Callie Endicott - That Summer at the Shore

During a quiet pause in business, Jamie settled in her Adirondack chair and took in the familiar scents and sounds. Her grandfather’s heavy wood chair had dated to the 1950s. Instead of dragging it from the house, she’d found two made from recycled plastic. It would be too weird to use his, anyhow. Even as a kid she’d never sat in his chair—it belonged to Granddad and nobody else.

The day was unusually warm. This part of the coast didn’t get much hot weather; it was moderate most of the year.

Mmm.

Jamie yawned.

Ocean waves crashed on the shore and the sea shimmered brilliant blue with streaks of greenish-aqua. It was no wonder that Granddad had loved this place; it was peaceful and wholesome. The sunshine was blissfully soothing, and she could always sketch a pendant or bracelet design if inspiration came to her.

Crunching gravel nudged her eyelids open. The approaching vehicle was a black van with Mar Vista in gold lettering on the door and Denning Enterprises in smaller print below. The logo was striking—a lone cypress and soaring seabird.

Jamie stretched, ready to rev up her brain for another verbal bout, but neither of the men who climbed from the van was Zack Denning. The driver seemed genial and innocuous, and his passenger was thin and pale, with a narrow scar above his left eye. He walked with a limp and hugged his arm to his rib cage as if it hurt. She recognized the cautious posture too well.

“Hello,” the driver called. “I’m Gordon Chen. Your sign says you carry certified organic fruits and vegetables.”

“Yup. More and more people are eating pesticide-free.”

“That’s great. I’m looking for someone to supply the restaurants at Mar Vista. Dealing directly with growers is time-consuming, so I was hoping we could come to an agreement that would benefit both of us.”

Jamie shifted in her chair, clinging to her tranquillity. “Let me guess. You’ll be able to buy all of my produce, so there won’t be any reason for me to keep the stand going.”

Gordon frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean. I don’t want you to quit your business. Quite the contrary.”

“In that case, you’d better get oxygen for your boss. He’ll be gasping for air when he hears the news.”

The second man laughed and Jamie was struck by the difference it made in his appearance.

“Morning,” he said. “My name is Brad Denning. I hitched a ride to come and meet you.”

She extended her left hand to shake so he wouldn’t have to move his injured side.

“I’m missing something here, but it isn’t important. Are you interested?” Gordon asked. “I’m choosy about what goes into my kitchen and want someone equally careful to coordinate my produce.” He must be the chef, which accounted for his air of confidence.

“I’m interested,” she assured him. “And I can work with the organic farmers to get you a wider variety than what I stock. The biggest problem is that I don’t have a large enough truck, and there’s no point in getting one for a single customer.”

Gordon shrugged. He seemed unusually easygoing for a high-priced chef. “I can send a guy to get my orders. It’s still an improvement over having a dozen sources delivering throughout the day.”

“The other problem is that for now the stand is only open for the summer and I may not want to do it year-round,” Jamie explained. “At present I’m a one-person operation.”

“Let’s have a trial period and see where we go from there,” Gordon suggested.

They discussed the arrangements, and he took her email address so he could send his orders electronically. As they were leaving, Brad Denning gave Jamie a friendly smile. He was nothing like his obnoxious brother.

“It was good meeting you, Jamie.”

“Likewise,” she said, yet she couldn’t help sniggering once she was alone.

She was now a Mar Vista supplier.

How much oxygen was Zack Denning going to need?

* * *

BRAD WINCED AS the van bounced entering the public road. His fist went instinctively to his aching thigh, but he dragged it away. They’d told him the pain would ease; his shattered bones would strengthen and wasted muscle rebuild. In the meanwhile he was treating it as survival training...one step, one minute at a time.

“Nice lady,” Gordon commented. “What was that stuff about her closing?”

Brad hesitated. He didn’t think Zack would relish the staff gossiping about his disagreement with Jamie Conroe. His brother had changed; in some ways he was nearly a stranger.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Brad said as Gordon parked close to the kitchen. “Ms. Conroe seems to have a unique sense of humor.”

“Yes. It should be entertaining getting to know her.” Gordon hung the keys on the central message board and returned to his kitchen. He was a nice guy and hadn’t minded Brad dropping by one afternoon to scrounge a snack. Gordon had prepared the sandwich himself—a masterpiece of roast beef, cheese, sautéed mushrooms and spicy peppers piled on fresh-made sourdough bread. Brad had eaten it with Gordon clucking over him like a brood hen.

Since then the chef had pressed a number of dishes on him that he claimed were experiments, but were obviously intended to tease the appetite of a recuperating patient.

Clearly, if Gordon hadn’t become a chef, he would have been a mother.

Brad set out to walk the perimeter of the resort, willing his body to cooperate. At the hospital they’d dictated the amount of exercise he should get, but he’d outmaneuvered them by covertly visiting the rehab center in the middle of the night and using the equipment on his own.

Lord.

It was tough accepting that his old life might be over...a life in which he’d served his country. People didn’t always understand. It wasn’t the battles or adrenaline he missed; it was doing something for folks he’d never even met.

“Hi there,” Rick Lopez called as Brad passed his open office window. “I saw you on the course. Are you taking up golf?”

“There’s no chance in hell. Knocking a ball around a manicured lawn isn’t my style.”

Rick chuckled. “I beg your pardon.... Manicuring those greens is hard labor. But you’re right—it isn’t for everyone. Between you and me, I don’t believe our fearless boss loves the sport, either. Zack is so grim practicing his swing. I swear he only plays so he can converse with the guests and join with a group in unavoidable circumstances.”

Naturally.

Everything Zack did nowadays was to support his dream. The resort was a marvel, but it wasn’t an atmosphere where Brad felt comfortable.

Nonetheless, Mar Vista and its ritzy counterparts were Zack’s world.

And Kim Wheeler’s.

Kim.... Brad rubbed his jaw. He’d enjoyed seeing her, however briefly. She was more polished and beautiful than ever, wearing discreet evidence of her professional achievements. He imagined those diamond studs on her ears would cost three or four months of a soldier’s pay.

* * *

ON TUESDAY AFTER the Memorial Day weekend, Zack read the surveyor’s report in disbelief. It plainly indicated that the real estate he’d purchased didn’t include the section where Jamie Conroe had her fruit stand. He owned the beach north of it, not the entire waterfront.

“Hey, Zack. Snap out of it,” Kim commanded over the video-teleconference connection.

“How did this happen?”

“There were a number of parcels involved, Zack. You were preoccupied with construction and made the deal in a hurry.”

“In other words, I should have had your office check it.”

Her lips curved in humor. “Actually, few buyers have a lawyer review a real-estate transaction until closing, although large companies usually bring in an attorney from the beginning. I didn’t check your other purchases and they were successful.”