Amazing Gracie. Sherryl Woods
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his brows. “You’ll stay in touch?”
“Why?”
“In case you decide you want to come back, of course.”
“I won’t,” she said with certainty. Whatever happened, whatever she decided to do with her life, she would not come back to Worldwide as long as it was in the hands of Maximillian Devereaux.
“You’ll always have a job with us,” he said anyway. “Remember that when you tire of watching the dogwood and the cherry blossoms bloom.”
“I’d keep the flower references out of the conversation, if I were you. Flowers are what brought us to this impasse, remember?”
“You’ll be back,” he said with arrogant confidence. “You and I have unfinished business.” His gaze settled on her and lingered. “Professional and personal.”
She refused to be shaken by the intensity of his gaze, but only because there was no responding, wild leap of her pulse. She stared straight into his eyes and slowly shook her head. “Don’t bet the wine cellar on it, Max.”
And then she slammed the door in his face. Forever after, she thought she would remember with a great deal of satisfaction his thoroughly stunned expression. She doubted Max could recall the last time a mere mortal, especially a woman, had ever said no to him and not left the door open for a yes.
Gracie checked her bank balance and gave herself five months—the rest of spring and the entire summer—to pull herself together. She made that decision on the plane. Then, exhausted and emotionally drained, she slept the rest of the way to Washington.
At Dulles Airport, she bought a map, rented a car and started driving east on the Beltway, turning south on I–95 to Fredericksburg then heading east again. Seagull Point was a tiny speck on the map, tucked between Colonial Beach and Montross, right in the heart of history as the guidebooks liked to say.
Passing gently rolling farmland along the Rappahannock River, she began to have her doubts. Would she be able to survive for long in the middle of nowhere? True, the dogwoods were blooming in profusion, their white and pink blossoms standing out against the budding green of giant oaks. Tulips and the last of the daffodils bobbed in the lilac-scented breeze. The scenery was idyllic, but the only town she passed through, King George, was hardly a metropolis. There wasn’t even a traffic light in the middle of town. She barely had to slow down until she hit the intersection with Route 205 and made the turn toward Colonial Beach.
Pausing at the next red light at Route 301, she considered turning left and heading north, across the Potomac River Bridge, back to D.C. or maybe Baltimore. Instead, though, she kept going, determined to follow the plan she’d set for herself. Making plans, seeing to details, was something at which she excelled. It was why, until recently, she’d been such a valued Worldwide employee. She was organized to a fault.
By three in the afternoon she’d found a small hotel on the Potomac River. No one would ever confuse it with a Worldwide property, but it was clean and the mattress was firm, just the way she liked it. It would do until she could find a rental property for the summer, she concluded.
By five she’d finished a take-out carton of Kung Po chicken, showered and watched the early news out of Washington. Though she’d intended to shift her body onto local time by staying awake until nine at least, by five-thirty she was sound asleep. Naturally, because of that, she was wide awake before dawn.
Years of starting the day while others slept made the early hour seem almost normal. Except there were no lists to make, no calendar to check for meetings, no details to see to. There was absolutely nothing demanding her attention and no reason at all to get out of bed.
“Go back to sleep,” she coached herself, forcing her eyes shut and trying to stay perfectly still. She willed herself to relax. After fifteen increasingly restless minutes, she realized she didn’t know how.
“Tomorrow will be better,” she promised herself as she dressed and headed out to find someplace serving breakfast.
Over scrambled eggs and toast at the Beachside Cafe, she read the Washington Post. As she lingered over coffee, she dug in her purse for paper and made a list of things to do, starting with contacting a real estate agent about available rentals. She wanted something small, facing the river so she could sit on the porch and drink her morning coffee or her evening tea and watch the play of colors on the water.
“More coffee, miss?”
Gracie glanced up at the waitress and smiled, noting that her name was Jessie and that she had the reddest hair Gracie had ever seen, especially on a woman who had to be in her sixties. “Yes, please. Any idea what time I’ll be able to find a real estate office open around here?”
“Oh, it’s catch as catch can until nine or so, though Johnny Payne usually stops in here around eight. If he doesn’t have what you’re looking for, he can find it for you.”
Gracie glanced at the clock behind the counter. “Maybe I’ll just stick around then. Do you mind?”
“Be my guest. We’re never full on a weekday till after the season starts. I’ll send Johnny over when he comes in. Having breakfast with a pretty woman for a change will make his day. Those old coots he’s usually with ain’t nothing to look at.”
Gracie grinned. “Thanks.”
“You need anything else, just holler. I’ll check on your coffee now and again.”
It was three cups of coffee later, just as Gracie was beginning to get a worrisome caffeine buzz, when the man who turned out to be Johnny Payne ambled in. He headed for the counter, only to be waylaid by the waitress and directed toward Gracie. He was tall and raw-boned with a flushed complexion, liberal gray in his once-brown hair and a twinkle in his hazel eyes.
“Mr. Payne?” Gracie guessed when he stood beside her table, his hands shoved in the pockets of his chinos. Christmas-red suspenders held them up.
“Yes, ma’am, that would be me. What can I do for you?”
“Sit down, if you have a minute. I don’t want to keep you from your breakfast.”
“Not me,” he said, and pulled out a chair. “I had breakfast at home an hour ago. I come in here to fuel up on coffee and gossip.”
“Well, I certainly won’t keep you from having your coffee. As for the gossip, I’ll try not to keep you from that for too long, either.”
He grinned at her. “Not to worry. Nothing much happens around here anyway, leastways nothing that’s more exciting than a pretty stranger asking about property. That is what you wanted to see me about, isn’t it?”
“It is. I’m looking for a summer rental.”
“On the river?”
“Absolutely.”
“Big or small?”
“Small will do.”
He looked her over, his expression thoughtful. “You mind investing a little elbow grease?”
“Not at all.” It would keep her mind off of the decisions that had to be made.
He gave a brief nod of satisfaction, as if she’d just passed some sort of test. “I’ve got just the place. Owner died a few years back and his kids don’t give a hoot about the house. Can’t seem to agree about selling it, either. In the meantime, it’s for rent. Won’t suit just anybody because of its size. Two bedrooms, a big kitchen, and a living room. Most folks want the Taj Majal in the summer, so they can fill the place with everyone from back home they were trying to get away from. You know what I mean?”
Actually, she had no idea. She’d taken only one real vacation in her entire life—to this town, as a matter of fact. She nodded just the same.
“Anyway, the price is negotiable depending on how long you want it for and how much work you’re willing to put in yourself to clean it up and