The Women of Bayberry Cove

“I deserved that promotion. I worked hard for it.”

Still holding the glossy portrait of her parents, Louise crossed the imported-tile floor of her fourteenth-story grossly mortgaged condominium. “You need to mellow out and become one of the good guys,” her boss had told her when she’d questioned why her promotion had gone to someone else. A bark of bitter laughter came from her throat at the inanity of his advice. Louise was a powerhouse in the courtroom. Aggressive, unyielding. Wasn’t that what a lawyer was supposed to be?

If not, maybe she’d chosen the wrong profession. But she loved the law. She couldn’t give it up now. So where could she go to learn to be a nice, people-person kind of lawyer?

Suddenly she had the answer. Bayberry Cove. The homey little burg on the edge of Currituck Sound near the Outer Banks where her best friend lived.

Louise walked toward the phone. “If Bayberry Cove can’t turn you from a lioness into a pussycat,” she told herself, “I don’t know any place that can.”

Dear Reader,

I have always admired and been a little bit envious of strong women. I am awed by females who enter politics or bravely insinuate themselves into occupations that traditionally have been considered a man’s venue. Admittedly I’m from the generation that had to learn through experience that women could achieve whatever they wanted, be whomever they chose. Now I do believe it, wholeheartedly, and if I’d had a daughter instead of my dear son, I would have told her to strive for whatever her heart desired.

But since I didn’t have that daughter, I created Louise, a woman you may have met in The Husband She Never Knew, and who now has her own story in this book. Strong, independent and bold, Louise stands for all that is good about being a woman in the twenty-first century. But more important, she also has a soft center, a pure heart that makes her compassionate, caring and vulnerable in the ways of love. I hope you enjoy Louise’s journey to her heart’s desire.

Cynthia Thomason

P.S. I love hearing from readers. You can write to me at P.O. Box 550068, Fort Lauderdale, Fl 33355 or e-mail me at [e-mail].

The Women of Bayberry Cove

Cynthia Thomason

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to the memory of Amanda Sue Brackett. Dear sister, sweet angel, your flame still burns brightly in my heart.

And a special thank-you to Florida attorney Adam Chotiner, writer Zelda Benjamin’s son-in-law, whose expertise in the field of labor law kept me on the right track.

Any mistakes are entirely mine and not his.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

LOUISE DUNCAN, who regularly apologized to friends and business associates for being late, was fifteen minutes early this morning. The Fort Lauderdale legal firm of Oppenheimer Straus and Baker didn’t officially open until nine, but when Roger Oppenheimer had called her at home the previous evening and told her to be in his office at eight, Louise knew she’d be on time. She’d been waiting ten years for this call.

She exited the elevator on the top floor of the Moroccan-style building that had graced Las Olas Boulevard since the 1940s. Continuing down a wide hallway flanked with offices, Louise stopped outside Mr. Oppenheimer’s door. She knocked lightly and responding to Roger’s request, stepped inside.

He turned from the bank of windows and smiled at her. “Right on time, I see, Louise.” He gestured for her to take a seat in a deep-tufted green leather chair, and he sat in a similar one on the other side of a mahogany coffee table. He lifted a chrome serving pitcher from a silver tray. “Coffee?”

Louise smiled back at him, growing even more confident in the cordial atmosphere. “I don’t know. Did you make it yourself?”

Roger chuckled and poured a cup for himself and one for Louise. “Yes, I did.” He set his mug on a coaster and molded his thick fingers over the edges of the chair arms.

Louise peered at him over the rim of her mug. It wasn’t her imagination. The good humor of the last moments was fading from his features. His eyes had narrowed, the lines around his mouth deepened. The time for small talk was over. That was fine with Louise. She was ready to hear the good news.

“Perhaps you know why I called you to the office so early, Louise,” he said.

She set down her mug. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“I wanted to speak to you in privacy, without the interruptions of normal business hours.”

And so the others who have been considered for the promotion wouldn’t be around when you tell me I’m the one who got it. Louise allowed herself a bit of mental gloating. “I think that was a good idea, Roger.”

He moved his hands to his knees and leaned slightly forward. “As you know, since Harker Pen-wright left, the firm has been considering moving someone from inside the organization to his position of junior partner.”

She nodded. Oh, yes, she knew. The promotion had been the subject of whispered comments at the water cooler and murmured predictions during happy hours. Two days ago, Louise had gotten wind of what she believed was the true inside scoop from her secretary, who’d heard from Oppenheimer’s own assistant. The promotion was going to Louise.

“We all knew that a decision was forthcoming,” she said.

Roger cleared his throat. “Right. And that decision was reached last night. It probably comes as no surprise to you that you, Ed Bennett and Arthur Blackstone were the principal candidates for the promotion.”

Louise folded her hands in her lap and connected her gaze with Roger’s in that direct way she was famous for in the courtroom. “I had assumed as much, yes.” Oh, this was going to be so sweet.

Roger looked away from her penetrating stare and seemed to find something fascinating in the weave of the green-and-tan carpet. The first hint of unease prickled along Louise’s spine.

After a moment, he looked up. “There’s no easy way to say this, Louise. Especially since I am fond of you on a personal level. And of course I admire you on a professional one.”

Louise turned cold to the tips of her fingers. She held her breath.

“We’ve decided to give the position to Ed,” Roger stated with agonizing blandness.

Louise shook her head, replayed the stunning announcement in her mind several times to be sure she’d got it right. She leaned forward and stared at Roger’s face, at the capillaries expanding and reddening in his plump cheeks. “You what?”

“I’m sorry, Louise, but in the end, all three of us agreed that this decision was best for the firm.”

Uncharacteristically, words failed her. She blew out a long breath, blinked several times and finally uttered, “Roger, I have seniority over Ed by more than a year.”

“I know, and we took that into consideration. Unfortunately, there were other factors that weighed more heavily in our decision.”

“Other factors? May I ask what they were?”

“Louise, I don’t want to go into this…”

“Roger, you owe me an explanation. You know you do.”

He sighed heavily. “All right. Basically we feel that Ed projects a more appropriate image for the firm. He’s wonderful with the clients. They like his give-and-take attitude with regard to decision making. He oozes confidence, Louise….”

“And I don’t?” Good God, if there was one trait that clearly defined Louise Duncan, it was confidence, not pretended or fleeting, but real, no-nonsense confidence that Ed Bennett could only dream about.

Roger remained calm, his tone of voice even. “You do, of course, and for the most part your work in the courtroom is exemplary, but…” He rolled one shoulder, resettled his bulk in the chair. “Frankly, Louise, we’ve had complaints. You come across as somewhat intimidating, forceful.”

“I’m an attorney, Roger. It’s my job to be forceful.”

“To an extent, yes. But you shouldn’t necessarily act that way toward our own clients. Ed is dignified, solid, almost courtly. He’s stable and reliable, the picture of old-company trust. In the field of corporate law, Louise, his demeanor is most impressive.”

“You’re saying I’m not stable?”

He had the nerve to smile. “I’m certainly not suggesting you need psychiatric help, but to a client who’s contemplating putting the future of his empire in our hands, you come on a little strong.” He threaded his fingers together, resting his hands in his lap. “Let me put it this way. Ed Bennett bonds with the clients. He’s both compassionate and capable. And while there’s no doubt that you’re a top-notch litigator, Louise, you do have a tendency to bully everyone around you.”

Louise couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Ed Bennett was a complete toady in his perfectly tailored black suits, and shirts starched to such gleaming stiffness that he crackled when he swung his arms. And he was getting this promotion over her. Her pride was wounded beyond repair. Her dreams were shattering like old crystal. And so she heard herself utter words of self-betrayal and corporate capitulation. “I can change,” she said. “I can listen to stories about backyard barbecues, and kids’ educations, and family vacations to Aspen. That’s what Ed does. I can do that, too. I can be nice.”

“Of course you can, Louise, but not by nine o’clock this morning.” He stood, effectively dismissing her. “I hate to cut this short, but Arthur Blackstone is due at eight-thirty, and I have to do this one more time. It’s not something I enjoy, I assure you.”

She stood up. “If you expect me to sympathize with you, Roger, you’re going to be disappointed.”

He chuckled a little. “I don’t expect that at all. But please consider some advice. Take a break from the firm, a vacation. A couple of months. You’ve earned a mountain of personal days over the years. Sanders and Martin can take over your workload for a while.”

“You’re suggesting I run off to some Caribbean island and sun myself for weeks?” The thought was ludicrous.

Apparently oblivious to the absurdity of his idea, Roger said, “Yes, that’s a great plan. We want you on board, Louise. But take some time for yourself. Come back refreshed, renewed.”

And more in tune with Oppenheimer Straus and Baker, Stepford attorneys. “Fine,” she said, opening the door to the hallway. “I’ll see you in a few weeks, Roger.”

She passed Arthur Blackstone midway down the hall. He stopped her with a light touch to her elbow. “Did you just come from Oppenheimer’s office?” he asked.

“I did.” A worried frown tugged at his lips. “Don’t worry, Art,” she said, empathizing with his soon-to-be-victim status. “It’s not me.”

He exhaled. “Sorry, Louise, but if not you, then who…”

“Just one word of warning. If Roger offers you coffee, you might want to lace it with a shot of bourbon.”

AT NINE O’CLOCK that night Louise polished off a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, licked the carton lid and tossed the empty container across the room into the wastebasket. Then she leaned forward on her sofa and reached for a cardboard box on her coffee table. Roger Oppenheimer had made it clear that her job wasn’t in jeopardy, but she’d thought it advisable to clear her desktop of personal effects, since she might be gone for a couple of months.

She felt around in the box until her fingers grasped a chrome picture frame. Pulling it from the box, she stared at the portrait of her parents, both of them dressed in the white coats of their medical profession. Linda and Fritz Duncan had wanted their daughter to study medicine and join their successful OB/GYN practice. Louise had staunchly refused, and followed her heart into law. Her parents had supported her decision and had always remained proud of her accomplishments.

“You should see me now, folks,” Louise said to the glossy image. “I deserved that promotion. I worked hard for it.” Through a hiccuped sob, she added, “And now I think I might be just a little bit drunk.” With her bare toe she rolled an empty wine bottle across the floor.

Still holding the photo, she stood up, crossed the imported-tile floor of her fourteenth-story condominium and went out on the balcony. A breeze from the ocean, less than a half mile away, washed over her. Revived, she looked across the rooftops of nearby buildings and settled her gaze on the silvery black sea, rippling to shore from the distant horizon. “Damn it. What the hell am I supposed to do for two months? Where am I supposed to go? I already live in a freaking paradise.

“Where do people go when they are told to mellow out and become one of the good guys?” A bark of bitter laughter came from her throat at the inanity of Roger Oppenheimer’s advice. Louise was a powerhouse in the courtroom. Aggressive, unyielding. Wasn’t that what a lawyer was supposed to be?

If not, maybe she’d chosen the wrong profession. But she loved the law. She couldn’t give it up now. So where did a person go to learn to be a nice, people-person kind of lawyer?

And suddenly she had the answer. She’d go to that little town in North Carolina where her best friend lived. What was the name? She struggled to remember it through a haze of muddled thinking. Bayberry Cove. That was it. A homey little burg on the edge of Currituck Sound near the Outer Banks. Vicki had moved there six months ago and now, deliriously in love and pregnant, she hated to leave the town, even to check on her antiques store in Fort Lauderdale. Endlessly praising the quiet virtues of the place, Vicki had repeatedly invited Louise to come for a visit, but Louise never had time.

She turned away from her grossly mortgaged view and went into the apartment to call Vicki. You’ve got plenty of time now, honey, she told herself. And if Bayberry Cove can’t turn you from a lioness into a pussycat, I don’t know of any place that can.

TWO DAYS LATER, on a spectacular May afternoon, Louise drove her black BMW down Main Street, Bayberry Cove, North Carolina. To her right was a row of two-story buildings with granite cornerstones proclaiming each of them to be over a hundred years old. To her left, a typical town square with ancient trees dripping shade over brick sidewalks and cast-iron benches. A perfect place for people to stop and enjoy the simple pleasure of a picnic lunch or lazy afternoon chat.

The only problem was that while Louise could admire the pastoral solitude of a leafy town green, she wasn’t a picnicker, and she wasn’t much for small talk. She was a woman to whom every minute was precious and not meant to be squandered. She pulled into a parking space and approached an elderly man seated on the nearest bench.

As she came closer, he shielded his eyes from the sun and grinned with obvious interest. Accustomed to such blatantly admiring looks, Louise settled her ball cap low on her forehead and flipped her long black ponytail through the opening at the back. Then, since she could plainly determine the focus of the old guy’s attention, she tugged her halter top so it covered the slash of midriff above the waistband of her Liz Claiborne stretch capris.

“Hi there,” she said, flashing the man a sincere smile. “Can you tell me where I might find Pintail Point, the home of Jamie Malone?”

He looked her up and down with appreciative scrutiny, murmured directions and gestured into the distance with a gnarled finger.

Louise thanked him and headed out of town to a two-lane road he’d identified as Sandy Ridge. She turned right and in three miles spotted the causeway that would lead her to where Vicki lived with her husband.

The tires crunched on loose gravel as she drove across the narrow spit of land. Dust settled on the wax on her car. When she parked at the end of the point, she got out and walked toward a neat little houseboat with geraniums in the window boxes. She heard a welcoming squeal before she actually saw her best friend.

“Oh, my God, you actually came!” Vicki crossed the wooden bridge from the boat and ran toward Louise.

“It’s me,” Louise stated unnecessarily. “Now slow down or you’ll pop that baby out four months ahead of schedule.”

Vicki threw herself into Louise’s arms. “Don’t worry about him. He—or she—is as protected as the gold in Fort Knox, and not going anywhere.” Keeping her hands on Louise’s shoulders, Vicki stepped back and fired questions. “How was your trip? How long can you stay?” She darted a glance over her shoulder where her husband, the totally gorgeous and charmingly Irish Jamie Malone, was approaching at a leisurely pace with his odd-looking dog beside him.

“Cover your ears, Beasley,” Jamie said to the dog. “All this squealin’ and squawkin’ is typical womenfolk jabber.”

He placed his hands on his hips and grinned at Louise. “Well, well, Miz Lady Attorney. Fancy seeing you on Pintail Point.”

She sent him a smug look. They’d had their disagreements in the past, especially about the divorce Vicki had claimed she wanted from the virtual stranger she’d married thirteen years before when he’d needed a green card and she’d needed money. Thinking she was doing her friend a favor, Louise had had the mysterious Mr. Malone investigated and subtly intimidated—until Vicki had fallen head over heels in love with him and shredded the divorce papers once and for all.

Louise took a step toward him. “Come on, Jamie. I know you’re glad to see me.” She angled her cheek toward his face. “Give us a wee kiss now.”

He laughed and obliged her.

“So this is the love nest?” she said, walking to the boat. “The famous Bucket O’ Luck I’ve heard so much about.”

“This is it,” Vicki said, keeping pace with her. She stopped and pointed across Currituck Sound to a hill rising next to Sandy Ridge Road. “And that’s going to take her place in a few months when it’s finished.”

A partially completed house crested the hill, its bare timbers rising toward the afternoon sun. “Very nice.”

“It will be. But for now, it’s the Bucket or nothing.” She opened the door and waited for Louise to precede her inside. “So talk, Lulu. What’s the real reason you’re here? You were very vague on the phone. I never thought you’d come.”

Like the true friend she was, Vicki listened to Louise’s tale and sighed at the injustice of it. “What are you going to do now?” she asked when Louise finished her story.

“Well, this looks like a nice place,” Louise said. “I’ll probably stay here for a while. Maybe Oppenheimer is right. Maybe I do need some downtime.”

Vicki shot a glance in Jamie’s direction. He hunched his shoulder in male confusion. Louise laughed. “I don’t mean here here,” she said. “I’m not moving in with you, for heaven’s sake. I meant here in Bayberry Cove.”

Relief washed over both faces. “Oh, well…” Vicki said. “If our house was ready, there’d be no problem, but we only have one bedroom on the Bucket and…”

Louise waved her hand to dismiss her friend’s concern. “Enough, Vic. I don’t want to stay with you two any more than you want me to. Just direct me to a motel. Anything in town will do.”

Vicki shook her head. “That’s a problem.”

“Why?”

“There are no places to stay in Bayberry Cove.”

“What? Nothing?”

“Nope.” Vicki looked to Jamie for a suggestion.

He thought a moment and finally said, “There’s always Buttercup Cottage. I could ask Haywood if he’d rent it.”

“There you go,” Louise said. “Of course, I’ve never churned butter or made my own candles….”

Vicki laughed. “It’s not like that. It has indoor plumbing and electricity.”

“Good. Show me the dotted line I sign on.”

“You’ll have to talk to Haywood Fletcher,” Jamie said. “His family owns the place. I think you probably recognize his name.”

Louise winced. “How could I forget the attorney who claimed he’d found flaws in that perfectly executed divorce decree I wrote for Vicki?”

Jamie laughed. “Don’t blame Haywood for that. It was a stall tactic I used to buy time until Vicki admitted she loved me. Haywood will treat you fairly, but there might be one problem.”

“What now?”

“My mother used to work for Haywood. She told me that his son is coming home sometime soon. He’s a semi-retired commander from the navy, and there’s a chance he might want to move into the cottage.”

Vicki groaned. “Oh, no. That place would be perfect for you, Lulu. When is Wesley due to arrive?” she asked Jamie.

“Ma didn’t say. Probably not for a while. And anyway, he’ll most likely stay at the mansion in town with his father.”

“So, where is this cottage?” Louise asked. “I’m going to check it out so I know it’s worth grappling with the town’s only attorney over a lease agreement.”

“That’s the best part,” Vicki said. “It’s right next to us, just a mile farther down Sandy Ridge. You can’t miss it. It’s stained a delightful color, like—”

“Don’t tell me,” Louise said. “Buttercups.”

TEN MINUTES LATER, Louise drove onto the pebble driveway of Buttercup Cottage. Besides the identifying color, a wooden placard above the front door confirmed that she was at the right place.

She stopped in front of the entrance and got out of her car. “This looks fine,” she said, imagining the hypnotic effect of raindrops on the sloping tin roof, lightning bugs twinkling outside the double casement windows. The sound of waves lapping the shoreline behind the house reminded her that she was only steps away from the protected bay.

Louise walked around the side of the house. “I suppose I could look through the windows. No one’s living here now.”

She peered into a bedroom. A double bed covered by a bright quilt looked cozy. The ceiling fan, dormant now, would stir up a nice breeze on warm evenings.

The next window provided a view of a compact bathroom with a porcelain vanity under a small medicine cabinet. “Adequate,” she said, and proceeded to the back of the house.

Pleased to see that the rear door had a window in the upper half, she walked up to get a look at what was no doubt the kitchen. She was just leaning into the glass when a man appeared in her view, and the door swung open. Louise jumped back a step, but not far enough. Without warning, she was doused from chest to ankles with the grimy contents of a large pan.

She hollered, swore a little and shook her hands free of water mixed with unidentified substances. Then she watched in horror as rivers of rust permeated her new white capris. She stared at the open door where a man in a cap emblazoned with a gold insignia stood with the now-empty pan dangling from his hands. Plucking her halter away from her chest, she glared into bright aqua eyes and snapped, “Look what you’ve done.”

CHAPTER TWO

HE STOOD THERE gawking at her as if she’d descended out of the sky. “Wow, look at you,” he finally said. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t see you out here.”

She glanced down at her pants again. “That’s comforting. It’s nice to know you weren’t lying in wait….”

He disappeared into the house. Gone.

She leaned across the open doorway. “Hey!”

He came back with a roll of slightly soggy paper towels. “Here. Dry yourself.”

She unwound about a dozen squares and began patting her clothes. When she swiped along her arms, she jerked her face away. “This stuff stinks. What is it?”