As soon as she introduced herself, the receptionist glanced up and welcomed her with a ready smile. “Oh, you’re the PA. I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Candi Olsen.”
“Hi, Candi.”
“Dr. Bainbridge is eager to meet you. Would you mind waiting a moment while I let him know you’re here?”
“Of course.” She returned to the waiting room, took a seat, and reached for a six-month-old issue of People magazine. She hadn’t finished reading the front cover headlines when Candi returned.
“Dr. Bainbridge will see you now.”
Annie had the feeling Candi said those exact words to nearly every person who walked into the clinic. She followed the receptionist down a long, narrow hallway to the last room on the right. When she entered the office, Dr. Bainbridge stood from behind his desk. He was older than she’d expected, retirement age, if not beyond. He had a full head of thick white hair and bushy eyebrows, which were badly in need of trimming. His blue eyes were kind, and tired.
Extending his hand, he introduced himself: “Marcus Bainbridge.”
“Annie Marlow,” she said, shaking his hand.
He gestured for her to take a seat. Reaching for a file on top of his cluttered desk, he said, “I checked your references. Your previous employer gave you a glowing recommendation.”
Annie had expected nothing less.
He regarded her for a moment, then commented, “I noticed it’s been sixteen months since you’ve worked in your field?”
Shifting in the chair, Annie met his look head-on. “It was a family situation.” He didn’t ask her to explain, but seeing that he’d left the comment hanging, she realized he was asking without saying the words.
Annie remained silent, choosing not to fill the silence. She wanted to keep the mudslide and its aftermath separate. This job, this community, would be a new beginning for her, and if that meant building a protective shield around herself, then so be it. Part of the healing process was to move forward with her life and not dwell in the past, in the might-have-beens and the mire of regrets. She wouldn’t be able to do that if others were aware of the tragedy. There would be speculation, questions, sympathy—all of which she was looking to avoid.
“Ah yes…a family situation. Say no more.” He flipped through a couple of the sheets, silently reviewing her application. “What the community really needs is a doctor, but unfortunately we haven’t been able to find one with the credentials who is willing to serve in this community. It’s difficult, as we don’t get many applicants that are willing to live and work this far off the beaten path.”
He paused and looked up. “I don’t mind telling you that I need a break. I’m tired. I originally came on as part-time staff until someone else could be hired for the full-time position. As I mentioned, that hasn’t happened. When I was hired, I was looking to work one or two days a week at the most, and this has evolved into far more hours than I’d like.
“I had a family practice for thirty-five years,” he continued. “My wife and I wanted to leave city life behind and relax; instead, I’m trapped into working ten-hour days. I need help. We’d hoped to do a bit of traveling—to see the world, that sort of thing. As soon as another doctor is hired, I plan to retire, pack my bags, and head out with the wife in our RV.”
“You mean to say you haven’t had a chance to travel?”
“Not lately. Even finding a PA has proven to be a challenge. The one who was here prior to my arrival left within the first month. Finding a replacement hasn’t been easy. The two others who applied had a change of heart once they saw how small the town is.”
“I’m not going to change my mind, Dr. Bainbridge. I want to live in Oceanside,” Annie assured him. Shortly after the disaster, she had briefly considered returning to medical school, but she hadn’t been in a good place mentally and decided against it. Perhaps one day in the future. The interview continued for the next hour, until Dr. Bainbridge once again reminded Annie about the nature of Oceanside.
“Annie, you understand that the economy here is mostly tourist-driven. In the winter, this becomes something of a ghost town. Before the clinic agrees to hire you, I will need a solid one-year commitment. Can you give me that?” His eyes narrowed and focused on her with laser-beam intensity.
“I will promise you one full year.”
Dr. Bainbridge nodded with what seemed to be relief. “Wonderful. When can you start?”
“When would you like me to start?”
“I’d like you here as soon as you can make the arrangements. Next week, if possible.”
“Next week.” It was crazy to think she could move in that short amount of time. Nevertheless, Annie was determined to do whatever it took to make it happen.
Dr. Bainbridge and Annie discussed her hours and pay. Before she left, he gave her a tour of the facility and introduced her to the nurse, Julia James. Both Julia and Candi seemed professional and knowledgeable and as anxious to have Annie join the staff as Marcus Bainbridge was to work with her.
Annie left the clinic in good spirits and drove directly to the cottage her family had rented all those years ago. The cottage and main house weren’t directly on the beach but across the street from it. She assumed it wasn’t rented, as it appeared unkempt. The lawn was badly in need of mowing and the windows were so dirty and dusty, it was impossible to see inside. In the past, the cottage had been well maintained, as she recalled. Seeing its current condition saddened her. And while it obviously needed a little TLC, Annie didn’t care. This was where she wanted to live, where she hoped to recapture the memories of those carefree days of her youth, the happy times with her parents and brother.
From the time she was young, Annie remembered that the small house was rented by the week. She hoped that she could persuade the owner to give her a full year’s lease. She didn’t care what the cost was; whatever was asked, she’d agree to the price, willing to pay what was necessary for the memories alone.
An older couple had owned the cottage back when her family rented it. They had a teenage granddaughter living with them, close to Mike’s age. Her brother had a huge crush on her. Annie couldn’t remember her name—what she did remember was how goofy Mike got around her. She was a couple years older, with long blond hair and blue eyes. Funny, Annie hadn’t thought about her in years. Darn, she wished she could remember her name. The older couple must have passed on by now, and judging by the exterior, the new owner had let the property go downhill. Annie couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the girl.
Parking in the allotted space by the cottage, Annie walked up to the main house and rang the doorbell. A white Siamese cat appeared on the large living room windowsill, casting her a curious look.
Annie waited, but no one answered.
She tried again, and when she didn’t hear anything, she was left to assume that like so much else about the house, the doorbell no longer worked. This time, she knocked.
Nothing.
Hearing a sound on the other side of the door, Annie knocked again, harder this time, so hard her knuckles hurt.
No response.
She had the oddest sensation that someone was standing on the other side of the door, someone who refused to answer.
“Hello,” she called out. When she didn’t hear anything back, she tried again. “I’m here to ask about renting the cottage.”
After waiting several moments longer, Annie had no choice but to walk away. Well, at least she’d tried.
Because she hoped to move as quickly as it could be arranged, she stopped off at a real estate office that advertised rentals. A middle-aged woman with horn-rimmed glasses perched at the end of her nose manned the front desk. The office was undergoing some renovations, she could tell. Two desks were pushed aside and the far wall was half painted.
“May I help you?” the agent asked, standing to greet her.
/> “Yes, please.” Annie was about to explain that she was looking for a place to rent, when the painter returned to finish the job. Although she’d seen the man on the beach only that one time recently, she immediately recognized that he was the same man she’d seen that day with the dog.
He was massive, easily the largest man she’d ever seen. With shoulders so broad she had to wonder if he could buy clothes off the rack or if he had to special-order them. His arms were long and muscular. His hair and eyes were a deep, dark brown. His nose was slightly bent, appearing to have been broken and never properly set. He took note of Annie and paused, his eyes widening briefly, obviously recognizing her from that rainy, windy day. For one embarrassing, long moment, they continued to stare at each other.
As though to draw Annie’s attention, the agent cleared her throat.
Feeling foolish, she broke eye contact and asked, “You’re the man with the dog on the beach, aren’t you?”
After a moment’s pause, he gruffly acknowledged the question with a simple nod.
Annie took a step closer to him. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Lennon.”
“After John Lennon?”
He nodded abruptly.
“What kind of dog is he?”
He ignored the question and turned his back to her, quickly reaching for his paintbrush and getting to work.
The agent leaned toward Annie and whispered, “Don’t mind Keaton; he isn’t much of a talker. He doesn’t mean to be rude.”
“That’s okay.” Annie wasn’t offended by his lack of friendliness. If anything, he intrigued her. She imagined people must view him as something of an oddity, being as big as he was.
Focusing her attention away from Keaton, Annie said, “I stopped by the cottage on Seaside Lane. My parents rented it years ago when I was young. A nice older couple owned it back then, but I’m guessing someone else does now. Is there any chance the cottage is available for rent?”
“That’s Melody Johnson’s place,” the agent explained, frowning. “After her grandparents passed, she inherited the property. It sat vacant for a few years until she returned, what must be four or five years ago now. Unfortunately, she hasn’t done much in the way of upkeep.”
Melody Johnson. Melody. Annie let the name, which was vaguely familiar, run through her mind several times. The teenage girl she remembered had a different name. “I stopped by and knocked on the door, but no one answered. I felt certain someone was home,” Annie shared.
“Yes, well…That’s not unusual. Melody is something of an agoraphobe. She doesn’t answer the door unless she knows the person knocking.”
Annie blinked hard twice, knowing that this disorder caused people to be anxious in public and to retreat into their homes for security. Hopefully it wouldn’t keep the owner from renting to her. “Do you think she’d consider renting me the cottage? I’d be more than willing to take a one-year lease and pay whatever she felt was fair. Do you know how I could contact her?”
The agent shook her head. “I doubt she’d be interested…Now, if you’re looking for a rental house, I have a few I can show—”
“I’d like to find out if Ms. Johnson would be willing to rent me the cottage before I look at anything else.” Annie had her heart set on it. She didn’t care about the condition. If repairs were needed, she’d take care of them herself.
“Yes, well, you could always ask. You can slip a note under the door and she’ll respond…eventually. I’ve tried to speak to her about using it as a rental myself, with no success. From what I understand, other agents have tried, too. Ms. Johnson doesn’t appear to be interested, which is a shame. She could make a pretty penny in season, seeing how close the cottage is to the ocean.”
Keaton, who had apparently been listening to the conversation, laid aside his paintbrush. “I’ll ask.”
“You’ll ask Melody?” The agent sounded more than mildly surprised.
“Wait here.” He shot a glance at Annie, his look intense. She supposed she should be daunted by him, because of the strange, abrupt way he spoke to her. But for whatever reason, she wasn’t. He seemed to want to help get her the cottage, which was more than the agent was willing to do.
The agent didn’t take kindly to his interference. “Keaton, you should know it’s a waste of time,” she said, shuffling papers around on her desk.
Annie didn’t want to discourage him. “I don’t mind waiting. Thank you, Keaton.”
He nodded, slipped past her, and left. Annie’s eyes followed him, wondering about this giant of few words.
The woman offered Annie an apologetic smile. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Melody is difficult, and Keaton, well, he’s a bit intimidating, but perfectly harmless, you understand.”
Annie wasn’t concerned in the least, although he had been a bit gruff. If anything, this bear of a man intrigued her, especially his willingness to approach the landowner to inquire about the cottage on her behalf.
“Like I said,” the agent continued, “Melody is problematic. As far as I know, she doesn’t have any contact with the outside world. Heaven knows how she survives in that house all by her lonesome self.”
“It sounds like Keaton might know her,” Annie volunteered.
“That’s possible,” the agent agreed. “If I remember correctly, Keaton and Melody graduated from high school around the same time. Just remember Melody Johnson is an odd duck, if you know what I mean.”
Annie let the comment drop. If by some miracle the woman agreed to rent her the cottage, Annie would be forever grateful.
The agent grew restless. “While you’re waiting, perhaps you’d care to look at a few of our listings?”
Annie hoped it wouldn’t be necessary but complied. “All right.”
“Would you prefer a home or an apartment?”
“A home.” After living in an apartment from the time she was a junior in college, and having had a condo in L.A., Annie was looking forward to moving into a house.
“We have several apartments that are available for rent, but only two homes.” She handed Annie the listings for her review. Both houses were larger than what she would need, with multiple bedrooms. The cottage would be perfect, if only the owner would agree.
* * *
—
Twenty minutes passed before Keaton returned. He handed Annie a folded slip of paper.
Annie’s heart raced as she opened the slip and read the words.
Cottage rents as is. Don’t come to me with complaints.
Keep to yourself and don’t bother me.
One-year lease, with six months’ rent up front.
I’m doing this against my better judgment, so don’t make me regret it.
Annie glanced at Keaton, who had taken up his brush and continued painting. Instinctively, she knew that he’d been the one to convince Ms. Johnson to agree to renting the cottage.
“Keaton,” she said, “thank you.”
Without looking her way, he acknowledged her appreciation with a single nod and continued with his painting.
CHAPTER 5
It was her. Annie. After all these years.
Keaton had never forgotten the girl whose family had rented the cottage by the sea.
A few days earlier, he’d seen her while walking Lennon on the beach and had recognized her immediately. Stunned at finding Annie again, he’d stopped, afraid if he moved closer she would disappear. Even now, after all this time, she still had the power to mesmerize him.
She was just as beautiful as she’d been that summer all those years ago. Annie had never left his mind, and the sound of her laughter had stayed with him. When life had seemed harsh and he had to deal with his father’s hate, he would remember Annie. His mind would go back to that summer when he first saw her, running along the beach, her hair flying behind her, her
laughter carried on the wind. Thinking of her had given him the power to look past the ugliness that surrounded him.
That one day they’d met, she’d been kind and gentle, refusing to join in the teasing. She’d insisted Devon stop calling him names. Devon had made mocking him a job while in high school, but Keaton had never let it bother him. All he had to do, if he wanted, was look at his tormentor, take one step in Devon’s direction, and it was sure to stop. No one dared to rile the beast.
Since the first glimpse of her, Keaton had sketched Annie countless times, on paper and in his mind. He viewed her as the beauty to his beast—perfection against his flawed, miserable life. After all these years, he’d never expected to see her again. He’d built her up in his mind to the point that reality would never live up to his fantasy, and yet here she was, as beautiful and wonderful as he remembered. Perhaps more so.
Just seeing her had taken his breath away. He’d stood immobile, unable to move, uncertain whether she was real or a figment of his imagination. Lennon, however, had instantly raced to her side as if he’d known her all his life. She leaned down and petted him, while Keaton was unable to do anything more than stare.
The next day, she was gone, and he wondered if he’d ever see her again. Keaton was filled with instant regret, certain he’d missed his chance. He felt like that awkward young man all over again, afraid to speak to the beautiful girl on the beach.
When he returned from his errand to get more paint and found her in the realtor’s office, his heart felt like it was about to explode. Taken aback, all he seemed capable of doing was gazing at her in disbelief. She was real, and she was in Oceanside.
Annie had come back, and it’d caught him completely off guard.
And even more shocking, she was looking to rent the cottage. Mellie’s cottage. Keaton knew he could convince Mellie to rent it out, although it wouldn’t be easy. Mellie Johnson was one stubborn woman. Nevertheless, Keaton had been prepared to do whatever was necessary to get her to agree. He sensed that Annie needed that cottage, but he didn’t know why. He’d heard the yearning in her voice and was determined to do this for her, seeing that he had nothing else to offer her.