Out of the Blue Read online

  “You’re not even going to tell me about her?” He could hear the excitement in Ash’s voice. It was no secret that Hailey was coming to town, but who she was exactly had so far been a mystery. Now that he’d met her, he just knew people would have endless questions.

  “What’s there to know?” Besides, she’s foolish enough to trust Matt Porter, of all the people in the world.

  “Um… is she nice? Is she pretty?”

  Pretty? Sure. Sexy, was a better word, though. Tom had to shake his head at the thought. He couldn’t find Hailey sexy. She was mean. Very mean.

  “Or is she ugly and dirty and a mess?”

  “What? No.”

  “Well, don’t be defensive about it. You just met her. Maybe she’s not as perfect as you think.”

  “When did I say she was perfect?”

  “Um, when you just couldn’t wait to see the new owner,” Ash mocked him. That was the last time he did shots with Ash until two in the morning. That voice she somehow made, it was nothing like how he sounded, he was certain.

  “Stop it.”

  “Well, what then? Do you think she’ll at least fit in around here?”

  “Why’s it matter, Ash?”

  “Geesh, what’s gotten into you?” Ash put the dishes in the sink hard.

  Tom passed by her to get to the fridge. “Nothing.”

  “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  “If you really want to know, she’s… she’s…”

  “She’s what, Tom?” Ash smirked as she held the door for him. He carried through a pan of fresh fish that he’d marinated before closing last night. Salmon was his favorite, and with the perfect amount of patience and maple, it’d be a meal to savor. “Oh, I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “It took you long enough to notice someone. We’ve all been waiting, you know.” Something told him she was referring to she and Marcy and their endless conversations. “A man like you shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Ash, really.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Saying what?”

  “Any woman in town would love to come home to you.”

  “I know I would,” Marcy added from the bar.

  “Jesus, Ash,” Tom’s nose flared. “Why’s she always here?’

  Ash wiped off her tray and raised her brow. She took a dramatic turn and went right for the bar. Not another word.

  Tom set the pan of fish on the counter and moved about quickly to keep his mind busy. He didn’t need Ash to clarify, he knew good and well that he’d been alone for too long. And Marcy wasn’t going to keep him warm. She couldn’t keep a fire burning with a pile of dry logs. Cast-iron skillet in hand, a splash of oil, a sprinkle of pepper. Keep cooking, keep moving. Hailey hadn’t caught his attention, no way. He didn’t fall for women like her. Women who obviously spent more time getting ready for work than actually working. Hailey, with her stiff heels and silky blouse, certainly didn’t get out of bed looking the way she did. He’d be willing to bet those feet of hers had bunions, and that her nose had freckles beneath all that makeup.

  “Tom?” Ash had come back with a couple of dirty glasses. Setting them into the sink, she got in his way again.

  “What?” his voice peaked.

  “Really, what’s going on?”

  Tom stepped back and crossed his arms. He could say it and just get it off his chest. Or he could wait for Hailey to tell everyone of her intentions. Either way, it was going to hurt enough people to make them angry with her. Tom knew he couldn’t stop that from happening.

  “She’s planning to sell the orchard.”

  “She what?”

  “Yeah, says she has a life in Lansing and that our problems aren’t hers.”

  “But it’s been in her family for generations.”

  “I know.”

  “And she just doesn’t care?”

  “She’s the last one, remember? I told you it was in Dierdre’s will, it had to go to Hailey.”

  “Why wouldn’t she want it?”

  The sizzle of oil caught Tom’s attention just as smoke started to fill the air around them. He took the potholder and slid the skillet off the fire, then tossed the potholder on the counter with a grunt.

  “Don’t be angry with her. If I had a choice—”

  “I’m not angry,” he forced open the window and went back to the stove.

  “Right,” Ash rolled her eyes. “You’re whatever else this is.”

  “Hey, don’t tell me you didn’t have a choice in coming here.”

  “You know what I meant.”

  “No, Ash. I don’t think I do. You had California on your mind since you left home. Why take this job anyway?”

  “Don’t get hung up on me, Tom. I work for you because I want to.”

  “Hence the choice.”

  “God, you’re terrible when you’re mad, you know.” Ash wiped her tray quick and went toward the bar again when Tom got in her way.

  “You’re the closest thing I have to a sister.”

  “That’s because I’m your cousin, stupid.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You mean a lot to me, which is why I gave you this job. But if you need to leave, if you need to do something for yourself—”

  “Don’t forget the scallops this time,” Ash tapped her toe. With a nod, Tom slid over to let her by.

  He got the skillet cleaned up and had all the ingredients laid out and ready. Pepper, garlic, and a little oil. Grabbing for the bottle, the thing slid from his hands, bounced across the floor, then rolled out of sight. “Damn it!” Tom went around the corner to see the bottle roll up to Ash’s sandal. How many times had he told her to wear close-toed shoes? Or a pair of shorts that didn’t show the entirety of her legs.

  “Well, I can’t blame her,” Ash’s hushed voice came to Tom’s ears as Marcy stirred her glass of tea. “All that money.”

  Tom didn’t waste a second. He strutted right up to Ash and pulled her to the kitchen.

  “What the hell, Tom?” Ash was on her toes to scold the man.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but you can’t go around telling everyone about the orchard. Not just yet, anyway.”

  Ash frowned and rubbed at her arm.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “No,” stern as could be, that woman had a fire just waiting to ignite. “But if you ever—”

  “Right, I got it.”

  “Why do you care if people know or not? They’re gonna find out.”

  “Half this town’ll be knocking down her door by sunset. You know that.”

  “That’s her problem, right?”

  “It doesn’t have to be anybody’s problem.”

  “How many people work there, Tom? And what about Jacob? He’s got to be thinking about marrying Josie by now, maybe having a couple of kids.”

  “And who’s to say he won’t keep his job?” He didn’t believe his words any more than Ash. She shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Don’t talk shit. If you really thought it’d all be fine, you wouldn’t have come in here all bothered.”

  “If she had a good person to sell to, it’d be different.”

  “You know who’s trying to buy it?” Ash’s anger turned to interest real fast.

  Tom took a breath. “Matt.”

  “Matt? As in, our Matt? How in the hell did he get the money?”

  “I’m guessing it came from her dad.”

  “Oh, Tom now I see why she’s got you all red in the face.”

  “I am not.”

  “Okay,” Ash laughed. “What’s her name anyway?”

  “Hailey.”

  Ash eyed the stove. “Don’t forget the scallops.”

  “Right, right.”

  Back to the stove, Tom had gotten the skillet ready once again, and the fish seared up perfectly. An early dinner for him, Tom had papers to go through before The Port got busy around sunset. Sitting on the table just behind
the front door was the stack of receipts and invoices that Tom had yet to sort through. He’d get some work done now. The place was empty, except for him and Ash. Sitting at his table, the only one there by the bar, Tom tasted his salmon with a smile.

  “You show Riley how to make that yet?” Ash came by with a tray of salt and pepper shakers. She plopped on the barstool nearest Tom and started unscrewing the caps. Tom gave a nod as he swallowed.

  “Still uses too much butter, but he’ll learn.”

  Ash jumped up and leaned over Tom, plucking a scallop from his plate with her dainty fingers. Into her mouth and she was humming to the flavor.

  “So, what’s she like?” Ash got back on the stool.

  “Who?”

  “Hailey, of course.”

  “Oh, well, she’s a Holloway.”

  “That’s it?”

  Tom set down his fork, clanging it against the dish.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll stop asking.”

  “I’m sorry. I just, I was hoping she’d be good for the town.”

  “Like how?”

  “She’s young, maybe she’d bring some young people around.”

  “Yeah, we’ve got enough old men like you around here,” Ash laughed.

  “You know what I mean. I still hear static on my phone sometimes.”

  “Yeah, a better selection of men would be nice.” She got ready to pour the salt but stopped. “Or women.”

  Tom cocked his head and looked her over. “Is that why you stayed?”

  “Uncle James met me halfway and offered to take me back to my mom’s. That wasn’t happening.”

  Tom nodded, leaning back to listen.

  “I told him I was going to see the ocean. It was the only thing I wanted. Calm breezes, warm sun; go north enough and you get a little snow, too.”

  “He talked you out of it?”

  “He was going to tell everyone I left home to chase after a girl.”

  “That’s not really why you left.”

  Ash smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. She was trying to hide her tears in the only way she knew how. “I was only sixteen. It was hard enough trying to figure myself out, let alone my family.”

  “You could have talked to me. You know I’d never judge you.”

  “No, I know. I guess I just needed to be me for a while first. Figure it out later.”

  “Well, I hope this means you have.”

  Now she gave a real smile, and it reminded him of his mother. It’d been a long time since Tom thought about his mom, losing her more than ten years ago. Ash was his mother’s brother’s daughter. Somehow, she resembled Tom’s mother more than he wanted to admit.

  “Hey, what’s going on with Dierdre’s funeral?” She didn’t have to say anything else. Ash had a barrier, and when it got crossed, she got fragile.

  Tom leaned up and took his fork in hand. “She wanted her ashes spread around the back trees. That’s all.”

  “No ceremony?”

  “Nope,” Tom shook his head. Another bite and he was nose deep in receipts.

  “Listen, Tom, if you need help with those, let me know.”

  Tom nodded. “A day off would be nice.”

  Ash got up and sat across from Tom. “So, what are all these?”

  “Invoices from the orders this week. I have to keep them for taxes. There’s one from the Fisher’s Market, one from the brewery, another for produce.”

  “You just file them away?”

  “Yep. I can show you more if you really want.”

  “Yeah, I do. Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll run my own place.” Ash glanced around the bar for a second. “Besides, you should be able to enjoy a night off like you said. Maybe go somewhere and meet someone new.”

  “My idea of a night off is a Tiger’s game and a six pack.”

  “What kind of woman will you meet doing that?”

  “I’m not trying to meet someone. I’m just trying to be me.”

  Chapter Three

  Nathaniel Whitmore, the lawyer who handled Dierdre’s estate for the previous twenty years, was now ready to review her last will and testament. Hailey had put his address into her GPS and went toward town.

  Blushing Bay was like a happy little secret, at least that was how Hailey’s dad used to explain it. She had visited with him almost every summer when she was little, but she had no interest in the country town by the time she was thirteen. One final visit to the orchard one summer—the summer before college—and Hailey had made up her mind about the place.

  “Oh geez.” There they were. The countless signs that told everyone who passed through about the event. “The Holloway Harvest Festival.” On the light poles down Main Street, in the shop windows, hell, someone was probably around the corner just handing them out.

  Hailey hadn’t been to a festival in ten years. The last one was a haze, but there were certain things that she couldn’t shake from memory. Like a pony ride around the front lawn, and the cotton candy she’d gotten in her hair. It was enough to make her smile. That is, until a flash of her dad tossing her up onto the pony came to mind. Then all she felt were the tears starting to pool in her eyes.

  Mr. Whitmore’s office was two streets over from the stop sign where Hailey now sat. Waiting for a woman and her son to cross the road, Hailey thought about her own mother. There wasn’t a single time she could remember her mother coming to Blushing Bay on their childhood trips. Not even to the festivals she and her dad attended. It was no secret that Lucy and Dierdre couldn’t stand each other. They were the last two women in the room to strike up a conversation, and even then, one of them had to be dying to speak to the other.

  Hailey drove down by the library, and then she passed by the Lutheran Church on Palmer Drive. It was such a pretty street. Little houses form the fifties and forties, all lined up square with their front yards perfectly trimmed. There was a slight breeze, and Hailey could clearly hear the birds overhead as they went about their day. In Lansing, birds were a nuance.

  Mr. Whitmore’s office was at the end of the drive. Hailey parked along the side of the street and went to put on a fresh coat of gloss when she remembered Tom. How had he come upon her without her noticing? It was intriguing, yet also bothersome. Blushing Bay was the sort of place where people were comfortable with each other—too comfortable for Hailey’s tastes. Tom was this way. He seemed like he could talk to anyone, approach anyone. He seemed confident, but also neighborly. How was that? Hailey had only ever known men in the city. They were confident, that was for sure. But neighborly? No way. They weren’t the kind of men she’d feel comfortable with in less than sixty seconds. Not like Tom.

  Hailey shrugged and shook out her hands. There was no way she was believing the thoughts in her mind right then. Tom? Comfortable? She had just met him. How could she feel at home around him so easily? Why was she now wondering about him? What he was doing, where he worked, whether he’d be wearing those same brown boots.

  Hailey got out of her car and shut the door, shaking her head again to her thoughts. She’d be gone by next weekend. Just a few more days and she’d never see Tom again. It didn’t matter how she felt when picturing him in her mind, or how alluring his voice was when he said her name. No. She had a plan to stick to, and it didn’t involve that man.

  At the front door to Mr. Whitmore’s office, Hailey took hold of the handle and went inside.

  “Mr. Whitmore?”

  “Ah, Miss Holloway. You found the office.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t too hard.”

  Mr. Whitmore extended his hand and Hailey took hold for a firm shake. He wasn’t at all how she pictured him. He spoke like a voice-over commercial actor, the kind who sell cars and electronics. Here he stood, bulbous nose, receding hairline, and about an inch shorter than Hailey.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he led her inside. “Dierdre—God rest her soul—was always talking about you.”

  “She was?” Hailey took a seat at an old wooden desk. It was bulky an
d covered in papers, pens, and paperclips, and it was the same color as Mr. Whitmore’s suit.

  “Oh yes,” he boasted as he sat down behind the desk. He lifted a pair of thick-rimmed glasses from amongst the papers and let them settle down low on his nose. “Now,” he said as he peered to Hailey from over the rim of the glasses. “This should be very simple since you’re the only Holloway left.”

  “Um, yeah.” He didn’t need to be so cold-hearted about it, though.

  “Dierdre left you the orchard, the house, the items inside—which we already discussed on the phone,” he paused from reading to look to her again. Hailey replied with a nod. “And all you need to do is sign.” Turning the paper around for Hailey to view, Mr. Whitmore slid a pen toward her hand.

  “And that’s it?”

  Nodding, he said, “I’ll bring the deed to you once the county courthouse files it.”

  “And then I can sell the property, like we talked?” she leaned forward to take the pen.

  “Well now,” Mr. Whitmore hunched over and laced his fingers together, resting his hands on his desk in a sigh. “You do understand what you’re doing.”

  “Of course,” she shrugged.

  “And what it’ll do to these people?”

  “Won’t they still have their jobs? I don’t get why everyone thinks the orchard will just fall apart. There’s a lot of work to do. Whoever buys it can’t do it alone.”

  “Miss Holloway—”

  “Hailey, please.”

  “Hailey, not too many people know who Mathew Porter is.”

  “And you do?”

  “Well, I guess not really. But I’ve heard enough about him. What he’s done to his family.”

  “Listen, I’ve already told you about Lansing, about my career and how important it is to me. It isn’t about the money or the lifestyle, I just, well, I’ve never wanted this. But like you said, I’m the only one left.”

  Mr. Whitmore sighed again, this time through his nose. “I remember your father. A nice man.”