Barefoot Season. Сьюзен Мэллери

and they’ve agreed to the following concessions.”

       She handed Michelle another piece of paper.

       The list was short. The back payments had to be made within sixty days. All accounts with vendors had to be current by the end of the month. The inn had to maintain an eighty-five-percent occupancy rate through the summer, pass all inspections and stay current on the mortgage payments. The last item on the list was the one that made her hip ache the worst.

       Carly Williams was to agree to stay on for at least two years.

       “I’m sorry,” Ellen said. “It’s the best I could do. I know how you feel about her. I have to admit, I’m not her biggest fan, either. She took advantage of you being gone and she used your mom. She’s even wearing her jewelry. It’s awful.”

       Ten years in the army had taught her to follow orders, whether or not they made sense or she wanted to. She could argue, she could scream, but unless there was a winning lottery ticket worth half a million dollars in a drawer in her desk back in her office at the inn, she was screwed.

       “I’m not losing the inn,” she said. “My dad might have been a first-class bastard, but he left it to me and I’m going to keep it. I’ll do what I have to.”

       “You can have a couple of days to think about it,” Ellen told her. “There’s still the interested buyer.”

       “I don’t have to think about it. I’ll do it. I’ll do all of it.”

       “Even work with Carly?”

       “Sure.”

       “It’ll be difficult.”

       “You have no idea.”

      Six

      The Shop at Blackberry Island Inn was one of Carly’s favorite places. The space had been added nearly two years ago and was slowly building a loyal customer base. Big windows allowed in light, even on the gloomiest days, while the custom shelves and racks provided plenty of display space.

       The store sold the usual kitschy island mementos—magnets, mugs and key chains done in both blackberry and daisy motifs. But there was also a section devoted to local artists and a display of unique china. Brenda had insisted on a doll collection, which Carly didn’t love. They’d both chosen the books of island history and pictures.

       Mornings were often slow at the shop, but the lunch crowd at the restaurant brought in customers. Carly used the quiet time to dust, check inventory and organize invoices. After getting Gabby off to school, she manned the front desk of the inn, checking out guests and making sure the cleaning staff was ready to go. In the late morning, she would return to the front desk to check in those arriving, handle correspondence and talk to vendors. The couple of hours she spent in the store a few times a week were as close to “me time” as she ever got.

       Today she walked through the store, stopping to touch her favorite pieces, aware she was telling them she might be gone soon. As if the carving of an orca breaching and surrounded by spray would miss her.

       The front door opened and the attached bell tinkled. She turned and saw Leonard Daniels walking toward her.

       “Hi, Carly.”

       “Morning, Leonard.”

       Leonard was their resident ornithologist, specializing in the Puget Sound crane. He was here on a grant that paid for his room at the inn. They generally had two or three scientists at any one time.

       Tall and thin, with dark-rimmed glasses and pale skin, despite his time outdoors, Leonard personified the phrase “geeky scientist.” He favored plaid and khakis, inevitably had binoculars around his neck and a small netbook computer under one arm.

       He crossed to her, his gait more energetic than usual. “We have eggs.”

       She knew enough to understand he didn’t mean the breakfast variety. “Already?”

       He nodded. “Two in the first nest I found and one in the other. Within a week I’ll have enough data to determine a potential chick population.” His dark eyes brightened with excitement. “I’m hoping this is the third growth year. If it is, then we can finally look at taking the cranes off the endangered list.”

       He paused, as if expecting her to share his joy.

       “That’s great, Leonard.”

       “I know. We should celebrate.”

       “It’s kind of early in the day.”

       He pushed up his glasses, then looked at his watch. “Oh, right. Okay. I’m going back to work.”

       He left the store.

       She watched him go, hoping he wasn’t going to try to change the nature of their relationship. He was a paying guest and she’d always been friendly to him but the last thing she wanted in her life was a man. Men were trouble. It had taken her a while to figure that out but she wasn’t going to forget the lesson now.

       There hadn’t been anyone in her life since Allen had abandoned her. Over ten years. Sure, it would be great to have hot sex with a guy, but aside from that, she didn’t need the aggravation.

       She turned back to mental inventory, only to have Wendy, one of the servers, come in. Wendy worked the breakfast shift at the restaurant. She had three kids and a husband who worked nights. He got the kids off to school when he got home from his job and she took over until he got up in the late afternoon. They spent their evenings together, before he left and she went to bed.

       Wendy was reliable and the guests liked her—which made her someone Carly didn’t want to lose.

       “What’s up?” she asked.

       Wendy wrinkled her nose. “Damaris got in my face this morning, which I can handle, but she came out and yelled at one of the customers, which I didn’t like. Jeez, what’s up with her? She gets in these moods. The guy wanted an egg-white omelet. She told him no special orders. When he said it was for his heart, she told him that his being fat wasn’t her fault.”

       Carly felt her mouth drop open. “Please say you’re kidding.”

       “I wish I were. Most of the time she’s fine, but every now and then she gets in a mood and takes it out on customers. You’ll talk to her?”

       Carly wanted to say no. This was the sort of thing Brenda handled. The other woman had actually enjoyed taking Damaris on. If it had been up to Carly, Damaris would have been let go years ago. Firing the temperamental cook had been on her to-do list, just as soon as she got her shares of the inn. Now she wasn’t sure if she had a job, let alone the authority to fire anyone.

       “I’ll talk to her,” she said, knowing she owed that to Wendy.

       “Thanks. I’m heading home. Have a good one.”

       “You, too.”

       Carly had nearly an hour to fume and worry before Ann showed up to work in the gift shop. Not sure what she was going to say, she walked through the inn to the restaurant kitchen. Damaris sat on a stool, her cell phone to her ear. When she saw Carly, she frowned before saying she had to hang up.

       “You know he was a big, fat guy. Do you think one egg-white omelet is going to make a difference?”

       So much for idle chitchat, Carly thought. “He’s a customer.”

       “The customer isn’t always right. Most of the time the customer doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I made the omelet. I didn’t want to, but I did.”

       “Your job is to cook their food. Being rude and critical doesn’t help our business.”

       “Our business?” Damaris raised her eyebrows. “It’s Michelle’s business, not yours.”

       “I’m speaking as an employee. We have a responsibility to do our best. That’s