By Cathy Clamp
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Hot Summer Nights
Copyright © Cathy Clamp 2015
Gabriel Silva started working as a handyman at the Starlight Motel when he emigrated from Brazil a decade ago. When the owner died, he inherited half. The other half went to Sophie Greene, the man’s granddaughter. And oh, what a woman she was! Smart, fiery and gorgeous and could hammer nails as fast as him . . . maybe even faster. He could watch her climb and stretch all day, and all night too! But she wanted to turn the Starlight into a high end resort spa! Never!
It made sense that Sophie would inherit the motel, since she’d managed Grandpa Will’s string of rental properties in Texas, but the Starlight had always been a money pit. She had better get the place profitable, and quick, if she wanted to eat next month. Meeting Gabe sent shock waves through her. Not only suave and handsome, but he could handle power tools as well as her. She saw how he looked at her, his eyes raking her body as she put up roofing next to him. Maybe there were other ways to convince him to see things her way...
CHAPTER ONE
The pounding in Gabe’s head was getting worse. If he didn’t get out of the sun pretty soon, he was going to wind up with heat stroke. The buzz of cicadas in the ancient cypress trees overhead made the air feel even heavier— thick enough to cut with a knife. Even if the sun hadn’t been so unrelenting, the humidity weighed down his clothes. They hung from him like he’d been swimming in the pool. The patterned scarf covering his head was soaked with sweat and his eyes stung from the salt. But the new roof panels were up and just in time, if the dark clouds on the horizon were any indication.
“Gabe!” He looked down and saw tiny Mrs. Hernandez using her extension tongs to hold up a bottle of water from her third floor balcony. “You’re all red. Drink. Drink.”
Her age spotted hands shook as she reached the bottle as high as she could with the metal pincer contraption she always carried around. It was a nice gesture, but he honestly wasn’t sure if he could bend far enough down to grab it without falling head first onto the pavement.
He waved at her and walked down the steep slope of the roof, keeping the tie line of his safety harness at an angle so it didn’t tangle. She squinted up at him. “Obrigado, Senhora Dona Hernandez. Thank you. But I have water up here. I will take a break soon. I promise.”
She lowered the water bottle and shook her head. “You work too hard, Gabriel.” She always pronounced it as though he was French, with a soft ‘a’ and an emphasis on the ‘el’. It wasn’t correct, but he liked how she said it. “You should tell Mr. Will that you need help.”
“Mr. Will passed away, Senhora Dona. Don’t you remember? A few months ago.” And he’d just used the last supplies that the old owner had paid for. Other than the few wrappers of shingles to cover the wood and a little paint, the supply room was empty.
But he was ready. He’d saved nearly every dime he’d been paid as an employee, just like Will Green had taught him. How many nights had he slept hungry, even while there was money in the bank? When the motel was officially his, he could care for it. Mr. Will had kept track of much the shingles cost, and the same for each plate of glass, square foot of carpet and even pillows. He’d read the reports and understood them. I’m ready. Like I promised.
He let out a slow breath as the frail widow escaped back into her room, probably to put her face deep into the breeze from the air conditioner. The Louisiana heat was hard on the people who lived here. He had to make sure he kept their rooms in good repair. Every air conditioner worked, was top of the line. The independence of living at the Starlight Motel, not being a burden on their families, was their pride . . . and his. This wasn’t a motel. It was a community.
He opened the cooler tucked in the shade next to the television antenna, but even though he’d packed it with blocks of ice when he’d started on the roof, the bottles of Gatorade were floating in a pool of tepid water now. Still, warm was better than hot and he gratefully gulped down the salty orange fluid.
There was no way he was going to have time to get the shingles put down before the storm hit, so he started to roll out plastic sheeting to cover the bare wood. It was exterior grade, but it would still be easier to shingle tomorrow if the wood wasn’t wet.
As Gabe was lowering the bucket with his tools to the ground, he noticed a long black car pulling into the driveway. A limousine? Was it finally time? This was the wrong neighborhood for a limo, unless it was about Mr. Will’s estate.
A man in a suit that probably cost more than Gabe’s whole wardrobe stepped out of the limo, carrying a briefcase. The man was middle-aged, his hair thinning but still with color, his tie bright red, shiny enough to be silk. The suit was Italian cut, in the latest style. But it wasn’t Mr. Will’s attorney . . . at least not the one he’d been introduced to last fall. Still, he probably was a lawyer. He remembered Mr. Will’s lessons about meeting new people. Notice clothing always, Gabe. People speak through clothes. Listen to what they tell you. But remember–clothes do not make the man. Clothes are just words. The strength of the words is in the people.
“Excuse me!” He yelled the words up to be heard over the traffic and insects. “Habla Ingles? Are you Gabriel Silva?”
It made him chuckle as he unhooked his safety harness from the static line. Will Greene’s voice came into his head again. No blinks, Gabe. Be firm, meet his eyes. No matter how you are dressed at the moment. Make your clothing.
He kept his gaze locked on the other man’s, taking his measure. He shouted back in reply. “Yes, I’m Gabriel, and I speak English.” With a little Cajun accent, which he had worked hard to perfect. It was likely why people used the French pronunciation of his name. It was a long way from a being teenager who arrived as a stowaway, who couldn’t speak anything but his native tongue. “But even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t speak Spanish. I’m from Brazil. We speak Portugese.”
That made the man blink, which amused him. Dark skin didn’t automatically mean Mexican, especially in Louisiana. In fact, when he wasn’t working in the sun all the time, his skin was almost pale. While the man was deciding what to say next, Gabe tested the ladder to make sure the feet hadn’t shifted. He really should attach a ladder to the wall to reach the roof. Maybe next year.
That was when he saw the shiny black stiletto heel slide out of the limo. The leg that followed was bare of hose, but the calf muscle said the woman was a runner or at least a fitness buff.
He watched while the rest of the woman exited the vehicle. She was wearing a pair of white capri pants and a sleeveless shirt. But what drew his attention was the summer hat, broad brimmed white with a patterned black and white ribbon. A gust of wind from the coming storm hit his back, nearly blowing him off the roof. It caught the hat and tried to pull it off her head. The hair underneath was the color of beach sand. She reached up to hold it on, and looked up. Their eyes met and her lips opened. It was the same expression. The very same. Gabe’s breath stilled at the same moment his heart started to race.
It was her. The woman in the photograph.
~*~
“It’s just around the next corner, Miss Greene.”
Sophie nodded, not really listening to the lawyer, instead spending her time looking out the window to get a feel for the neighborhood. Despite his age, the man in the nice suit across from her was just an associate, and she’d only just met him. She’d expected her grandfather’s regular attorney, one of the partners in the most exclusive law firm in town, to be the one to accompany her today. She’d been a little disappointed that he’d pushed the meeting off on someone else—especially since she’d made an appointment. Well, okay, that was a lie. She wasn’t a little disappointed, she was a lot pissed.
“I still don’t understand why we have to drive to the location before signing the paperwork, Mr. Bandy. I’ve seen pictures and my grandfather told me the motel was well maintained. I’m also a little confused why Seth wasn’t in the office for our appointment.”
The attorney gave an apologetic shrug and tapped one finger on the armrest of the broad seat. She couldn’t tell whether the gesture was from impatience or nervousness. “His trial yesterday ran over. The Judge insisted on another day to finish. He had to cancel all appointments. But since you were coming from out of town, he asked me to fill in. Visiting the site beforehand was requested by your grandfather. We’re simply ensuring his instructions are complied with.”
Really? That was interesting. Well, Grandpa Will did tend toward the dramatic. He liked to put on a show. Okay, I’ll let this play out. See what he wanted me to see. “Very well. Thank you for following his wishes, then.”
He dipped his head and nodded, just as the car turned and bounced over a curb. She looked out the heavily tinted windows. The Starlight Motel apparently hadn’t changed much from when it was built, likely in the late sixties. The tall sign bore a striking resemblance to the old Stardust Casino sign in Las Vegas. The hotel was painted the same shade of blue as the bottom of public swimming pools. It wasn’t a bad color for the building style. The white trim was clean and she didn’t spot a single bit of rust staining around the soffets or drain pipes. She’d have to check the room interiors, but so far, she was liking what she saw. A little dated, but that was easily fixed. I’ll have to keep on the maintenance people after I take title to the property.
When the limo came to a stop, Mr. Bandy stepped out and called to a person on the roof. The words were muffled from the soundproofing of the limo and Sophie couldn’t see who he was speaking to from her angle inside the wide back seat. She scooted to the door and put out one leg. Walking in heels didn’t come naturally to her. So she had to test the ground with her foot before she was willing to put her weight on it. Man what she wouldn’t give to be back in her work boots. But the law office appointment demanded certain social norms. The capris were at least pants, but of the upper-class-acceptable kind that Grandpa’s attorney was accustomed to seeing. Sophie had to at least pretend she was part of the Greene empire, that she fit into the family she was born to, even though she’d always felt like an outsider. As far as her siblings were concerned, she might as well have been adopted as an adult. She shared nothing in common with Beatrice (Bunny to her friends) or Trevor or Milton. She worked with her—ugh!—hands, and had no servants to speak of. Only Grandpa connected with her. Only he got who she really was.
She missed him terribly.
Whatever the man had said took Mr. Bandy by surprise. He was trying to come up with a response. She looked up and caught the eyes of the man standing there. One muscled arm was holding onto the top of an extension ladder and the sun glinted off the hardware on his safety belt. His pale blue eyes drilled through her. Holy mother of all that was good. He was real. The man in the photograph from Grandpa’s office wasn’t an image from the past, as she’d long believed. He was a living, breathing man. The wind from the coming storm pulled at his sweat-soaked work shirt, as though even the elements wanted to free the rippling muscles she knew lay underneath.
Oh, that picture. Two years ago that it had appeared on Grandpa Will’s shelf next to his desk. She’d been drawn to it immediately. Grandpa Will was a skilled photographer. He changed out his photos often, so she looked around each time she visited. The way he managed to catch light and shadows was nothing short of mastery. He could take an old homeless woman sitting outside a grocery store and turn her into a goddess of a by-gone era that people would pay money to see.
It had been such a simple photo—just an ordinary workman taking a break. But the light in the black and white print caught the water in the bottle he had to his lips, touched the hammer held loosely, comfortably, in his other hand. Made them shine like divine instruments. His eyes were closed, taking in the sheer pleasure of cool water, while sweat left his body in rivulets down his bare chest. She’d had to touch the photo to prove that the drips of sweat weren’t really moving. “Who is he?” she remembered asking Grandpa.
Grandpa Will had just smiled, sitting behind his desk in his tailored suit, looking every inch the billionaire he was. “That’s the man who taught me everything I know about what’s real and important.”
Sophie had imagined he was someone from Grandpa’s youth, a fellow entrepreneur who had started out an empire working long summer days in the hot sun. Grandpa had noticed when she couldn’t take her eyes off the picture. He’d offered it to her to take home and she’d agreed. It was just a small snapshot, so he sent her the image by email and she’d had it blown up to a twenty by forty and framed it. She imagined him to be the workman of the Greek gods—Hephaestus’s younger, sexier brother. Any number of visitors to the motel she managed in Texas for her Grandpa had offer to purchase it for the art that it was. But she couldn’t sell it. In her mind, it would taint it somehow. The beauty, the power, couldn’t be owned . . . or controlled.
She blinked and realized she was watching his body. What would he think of her for staring so long? This wasn’t a photo. It was a person. But her staring had made him smile. His eyes raked her body from high above. Knowing; raw. It startled her and her eyes dropped to the ground, suddenly uncomfortable.
Sophie felt abruptly overheated and heavy in the still air. The wind had stopped completely, as though waiting, ready to pounce. Even Mr. Bandy noticed. “Are you feeling well?”
“It’s the heat,” she lied weakly. “I should get out of the sun.”
Bandy’s brow was beaded with sweat and dark stains were appearing under his dark suit jacket. He nodded. “I agree. We can wait for Mr. Silva in the office.” He waved his hand and pointed to the clearly labeled door. “We’ll meet you inside.”
Sophie followed him hurriedly, trying to keep from looking at the workman. His name was Silva. He had a name. It was disconcerting. Her heart started to pound for no good reason. Maybe it was the heat.
The blast of chilled air that hit her when the attorney opened the door took her breath away. Her eyes sought out the temperature controller on the wall, safely locked inside a plexiglass box so guests didn’t fiddle with it. Seventy-four? Really? It feels like sixty. Her mind was working on what her eyes were seeing versus what her body was feeling, when the door opened behind her. The heat from outside hit her like a blast furnace, so maybe she really was having symptoms of heat stroke. She turned her head instinctively. Mr. Silva was standing there, taking up the entire doorway. He’d taken off the patterned head scarf to reveal the same damp, curly hair as in her picture. But his eyes weren’t closed now and the intensity in them made her whole body shiver. There was no denying he was staring at her, almost as though he recognized her from somewhere.
Mr. Bandy spoke, and it startled her. “Is there somewhere we can all sit down?”
All? “Is there a reason why we need to all speak?”
Silva spoke up, his voice a low tenor, nearly a baritone. It was the voice she’d imagined he had. He stepped a little closer. The breeze from the vent blew the scent of clean sweat, a grassy cologne and roofing cement toward her. She knew she was strange, but the smell of roof tar was like heaven. “Yes, I would like to know this as well. May I ask for an introduction?”
Bandy blinked, as though confused. “I’m sorry. I presumed you knew each other, since you both held the same position at Mr. Greene’s hotels and . . . well, his LastWill being what it is.”
That made Sophie look at Silva again and then at Mr. Bandy. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me. I’m just here to inspect the property and look over the accounting before I take over the hotel.”
That made Silva laugh. “Before you take over the hotel? I’m afraid you’re confused, Miss. The Starlight belongs to me.”
Now Bandy looked truly nervous. “Oh, my. I wasn’t aware that Seth hadn’t discussed the terms of the Will with you both.” He looked around the room. “Are we alone here? Can we lock the front door for a moment?”
Silva made a low little growl and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. He locked the door and then strode firmly behind the desk, taking a position across from them—the wooden reception desk giving him an edge of authority. “So tell me. Will Greene made it very clear when we visited Seth Goodman’s office that he was leaving this motel to me.”
Sophie felt her back straighten. Handsome or not, this was her inheritance and she wasn’t giving it up easily. “And he told me the same thing, in the same place. We signed papers. Did you?”
Those eyes turned to her, now glittering with barely suppressed anger. “We did.” They both turned, nearly simultaneously, to the attorney. “Let me read the Will.”
Bandy’s tone was apologetic when he spoke. “I didn’t bring a copy with me. I presumed you’d already read it. But I do have with me letters for both of you, written by Mr. Greene before he passed.” He reached into the side pocket of his briefcase and pulled out two of the wide parchment envelopes she recognized well. They were definitely from the stock in his office, larger than a regular envelope. Grandpa had liked that people could always pick out his letters when he mailed them, even if he had to put extra postage on every letter.
Dearest Sophie. She ran her fingers over the ink, feeling the deep impression Grandpa’s Waterman pen always left in the paper. She heard as Silva opened his own envelope and began to read. Her note was short but left her stunned.
Sophie, please forgive me for leading you a little astray. I know I promised you the Starlight, but I promised it to Gabe too. I’d like to say it was a weak moment when I did, but it wasn’t. I truly think either of you would run it well. But you have very different visions for it and I would ask that you keep an open mind. If you haven’t read my Will, there’s a restriction against selling your half, except to Gabe, for 5 years. He is likewise restricted. So, please—work together, for my sake. You’ve managed, but never owned. Nor has he. I’ve taught you both all I can, but some things you’ll have to learn first hand. Teach him the things he couldn’t learn from me. Remember what I told you about him. Trust me. Love, Grandpa.
She looked up and Silva, now Gabe, was just finishing his own letter. He was frowning, so it probably said the same thing. A flash of lightning through the window was followed by a boom of thunder. Gabe held it out to her, his jaw set so tight she was surprised he could get words out. “Would you like to read mine?” She could see the turmoil in his face. He was sad, happy, angry and wounded. Mostly, he was stunned, like her.
She shook her head. “Grandpa’s message should be only to you.” She didn’t know what to think, what to feel, but she really didn’t want him reading her letter. She folded it carefully and put it back in the envelope. Her pockets weren’t big enough to hold the envelope, so she just held it, feeling a little silly.
She fought to get past the photo in her head to see the man in front of her—someone she was about to be forced to deal with on a daily basis, apparently. She held out her hand because she couldn’t think what else to do. “So. Hi, I guess. I’m Sophie Greene and I guess we’re partners.”
He squared his shoulders and let out a slow breath as rain began to pound a staccato beat overhead. Finally, he nodded and took her hand. But then he turned it and raised it lightly, touching his lips to her skin. A shock of electricity having nothing to do with the storm made her see white flashes of light from the delicate contact. “And I am Gabriel Silva. Your esteemed grandfather called me Gabe, and you may as well.”
Mr. Bandy let out a relieved breath, as though he was expecting the meeting to go downhill badly. “Well, that’s done. I presume you’d like to talk about how the process will work. But I noticed that the driver just put your bags just outside the door. We should get them inside before they get wet and then we can sit down to talk.”
Settled . . . in. Oh, holy crap! That’s right!
Gabe’s brows dropped into a slight frown line. “Settled in? I don’t understand.”
She leaned forward slightly and rested herself against the reception desk, suddenly defeated and tired of the whole business. What she really wanted to do was bang her forehead into the wood. “I’d planned on moving in and taking over . . . before I got this.” She held up the tan linen envelope. “Grandpa told me there was a manager’s quarters, and since I’ve been essentially kicked out of the hotel I was running in Texas that my darling cousin got as his bequest, I’m sort of homeless. Other than a few hotels he gave to the grandkids, everything Grandpa had was left to my parents, aunts and uncles. But it’s okay, I’ll find a hotel. I probably have that much cash left until I can find a job and get an apartment.” A job. She’d been managing Grandpa Will’s properties since she got out of college. What was she qualified to do? She couldn’t beg Mom and Dad for help. Not after last time.
Gabe seemed unsure what to say, and how could she blame him? She would basically be kicking him out of his home if she stayed.
Mr. Bandy cleared his throat. “There will be a small bequest to each of you in cash, around ten thousand each if I remember correctly, but it won’t happen immediately. There is a great deal of paperwork to do. Mr. Greene’s holdings were quite extensive and we have to complete the estate paperwork before the distributions are made. Still, I’m sure the executor would be willing to advance you a few thousand dollars to help you get by.”
Gabe shook his head strongly. “No. I will not hear of it. Mr. Will was family here. I always kept one room vacant so he could stay when he visited.” He dipped his head, a charming gesture. “You will have his room. For as long as you need.” He pulled the keys from his pocket and came around the desk. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, sending a shock of sensation through her. “Come. We will get you . . . settled in.” He turned his attention to the attorney, settling his posture until it was nearly a mirror of the stance Grandpa had when talking business. There was a power there, a confidence Silva . . . Gabe, hadn’t seemed to possess moments ago. “Please go back and prepare whatever papers are required. We will speak again once Miss Greene is rested from her trip.”
Taken slightly aback, Mr. Bandy nodded. “Of course. Call the office in the morning. I’m sure we can provide you with whatever you need.”
He gave a short, curt nod and walked past Bandy. “His . . . your room is this way. Unit seven. On the second floor.”
Lucky seven. Grandpa did everything in sevens, from seven cars, to seven hotels, and even seven places at the table when he had meetings. Even if he needed eight, or six, people to discuss a problem. It was always seven.
Gabe picked up her bags before she could grab them and lifted even the large heavy bag, filled with books and shoes, with ease. As Mr. Bandy walked back toward the limo, she took a deep breath and let it out slow. So, this is it. I’m actually going to live here. She followed him to the stairway, which was clean and in good repair, and the handrails sturdy and painted with anti-slip coating. The room was at the end of the row of only a few doors. The rooms must be huge! When he opened the door, he said. “Room Seven was Mr. Will’s. It is yours now.”
He stepped out of the way, letting her past him. She walked past slowly, barely noticing him. She stared in shock at all of the furniture she used to have in her room when she visited Grandpa—back when Grandma was still alive. “It is mine.” She reached out and put her hand around the slender tall poster that rose from the footboard of the double bed, and ran it lovingly along the polished mahogany wood, tracing her finger around the carved Chippendale-style swirls like she used to as a child. She’d always loved this bedroom set and she realized it was her true inheritance. Her siblings and parents would just see furniture. She saw craftsmanship and love. It was when she was looking at the rest of the bedroom set that she spotted the cozy breakfast nook with the table that had been in their kitchen—old oak with ladderback chairs, and the nearly full sized kitchen, including a refrigerator. Why was all his furniture here?
It was then that she noticed Gabe was standing behind her, so close that she could feel the heat from his chest radiate through her. His breath moved her hair slightly. “You touch the wood with the same reverence Mr. Will did. As though the wood speaks to you.”
She nodded. “It sort of does. This wood holds a lot of good memories for me. This was my bedroom set. I thought it was lost when Grandpa sold his house after Grandma died.”
He let out another breath against her skin that made her shiver before stepping back abruptly. She could see him shake his head, as though clearing it, in the reflection of the picture over the bed. Wait. Not a picture. It was a photo . . . of her.
She shared at the image for a long moment and then touched the hat on her head, the same as in the photo. In fact, her outfit was nearly the same. “I don’t remember him taking this.”
“It was his favorite,” Gabe said, an odd inflection his voice. “It was the rare photo he never took down, never replaced.” He paused for a moment, as though not sure what to say.
“The mattress is only a year old, and has only had Mr. Will sleep on it. The appliances in the kitchen all work, and this room has a larger tub than the others.”
She smiled then. “Grandpa did always like a good bath. He made me promise not to tell people where he worked that he liked to soak in bubbles.”
He laughed, a joyful sound that made her smile grow wider. “Many times when I would visit, he would call out that he would be out after his soak. He was a very clean man.”
“He was.” She nodded and then looked around the room again, nearly expecting he was going to walk out of the bathroom. The room smelled of his cologne, his pipe tobacco. His pressed suit pants still hung over the back of a chair. She realized she wasn’t smiling anymore. Her eyes burned, and she felt like she wanted a good cry. “I miss him.” Maybe her voice sounded harsh. It was a lot to take in, standing here, thinking about him. To think she’d never hear his voice again—
Gabe cleared his throat with a soft cough and then offered hesitantly, as though he could sense her pain, “There is another room if you—”
She shook her head, and lifted her eyes to look at the photo again. “No, it’s fine. I’d like to stay here.” He turned to leave. Just as he was shutting the door, he paused. She saw him staring at her in the reflection and she couldn’t help but add. “Thank you for keeping the room the same.”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a sad smile, but there was a tension there, like he wanted to do something, say something, but he didn’t know what. She didn’t know either, except that she really wanted a hug. But there was no way to ask that from a total stranger—photo or no.
“Dinner is at six. I will come back and show you the way.”
She sort of heard it, from a distance, as she stared at the picture. She heard the door close with a oiled click as she remembered that day on the beach, walking around the boardwalk with Grandpa; was it six years ago now? She’d just bought the hat while visiting and Grandpa had told her she looked fetching. It was a quaint word, and it made her happy when he said it. And it was a good look on her. She’d gotten compliments on the outfit from strangers on the street, and even the rare favorable comment from her mother. She looked so happy in the photo, content and peaceful. When was the last time she’d felt like that? Years. That was the day he’d asked her to take over the Texas hotel, and everything had changed.
Lately, the weight of the job had worn her down. She loved managing the hotel, but it was hard. Constant work, constant worry. Am I fooling myself that owning it will change the job?
And owning it with Gabe Silva . . . she didn’t know what to think. She was sad, weary, happy, excited and nervous. Having the photo come to life while she was trying to deal with Grandpa’s death had her mind swirling, and her body constantly tense, waiting for . . . What exactly?
CHAPTER TWO
Gabe took a deep breath, now safely outside Mr. Will’s room. Except it wasn’t his room anymore and his brain couldn’t seem to process it. It felt odd to let anyone other than the old man inside, even though it was what Mr. Will wanted. Support her. Teach her what you taught me, Gabe, the letter had told him. But he wasn’t sure what he had taught his patron. It was the older man who had taught him. How to speak English, how to learn accents, how to dress for business, how to manage a hotel. Mr. Will had sent him to classes, too, until he earned his diploma. He’d even sponsored Gabe for a work visa. All he had come to the country with was construction skills, learned as a child working for his uncle in Brazil.
Brazil. So many memories of sights and smells.
Especially the flowers. Lady of the Night orchids! That was what the scent was. She’d passed by him into the room and he’d caught the scent of her perfume, or maybe it was her shampoo. It was the scent of wild flowers, fresh from the jungle, just like in the marketplace when he was a boy. He’d wanted to nuzzle his nose in the hair of his goddess.
No, no. She has a name. She is not simply an enchanting picture anymore. Sophie, probably Sophia, and she is young, vibrant, and so very—
Sexy. Very sexy.
He shook his head again and took a second deep breath, trying to focus. She was Mr. Will’s granddaughter. To touch her, take her, would be . . .
Wonderful. Electric.
No. Wrong. It would be wrong.
Rain poured off the edge of the walkway, the cool wind off the Gulf briefly pushing away the sticky heat. Gabe walked down the cement path to the other corner unit and then knocked. The door opened and Marie Cormier answered. Her white hair was covered with a striped bicycle helmet and her bright red tee-shirt and tight black shorts were soaked with rain. She smiled broadly, showing strong white teeth.“Gabriel! How are you today?”
He took a deep breath. “May I come in?”
Her eyes widened just a bit but she stepped back, and waved him inside, moving far more nimbly than her years should allow. “It’s been a long time since you asked to come in. What’s wrong?” Picking up the ten-speed bike and moving it to rest against the counter allowed him to get to the couch, where he sat down. She opened a bottle of water and took a long drink before sitting down herself. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
Normally, he would accept the invitation, because she always had some unique beers that he’d never seen in any store. But now he shook his head. “No, thank you. I need your advice. I would like to do something, but it’s on very short notice and would burden most everyone here. Should I do it?”
She didn’t ask what he was planning. She never did. Instead, she took off the helmet and shook her head until her hair became a fluffy cloud. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
He went the long way back to his apartment, via every door in the community. He told them all what he wanted to do. Part of him was surprised everyone agreed so readily, but he didn’t really expect anything else. Now, it was just up to him to get everything else ready.
It took nearly the entire three hours, until just before six o’clock to turn the pool area into a Mardi Gras celebration. While it was months late . . . or months yearly, he supposed, the Mardi Gras party had been Mr. Will’s favorite. And it was nice that the storm had passed but left the cool behind. It felt close to Mardi Gras weather. Gabe raised his hand to knock on Sophie’s door again, but turned one last time to look over the railing to his handiwork. He smiled as he watched all the motel residents racing around, bringing their best food to put on tables covered with metallic gold cloths. The strings of green and purple twinkle lights would look wonderful after dark, and he’d even dove down into the pool to put purple and green filters over the lights at the bottom. He had on his jester king crown. The tribute to Mr. Will, and the welcome banquet for Sophie, was ready. Mrs. Hernandez looked up from her favorite bench next to the fountain and waved.
A quick knock. “Miss Greene? Sophia? Are you ready for dinner?”
“Coming.” He heard soft footsteps behind the door and realized he was nervous. He wanted her to like what he’d done. She’d been so sad, and Mr. Will had never been a sad person. He would have wanted a party, to celebrate his life, not mourn his death. The door opened and . . . he had no words. She wore a black sequined cocktail dress that hugged her curves. It stopped barely mid-thigh. His eyes dropped to see those smooth legs again, this time more exposed, but still muscled and firm. The black heels were the same and also matched the dress. He looked up again and her face was a little confused, perhaps by his unabashed admiration. And it was completely open. His heart was racing, his stomach doing flips, and he wasn’t even trying to pretend he wasn’t affected. Her hair was up, with wispy ringlets surrounding her face, now perfect with evening makeup and the, what was it called? Oh yes, smoky eye powder, like for Hollywood parties. Beautiful.
She looked so very . . . perfect. And so completely wrong for tonight.
He moved his hand up to run through his hair, a habit Mr. Will had tried to break, and he jingled. No wonder her face was confused!
“I apologize, Miss Greene. I should have explained. You look . . . so beautiful. Amazing. But—”
She nodded and gave a tight smile, looking again at his shorts and sandals and the jingle crown. “But we weren’t going out to dinner, were we?”
He felt his face grow hot as embarrassment raced through his veins. “No. I mean, yes! We are going to dinner, but not . . . a formal one. We have a party planned to welcome you, down by the pool. It’s not formal, but I promise, the food is better than you would find at the finest restaurant, and the company much better.” He reached out and took her hand. She started to pull back but then relaxed and let herself be drawn forward to the railing.
She looked down and a smile slowly appeared on her face, like a bird lifting wings to take flight. “Oh! It’s beautiful! It looks like Mardi Gras. All the beads and lights and . . . is that a float?”
Gabe nodded. “Mr. Will and I built that together. He was a very good carpenter. A true craftsman. He taught me much about cabinetry. I knew only houses. He taught me furniture and delicate things.”
She nodded, as though lost in thought. The setting sun made her hair appear red and bathed her face in golden light until it glowed. “We used to go to antique auctions years ago. He used to test me on dovetail joints and how old the nails were before he would make a bid. That’s when I decided I wanted to work with tools. I’m the only girl who does in our family.”
That surprised Gabe. “You? No. I do not believe you. Let me see your hand.” As though she was used to the disbelief, she turned her hand, palm up, without an argument, and he lifted it to look at it in the light. There were definitely callouses at the base of her fingers and her nails were short, just to the tips of the skin. The skin was soft with fresh lotion, but she was right. These were working hands.
The hand started to tremble the tiniest bit and her breath was in little puffs that made him look up at her face. She was staring at her hand. Actually, more she was staring at his. He didn’t realize he had been caressing her palm, dancing patterns along her fingers. “Oh. Sorry.” He let her hand drop and she let out a shaky laugh.
“Don’t be. I’m not.” She turned and walked back across to her room. “I should change into something more . . . suitable.”
He waited for her to shut the door. But she didn’t.
Gabe stood, transfixed, as Sophie kicked off her shoes and slowly began to ease her panty hose down her legs. She had to bend over to get them off her feet and he heard himself groan as her plump, round bottom, barely covered by sequins, beckoned to him.
When she stood up, still facing the far wall, she reached back to unzip her dress. It moved a few inches and then stopped. She jiggled the zipper a few times and then called out. “Darn. It’s stuck. Do you mind?”
Did he mind? Undressing her? She must be joking! He stepped forward, not even caring anymore that he jingled with each step, and stopped right behind her. It was very likely she could feel his erection pushing out his pants. The fabric of the dress was very thin. He reached for the zipper, expecting it was just an excuse to get him in the room. His mind was already deciding how best to throw her onto the bed and finally live out the fantasy he’d been planning ever since he saw the picture, years ago.
But the zipper really was stuck. His hands felt clumsy, trying to defeat the tiny zipper, but it had sucked up several of the sequins and it wouldn’t move up or down. He pulled it back and forth until she started moving bodily on the carpeting.
“Hey, hey! Careful! This dress cost me a month’s pay.”
Why would anyone pay so much money for such a small scrap of fabric? He let out a frustrated breath and bent down close to the fabric. “Could you at least move into the light a little?”
“Um, sure.” She walked with the small steps that the tight fabric allowed toward the lamp on the nightstand and he followed, keeping hold of the zipper, wiggling it this way and that, trying to unstick it from the fabric. The more she moved, the stronger the scent of orchids. It had to be her hair.
She went right up to the lamp, but her body put the dress in shadow. “No, that’s worse,” Gabe said, shaking his head. “We need to turn around.”
She did, so quickly that he didn’t have time to react in the small space between the bed and the half wall. The zipper ripped out of his hand abruptly and his crown toppled onto the floor behind him with a flutter of bells. He was face to face with her. Well, more face to breast, which was a very nice place to be. Her lips were parted slightly, her face flushed. While he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and lick the tightly bound skin over her dress, he instead stood up until he was inches away. “That was not exactly what I had in mind, but it might have worked.”
She let out a gasp as he put his hands on her waist and then reached behind her and held the top of the dress with one hand and used the other to slide the zipper down. The abrupt tug had pulled the fabric away and it easily slid down. He locked his eyes with hers and let go of the fabric. The top of the dress fell down until it caught on his belt buckle.
Gabe felt his breathing slow until the only sound was their hearts pounding. Or maybe he was just feeling it through the skin. When he put his hands on her bare back, she inhaled sharply and shut her eyes. He couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and kissed her. He had to taste those pale pink lips.
She put her hands on his chest and curled her fingers until she was clutching the front of his shirt. He darted his tongue into her mouth as he pressed himself against her and backed her up until the lampshade tipped back against the wall. It had been a very long time since emotions like this had stirred in him. Sophie responded by putting her hands around his neck and pulling him in tighter.
Her skin was so smooth and warm. It was like his hands were pressed against a heater. He could only imagine what it would feel like when she was wrapped around him and he was inside. Which he was hoping would be very soon.
“Gabriel?” He heard the voice in the distance, but it was far away and his mind was buzzing. But then the voice became loud, like a mother unwilling to wait any longer. “Gabriel!” He tried to ignore it again. It wasn’t until other voices joined in that he finally admitted defeat.
“What is keeping you?”
“The food is getting cold! Bring her down already!”
He slowly ended the kiss with a frustrated groan. She let out a small chuckle. “Not the best timing, was it?”
He sighed. “They are old. Time is precious to them.” He stepped back, hoping to see her nude and beautiful, but she actually had on a bra of sorts above the dress, held up only by the gentle swell of her breasts. There were no straps, but it covered her with thick padded nylon. He had to struggle not to reach forward to see how they were held on. Tape?
She put out a hand and pushed against his chest. “Shoo. Let me get dressed for a pool party.”
That confused him and he felt a sad frown pull at his lips. “You were willing to let me watch before.”
Sophie let out a little laugh, but it sounded nervous. “That was when I thought you’d be staying longer. Do you really want people to come bang on the door while you’re . . . watching?”
While Mr. LeBeaux would probably pull up a chair to watch with him, the ladies . . . no. She was right. He let out another sigh. “I will be just outside.” Still, it was difficult to watch her shut the door firmly and hear the lock set behind him.
“Gabriel!”
He walked to the railing and looked down at the people staring up. “Yes, yes! I know. She has to change. She was dressed for a sit-down dinner.” And very nearly undressed for dessert. He sighed again.
~*~
Sophie leaned her back against the door and shut her eyes as she heard Gabe shout down to the people waiting for them. What in the hell was I thinking?! Well, that was the thing, wasn’t it? I wasn’t. She slid down the door until she was crouched, her dress in a pool on her lap, and breathed a sigh of relief.
She’d never been so brazen before, undressing in front of a total stranger. Well, okay, he wasn’t a total stranger, but close enough. Leering over his photo for years wasn’t the same thing. But the lust that had been building for that image wasn’t easy to ignore. Especially when the real-life version had that sexy foreign accent and a quick smile.
Well, better get to it. She hoped she didn’t blush to the roots of her hair when she saw him again. Pushing up and away from the door, she walked toward the bathroom, the carpeting soft under her bare feet. She wiggled down the dress over her hips and examined the zipper area. It didn’t look like anything had ripped, thank heavens. Sewing wasn’t her strong suit.
After carefully laying it over the back of the dressing room chair, she inspected herself in the mirror. Her lipstick was smeared, which wasn’t a surprise. She grabbed a tissue to dab it away without ruining the rest of her make-up, and caught the scent of Gabe’s cologne on her hands. The scent was so wonderful that she buried her face in her palms just to soak in the scent. It was clean and grassy, with citrus overtones. Oh, man! I could get used to that smell!
The make-up only took a few seconds. She didn’t brush her teeth a second time, because she was enjoying the taste of spiced rum that Gabe must have drank before he came upstairs to get her. She put the dress back on the padded hanger and flipped through her limited clothing. Hmm . . . what says both ‘pool party’ and ‘Mardi Gras’? A tall order for a month’s worth of clothes. She finally settled on a pair of soft cotton shorts that were about the right color of purple and a yellow scoop neck tee shirt with splashes of color. There was a little purple and a little green. Close enough. She hadn’t brought sandals, so running shoes would have to do. No jewelry, because she’d fought the battle between necklace chains and the sort of cheap plastic beads Gabe had been wearing. Nearly broke a solid silver necklace of her mother’s that way.
She was as ready as she was going to be. Gabe’s cute, silly crown on the floor caught her eye as she left the dressing area and she picked it up. The tinkling made her smile as she shook it. Opening the door, Gabe was standing on the walkway talking to a lovely older woman with short silver hair. He smiled as he caught sight of her.
She put the crown on top of his head, but didn’t want to embarrass him with why she had it. “Found this in my room. It looks good with your outfit.”
He nodded without commenting, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “You look lovely.”
Sophie couldn’t help but roll her eyes and look down at the clothes. “I look like I need to go shopping. I didn’t bring much with me. I wasn’t sure I was staying.”
The old woman walked the few steps over to her and patted her arm. “Well, of course you’re staying, dear. Will wanted you here.”
That raised her eyebrows. She’d expected the woman was just a guest of the motel.“You knew Grandpa?”
Gabe laughed low, an odd chuckle. The woman joined him. “Oh, my yes. We were . . .” She paused, looking uncomfortable. Her fingers nibbled on her palms and she bit at her lower lip. But after a few moments she threw up her hands and laughed good-naturedly. “Well, it’s silly to keep the secret any longer, isn’t it? We were paramours.”
Sophie didn’t think she could be so surprised a second time in one day. “Oh! Grandpa never said he had a . . . girlfriend.” She tried to picture her grandfather courting a woman. He was a flirt, of course, and often went to events, but never really dated to her knowledge. She refused to think of him having sex.
Gabe joined in. “No, no. He would never speak of it. He was a very private man.”
The woman shook her head. “That wasn’t it, Gabriel. Not at all. It wasn’t a matter of privacy. Everyone here knew, after all. It was really just the family we kept it from. Mine and his. For some reason, a few people think that when a spouse dies, you’re supposed to die with them. That love can never happen again.” She looked past Sophie, crossing her thin arms over her chest, as though seeing something in the distance, behind her. “But it can. And does.”
The look on her face reminded Sophie of her grandfather’s face the last time she saw him—in the hospital. It sparked something in her memory. “Wait. Is your name by chance Marie?”
She cocked her head with a quizzical look on her face. “Why yes. How did you know that?”
“Gabriel! We aren’t getting younger down here!” The woman’s voice from below had a heavy Spanish accent.
Gabe shook his head in amusement and stepped forward, holding out one arm for each of them. “They will not stop until we go down. But please, don’t let me interrupt you. How did you know Marie’s name if you didn’t know they dated?”
Sophie tucked her arm into the crook of Gabe’s, while Marie did the same on the other side. He tightened his arm against his side, pulling her just a fraction closer. She noticed he didn’t do that with his other arm, which nearly made her blush. She cleared her throat and looked around Gabe as they walked to see Marie. “When Grandpa was in the hospital, he didn’t talk much. But one time when I was alone with him, he grabbed my arm. Really hard, which was unusual for him. He told me, ‘Make sure you get the box to Marie. You know the one I mean. I meant to give it to her last time.’ I thought he was delirious, because I didn’t know anyone named Marie and I don’t know of a box. Do you have any idea what box he was talking about?”
Her brow furrowed and she seemed to think hard. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
Sophie shook her head. “If I knew, I’d give it to you. I’ll ask the attorneys, though. Maybe they know.” They walked for a few more steps and she couldn’t help but blurt out. “I’m sorry you weren’t there at the end. We didn’t know to call you.”
Marie stopped cold, pulling her arm from Gabe’s, her face stricken. “You two go on ahead. I’ll be down in a bit.” Her voice shook just a bit and Sophie realized she was about to cry.
She opened her mouth to say something, but Gabe nudged her with an elbow and shook his head as Marie quickly walked away down the covered path. He kept walking, propelling her forward. “Give her a few minutes,” he said softly. “It’s been difficult for her since Mr. Will died.”
Sophie felt like a heel. “I really didn’t know. I feel horrible. I wish he would have said something. At least, if he did, nobody mentioned it.”
They reached the stairs and he walked carefully, slowly, as though she was fragile. It was sweet, but unnecessary. “Was Marie correct? Would your family have objected to their romance?”
A sharp, bitter laugh burst out of her. “Oh, absolutely. My parents and uncle would have had a fit. They would have thought she was a gold digger.” Gabe got an odd look on his face, and shook his head, not understanding, so she explained. “They would think she was dating him to get money out of him. Money is everything to my parent’s generation.”
“And to yours?” he asked carefully, stopping her before they rounded the last corner.
“My sisters are like that too. And one brother. My baby brother is closer to me. We want to make our own way. I like working with my hands, and he signed up for the Peace Corps. He digs wells in Africa. My parents think we’re both nuts, because neither job pays very well.”
Gabe’s answer was swallowed by a dozen elderly people suddenly descending upon them, talking over the top of each other so quickly, and in so many languages, that she couldn’t keep up. Everyone was touching, hugging, laughing, crying. The air was filled with a thousand spices. It was complete sensory overload and she found herself spinning around in a circle, trying to listen to everyone. She wasn’t even sure she managed to get her name out more than once, but it didn’t matter because everyone seemed to know who she was.
She was grateful when Gabe finally stepped in and put a hand on the small of her back to guide her toward a row of tables that had been set up to hold a dozen warming trays and crockpots. “Friends, please! Let her eat. It has been a very long day for her. We only have to meet her. She has to meet all of us.”
That seemed to settle everyone down and a line formed behind her. Soon her plate was loaded with a wide variety of ethnic foods that everyone swore was Will’s favorite dish. It nearly made her laugh, because every time she had dinner with her Grandpa, he wanted meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans, which was about as far from ethnic as you could get.
But amongst the Thai curry, spicy enchiladas, eggplant parmigiana, and seafood gumbo—the combination of which was going to give her a bad case of heartburn around midnight—was a simple meatloaf. Tiny bits of perfectly cubed onions dotted the ground beef amongst the herbed bread crumbs. The proportions made it so every bite was identical in flavor. The topping was more barbeque-sauce-meets-salsa than ketchup, but it was delicious. It was dense, moist and melted in her mouth. If this is was the meatloaf Grandpa had been trying to duplicate when they went to restaurants in Texas, it was no wonder he always seemed disappointed with his meal. It was amazing!
She was sitting on the edge of a concrete bench eating her second helping of meatloaf when Marie appeared and sat down next to her. She was carrying a scrapbook and didn’t wait until Sophie swallowed the bite she was chewing before she spoke. “I’m glad you like my meatloaf. Will always said he did.” Her eyes were red, the skin puffy. But she started talking fast, as though slowing down would start the tears again. “I wanted to show you this. It’s important to me that you understand the side of your Grandfather you didn’t see.”
Gabe came up just then, once again fending off some of the people who were trying to press in on her. She was starting to realize that he was sort of a mother hen to the guests. They all looked to him for direction. It was rare to find a hotel manager that could instill that sort of following with guests—even when a family had been there several days or a week. She was starting to realize why her Grandpa had thought about giving him the business outright.
She finally swallowed and nodded, looking back at Marie. “Yes, please. I’d love to see what you have. I didn’t see Grandpa all that often after I graduated. I still remember him mostly sitting in his office, doing paperwork.”
The older woman opened the book and the first photo was a self portrait, Grandpa pointing the camera at the mirror. Behind him, in the reflection, was Marie, kissing his cheek. There were also a good number of the people around the pool, all smiling for the camera. That’s weird. “So all of you come to visit at the same time? Is this like a convention or reunion where you all stay here?”
Gabe sat down on the other side of her. “No, no. This is our home, as it was Mr. Will’s. He visited other places, but this was his home. This is where he came to be himself . . . where nobody judged him or asked anything of him.”
Wait. “Excuse me? You all live here?” She pointed around to the circle of people who had crowded around to look at Marie’s book. “All the time, not just a few days? This isn’t a motel?”
Gabe shrugged. “Yes, it is a motel. But yes, we all live here. This is our home; our community. People come, people go, but the rooms are full. A motel, yes?”
Her brain went into a tailspin. So much of what she planned for the motel didn’t include month-to-month rentals. “Um . . . okay. That’s a lot to wrap my brain around right now. Can we look at some more pictures for a few minutes?”
She turned a page. “Here we are biking on the Gulf. We rented a motor home for a whole month and drove all over the state, fishing and being tourists. I’ve lived in Louisiana all my life, but had never been a tourist in my own state. It was great fun.”
There was a whole series of photos of Grandpa and Marie, looking every inch a couple of lovebirds. Why wouldn’t he have told her? Why keep all the happiness she saw in his beaming face, from her? “I don’t understand why he never told me. I’m not like my parents. I would have loved to meet you with him.”
Marie gave a sad little smile and a shake of her head. “It just wasn’t his way. He segregated his life so much. Business never intruded here, and here never intruded in his daytime world. I understood that and never tried to take more from him than he was willing to give. I think it’s why he was able to let go of his other life when he came here. Nobody pushed.”
The tiny elderly woman with the loud voice nodded and tapped her cane on the blue tiles. “This is a safe place, a restful place. He was happy here. We all are.”
Gabe nodded and pointed across her lap at the scrapbook, where Marie had turned another page. “The pool was where he was happiest. He was the one who started the pool parties, with everyone bringing dishes.”
Marie laughed. “No, Gabe. He always considered the parties your doing. You suggested it once when old Bobo Lafayette—”
“God rest his soul,” one of the men added, and everyone nodded.
“Was feeling sickly.” Marie continued over the murmuring. “His family couldn’t come to see him and you thought it would be nice for everyone to make some food, but in a way that it didn’t hurt his pride.”
Gabe waved his hand, including the group in the statement. “Pride is important to many people, many of us. He didn’t want charity—as though he couldn’t care for himself. But family takes care of its own. He was fed and he felt proud of his family.”
The woman she thought she remembered was Mrs. Hernandez reached forward and ruffled his hair, making the crown jingle. “Always you think of others, miho. It is why Mr. Will trusted you to watch over the Starlight.”
The next hour was spent looking at the last decade of her grandfather’s secret life. Surfing, hiking, motorcycles. Everything was movement, activity and he was smiling in every picture—such a different image of him than Sophie had ever seen. “When he came to Texas, he was always so serious. My family always said I was the only one who could make him laugh. But it was an effort. You seemed to manage it without trying.”
Marie shrugged. “He was always happy,” Marie said. “It was what attracted me to him.”
“Not always.” Gabe shook his head. “No, at first, he was sad. It took time to make him feel happy. He had to . . . how did he phrase it? Ah, yes. Alter his perception.”
His perception? Of what?
But she didn’t get a chance to ask, because an old man who Sophie seemed to recall was named LeBeaux, started to wheeze rapidly, doubling over and then dropping to his knees. Gabe was immediately on his feet, moving to help the gentleman to a chair to sit. But Sophie nearly beat him. She’d seen a lot of elderly people get overexcited. “Breathe slow, sir. Take your time.” While Gabe helped him find and get the cap off an inhaler in his pocket, she went to the table and poured him a glass of water. The man clutched at the inhaler as Gabe pressed it down. He sucked on it like a straw and then held his breath. Sophie remembered using an inhaler when she would get bronchitis as a child, and he was doing the exact right thing, holding the medicine in his lungs as long as he could.
Moments later, he started to cough, his frail body heaving with the effort. Gabe patted his back until Sophie offered him the water. Like the inhaler, he grabbed the cup like a lifeline and drained the entire glass. Only then did he get control of himself. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you both. I shouldn’t have been laughing so much. But I wanted come to meet you and talk about Will. He was a good friend.”
“I understand,” Sophie said, patting the hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted you to overdo, though. Maybe it’s time to call it a night.” It was well past dark, and she really was tired. She looked at Gabe and the rest of the people. “It’s been wonderful. Truly. I know Grandpa would have appreciated all your kind words.”
Gabe agreed. “If everyone could take your food back with you, we’ll leave the clean-up of the decorations for the morning.”
“Oh, that would be nice,” Sophie said. “I really would like to spend some time looking at the float.”
“I must finish the roof in the morning,” he replied. “But you’re welcome to take all the time you want looking at it. It actually moves back into the shed quite easily. And it’s rainproof so even if we get a shower tonight, it’ll be fine.”
The roof! She’d completely forgotten completely about that. Had it only been a few hours ago that she’d arrived? But now that she was thinking about it, she could hear the flapping of the plastic being held down by the packages of shingles.
As far as she was concerned, half the gain meant half the pain. She didn’t say it, but she was going to beat him up to the roof in the morning and show that she planned to be a full partner in this business.
CHAPTER THREE
Gabe woke with a start. He’d been having a lovely erotic dream about Sophie and lay in a haze under the covers, his body tense, hungry and unwilling to leave the dream so easily. The warm sheets and blanket pressed against his throbbing erection deliciously. He kept his eyes closed, hoping to drift back to the dream where Sophie’s fingers were dug into his shoulders, her cries underneath him urging him to take her over the edge. He wanted that; needed it. Her fragrant hair lay splayed across the pillow and he finally buried his face in it, soaked in the smell as he moved his hips. Slowly at first, and then faster he pressed into her, his breath lowering into harsh pants as he dug his fingers into the sheets.
A loud, dull thump sounded above him, but distant. Then a second one. That was what had woken him. He remembered now.
Had someone fallen? Was there a burglar? Like last night, his duties overcame his arousal and his hard cock wilted as he threw off the covers and grabbed the pair of cargo shorts he’d been wearing last night.
Now a third thump and he was fully awake, his mind running through a dozen scenarios while he felt around on the table next to the bed for his phone. Daylight was just edging the corners of the curtains. It was brazen for a thief, if that’s what it was. Or could Mr. LeBeaux be having another fit?
His shoes were next. Gabe grabbed a flashlight from next to the door and went outside, swinging the security bar across the opening so the door didn’t lock behind him. Another thump. It sounded like it was coming from higher up than Mr. LeBeaux’s place. Walking out into the parking lot, he looked up to see someone standing on the steep slant of the roof. Dressed in dark jeans and a dark red hooded jacket, the person was easily scrambling across the sheets of underlayment. Another thump and this time, he could see what the noise was. It was the sound of a nail gun into double stacked 2x2s. They were holding the weight of the person on the roof. “Hey!” He shouted as quietly as he could; many of the guests would still be sleeping. “What are you doing?”
The hooded head turned and Sophie’s face peeked out. She turned with startling agility on the boards and he realized the belt holding up her pants was a tool belt. “Morning, sleepy head,” she called down softly. “Thought I’d get started while it was cool out.”
“Get down off there! You’re going to hurt yourself.” Why in the world was she on the roof? What was she thinking?
Sophie laughed, a bright, clear sound in the still morning air. “No, I’m not. I told you—I do this for a living.” She waggled her head. “Well, not just roofing. But hotel maintenance. Roofing is just an occasional part.” Then she squatted on the narrow boards, the toes of her boots hanging in open air, to lean the portable nail gun against the slant of the roof. Then she easily walked the length of the board, not even wearing a harness, much less being tied off, toward the ladder! He held his breath with every step and found himself moving toward the ladder, in case she needed help.
But she didn’t. Sophie swung herself onto the ladder and climbed down as though she’d done it a thousand times.
She looked him over up and down and let out a soft chuckle. “A little underdressed for roofing, aren’t you?” She, however, was perfectly dressed. In fact, overdressed. Her lace-up brown work boots had the ends of her pants tucked inside and were well-worn—the former suede leather now slick and shiny over most of the toe. He could see a gray tee shirt under the hoodie. She was going to burn up in the sun later!
For some reason, it annoyed him. “You woke me up. What do you expect? I thought someone had fallen or there was a burglar.”
That dropped the smile from her face. “Oh. Sorry. When you said last night you wanted to get the roof done early, I presumed you meant first light. I started coffee in the office. When you weren’t there, I thought I’d get started putting up the rails to walk on. Nice job on the underlayment, by the way. That’s tough to do with only one person.”
“I . . . thank you. But—” His brain was addled, trying to take it all in and shift his mind from the image of Sophie in her sleek black dress to this new one in work boots and paint splattered jeans. It was not easy.
She touched his shoulder, her face somewhere between amused and concerned. “I think you need some coffee. I could use some more too. C’mon.” He followed her back to the office. He wasn’t sure where she’d gotten a key, but she’d indeed started coffee in the break room and there was even a box of donuts! Where had she gotten donuts? She didn’t have a car to drive anywhere. “Where did you get donuts at this time of day?”
She handed him a cup of black and then stirred cream into her cup, and smiled. “At this time of day? Gabe, it’s after six o’clock. I’ve been up for an hour already. The donuts are from a food truck. I saw it parked right on the corner when I first got up on the roof. So I came down and bought a box. I thought it might be nice for people when they got up and moving. They’re really good. Try one.”
He shook his head and scratched his scalp while he sipped at the coffee. He liked it black and strong and it was perfect. “Do you normally make coffee this strong, Sophia?” Everyone else here seemed to complain about his coffee.
“Me? God no! I added water to mine. But I could see how much you used last time when I threw away the old filter, so I made it the same. That’s only polite. But I love this brand! It’s the same one I buy. Lots of chicory. Most people don’t like chicory in their coffee. Oh, and by the way, my name is Sophie, not Sophia. That’s my real name.”
She was bright and bubbly this morning, very different from the reserved Sophie from last night. The coffee was helping, but he was still not quite awake. “I apologize. You look very much like a Sophia, but I will work to remember.” He paused for a moment, trying to change the subject. He didn’t like to make mistakes about a person’s identity. “Where did you find the boards?”
“No problem. I got them in the storeroom,” she said after a sip of a pale creamy concoction that could barely be considered coffee. “I’m trying to be careful not to split the boards. I wasn’t sure whether this was what you got them for.”
He nodded. “And trim for the upper windows afterward. I thought some color would look nice from the road.”
She pursed her lips and then smiled. “That could look really nice. I have a lot of ideas for the place too. Maybe we can sit down sometime soon and figure out what will work best to update the whole place.”
Gabe wasn’t sure what she was getting at and it made him nervous. “Well, I suppose. But I’ve kept everything in good shape. I don’t know what updates you’re thinking of.”
Something flipped in her eyes, as though she was testing what his reaction would be, and she let it go. “Nothing much. I really haven’t had a chance to look at much other than my room and the pool. But y’know, tables that have a hole in the center where you can put an umbrella might be more comfortable than the cement benches. They even have kits that are cheap online that someone like you or I, since we can work with tools, could customize.”
He had thought about buying umbrellas for out there for some time. He found himself nodding. “Not all of our guests visit the pool because there’s not much shade. Mr. Will was always worried about umbrellas because of the winds in the spring. But I told him several times that they could be weighted or have air pockets so they wouldn’t catch the wind so much.”
Sophie pointed her finger at him, with a form of triumph. “Exactly! Grandpa sometimes sometimes thought the books were more important than guest comfort. But if guests are comfortable, they come back sooner.”
Gabe did want to honor Mr. Will, but he wanted to make the place his own too. And now it was time for his ideas to be brought to life. “Thank you, Sophie. It is nice to have someone think about the guests like I do.” He put down the coffee cup on the table with a firm hand. “We will definitely sit down and talk. This motel can be a showplace if we work at it. And first on the list is a sturdy roof.”
He found himself staring at the bottom of her cup as she drained the last of the coffee. She put the cup in the sink and then said, “Let’s do this, partner. Meet you topside.” She smiled at him and he found her good humor was contagious. By the time he got up to his room, he was whistling.
By the time he got up on the roof, Sophie was already troweling cement. Her strokes were clean and neat and there wasn’t a drop of cement on her gloves or jacket yet, which impressed him. Even seasoned roofers could be sloppy with the black tar-like goo. He got closer on the rail below her and could see that the thickness of the cement was consistent from stroke to stroke. Not too thick where it would bleed around the shingles and not too thin where it could leak. “That is beautiful. I’m not sure I could spread cement as well.” She scraped the trowel edge against a scrap of wood in her other hand. It was a foot or so around and had finger holes like a painter’s pallette. Raised edges surrounded a deep bin that rested on her elbow and was filled with cement. “I haven’t seen that tool before. What is it?”
She leaned down slightly so he could see the tray. “I don’t know that there’s a name for it. I just call it my plate. I made it myself out of a piece of siding and some Tupperware. I hate constantly going back and forth to the cement can or hauling it around with me. I’ve never had help roofing before, so I’ve always had to do stuff for myself. This holds about a half gallon, which isn’t too heavy and lets me keep moving.”
“Very clever.” This woman was fascinating him with every turn. Beautiful, smart, strong. He didn’t know many women who worked in construction so he had nothing to compare her talent to, except other men. As he slid by her on the roof to the flat area where he could open the shingles and ready the nail gun, he couldn’t help but notice the smooth curve of her hips under the jeans and her slender waist sadly hidden by the shapeless hoodie. This was no man, and he was very glad.
But strangely, he didn’t care that she was a woman. Right now, he only cared about getting the roof done. So that’s what they did. She didn’t argue at all when he asked her to tie off to a line. In fact, she had her own lanyard, rolled up in one of the leather pockets hanging down from the belt. That made him happy. He was a safe worker. Mr. Will had always insisted.
As the sun crested the horizon and slowly crept up the trunk of the cypress tree next to the building, they nearly soundlessly put down shingles. The scraping trowel and nail gun were the only sounds they made until better than half of the shingles were in neat rows. The rest were down on the ground. He stood and leaned back against the fresh shingles and stretched his back. It was getting hot and his lips and tongue felt like sandpaper. “We should take a break and drink something. I normally keep a cooler of water and Gatorade up here, but didn’t think about it today.” She nodded and pulled back the hood of her jacket. Her head was soaked with sweat, her hair wet and plastered to her scalp. He shook his head. “Why do you wear that? Your face is very red. You could get heat sick.”
Sophie shook her head, causing small drops of sweat to fling off her. But she was far enough away that she didn’t spray him. “Better red from hot than red from burn. I have a lot of Irish in me. I burn really easily. The first time I worked on a roof, I blistered up something fierce. It was so bad I had to go to the doctor. He told me that I had better start covering up or I’d wind up with skin cancer.”
Oh. That made sense then. She was simply cautious. “I’ve heard of people burning easily, but I’ve never met one before. I spend all day out without a shirt, and have never burned. I get hot, and sweat, but then I drink some water and cool right down. I don’t know anyone in my family who has ever had a sunburn.”
She was watching him with an odd intensity in her face that he couldn’t quite place. “Lucky.” The word came out slightly breathless which made him frown. She was flushed, more than she should be.
“You need to get into the shade. You don’t look too good.”
She paused and then shook her head, as though clearing her mind. “Just a little warm. We probably should take a break.”
He unhooked his lanyard and reached for the ladder. “I will go first . . . in case you feel lightheaded coming down.” Without waiting for an answer, he climbed down and then waited at the bottom for her to come down, one foot on the bottom rung so the ladder stayed stable.
“Look, Gabe,” she said at the top before turning around and putting her feet on the rungs. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m not some delicate flower who has to be protected.”
“Be that as it may,” he responded as she reached the rung near his head. He put his hands up to touch her waist to help guide her descent . . . causing her to freeze for a moment. “I see no reason to let your pride cause you to injure yourself. There is no shame in accepting help when you need it. And had you looked in a mirror, you would have realized you were nearing heat stroke.” She continued down the last few steps without speaking as he guided her safely to the ground. Once she was on the pavement and turned around, he dipped his head politely. “You see? Safety did not hurt, did it?”
“No.” The word was a little breathless and she was blinking. She let out a slow breath through her lips. “But I think some water would be a good idea about now.”
“Of course. You sit here in the shade. I’ll get some.”
Gabe hurried into the office. The blast of chilled air was a shock to his system and made him realize just how hot it was outside. Opening the refrigerator, he grabbed a few bottles of Gatorade and then took a few bottles of water from the cupboard that were not chilled. His uncle had always taught him to drink cool water, not cold, so he could drink more of it.
Sophie was sitting on the ground in the shade when he got back. She’d taken off her sweatshirt and still another shirt underneath. The gray tank top she was wearing was sopping with sweat. He handed her a room temperature bottle first. “Finish this and then we can drink the Gatorade. You’ve lost a lot of fluids.”
She nodded. “Good plan. I’ve never been a fan of ice water.” Watching her open and start to drink the bottle made him realize how thirsty he also was. He opened the bottle and started to drink. It was cool down his throat and he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation.
The sensation of a hand on his neck made him open his eyes, startled. The last few swallows of water spilled from the bottle down his neck. Sophie was inches from him and was staring at her hand as it wiped away the sweat on his neck. His heart started to pound from the look in her eyes. Hungry, untamed, needy. Her voice was tight and breathless as she whispered, “I’ve been needing to do that for two years. God, how I’ve wanted to.” Without another word, her fingers slid behind his neck and pulled him forward sharply. Her lips found his and he didn’t even try to stop her as she hungrily ate at his mouth. He reached for her and leaned into her body, pushing her back against the brick pillar.
Her skin was slick with sweat and the scent of the flowers was stronger, muskier—like the deepest part of the jungle. He wasn’t going to let this opportunity get away. He broke back from the kiss and pulled her by the hand toward his room. She didn’t try to stop him. He hadn’t set the lock when he joined her on the roof, so he didn’t have to get out his keys. Once inside, he locked it firmly. The rest of the shingles could wait.
The tool belt was first, and it made a satisfying thunk as it hit the floor. She worked on his until it too dropped like a weight to land on the carpeting. Gabe pulled her back, peeling off his shirt as he did, toward the bathroom. He wanted to let water pour over them together, like standing under a waterfall.
He turned on the faucets and adjusted the temperature. By the time he’d turned around, she was naked, her body soaked in sweat. He had to slip his hand down his pants to be able to unzip them, as hard as he already was. She helped pull down the pants and was kneeling when he let go of his cock. She nuzzled her face against it and he let out a groan. As much as he wanted her to surround him with her mouth, he wanted to soap her body down first, run his hands over the slickness of her. “First we bathe. Come.” He held out his hand and she took it, her body molding to his under the flow of water while he kissed her again.
The handful of soap burst forth the scent of vines and moss and as he coated her hair and body. He delighted in her cries of pleasure as he tongued and nibbled at her skin while his hands caressed and stroked her with soap. Each time the water cleaned an area, his mouth was on it. Her neck, between her breasts, the taut, erect nipples. Her fingers ran through his hair, spreading more of the soap, scrubbing and stroking as his fingers slipped between her legs to clean the delicate skin there. She was slick, and not just from soap.
“Oh, god!” Her voice was harsh, panicked. “Please, Gabe.”
He began to rub her hardened clit as she dug fingers into his shoulders like in his dream. But unlike the dream, her callouses were rough against his skin. He realized the sensation was seductive. Her fingers scratched and tickled along his spine and it made him crazy.
Sophie’s breasts were just like he’d imagined, full and heavy under his lips. Soon she was pressed back against the wall, her voice just a series of groans and cries as his thumb moved in and out of her while his other thumb rubbed her nub. She started to lose her balance so he sat her on the edge of the tub and kept moving his hands and mouth until she could take it no more. With a strangled cry, she went over the edge. His mouth was there instantly, tasting her, taking her higher. He knelt in the wide tub and pulled her down to lay on the tub bottom, her legs high in the air.
Water rained down on them as he eased himself inside her. She cried out again as his mouth found hers and he started to move in and out. He pulled back enough to whisper next to her ear, “I have wanted you for so very long.”
“I have too,” she replied. He wasn’t sure how that was possible, but he wasn’t going to argue. Soon they were moving in rhythm as she met each of his thrusts with upward motion. The slapping sound as their hips met was constant under the flow of the warm water and the pounding of it on his back urged him on even faster.
He was close, so close but trying to hang on to let this last as long as possible. But Sophie snaked a hand down between them and began to toy with the base of his cock, rubbing behind it in a circular motion that gave him a sensation so strong that he couldn’t hold off any more.
He kissed her fiercely and pulled out of her just as he orgasmed, rubbing his erection against her belly and breasts as he began to come. She moved her hand with him and coaxed more out, rubbing and pulling as he thrust furiously and struggled to catch his breath. When he was finally spent, he rolled off to the side of her as the water poured over them both, cleaning their fluids down the drain. “That was delightful, Sophie.”
“You were . . . amazing,” she said, after a few moments, moving slightly so the water wasn’t hitting her right in the face. “I had no idea the bathtubs were this big!”
Gabe chuckled in pleasure. “Mr. Will liked not only baths for one, but for two. That was the first renovation on the list when he bought the Starlight.” He reached up with one foot and tapped down on the lever on the spigot to turn off the shower. The rush of warm water began to fill the tub. His hip was blocking the drain so they could float together. He put an arm around Sophie and pulled her against his chest. She twisted slightly so she could wrap her knee around his thigh.
“While that’s not something I want to think about my grandfather doing, I’m very glad he invested in the tubs.” She leaned over and began to lick water off his chest and it felt . . . oh, very nice.
“You should be careful. It has been some time since I have been with a woman as sexy as you. I might just have to carry you to the bed and have you again.”
She twitched her eyebrows and gave a sly smile. “Why wait?” She pulled her arm from behind his head and put her palms on the edges of the tub. He watched with growing arousal as ropes of muscles in her arm lifted her bodily over him. She sat down, straddling his hips and began to slowly rub her crotch against his. The movements caused the water to slosh in waves against his balls, which made his pulse begin to race again. Pulling her forward, he began to suckle at her breasts again as he began to harden under her. She raised up slightly onto her knees and then settled down again, his now solid erection deep inside her.
She rode him slowly and he let her, closing his eyes to let the sensations wash over him. Different images of her flashed through his mind—the happy, innocent smiling woman in the photo, the serious professional who arrived in a limo, the dressed up date, the casual Sophie ready for a beach party and the workman, easily handling tools that not even every man could wield. He opened his eyes to see the sexual Sophie, her lips parted, eyes closed, as she took her pleasure from him. So many different women in such a short time. She could easily steal his heart if he wasn’t very careful.
A moan escaped him as she began to speed up. He began to thrust up into her each time she lowered herself onto him and she began to gasp. She leaned forward and grasped his shoulders, changing the angle. Gabe put his hands on her hips and began to thrust in earnest, the sensation inside of him stronger than last time, as though the previous orgasm hadn’t sated him, but had increased his need. She lay passive above him now, letting him control the speed. “I love the feeling of your body around me.”
“Take me, Gabe. I want you so bad.”
The water was halfway up his chest now, lapping at the edge of the tub, so he moved his body slightly to let the drain start to pull some of the water away. But the sensation of the moving water as it began to swirl down turned his brain to putty. He buried his face in her hair and began to nip at her neck, his need wanting more from her. She responded by digging in her nails and nipping at his neck in return. The combination of sensations sent them both over the edge together.
The water was nearly gone by the time they caught their breath and the throbbing in his cock subsided. Surely he was spent this time.
But as they were toweling off, just the sight of her muscled round behind made him crazy yet again. He grabbed her hips and began to thrust, pushing her up against the wall until they’d come yet a third time in less than an hour. It was insane, impossible, and yet he couldn’t seem to get enough of her.
She fell asleep in his arms, barely the middle of the afternoon, her arm pale and perfect against his dark chest, her hair impossibly blonde and silken. The roof could wait. He couldn’t think of anywhere he would rather be than in her arms.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sophie stood up from the desk chair, stretching her back. Her legs and hips protested sharply. It felt like she’d spent the last week tripling up on spin class, but who needed cycling when Gabe was around? The week had flown by in a flurry of sexual innuendo, aching need and sexual gymnastics. Every time she saw him, she turned to butter. Whenever he stripped off his shirt under the blazing sun, she couldn’t take her eyes off the sculpted muscles, the perfect jawline, the thick curled hair, dripping with sweat. Oh my—
But the sultry nights with him were even better. When he took her, he claimed her, cupping her chin with rough hands and kissing her so deep that she couldn’t breath. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man, just sinewy strength. Yet he could be so gentle, like he couldn’t believe he was touching her.
And while she couldn’t understand why he felt the same about her, he swore he did. He called her intoxicating, vivacious, beautiful, and the hunger in his eyes when they made love couldn’t be denied.
She was infatuated, pure and simple. That was the only reason she could think of why it had taken her so long to sit down in the office and go over the books. Gabe had gone to the lumber yard to get one more bucket of roof cement. There was only a small corner left, but it really needed to get done.
There was a knock on the office door and she automatically called out. “Come in.”
Marie poked her head in. “Am I interrupting?”
She shook her head and waved her forward toward the chair next to the desk. “Not at all. I needed a break anyway. Would you like some coffee? It’s a fresh pot.”
“Yes, please,” the older woman nodded. She set down a pink and turquoise striped beach bag on the floor next to her.
Sophie had grown to really like Grandpa’s girlfriend. It made her happy that he’d had such fun at the end of his life. The fact that Marie had made him happy right up to the end made it somehow worth knowing. “Just a little sugar, please. My stomach doesn’t like cream anymore.”
Passing her a cup, she sat back down. “What can I do for you?”
After a sip of coffee, Marie put the cup on the desk. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you alone for a few days now. But it’s been hard to catch you alone. You and Gabriel have been a little . . . preoccupied..” She smiled knowingly and let out a small laugh.
Blushing was pointless. The whole complex knew about them by now. “Well, I haven’t exactly been playing hard to get. But he’s out for probably an hour. What did you want to say?”
Marie tapped her fingernails on the polished wood and then reached into the beach bag, extracting an old-fashioned ledger book. She put it on top of the papers on the desk.
Sophie had seen similar ones in Grandpa’s office. While he used computers, he seemed to think best when writing on the pale green paper with red and blue pens. “You need to look at this, dear,” Marie said. “It’s the books that Will kept on the Starlight.”
Sophie motioned to the desk. “I’ve been looking over the books. Everything appears fine.”
She tapped a painted fingernail on the red leather cover. “In those books, probably. But these are the actual figures.” Sophie couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows and the silver-haired woman let out a frustrated breath. “Your grandfather was a wonderful man. He was. I loved him with all my heart. When he thought about business, he would be a cold, logical man because that’s what’s needed. A pragmatist. But when he was here—” She paused and then smiled. “He loved the Starlight, Sophie. It was more than just a motel to him. Gabe is absolutely right about that. But his brain turned off when he got here and he turned into an idealist who believed Gabe when he said that everyone needs everything for the price they can afford.” She tapped a finger on the book. “You and I know that business doesn’t work that way. Look this over, but not here. And please don’t show it to Gabriel until you’ve thought about what to say. He’ll be hard to win over and see things the way Will should have insisted on.” She took a final sip of coffee and then stood up. “I’m going to wander down to the beach, dear. When you’re done looking, you can either keep this or give it back to me. It depends on what you decide.”
She cracked open the book after Marie left. It appeared to be a monthly expense summary. Wondering what was different from what she’d been looking at, she made copies of the balance sheets that Gabe had been preparing and took them back to her room to look at.
An hour later, she was glad she’d thrown the security bar across the lock because Gabe tried to come in to her room with the master key, startling her so badly that she nearly slid all the papers into the trash can in reaction. “Sophie? Is everything okay?” He asked it through the narrow slit that the security bar allowed. “Why is the door locked?” It was a valid question, because she’d given him carte blanche to come in when he pleased several days before.
The lie came out so easily that it made her stomach tense up and heat come to her face. “I just have a really bad headache. Too much paperwork. Could I beg off tonight? I’m not very hungry.”
“Oh. Of course. If you’re ill, I understand.” His voice sounded disappointed and sad, and she had to tighten her fingers into the chair arms to stop herself from going to the door and opening it up and giving him a big hug. But he would have no idea why and she didn’t know how to tell him the reason.
She forced a smile onto her face so he could hear it. “I’m sure it’s just eyestrain from looking over all the books. I’ll be fine in the morning. I took some aspirin.”
His voice cheered just a little. “You are probably right. Try to get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” He closed the door gently and she let out a sigh, part relief and part fear.
She had no doubt they would talk in the morning. If she could figure out what to say.
Thank heavens for Marie Cormier. Without the ledger, she would have never known the Starlight was flat broke. Actually, not just broke, but in the hole. Every month for the past three years, the income hadn’t covered the expenses. And every month, Grandpa had fixed the books so they appeared to balance. But the ledger told the true story and she couldn’t help but believe it because the ledger actually had receipts attached, where the books Gabe had were only notations written by Grandpa. She compared expense by expense and watched the money flow into the red. A bill for janitorial supplies in Grandpa’s ledger would read two hundred forty-nine dollars and fifty cents, but in Gabe’s book, it was one hundred eighteen. Same product, same date, same invoice number. Every month, Gabe got his salary, even if there was no money. Every month, the pool was cleaned, the housekeepers were paid, the lights stayed on.
But why? Why lie to Gabe . . . make him think he would continue to have a home after Grandpa died?
Marie had called it. Because he loved the Starlight. It was the only reason that made sense. He couldn’t bear to force people out, or raise rents, or break Gabe’s heart by telling him the place was a money pit. So he took it from his pocket to cover the extra. As long as Grandpa owned the place, who really cared? It was like a pet project, a hobby. He didn’t care if he lost money. It was something he loved to do. It was his vacation home, so what did it matter if it was a lost cause?
For as long as he owned it.
“But he doesn’t own it anymore, damn it!” The words were a whisper, a condemnation to a ghost. “Crap.” Teach him the things he couldn’t learn from me. The words from her Grandpa’s letter, which had made her smile, now made her angry. “You couldn’t bear to hurt him, so you’re making me? Damn you, Grandpa!”
If he knew it was in the red, why not leave enough money to keep it going? Why make her legacy to go into debt? Either that, or to cause pain to all the people her grandfather loved. Thanks loads.
Now she really did have a headache. Maybe taking an aspirin and going to bed wasn’t a bad idea after all.
But sleep wouldn’t come. The data kept swimming through her mind, the red numbers like Texas wasps buzzing around her head. She had to figure out the answer. There had to be one.
Wait. Gabe had said the tubs were the first of the renovations. What if there were others planned that could help or the money had already been set aside for? She got up and started opening desk drawers. They’d been filled with papers when she moved in, and she hadn’t felt like it would be right to look through her Grandpa’s things.
Now she had no choice.
~*~
Gabe stepped out of the shower. It was barely light out, but he hadn’t been able to sleep anyway. Might as well get up and finish the roof. Another storm was brewing in the gulf. He hoped Sophie was feeling better. He had the suspicion she’d been lying to him that she had a headache, but wasn’t sure why she would lie. Had he angered her? He’d thought they’d been getting along well. The sex was . . . well, it was incredible. Had he not been complimenting her enough? Admittedly, they hadn’t talked much other than about Mr. Will.
Well, that would end now. They would talk about whatever she wanted to talk about. The sky was getting lighter as he left his room, but the horizon was dark and flashes of light spoke of the coming storm.
He knocked on her door and waited. When there was no answer, he called quietly. “Sophie?” He knocked a second time and then listened closely. Was she crying? “Sophie, please let me in. Tell me what’s wrong.”
There was a long pause but then he heard footsteps. He heard the lock open and the door cracked open. He pushed it open and poked his head inside. She was walking away from the door. She was still wearing a nightgown, even though the sun was already up. Wasn’t she the early riser? “Might as well come in and hear the bad news.”
Bad news? “What is wrong? Has something happened?” He walked further into the room and sat down on the foot of the bed. It hadn’t been slept in. “I thought you were going to bed early. Is your headache better?”
A sharp, bitter laugh burst out of her. “Better? Hardly.” She walked to the door, flipped the latch and turned in a tightly controlled circle, her fingers clenching and unclenching while she muttered under her breath, saying something he couldn’t make out.”
“Sophie, what is wrong? Please talk to me.” He was starting to get truly worried. Papers were scattered around the room, covered with red markings and different colored highlighters.
She stopped, froze and turned to him. Her eyes were puffy, red rimmed, the whites angry with red veins. “I can’t do this. I just can’t.”
His heart sank. “Are you breaking up with me?”
The question seemed to startle her. “No! I mean, yes. That is . . . goddamnit, I don’t even know what I mean. It’s just too much!”
He stood and walked to her, quickly enough that she couldn’t respond. Pulling her to him, he wrapped his arms around her. “Sophie, it will be all right. Whatever is wrong, you’re strong. Smart, talented. And if it is too much, I’ll help you. I swear.” At first, she pushed at him, trying to get away. But when he wouldn’t let go, kept her close against him, she broke down. She started crying again and clung to him. “Shhh. Just let it out.” He held her for long minutes, until the tears stopped and then the hiccups stopped too.
When she finally rested her head against his shoulder, exhausted, he pulled back and guided her to a chair. “Now. Tell me.”
“Grandpa . . . Mr. Will . . . lied to you. To me. To both of us.”
He felt his brows drop down until he could see dark hairs at the edge of his vision. “Lied to us about what?”
She swept her hands in a wide arc. “This. All of this. The Starlight. I can’t do it. I can’t be broke again. I can’t stay and—” Her lip began to quiver again. “Watch . . . what it would do to you. I know I haven’t known you that long, but you deserve better.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. What in the world was she talking about? “Sophie, I don’t understand you. Please, just tell me.”
She took a deep breath and stood up. She walked to the desk and picked up a wide leather bound ledger, like the ones Mr. Will used to write in near the pool. “You need to see this.”
He took it but then shrugged. “It is a ledger. But I have many ledgers. In the computer, in the files. What is special about this one?”
Sophie’s eyes turned cold and angry. “It’s the truth. I know none of this is your fault. I understand Grandpa lied. But you need to know that the Starlight is broke. In the red, really and there’s no hope of getting out of the hole without some major changes.”
Broke? He didn’t understand. He opened the volume and it appeared to be a summary of accounts, by month, for several years. “Yes, these are the records. What is the problem?”
She handed him another stack, copies of the ones from the office, out of the computer. “Look at June of last year. Compare the two.”
He put them on the bed and scanned down the columns. The bills were the same, but they weren’t. The same entries, but different amounts. “What is this? I don’t understand.”
She nodded and walked over to touch his shoulder. “Grandpa made you believe the payments from the guests were paying the bills. But the income wasn’t even half of the bills. The place is mortgaged to the hilt and he made up the rest out of his pocket. Without him, we can’t keep this place open.”
He turned a page and looked at another month. Then another, flipping pages faster, his fingers sliding down the page so quickly that the edge sliced into his thumb. He pulled it back sharply with a harsh sound and put the tip in his mouth so he didn’t bleed on the pages. All the while, Sophie didn’t say a word. She curled into a tight ball in the corner chair—her feet tucked under her and her arms crossed tight over chest. The more he looked the angrier he got. “Where did you get this book? I’ve never seen it before!”
“Marie. Grandpa left it in her room before he went home for the last time. She came to me in the office yesterday, said I needed to see it.”
He turned on her, his emotions in turmoil. “Why wouldn’t she give it to me?! Long before now? Mr. Will has been dead for months! Why just now, and you? It makes no sense!” His hands punctuated each word as he got closer to her.
She flinched at the tone of his voice. “She told me how much Grandpa loved the Starlight, how much he loved you. He respected the hell out of you, Gabe.” She shrugged her shoulders, a tiny, helpless gesture. “Maybe that’s why. I don’t know. I don’t think he wanted to hurt you was all.”
He sat on the bed, too close to the edge and slid down to sit on his butt on the floor. “Hurt me?” He reached back and grabbed a handful of papers, clutched them tight in his fist and shook them while he yelled at her, at Mr. Will, at the empty air. “How could this not hurt me? Everything I’ve worked for . . . years I’ve studied at his feet. I could have eaten well, but I starved so I would have money to live on later. And now you tell me it was for nothing?” He threw the papers hard against the wall, but they just fluttered to the floor like wounded birds. “And now I have to choose whether to lose the Starlight, or lose the people? What kind of choice is that, Sophie?” He turned to look at her, his heart wounded and lost. “How could I choose?”
“I don’t know!” Her voice rose to match his in intensity. She stood and jutted her chin forward, nearly daring him to come closer. “But I didn’t scrimp like you. If we don’t have a salary, we’ll starve, and if I get a job, I can’t keep this place going without hiring someone to help you.”
That made him coldly angry. “So you would leave. Is that what you are telling me? You will walk away, leave me to whatever happens?”
“It’s five years until we can sell, Gabe. That’s a long time for us to starve. I can’t watch you go through that.”
“I see.” He did. Pushing to his feet, he regarded her. He had thought she was like Mr. Will; like him. But perhaps not. “Very well. Go. I have money saved. I will manage until the time is up and then I will buy you out. I don’t know how, but I will do it.” Her face crumbled and her lip started to tremble again. He didn’t care. If the people he loved, that her grandfather loved, meant nothing to her, then she should go.
He left the room, pulling the door shut hard behind him. All he wanted was to be alone right now. He started walking toward the beach. He needed to start over, find new corners to cut, think of new ways to make money. He could make new plans . . . ones that didn’t involve Sophie.
CHAPTER FIVE
There was a gentle tap at the door, but Sophie didn’t want visitors. “Go away!” She buried her head back under the pillow, but she couldn’t get the image of Gabe out of her mind. He looked so hurt, so lost—just like she had known he would.
“Sophie, can I talk to you?” The voice was Marie’s. “Please?”
It wouldn’t do any good to turn her away. She would just come back and Sophie really wanted to know why, as Gabe had said, she didn’t ever tell him what she knew. She threw off the heavy covers and padded to the floor on bare feet. Opening it, she saw Marie’s face, sad and tired, on the other side of the door. “Why?”
She didn’t even have to explain. Marie seemed to know. “May I come in?”
Sophie shrugged and backed up, letting the door swing wider open. The older woman came in and looked around the room at the scattered, torn papers, just where Gabe had left them. “I had a feeling he’d be angry.”
“Is that why you didn’t tell him? You didn’t want him yelling at you?” Her voice sounded dull to her own ears, like the emotion was all gone, drained away until there was nothing left.
Marie shook her head and saw down primly in the corner chair. “No, dear. I wouldn’t have cared if he yelled at me. He’s all fire, but no fight. I wouldn’t be in danger. I’ve encountered worse than him in my years. No, I didn’t tell him because he would be just what he is—wounded and lost. I gave you the book because I expect you to fix it.”
That pulled a startled laugh out of her. “Fix it? Fix it how? There’s nothing left to fix.” She threw up her hands and sat down in the desk chair and spun it around to face her guest. “It’s over, Marie. Accounting one-oh-one: The income must exceed the outgo. It doesn’t.”
Marie’s jaw set firm. “Then reverse it. Make the outgo less, or the income more.”
“So you want me to double the rent on a bunch of senior citizens who were friends with my grandfather? And maybe fire the maid or not have clean linens? I could do that. I’m tough enough to stand the hate, but Gabe would probably kill me in my sleep.”
Marie rolled her eyes and let out a raspberry that didn’t fit the image of the nice old lady. “He’s in love with you. He would do no such thing.”
He was? “Yeah? You didn’t hear him an hour ago, or see his face.”
Now the older woman laughed. “Oh, I heard him. Probably most of the complex did. These rooms aren’t very well soundproofed, dear.” Marie’s expression turned, saying it wasn’t just the yelling that had been overheard. It brought heat to her cheeks. “He is smitten with you, and you with him. But you’re the strong one, like Will. Gabe’s more like me, a people person. He’s wonderful with the guests. Between the two of you, this place could be a gold mine. Will knew that. It’s why he couldn’t make up his mind between you. Your strengths are very different.”
Now Sophie couldn’t help but snort. “Great. So I’m the big, tough meanie who’ll sweep into town and clean up the mess? Is that what Grandpa expected?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Well, guess what? I don’t want to be the meanie. Why can’t I be the nice one? Just for once?”
Because she had always had to be the tough one, the steady one, who would keep her mom sober and her dad paying attention, so at least they looked like good parents. Apparently it was hereditary.
Now Marie stood and walked over to her and put delicate, but surprisingly strong hands on Sophie’s shoulders. “Will didn’t want you to be mean, dear. He wanted you to be smart. Use the brains the good lord gave you, and the training your grandfather did. That’s his real legacy, not this place. This place is nothing special. It’s not magical. It’s just a motel. It could earn a profit with some work.”
“Profit? Just the monthly payments on the mortgage statements I saw in his drawer are more than he was paying me in Texas every month. There’s no way to pay the bills without selling this place.”
Marie lowered herself until she could stare Sophie right in the eyes. “That’s Will’s mortgage, not yours. The money wasn’t even used to buy this motel. He bought a racehorse. It’s a debt against his estate. Tell the attorneys to pay off the bank. You should be deeded this place free and clear.”
That actually . . . made sense. A weight lifted off her shoulders so abruptly it felt like she could float. “Holy crap. Without the mortgage, the debts are only about thirty percent more than the income. It’s still not good, but maybe—”
Marie nodded. “Talk to Gabe, dear. Keep your head clear and talk. You might discover it’s not nearly as bad as you fear. He’s a very smart young man, Sophie. Your grandfather didn’t trust him with this place for no reason.”
She nodded and Marie released her shoulders and then quietly walked to the door. Impulse made Sophie jump up and run over to Marie and envelop her in a heartfelt hug. “Thank you. Now I know why you were special to Grandpa.”
~*~
Gabe flung another rock into the ocean, skimming the flat stone it along the surface of the water. His arm was getting sore enough it was going to be a trick to lay the rest of the shingles. I might as well finish that today. They’re the last supply that’s been paid for.
He never would have believed in a million years that Mr. Will would do this to him. And to his own flesh and blood? It must be a mistake. But Marie had no reason to lie. He just couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t have told him, months ago. What had she been afraid he would do?
Fear pulled at his stomach, churning it and making him burp like he’d had spicy food. But the taste in his mouth was bitter, acrid.
Sophie was leaving. Why did that bother him more than losing the motel . . . or the guests having no home? Because she walked into my life long before she stepped out of that limo.
Was he crazy to have fallen in love with a picture? He had to be, because he couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind. He picked up another rock from the stack he’d collected and heaved it across the waves.
“Impressive,” came a male voice from behind him. Gerard LeBeaux’s Cajun accent dropped off the first two letters, so all that came out was Pressive. “Flipping ‘em ‘cross the waves. Never done seen that afore.”
He really didn’t want company, but he was getting tired anyway, and it wasn’t like he could stop people from coming to the beach. “The harder you throw, the faster it skips. Want to try?” He turned, trying to be polite, while hoping he didn’t really want to stay.
The old man rubbed his shoulder. “Bursitis. Probably couldn’t pick’n up without droppin’ it.” Gabe nodded and tossed another stone.
“You heard the fight?” He presumed that’s why the old man had come down to talk to him.
“Twasn’t much of a fight, if’n that’s what’cha call it. But a’yup. I did.” He paused for a long moment and they both stared out at the ocean. The scent of the salt air seemed to soothe Gabe. “Ya seem a fool t’me, boy, carryin’ on when she’s just tryin’ to protect ya.”
He turned to look at the side of LeBeaux’s face, but the thick shock of gray hair blowing in the breeze covered all but one eye. If only he would have hair that full and luxurious when he was old. But all of the men in his family had smooth heads by the time they reached fifty. “Protect me? She said she couldn’t live without a salary . . . that she was leaving. How is that protecting me?”
Now LeBeaux stared at him, obviously incredulous. The wad of tobacco in his cheek pulled his lips into a sneer. “Ya got wax in ya ears, boy? T’aint what she said a’tal. Said she couldn’t bear to watch you starve. Didn’t say nuthin’ ‘bout herself. Said the two of you couldn’t live on one salary. All the words was ‘we’ and ‘us.’ T’wasn’t no I in there.” He paused for a moment and then shook his head and spat a brown wad of tobacco onto the sand.
He pointed a thin, bony finger and then tapped it against his chest. “You listen to me, Gabriel Silva: Willy-boy owed ya nuthin. Ya ‘member that. He ain’t blood kin t’ya like Miz Sophie. But he gave ya half a city block a’land. So what if his kin got the other half? Ya got some nerve to whine.”
It wasn’t at all what Gabe had expected from the old man, who had been nothing but kind and gentle since he’d moved in. It stunned him into silence.
LeBeaux gave a short, curt nod. “That’s right. Ya think on that. Then ya get yer sorry ass back there an ‘pologize to that little girl. She’s in a tougher spot than ya are, but she’s bein’ the noble one. Pride’s an honorable thing, but there’s a time to swallow it back down, boy.” He turned on his heel and started to walk back toward the stairs to the roadway, his movements slow and painful as he leaned on his cane, his back bowed with each step. It must have taken a great deal of effort to make it all the way down here to the beach. Gabe heard him mutter under his breath before the whistling wind drowned it out.“Willy-boy, I loved ya like my own kin, but I’d punch your nose ya right now if ya weren’t already dead.”
Gabe stood there for a long moment, letting the wind and waves clear his head. He didn’t want to insult Mr. LeBeaux by offering to help, or beating him back to the motel.
But he was right. It was time for Gabe to swallow his pride.
When he got back to the hotel, he saw Sophie and Marie talking excitedly on the second floor landing. They were both smiling and pointing this way and that. It was such a different expression he’d seen Sophie have for a few days that it made him curious.
He took a deep breath and climbed the stairs toward them. When he got to within a few feet of them, Marie nudged Sophie. “Go on. Tell him.”
“Marie—” The tone was a warning one, as though she didn’t want to say whatever Marie wanted her to.
“Sophie,” the old woman responded, her voice like a mother who would put up with no more nonsense. “It’s half his motel too. Be the adult.”
She let out a slow breath, ready to speak. But Gabe raised his hand. “Please. Before you say anything, I want to apologize. I was told I acted the horse’s behind earlier. And it is true. I have not listened, and have not shared. That was wrong of me. Mr. Will put you in a bad place. I should not add to that. There is enough money for us to live. Frugally, yes. But I will share. We will not starve.”
Marie nudged Sophie in the ribs. “You see? I told you.” He didn’t know what that meant, but it made Sophie’s face soften.
“No. We won’t. Because I have the answer. I know how to fix the motel.” Fix? He felt the old, familiar pride well up and it apparently changed how he held himself. She let out a sigh. “It’s broken, Gabe. Accept it. It’s not your fault, or mine. But it’s broken.”
I’d punch yer nose if ya weren’t already dead. It was true. As much as he hated to admit it, there was no denying it. “Yes. I do accept it. But I cannot fix it if it means breaking the people here to do so.” He couldn’t. It wasn’t their fault, any more than it was Sophie’s. Or his.
Marie touched his arm. “Please, Gabe. Just listen. She really does have the answer. It’s one that Will would have liked.”
He looked from one to the other woman and then nodded. It was time to let go of the past. If she had a way to make this work, he would listen. “Please. Tell me.”
“There are ten units empty right now. Right?”
Gabe nodded. He wasn’t proud of that, but, “Yes. Correct.”
“If Marie moved to the unit on the other end of the second floor, that would mean all ten units would be together.” He nodded a second time. “My original idea for this motel was a high-end resort spa. There’s a great view of the ocean from the second floor, and they all have the potential to have balconies.”
His head started shaking before he even realized he was doing it. “No, the people here can’t afford that much money. Mr. Will lowered the prices specifically because—”
“Gabe,” Sophie said. “They’re empty units. I’m suggesting cutting the motel in half, figuratively. One half stays like it is. The second half gets renovated. With the oversized tubs, ocean view and the sauna, it’s perfect for a resort. It even has direct road frontage, and most of the parking is over there. We can make it a real spa.”
Marie joined in the conversation in an excited voice. “That little breakfast bar that nobody uses, Gabe? We make it a massage room. It’s the perfect size. Mrs. Hernandez’s daughter is a professional masseuse. We could bring her in a day or two a week, let her charge her own rates. If we don’t keep a cut at first, she could make good money. It would bring people back.”
The more he thought about it, the more he realized it could work. “We could paint the two halves different colors, and decorate the rooms differently.”
Sophie smiled. “And there are a lot of local people, residents who live nearby, who might like to have a place to get a massage or a lunch hour facial. Maybe even find a make-up or nail artist. I even thought of a new name and slogan.”
“Slogan?” They’d never had a slogan before. “What is it?”
Sophie held her arms and spoke the words as though they were written in lights above her head. “The Starlight Resort and Residence Suites. Pampering so decadent that you’ll never want to leave.” And in the residence half, they never do.”
It was brilliant. Completely brilliant. It also made him remember something. “We must go to your room. There was a drawing that Mr. Will had made long ago— of a new sign. It used the base we had now, but updated it. Come. I want to see that. I think it would work.” He started to pull the keys out of his pocket as he quickly walked that way, leaving Sophie and Marie to catch up.
“I was all through the room, Gabe, I don’t remember seeing anything like that.”
“You wouldn’t have,” he called back over his shoulder. The jumble of emotions that was flowing through him right now had him giddy. From anger to fear, to shame and now excitement. It was hard to focus. But he needed to get the drawing. Opening the door to Sophie’s room, he barged into the room until he was kneeling in front of the old oak desk. “You didn’t look in the side drawer, did you?”
“Side—” Sophie paused and then slapped her forehead. “Oh. My. God! I completely forgot about that. I remember finding it as a kid. He would hide candy there for me to find when I visited.”
“He would put important things inside that he didn’t want to forget.” Gabe pressed inward on the left side of the knee well and a small door spring open. Inside was the bundle of papers that Mr. Will had shown him nearly a year ago. He spread it out on the bed. “You see? This would lower the height of the sign, but make it stand out more.”
Sophie wasn’t looking at the picture with he and Marie. She was staring at something in her hands. It must have come out of the drawer. “The rainbow lady box. I can’t believe he still had this.”
Rainbow lady box. “What is that?”
Sophie held it out for he and Marie to see. It was a black laquer wooden box with inlaid Japanese figures. The tiny women in long gowns looked like they were made from rainbows. The inlay must be of mother-of-pearl. They walked under blooming cherry trees, where the flowers were made of some sort of translucent pink stone.
Without hesitation, she pressed it against Marie’s chest and closed her hands over it. “This is the box. It has to be. He knew I would know the box as soon as I saw it. He wanted you to have it.”
Marie touched the smooth surface, her small fingers tracing along the edges of the figures. “It’s lovely.”
“What is inside?” He was terribly curious all of al sudden. He shouldn’t be. It was not his place to ask, but he couldn’t help himself.
Marie sat down on the foot of the bed and lifted up the top on smooth metal hinges. Inside were a stack of letters and photos, bound with pale purple ribbon and a sprig of some sort of dried purple flowers. She smiled and lifted the dried flower to her nose and inhaled. “Will picked this lilac bloom for me on our first date. He tucked it behind my ear. I thought it fell off when we were walking. He must have gone back to get it.
She ran a finger across the stack of letters. “All of the cards I gave him. Birthday, Christmas, a silly get-well card when he got the flu.” She picked up the stack and put it to the side. Underneath was a small, ornate blue box, made of velvet with gold edges. A single slender piece of paper was wrapped around the box and held on with a rubber band. “Oh. What could this be?”
Pulling off the band, she opened the page. It was written in Mr. Will’s hand and had multiple scratch-outs and rewritings, down the margins and on the back. Marie handed it to him. “I don’t have my reading glasses with me. Would you read it?”
He nodded, happy to be able to know what Mr. Will wanted to say to her. He cleared his throat and felt suddenly nervous, as though it was him saying the words, not Mr. Will. It was hard to follow the arrows and scratched out areas. “My dearest Marie. Has it already been two years? They’re the happiest I’ve had since Lindy died. I want them to continue for as long as we have. Please, do me the honor of wearing this for me. You deserve more, but I know you wouldn’t take more, even if I gave it. But know every day you have it on that you have all of my heart. Please say yes. Will”
She was petting the box, her fingers trembling. When she opened it, Gabe caught his breath. The ring was a riot of diamonds and rubies. It looked like a fireworks burst had been frozen in mid-air. She pulled it gently out of the box and whispered, “Oh, Will. You silly man. How could I say no to you?”
But her fingers were trembling too much to put it on her finger. Sophie took the ring from her hand. Marie held out her right hand, but Sophie lifted her left and put it on the ring finger. “That’s where he wanted it to go, Marie.”
The old woman nodded, tears rolling down her face. “Yes, I suppose he did.” She paused and then took Sophie’s hand in one of hers, and Gabe’s with the other. “He also wanted you two to meet and build this place into something wonderful. If you haven’t already figured it out, he salted the mine a little. You each had pictures of the other. That was intentional. He knew . . . somehow he knew that you were meant for each other. He told me so, that he saw it through the camera lens. So he gave the Starlight to you to meet, and share and find each other.”
Sophie looked at him, and she also had tears tracing down her face. He wanted to touch them, dry them away. But he knew they weren’t tears of sadness, but of happiness. “Have we?” she asked.
“Mr. Will saw things with his camera that nobody else could. That one photo of you captured me long before you came here. You deserve so much more than a simple man like me. But I will promise to try to make you happy for as long as you want to stay here.”
She smiled and it went all the way up to her eyes, shining through the tears. “I’ve never wanted anything fancy. I’ve always liked simple things. Simple makes me happy. We both build things. It’s what we do. It makes us happy. Between the two of us, I think we can build it up, make a go of this.”
This? “The motel?”
Sophie reached out and put her hand around his and smiled in a way that made his heart swell. “Yeah. The Starlight too.”
Cathy Clamp
Cathy Clamp is a USA Today bestselling author of paranormal and romance fiction for Tor Books, including the "Tales of the Sazi" series, the "Thrall" trilogy, the "Blood Singer" series and her her "Sazi of Luna Lake" series. She also writes stand-alone novels, short stories and novellas in anthologies/collections for multiple publishers.
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