A Bayberry Christmas: A Bayberry Island Holiday e-Novella Book 5 Read online

  “Is there anything we can get you before we head out?”

  Tess pondered Annie’s offer for a moment, then said, “Thank you, yes. I’ll take a giant hot toddy and a box of Kleenex.”

  Chapter Two

  Morning, December 23rd

  Leo Molinaro made a sharp turn out the bed and breakfast elevator, serpentined his wheelchair around the dining room tables and chairs, then zoomed into the kitchen. Though he rarely appeared in public without his prosthetic leg, Leo sometimes used a wheelchair around the Flynns. They were used to him by now.

  He had been spending a lot of time on Bayberry. Leo’s boss, Duncan Flynn, was sticking close to home since the birth of his daughter, and had been overseeing the Aqua Vet Foundation from his home on Bayberry Island’s north beach.

  It wasn’t as if coming here was a sacrifice for Leo. He loved Bayberry. The owners of the Safe Haven Bed and Breakfast were Duncan’s sister and her husband, who always provided him an accessible suite and made sure he had everything he needed. He enjoyed the eccentric little island and its residents…especially the one he now encountered in the kitchen.

  “Good mornin’, gorgeous.”

  “Captain Leo.”

  His boss’s mother-in-law was busy at the double oven. She waved at him absently and pretended she was too busy for a conversation, but he saw her smile. Mellie had become Leo’s early-morning buddy, the only other person in the household who considered four A.M. a fine time to start the day.

  During Leo’s first few visits here, Mellie had tried to baby him, constantly asking if he wanted anything, anticipating his needs, even folding his damn laundry. Leo had set her straight the kindest way he knew how, and since then, they’d understood each other just fine.

  “So what’s cookin’ today, Mel?”

  She slid another baking sheet in the oven and adjusted the temperature. “Are you asking about the menu or life in general?”

  “How about you give me the lowdown on both?”

  “All right.” As was her routine, Mellie poured him a cup of coffee and placed it on the butcher block within his reach. “This morning I’m making cranberry scones, just the way you like them — not too sweet.”

  “You’re an angel.” He grabbed the mug and took a long sip, appreciating the first kiss of heat on his tongue. Mellie might have been famous for her baked goods, but she made a damn fine cup of coffee as well.

  “Today we start cooking for the party — ham, turkey, lobster, roasted goose — the whole works. We’re expecting nearly two hundred people to stop by through the evening, if you can imagine.”

  Leo let go with a long and low whistle. “My mama would call that a stampede.”

  “Ha! Your mama would be right!” Mellie dropped a messy mixing bowl into the sink of hot, sudsy water. “We need you boys to clear the main parlor for the dance floor and set up the dining room for a buffet.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you’ll have to help the party rental people with the tables and chairs in the sunroom.”

  “Of course.” Leo took another sip.

  “And there’s beer kegs to tap and the bar to set up.”

  “Absolutely, Mel.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot! We had a new guest arrive last evening. Nat’s cousin from Boston. A veterinarian.”

  “Two-hundred-and-one, then.”

  Mellie giggled. She looked up at him. “A lady veterinarian. She’s cute, too. You two will be the only guests here for Christmas.”

  Oh, hell no.

  Mellie stilled, studying Leo for a long moment, obviously biting her tongue.

  Good.

  On his first few visits to Bayberry, Mellie had tried playing matchmaker, giving him the scoop on every available single woman on the island. He’d asked her to stop, assuring her that if he wanted a woman in his life, he could get one without her help.

  Mellie said nothing more about the vet, which he appreciated, but then turned her attention to Leo’s attire.

  She glanced at the towel draped over his fleece jacket, the ratty old sweat pants he wore — with the left leg tied off above the knee — and a single snow boot.

  “Headed to the pool again, I see.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Leo took another swig.

  “I won’t bother saying it.” Mellie waved a dishtowel in the air like it was a white flag of surrender. “You never listen to me, anyway.”

  He rolled over her way, jumped up to give her a kiss on the cheek, and wheeled toward the accessible door. “You know what I always say, Mel—”

  “I know, I know… ‘I don’t need no stinkin’ lifeguard because I am the stinkin’ lifeguard!’“

  “You got it.”

  He made his way down the ramp from the kitchen to the outdoor walkway. Once outside, he hunched down into his jacket, realizing he’d have to make quick work of the quarter-mile trip to the indoor pool. It was spitting an icy, hard rain and the wind whipped off the cove. Not exactly a morning for a leisurely stroll. At the same time, he’d have to be careful not to skid on the walkway’s icy patches, since landing wheels-up on the frozen tundra didn’t sound like much fun, either.

  He hunkered down and rolled toward the marine research facility at the property’s edge, lit up against the backdrop of dark sea. Duncan had told him the story of this place, how a few years ago the islanders were locked in a fierce disagreement about development of Haven Cove. Half wanted the economic boost a resort would bring, while the other half wanted to maintain the historic nature of the island.

  The impasse ended when a Boston philanthropist decided to move a marine research institute to the island — and marry Duncan’s sister while he was at it.

  And now, along with laboratory space, classrooms, and residential facilities, the institute housed a spectacular fitness center and indoor Olympic-sized pool.

  It was a good thing, too, since Leo didn’t like going more than a day without access to the water. Swimming in solitude was the closest thing he had to pure happiness these days, to peace.

  It turned out his pool time was good for everyone. One hour alone in the water gave him strength for the other twenty-three on land.

  Leo reached the exterior doors, and with a swish of his card key and a flip of the light switch, he was in. As always, he inhaled the warm and humid air with relief… damn, he loved the smell of chlorine in the morning!

  He dropped his goggles to the edge of the deep end, then tore off his sweat pants, sweat shirt and jacket, tossing everything onto a small wooden bench against the tiled wall. He rolled the wheelchair to the edge, balance don his right foot, and dove in.

  Thwooooosh!

  The cocoon of water immediately embraced him. His mind began to still as his body found the freedom and balance it craved. Though he could still run a six-minute mile and squat three-fifty with free weights, Leo was always acutely aware of what his prosthetic could and could not do on dry land. It took fierce concentration to remain upright.

  In the water, Leo was whole. He could move with grace. He didn’t need a hunk of titanium, carbon fiber, and aluminum to get around.

  Here, he could push himself to physical exhaustion while letting his mind and heart travel to the front lines of his psyche. Some days they would do battle with residual anger or grief. Other days, doubt and sadness.

  He knew that shit would take him down if he didn’t deal with it.

  Leo checked the clock on the wall, tugged on his goggles, and went out in search of his pace. He slipped through the water in near-silence, breathing in and blowing out, relaxing into that familiar rhythm.

  One of the more fascinating lessons he’d learned since his injury was just how adaptable the human brain was. Somehow, after thirty-three years as an able-bodied swimmer, his mind had instinctively known how to compensate for the change. His brain made adjustments for the incomplete flutter kick, the lopsided whip kick, and the new center of gravity. Though it had been only two years since he’d become an amputee, Leo no
longer recalled what it felt like to slice through the water with his lower extremities in equal balance.

  Those days seemed as if they belonged to another lifetime. Another world. Another man.

  Leo made good time that morning — about two-point-seven miles in an hour. Not bad for a dude with one leg.

  He did his usual round of stretches before he pushed himself up onto the edge of the pool, dried off, and pulled himself into the chair. He was bundled up and outside in a flash, though this was the part of his morning routine that brought him no joy — rolling uphill, sweating from his workout, and freezing from the temperature shock.

  He hauled ass up the walk, up the kitchen ramp, and through the accessible kitchen entrance.

  “Woo-whee!” He slammed the door behind him. “It’s so cold out there I nearly froze off my other leg!”

  Leo raked the ice-coated towel over his short hair and glanced up, expecting to see Mellie shaking her head and pouring him another coffee.

  He saw a chipmunk-cheeked blonde instead. She stared at him from her perch at the butcher block, her coffee cup frozen in mid-air. Crumbs spewed out onto her chest. She swallowed hard and stared at him.

  She wore a holy Boston College sweatshirt and a baggy pair of pajama pants dotted with little snowmen. Her messy blond curls brushed her shoulders and her smart girl glasses slipped down her nose. Her sock feet were tucked into the rungs of the stool.

  She managed a small smile while wiping scone crumbs off the front of her sweatshirt. Only then did she get around to doing the standard double take.

  Her quick appraisal of the wheelchair and the missing leg was followed by a twinge of shock. Most people tried to hide their surprise. Or disgust. Or pity. Usually they did it by amplifying their grin, a desperate attempt to convince Leo — and themselves — that they hadn’t noticed anything was amiss.

  This woman didn’t do any of that. She tipped her head slightly and looked at him — looked him right in the eye. She didn’t avert her gaze. She didn’t force her smile.

  “Hey,” she said, with a soft tilt of her chin. “I’m Tess Curry.”

  “Leo Molinaro.”

  Mellie stepped out from the pantry. “I see you two have met!” She headed toward the ovens, pausing long enough to send an “I-told-you-so” look in Leo’s direction.

  Yes, Mellie. You were right. She’s cute.

  She was absolutely adorable.

  Too bad he hadn’t been standing upright when they’d met. Soaking wet and stuck in a wheelchair with an empty pant leg was not the way he preferred to make the acquaintance of exceptionally attractive women.

  It wasn’t his best look.

  Leo made his way through the kitchen. Mellie called after him.

  “No scones, Captain Leo?”

  “I’m gonna grab a shower first, but thanks.” He crossed the threshold of the dining room when he suddenly stopped. He spun the chair around and grinned at the veterinarian — he’d caught her watching him. “Nice to meet you, Tess.”

  She raised her coffee cup, her lips curling into a lopsided smile. “Back at ya, Leo.”

  Damn. He wheeled toward the elevator. What an interesting development.

  * * *

  Tess sat in stillness for a moment, staring off into the dining room.

  Mellie had called him Captain Leo. And last night, Nat had mentioned that Leo worked for Duncan’s Boston-based nonprofit, an organization that organized aquatic training and competitions for wounded veterans.

  So Leo was a wounded warrior. She wondered what his story was.

  “He was an Army Ranger.” Mellie went about her business in the kitchen. “There was a bomb, some little town in Iraq if I remember right. He spent months in the hospital and lost his leg.”

  When Tess didn’t respond, Mellie turned from the ovens and smiled at her. “Would you like another scone?”

  Tess laughed, thinking of the first impression she must have made on the handsome officer. When he came in the door, she’d been attempting to drown her sorrows in cranberry scones.

  “No thanks, Mellie.” Tess took her dishes to the sink, rinsed them, and placed them in the commercial-sized dishwasher. “I think I’ll just go back to bed.”

  Chapter Three

  Afternoon, December 23rd

  “He did whaaaat?”

  The Safe Haven kitchen went silent. Only seconds before, the room had been a buzzing hive of activity, but now that the big question had been asked and answered, all blending, kneading, sautéing, and peeling had ceased.

  Tess hadn’t wanted to be dramatic. She sure didn’t want to be the center of attention. But Annie’s best friend, Rowan Flynn Louis-Wallace, had just asked her what, exactly, happened with Jake. Tess had told her. And now Rowan stood with a mixing spoon dangling from her hand, staring in incomprehension.

  No one breathed.

  Two-year-old Serena took a plastic cup from her highchair tray and hurled it across the room.

  “I second that,” said Rowan’s sister-in-law, Evelyn.

  “That’s the most horrid thing I’ve ever heard,” Mona said.

  “I’m so sorry.” Lena Silva-Flynn was Mellie’s daughter. She jiggled her two-month-old, Lorelei, in a front sling.

  “Seriously? Nobody’s going to say it?” Polly was the most outspoken of Mona’s Mermaid Society friends, and she’d just emerged from the pantry, a canister of flour in her arms. She looked at Tess. “Sweetheart, you dodged a bullet. That man is obviously a complete asshole.”

  “Language, please!” Izzy, another of Mona’s friends, crooked her head toward Serena while she pursed her lips at Polly. “Thank goodness Christina is watching football with her daddy. Can you imagine the damage?”

  Evelyn set the hand mixer on the counter and approached Tess. She frowned. “I can’t even begin to…I mean, to walk into your own bedroom in your own home and find him…them…oh, my God.” Her voice trailed off. “And you thought the ring was for you.”

  “Yeah. I guess I was a little slow on the uptake.”

  Tess went back to coring and peeling apples for pies. That was the task she’d been given when she’d wandered down to the kitchen for a snack and encountered a culinary battalion at work. Feeling guilty for hiding in her room all day, she asked if she could help. Mellie handed her a paring knife and a half-bushel of Granny Smith’s and put her to work.

  That had been two hours ago. Since then, Tess had stayed mostly quiet, observing the fascinating dynamic between the ten women working side-by-side in the large kitchen. Thanks to Nat’s busybody status, she knew that everyone was connected either by blood, marriage, lifelong friendship, or some combination. She’d never seen anything like it.

  Tess was no stranger to female relationships. She’d grown up with a mother, an aunt, and a grandmother, and was fortunate to have three treasured friends in Boston. Her friends propped her up in the immediate aftermath of the Jake fiasco, and each had begged her to stay with them for the holidays. She’d declined. Her friends had little kids, and Tess knew on some level she’d be interfering in family memories.

  This group of women was different somehow. Tess couldn’t put her finger on what she was observing, exactly. The only word that came close was: bond. These women were kindred spirits, secure in their standing in this place and with each other, permitted to be fully themselves.

  Maybe it was the camaraderie of the Mermaid Society. Nat mentioned that the younger generation — Annie, Rowan, Lena, and Evelyn — had recently become members. The group supposedly had its own rituals and traditions.

  Which reminded her — she really needed to watch Nat’s documentary.

  Tess looked up from her apples. While she’d been lost in her own thoughts, the women had formed a semicircle around her. She couldn’t help but feel they were protecting her somehow, circling the wagons in her time of misery.

  She’d never had an army of women come to her defense before, and it was oddly comforting. But obviously, she needed to say something
.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Hell yes, you will,” Polly said.

  “He’s a fool,” Annie said.

  “An idiot,” Evelyn said.

  “An idiotic fool,” Rowan said.

  The kitchen door swung open. “You talking about me again?”

  Everyone turned in the direction of the male voice. The semicircle parted, and Tess saw Leo standing tall and straight in the doorway.

  Standing. Tall and straight. The paring knife slipped from her hand.

  Of course she’d already noticed how attractive Leo was. How could she not? Leo was one of those men who exuded a cool confidence. A guy like Leo couldn’t disappear into the background if he tried. But it wasn’t because he was flashy or in-your-face.

  It was simply who he was.

  So what was it about Leo Molinaro that made it impossible for Tess to look away? This morning and now?

  His hair was black and thick, cut military-short and spiky. It was a no-nonsense style, perfect for a man who didn’t want to bother with hair gel and blow dryers.

  Which had been two of Jake’s favorite things, come to think of it.

  As Leo stood in the doorway, Tess could tell he was well over six feet tall. His shoulders were spectacular — broad and even — and his waist and hips narrow.

  She knew he was wearing a prosthesis only because she’d seen his tied-off pant leg that morning. Otherwise, she would have had no way of telling. Both legs were of identical shape and size beneath the faded denim of Leo’s jeans. His posture was relaxed.

  Those jeans were secured by a beat-up black leather belt hung low on his hips. He wore boots and a flannel shirt of blue and black plaid. Basic man clothes.

  Jake had preferred designer couture.

  Leo’s brows were black and untamed, his lashes thick. His symmetrical jawline was stubbled with a few days of beard, gently narrowing to a defined chin.

  Jake had been carefully manscaped.