the only thing they felt they could—they’d promised to meet in Bayocean in eight years if neither of them were married or attached by then.

“What day was that?” he murmured to himself, spinning in his chair to view the calendar pinned to the wall. He recalled they’d chosen August 1922, but what day . . . Climbing to his feet, unsure why he felt driven to remember such a detail in this moment, he peered hard at the calendar.

“Daddy Wyatt!”

He turned, a ready smile erasing his frown as his niece burst into the room. She was followed at a more sedate pace by his housekeeper and Nellie’s nanny, Mrs. Harper. “Nellie girl. How are you today?”

The four-year-old bounded up to him and he caught her up in a hug. “I learned more letters and a new scripture today. So Mrs. Harper said we could come see you at your office.”

The older woman smiled at him over the dark curly head of her charge. “I hope that’s all right, sir.”

“Of course.” He returned to his seat and settled Nellie on his knee. The shock of losing his sister so soon after the death of his brother-in-law had been compounded by his sudden role as a father to his young niece. But he’d found great joy in caring for someone else. He may have come to fatherhood in an unexpected way, but he relished their little family. “Let’s hear your scripture.”

Nellie’s face scrunched in concentration. “To every thing there is a season and a time to . . . to . . .” She shot a look at her nanny.

“To every purpose,” Mrs. Harper prompted with a smile as she took the seat opposite the desk.

“Yes.” The girl clapped her hands. “A time to every purpose under the heaven.”

Wyatt embraced her. “Well done, Nellie girl. You’ll have the whole Bible memorized by the time you’re ten.”

She giggled and rested her head against his chest.

“Have you decided yet where you will vacation this year?” Mrs. Harper asked him.

Wyatt shook his head. “No.” With the steady flow of new contracts, his mind had been more on work than on his and Nellie’s annual vacation.

“I’m going to cut wood for a hotel,” Nellie announced, sitting up to the desk. She grabbed his pen and a nearby pad of paper and began writing out her own version of a contract. It was her favorite game when she came to his office.

“That will require a lot of wood. And when do they need all that lumber?”

Her brow furrowed again. “Tomorrow. What is the day tomorrow?”

Wyatt glanced at the calendar once more, but as he rattled off the date for Nellie, a sudden jolt of realization shot through him. Tomorrow was the day he and Loralee had promised to meet.

“Is something wrong, Daddy Wyatt?” Nellie stared up at him, her brown eyes wide.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” he said absently. Should he go to Bayocean? Would Loralee be there? Eight years was a long time, and yet, if there was the slightest chance that she hadn’t found someone either . . . He glanced down at Nellie, who had returned to her “work.” Whomever he married would have to accept his niece as a daughter. The two of them were bound together now. And yet, would someone as established in her career as Loralee Love wish to be an instant mother?

He couldn’t say, but the thought of seeing her again, of speaking with her, filled him with a hope he hadn’t entertained in years. To every thing there is a season, he repeated in his mind. Maybe this would be his and Loralee’s season.

“What if we go to the ocean for our vacation this year?”

Nellie spun to face him. “Oh, yes. I love the ocean.”

“Me too,” Wyatt agreed with a chuckle. “How does that sound, Mrs. Harper?”

The woman smiled. “Quite lovely, sir.”

“When will we go?” Nellie begged.

Making a decision, he scooped her up as he climbed to his feet, eliciting a happy squeal from her. “How about tomorrow?”

 

• • •

 

Bayocean, Oregon, Summer 1914: Eight years earlier

 

Wyatt whistled to himself as he strolled away from the hotel. Today was Loralee’s day off and he was meeting her in front of her bungalow. She’d progressed far enough in her swimming that she wanted to try out the ocean this afternoon.

Spending time with Loralee the last three weeks had been the highlight of his vacation and the highlight of his year. He’d enjoyed teaching her how to swim and seeing her confidence grow, not only in her abilities but also in herself. She no longer refused to meet his gaze when they spoke, which meant Wyatt had lots of opportunities to look into her beautiful blue eyes.

He had yet to introduce her to his father, and he hoped to put it off as long as possible. Not because he didn’t think Loralee the greatest girl he’d ever met. He simply hoped to stay the row between him and his father that would follow such an introduction. Mr. Noble made no pretense about who he wanted his son to marry—a lady of social standing and breeding. And while there were a number of young women vacationing in Bayocean this year who fit that description, none of them elicited the admiration Wyatt felt for Loralee.

His sister had already married the son of another logging tycoon, and while Wyatt respected his brother-in-law, he wasn’t blind to the reality that the marriage had been built on mutual interests rather than love. And whatever his father might say or demand, Wyatt wished to spend his days with a woman he loved.

Approaching Loralee’s bungalow, he overheard someone singing. It only took a few seconds to realize it was Loralee. He stopped to listen, intent on waiting only a moment or two before knocking, but he found himself completely caught up in the magic of her melodic soprano voice. It reached inside him, laying bare all his former heartaches and pains, and then binding them up with fervent hope.

He was still standing there, enveloped in the spell of her singing, when she opened the door. “Wyatt,” she said, smiling. “I thought I’d poke my head out and see if you were here.”

Shaking himself back to the present, he nodded. “I’ve been here for a few minutes.”

“You mean you heard . . .” She blushed.

He stepped toward her. “I didn’t know you sang.”

Her blush deepened. “It’s just something I pass the time with.”

“Loralee, you have an amazing singing voice.” He stopped beside her and took her hand in his. “Better than anything I’ve heard before.”

She smirked until she seemed to understand he spoke in earnest. “Thank you, but it isn’t as if there’s any sort of job in it for me.” Swinging her towel over her shoulder, she tugged him forward. “The ocean awaits.”

“But you could make a go at singing,” he said, unwilling to let it lie. He was no expert when it came to singing, but even he recognized she had real talent. “How else do you think the men and women who sing in those clubs get started?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to a club or a musical performance.” They struck up an easy stride, her hand still clasped in his. After a few moments of quiet, she turned to him, an inquisitive expression on her face. “You really think I have a voice for performing?”

He chuckled, bumping her shoulder with his. “I know it. I was awestruck just listening to you.”

She bumped him back. “Perhaps it’s something to think about”—she wagged a finger at him—“but only to think about, mind you. My life is here now and I’m content with that.”

They talked of other things as they wound their way to the beach. When they reached the water, Loralee dropped her towel on the sand and took off at a run for the waves. “You ready to go in?” she called over her shoulder, an echo of the words he’d said to her that first evening at the natatorium.

Her radiant smile hit him square in the heart, and Wyatt knew in that moment that, unlike her, he would likely never be content again. Not when he would have to say good-bye to Loralee for good at the end of the summer.