Second Wind (Cypress Coast Book 1) Read online

  She located the proprietor of the garage, who was happy to check and tighten her lug nuts free of charge, and left feeling more confident about her ability to survive as an independent woman. She now had someone she could refer to as “my mechanic” who would surely do a better job taking care of her beloved little car than Richard ever had. All she had to do now was replace the rest of the negative elements in her old life with new, positive ones, and she would be on her way to inventing a whole new Laurel McDowell. Too bad it wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

  When she arrived home, she discovered she was starving, despite having demolished a plate of pancakes that morning. She found her mother in the kitchen of Earthly Delights with her sous chef Carla, slicing onions, carrots, mushrooms, and zucchini.

  “We’re making pizzas for the lunch special. Would you like one?”

  Laurel leaned against the stainless-steel counter, out of the way of Rosemary’s flashing chef’s knife. “That sounds great.”

  “Did Jake help you get your car problem straightened out?”

  “He did. I’m all set now.”

  Her mother finished slicing the vegetables and rinsed her knife under the faucet. “Have you had any more thoughts about what you’d like to do now that you’re back?”

  Laurel pulled the band from her hair, shaking the silky strands loose around her shoulders. “I thought about it all the way from Seattle. The first order of business is to find a job. After that, I’ll look for an apartment.”

  Rosemary’s bright expression lost some of its luster. “I thought you’d live with me. There’s plenty of room for you and Rufus.”

  Laurel pushed away from the counter and wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “I will, for a while, but I need to make my own way, find my own place.”

  Rosemary returned her squeeze. “I understand, but a mother can dream, can’t she?” She released her daughter and wiped her hands on her apron with a sigh. “If you insist, I had an idea about where you could live.”

  “Great!”

  “I also might have a line on a possible job for you.”

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t need help before summer.”

  “I don’t, but one of our customers might. He’s in the dining room now. Come with me, and I’ll introduce you.”

  Laurel followed her mother out of the kitchen to a table next to the wall of glass that separated the dining room from the stone terrace outside. Two men in their sixties, both impeccably groomed and attired, sat deep in conversation. As the women approached, the diners ceased their conversation and turned, all smiles.

  “Rosemary! How lovely to see you.” The speaker had swooping silver hair and a subtle, indeterminate accent. When Laurel’s mother offered her hand, he clasped it between both of his and pressed a swift kiss to the back.

  “It’s nice to see you, too, Victor.” She withdrew her hand and turned to the other man, whose black beret sat at a jaunty angle atop faded blond hair. “And you, Martin.”

  The man named Victor turned an inquisitive eye to Laurel. “Is this one of your beautiful daughters?”

  Rosemary gave Laurel a subtle nudge forward. “This is Laurel. She has just returned home from Seattle, where she worked for a prestigious art investment firm.”

  Laurel smiled. Her mom was laying it on a little thick, but she’d learned enough about marketing from Richard to know that hyperbole often greased the wheels of the sales machine. Rosemary was clearly on a mission to sell this man on her credentials.

  “Laurel, this is Martin Finebourne, antiques dealer extraordinaire, and Victor St. James, owner of the premier art gallery in Carmel.”

  “I’d hardly say that.” Despite his attempt to sound modest, Victor preened like a peacock, tugging the sleeves of his olive green-and-red, window-pane plaid jacket and smoothing his yellow, figured-silk ascot.

  “You are, too, and you know it,” Rosemary scoffed. “At any rate, Laurel is looking for a job, and of course, I thought of you first.”

  Victor eyed her with an appraising gaze. “Well, business always picks up from now through the end of the year because of all the tourists who come to Carmel for the holidays. My part-time employee quit a couple of months ago, so I believe I can use someone full-time, at least for the next couple of months. That would give us both a chance to decide if we like the arrangement well enough to keep it going. If you’re interested, of course.”

  Two months. It wasn’t ideal, but it would give her time to get on her feet, and since the job had practically fallen into her lap… “Absolutely.”

  Laurel offered her hand with a smile, which faded when Victor took it and kissed it as he had her mother’s. He probably meant it as a gallant gesture, but his extravagant manners would take some getting used to.

  Victor beamed. “Excellent. The gallery opens at ten, so why don’t you come in around eight-thirty Monday morning, and I’ll show you the ropes? We’re in the courtyard across from that cute new Italian restaurant, Luigi’s, on San Carlos.”

  “Thank you so much. I’ll see you Monday morning.” Laurel smiled, then she and Rosemary excused themselves. When they reached the kitchen, she pushed the swinging door and held it open before following her mother through. “Mom, you’re a wonder. I’ve been home less than twenty-four hours, and you’ve already solved my biggest problem.”

  “I don’t know if it’s your biggest problem, dear, but I could tell it was bothering you the most.” She peeled the plastic wrap from a large metal bowl of pizza dough and poked a finger in the center to check the rise.

  Laurel didn’t want to ask which of her many problems her mother considered more important. “Mr. St. James seems nice, if a little…um, flamboyant.”

  Rosemary hooted as she upended the dough onto the floured counter. “You could say that. He’s a real character, a local legend, so to speak, in the true spirit of Carmel-by-the-Sea.”

  “Oh, great. In other words, a nutcase.”

  “Let’s just say the town encourages eccentrics, and he fits right in.” She gave the dough a quick knead and cut off a fist-sized section. “Actually, he and Martin may be a bit over-the-top, but they’re well-respected and well-connected. Working at the gallery will be a good way for you to get back in touch with the local art scene.”

  Laurel shot her mother a quick glance. She hadn’t mentioned anything about wanting to return to sculpture. Had she given off some kind of subsonic vibe only a mother could sense? She’d forgotten what it was like to have someone love her so much they knew her as well as she knew herself, if not better. And she’d missed it more than she’d realized.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Laurel felt guilty for standing around while her mother formed and stretched the pizza dough, especially when Rosemary had just worked her mom magic to set her up with a job. “I’m sorry to be such a distraction while you’re cooking. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Her mother poked her head into the commercial refrigerator. “Here.” She handed Laurel two blocks of cheese—one Parmesan and one Romano. “You can grate these. During the break between lunch and dinner, we’ll work on solving the second problem on your list.”

  Laurel helped as much as she could, which wasn’t a lot, during the rest of the lunch rush. Mostly she tried to stay out of the way of the experienced staff and avoid throwing a monkey wrench into her mother’s well-oiled kitchen machine.

  Three hours later, Rosemary turned over the remaining clean-up and dinner prep chores to the rest of her crew and tossed her apron into a canvas laundry hamper in the corner. She plucked an old quilted jacket from a hook by the back door. “Come with me, and I’ll show you the place I thought might work for an apartment if you don’t want to stay at the house.”

  Laurel popped up from her stool in the corner and followed her mother out the door into the golden, late-afternoon sun. Together they strolled down the path to the driveway that led to the house. “Do you want to drive, or should I?”

  “It would be a
pretty short drive. We’re only going a couple hundred yards.”

  Laurel frowned. There was nothing but forest for at least a half mile in every direction. Was her mother suggesting she camp out in a tent?

  “I want to take a look at the space over the garage.” Rosemary led the way to the solid, two-story, redwood structure nestled among the trees about fifty feet from the house. “I’m sure you haven’t been up there in years. It used to be Mr. Harrington’s studio before he moved to a larger space in Carmel. It’s full of junk right now, but it has wonderful light. There’s a bathroom of sorts, and I bet we could fix it up with a small kitchenette.”

  Laurel pictured the cavernous space above the garage where she’d played with her sisters as a child. Her father had designed it as a painting studio with high, wood-beamed ceilings and huge windows. It wasn’t large—maybe seven hundred square feet—but it would make a fabulous apartment. Excitement fluttered in her stomach.

  When they reached the building, they bypassed the garage doors and walked around to the outside staircase that led to the second-floor studio.

  At the top of the steps, Rosemary unlocked the door. “Don’t expect too much. Nobody’s been up here in years. I’m not sure what we’ll find.”

  The door creaked on its hinges as she pushed it open. Laurel stepped in behind her, mentally preparing herself for squirrels, other rodents, or worse. She just prayed there wouldn’t be bats. They might play an important part in nature’s greater scheme, but she’d never been able to be mature about bats.

  Nothing scurried. Nothing fluttered.

  Her mother flipped a switch beside the door, and a series of lights mounted to the rafters lit up. A random assortment of boxes, bicycles, and old tools cluttered the large, open room, but Laurel ignored them, drawn to the huge bank of windows that filled the gable end. She stared out at the vast expanse of blue ocean that kissed the rocky coastline as far as the eye could see. “I’ll never get tired of this.”

  “Do you think you could live here?” Rosemary’s voice held a note of hope.

  “Absolutely.” Tears stung Laurel’s eyes as she enveloped her mother in a big hug. “You always know how to make everything right. Thank you.”

  Rosemary blinked away a sheen of moisture and smiled. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen the bathroom.”

  “As I recall, it was over here.” Laurel opened a rough-hewn door in one corner. When she flipped the switch, some of the air went out of her balloon of excitement. “Ah, I see what you mean.” The rust-stained toilet was decades old, and the sink was an oversized, double-bowled, galvanized steel wash tub, more appropriate for cleaning paint brushes than human skin. A single board shelf provided the only storage, and there was no tub or shower.

  Rosemary peered in over her shoulder. “It’s a bit rustic, but I’m sure Rafael can transform it into something clean and serviceable in a few weeks.”

  “Rafael?”

  “You remember Rafael Fuentes—the fisherman from Monterey who’s been our handyman since your father’s accident.”

  Laurel had vague memories of a quiet, middle-aged man with watchful dark eyes and skin weather-beaten by years of exposure to the elements. She’d barely registered him working around Earthly Delights when she’d been home from college on vacation. “I think so.”

  “Rafael’s been a huge help to me, and he’s really quite talented. If you’re interested in moving in here, I’ll talk to him about the repairs and get an estimate.”

  Laurel backed out of the dismal little space and cast another glance around the main room. “That would be great. This place is perfect for Rufus and me.”

  Her mother slipped an arm around her waist and gave her a hug. “I hoped you’d think so. Now, I don’t want you to worry about the cost—”

  Laurel pictured the stack of hundred-dollar bills tucked away in the envelope in her dresser. She’d sold her engagement ring to start a new life, and this was the first step. “I can pay. I want to pay.”

  “You should hang onto your money, dear. You never know when you might need it.”

  She peered into her mother’s concerned brown eyes. “I need to do this, Mom—please let me. It’s important.”

  Rosemary sighed. “All right, but I’ll talk to Rafael about keeping costs to a minimum, and your sisters and I can help with the labor. We’ll make it a family project.”

  Laurel wasn’t sure Sage and Angelica would be as happy about giving up their free time to help build her a place to live as her mother thought. “We’ll see. First, let’s get Rafael’s bid.”

  Her mother nodded. “I’ll give him a call and ask him to stop by tomorrow, if he has time. In the meantime, we can start clearing out all this junk.” She wrinkled her nose at the dusty piles then unzipped her jacket. “We’ll take it down to the garage for the time being.”

  An hour later they were sweaty, dirt-streaked, and festooned with cobwebs. Rosemary glanced at her watch. “Uh, oh. I’d better grab a quick shower and get back to the restaurant.”

  Laurel pushed her bangs out of her face with the back of one grimy wrist. “You go ahead. I’m going to work a while longer.”

  After her mother left, she plopped down on an old green canvas camp stool and surveyed the progress. They’d barely cleared a quarter of the space, but she could already picture it with a fresh coat of paint and a few simple furnishings. The vision warmed her soul in a way Richard’s glitzy condo never had.

  This was real. This was her. This was home.

  ****

  Monday morning it was still pitch-black when Laurel awoke to an insistent orange and white face surrounded by a ring of plastic, staring at her from a distance of four inches. She glanced at the Mickey Mouse alarm clock on her bedside table. Five-thirty. Ugh.

  Her back and shoulders ached as if she’d carried all the junk down from the old studio by herself. In truth, Rafael had showed up yesterday morning with his sons, Eduardo and Luis, and made short work of the task. Laurel had only carried a few boxes of knickknacks and old kitchen equipment. She intended to go through them before her mom took them to the charity shop in case they held hidden treasures she could use in her new apartment.

  “Rowr!”

  She wrinkled her nose and stared into Rufus’s green eyes. “Whew! Has anyone ever told you that you have morning cat-food breath?”

  Blessed with the supreme self-confidence common to felines, he merely leaned closer. “Rowr!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m getting up.” She tossed her green-and-orange-flowered comforter aside, and goose bumps instantly puckered every inch of exposed flesh. Because Richard had always kept the heat in the condo cranked up to seventy-five degrees, she was used to sleeping in a tank top and brief knit shorts. She’d forgotten that life in Big Sur meant living closer to nature. Most older buildings on the coast had little or no insulation. When it was cool, you put on more clothes. When it was warm, you stayed outdoors, where the Pacific breezes provided free air-conditioning.

  She stuffed her feet into a pair of fuzzy blue scuffs and her arms into the sleeves of her oversized white robe. Cinching the belt tightly at her waist, she followed Rufus, who had hopped down from the bed and was headed for the door. The soft slaps of her slippers against the steps echoed through the house. Her mother must have left for the restaurant already, since they opened for breakfast at seven. Laurel scooped a cup of Rufus’s favorite ocean fish-flavored cat food into his bowl. He knocked her hand out of the way with his cone before the last morsel dropped and began his intermittent buzz-saw purr.

  She knew better than to try to pet him while he was eating, but she smiled, glad to see her furry friend nearly back to normal. When she opened the refrigerator, she found carrots, kale, beets, and not much else—nothing that looked appetizing so early in the day. Maybe she’d have a cup of tea and a shower then head over to Earthly Delights for a real breakfast. The thought reminded her of Jake describing her mother’s desire to feed her as an expression of love. She had to a
gree, but if she wasn’t careful, she’d end up as big as a whale. Rosemary’s love knew no bounds, and vegetarian didn’t necessarily equal low-cal.

  Pasty gray clouds blanketed the brightening sky outside the bathroom window as Laurel stood in the shower, humming while she rinsed the lather from her hair. Between the challenge of creating an apartment from the abandoned studio and starting a new job, her mind and body crackled with energy. The only drag on her mood was the steady stream of texts from Richard. She’d deleted nearly a dozen yesterday alone, each more insistent than the last. She could only hope that if she continued to ignore him, sooner or later he would get the message and leave her alone.

  She also ignored the tiny voice whispering, “But what if he doesn’t?” That possibility was too unlikely to be worth consideration. Richard’s ego might be bruised by her departure, but he wasn’t a man to waste time and effort on a lost cause. In business, he preferred to cut his losses and move on to the next promising deal. His personal life should be no different.

  By his final text last night, he had moved from insisting she come back to demanding the return of his property. Well, if he was angry about the diamond, he would have to get over it. He could easily afford the monetary loss, and she couldn’t return the ring, even if she wanted to.

  After her shower, she stood in front of the full-length mirror affixed to her closet door and cast a critical eye over her form-fitting black business suit. Was it too severe for Victor St. James’s gallery in the funky, artsy little village of Carmel-by-the-Sea? She’d always thought the outfit gave off a bit of a dominatrix vibe, but Richard had insisted he wanted her to look expensive and exclusive, like the merchandise he offered his clients. At least she didn’t have to wear her hair up in the tight, sleek twist he preferred. She brushed her hair into soft waves that fell over her shoulders, grabbed her jacket, and headed to Earthly Delights.