The Bluebird Bet Read online

  Only Robert Collins could ask this of her.

  It had taken the threat of death to get him to make a change. She hoped his son would be different.

  Robert waved and headed to the dock. She watched him talk with his son, although they didn’t seem to be facing each other. Men were funny, but she got it. Sometimes that little bit of distance was the difference between control and losing it.

  They shook hands, and Robert waved as he walked across the yard to his truck. Once the dust cloud settled, she eased back in the rocking chair and tried to let the rhythmic creaking bring the peace she remembered.

  Still no luck.

  She blamed the new problem her brain had to work on: diagnosing Dean. Old injuries that caused pain? She could help with that. Writing a prescription would be simple, and then she could still beat him without feeling guilty. Probably.

  If it was something else, she still might be able to help. If he’d let her.

  The more she knew about him, the harder it would be to treat him like the competition.

  She’d have to try anyway.

  Making a diagnosis without letting him know she was working on the problem would be the challenge. He likely wouldn’t thank her for her help, at least not in the beginning.

  However, hardheaded men were not a new dilemma.

  The creaking of her rocking chair sounded less satisfying, more hollow than it had while she and Dean were rocking in counterpoint the day before, and the porch felt too big all of a sudden.

  “I’m heading into town to take a look around.” Dean stood at the bottom of the steps. She’d missed his approach completely. When she was working on a problem, the whole world could disappear.

  “Okay. See you later.”

  She watched him walk away, analyzing his gait—which was a little stiff, but not labored—and his ease in sliding behind the wheel. He didn’t seem to be in pain, but he might be an excellent faker. His father was.

  When the dust cloud settled, she decided to inspect the dock that held such fascination for both Mr. Collinses. It was pretty much Dean’s domain. She wouldn’t intrude while he was there, but now it was fair game. She eased down and dangled her feet in the cool water with a relieved sigh.

  “I believe I get it. The porch is beautiful, but down here it’s all so much closer.” And she was talking to herself again. She’d definitely have to get a faithful hound when she moved out here, one that would follow her around so she’d always have someone to talk to. “Because that’s a bit less crazy.”

  For a whole ten minutes, she tried communing. She really did. But the list of things to do kept popping up. Each project she finished would make her look that much better. Besides, if her mother came right now, she’d miss the charm of the inn completely even if she could get over the memories.

  Elaine stood up and walked to the end of the dock to stare up at the house. “Garage. Let’s see what’s in the garage.”

  Finding the key to the garage turned out to be easier than she imagined. It was in the lock. “Nice,” she said, sighing.

  Whatever had happened to the house, Robert had kept the garage tidy. A riding lawn mower sat in front of double doors, and the missing kitchen cabinets and countertops lined one wall.

  She walked over to the mower. “Oh, good. We keep the key in the mower, too.” She paced in a wary circle around it. “How hard could it be? Like driving a car.”

  If it starts, I’ll mow the grass. If it doesn’t, I’ll go back to sitting on the dock. Obviously, it’ll take me some practice to get the hang of it.

  Getting a jump on the competition...maybe she was more like her mother than she thought.

  Elaine opened the doors to find a small ramp leading to the yard behind the inn. “Here goes nothing.” She slid into the seat, turned the key and clapped when the mower started.

  “Operation: win the Bluebird begins!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TALL PINES HAD changed some since he’d lived here, but a few things could be counted on to remain. One of them was King’s Hardware. He peeked in the window and waved at the old man who’d hired him to stock shelves when he was sixteen. His mother had hated the idea of him working a summer job, but all he’d been able to see was money for a car and an escape from the daily chores. Cleaning guest rooms and scrubbing toilets hadn’t been his idea of satisfying work.

  Mr. King waved back, the complete lack of recognition not all that surprising but disappointing anyway. In his head, Tall Pines was frozen in time. He should be able to step in without a ripple.

  Obviously, the town had changed, and some acquaintances had forgotten him.

  He paused in front of The Gym to see an attractive blonde talking on the phone. When she saw him, she straightened and waved. She didn’t recognize him, either, but that didn’t seem to bother her a bit.

  Dean’s slow tour of the streets around the courthouse was a nice way to ease back into his hometown. He didn’t meet a person who remembered him, so he didn’t have to make awkward conversation that would inevitably lead to his accident or some crazy assignment he’d barely managed to escape.

  Still, he’d held on to the memory of his hometown like a promise. Feeling like he didn’t fit here made it harder to believe Tall Pines would help him find normal again.

  Normal? What does that even mean anymore?

  A screech of metal and shouting nearby had him hunkering down and searching for the nearest hiding spot. Just like that, Dean had an answer. Normal meant not running for cover at every loud noise.

  “Hey, sorry, man.” Dean could see a lanky kid struggling under the weight of a ladder. The guy who’d been watching the boy secure the ladder in the bed of the truck offered him a hand. “Sounded horrendous, didn’t it? Just metal sliding on metal. That kid is going to destroy my truck’s paint.” He held both hands up in surrender as though he’d hire better help if he could.

  Embarrassed and angry that even in Tall Pines every loud noise made him cringe, Dean gripped the guy’s hand. “No problem. Thought shrapnel was headed my way.” He tried a hearty laugh, and the guy smiled. Before he could say anything else, Dean jaywalked across the street while he took long, deep breaths.

  Maybe he should have tried more than one session with the therapist.

  New scenery and new adventures had always solved his problems. This time, he’d needed familiar scenery and safe adventures.

  Unfortunately, he’d had a lot more time to think than he was comfortable with.

  Normal shouldn’t be this hard. And it definitely shouldn’t take this long to settle in to the routine of small-town living.

  His heart racing as if he’d been running for his life, Dean stopped in front of the newspaper office and thought for two seconds about going in to introduce himself. In a town this size, the newspaper was about the only place he could sell his work unless he tried to license his shots or sell prints. Dean might be eager to give up living out of a backpack, but he’d never give up photography. Whether home was the Bluebird or somewhere else, the world was clearer through a camera lens. Finding a way to make that obsession pay would be a smart idea.

  Then he remembered he was dressed as though he owned no mirrors. Another day would be better.

  “Hey, I was hoping you’d stop by.” A man with a friendly smile stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Mark Taylor. This is my paper. And you’re Dean Collins, world-famous photojournalist. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Dean shook Mark’s hand and tried to determine how he felt about being called a world famous anything. It was only true if the world stopped at the doors of King’s Hardware. Mr. King had no idea who he was. He was sure there were more people like Mr. King than those who knew his work. But it was nice to know his dad believed in him. “Did my dad visit? Mention I was home?”

  Mark nodded.
“Yep, on his way out of town. Said I might want to visit the Bluebird. It sounds like you have something exciting going on out there.”

  “Well, right now it’s not much to look at, but in a few weeks, I’ll have a solid plan and start making my changes.” Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and tried not to shuffle his flip-flops. This guy was no fashion plate, but a polo shirt suddenly seemed like a much better choice.

  “Robert mentioned Dr. Watson’s out there, too, working on her own plan. I didn’t know she had enough spare time for a hobby this size. Seems like everyone in town has been to see her lately. Too bad a cold’s not front-page news. Definitely page two.” Mark propped one shoulder against the glass window.

  Unwilling to talk about the details of his father’s crazy plan, Dean glanced down the street. “I did want to introduce myself, but obviously you already know what I do. If you ever need a photographer, you could give me a call.” He braced himself for the inevitable questions. People always asked about war and terrorism and the big news items of the day, but no one was prepared to hear the truth.

  He’d discovered early on that even if he wanted to talk about the locations he’d been, very few people could listen. Whether it was sadness or anger or fear, the emotions were stronger than anyone expected.

  He’d learned to avoid such conversations when he could.

  “It’s a small operation, so I normally take most of the photos myself.” Mark shrugged. “Not that that’s what you would call a good idea. Still, I can’t pay much. And you might like to take a break. I learned the hard way how long it takes to recover once you’ve reached your limit.”

  Dean studied the other man’s face. Mark’s steady stare convinced him that this was a guy who understood coming to the end of the rope, tying a knot and hanging on. Just the realization that he might find somebody else who understood the pressure and fear, even if he didn’t understand gunfire and roadside bombs, made it easier to take a breath.

  “Sure, well, I understand. You take your own shots. I can go across the street and work for the other imaginary papers paying obscene amounts of money.” Dean raised both eyebrows until Mark laughed.

  “Very good point. I’ll give you a call next time I have a story. This study of the school lunch program and its effect on low-income families could definitely benefit from a photographer with skill. That would be you, not me.” Mark opened the door. “Come inside for a sec. I’ll write down your number. You can meet my biggest fan.”

  Intrigued, Dean followed him in. Two women looked up when he stepped inside. The pretty brunette was wearing a Clinton County sheriff’s deputy uniform. She looked familiar. The other woman was sparkling in a fancy dark red tracksuit. Her pale pink hair was the perfect complement.

  “This is my...” Mark paused until the deputy poked him in the side. “Girlfriend. This is my girlfriend, Andi. Sorry, the right honorable deputy Andrea Jackson formerly of his presidency’s not-so-secret FBI and now a Tall Pines officer of the peace.”

  The name helped. She’d been a few years behind him in school. Dean held out his hand and waited for Andi to shake it. “It’s been a while. Nice to meet the newspaper guy’s number one fan.”

  Before Andi could answer, Mark said, “Nah, she’s not the one I was talking about. I’m not sure where she fits on the list. Top ten?” He turned to look at Andi and caught her hand before she could poke him again. “This is Edna. She’s my number one fan.”

  Edna he knew. The color of her hair had changed since the last time he’d seen her, but he recognized her shrewd stare. As he’d expected, Edna gave him a thorough inspection. “Hear you’ve moved back. You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “Been a long time, Miss Edna.” He tried his charming smile again, and it seemed to work better. Her shoulders dropped. Maybe he just needed more practice.

  “Yeah.” She sniffed. “Glad you decided to drop in.” Dean made sure not to stare at her fluffy pink hair. Edna had been a sharp-tongued acquaintance of his mother’s. If he didn’t act right, she’d let him have it no matter who was watching. He’d learned that at a Fourth of July picnic where he’d decided to cut in line to get some of his mother’s fried chicken.

  Mark clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Now, Edna, I’m not sure you’re giving this enough thought.”

  She frowned at him.

  “Imagine all the stories he has to tell that nobody in town has ever heard.” Mark wagged his eyebrows at her. “You could have a solid supply of news for a long time.”

  Edna studied him again, her wrinkled brow reflecting concentration. Then she nodded her head once as though she’d made a final decision and smiled. The change was surprising. She went from severe judge to sweetheart in an instant. “Well, now. I do love exciting stories.” She clasped her hands under her chin and said, “Tell me one.”

  He managed to bite back a weary sigh. This was more like it.

  Dean ran a hand through his hair and glanced at Andi and Mark to make sure this was actually happening. “Like, now?” He had no idea where to go with this conversation.

  Edna laughed as if he’d told the most amazing joke. If he recalled correctly, this might be what flirting sounded like. Weird.

  “Come now. Surely you can pull up one story, just to tide me over.” She batted her eyelashes. “You’ve been around the world. What’s the craziest meal you ever ate? Bugs? Maybe even monkey brains like that one movie?” She watched his face intently. He glanced at Mark and Andi. They were both barely holding back the laughter.

  Just like the smile he’d shared with Elaine, their laughter lightened the tension, something he’d been living with for too many years. He’d been on his own for a long time, the nomadic life of a journalist making it hard to sustain friendships.

  Tall Pines would make it so simple. In one afternoon, he’d already found common ground.

  “Well, let’s see.” He had the suspicion that whatever he said to Edna would race through town like a runaway train, so if he said yes to send her on her way, he’d forever be the weirdo who ate monkey brains.

  But her grip on his arm said she wasn’t leaving without something.

  “Once I flew to India to cover their elections. They take a while. I did a little exploring out in the countryside, met a local businessman who thought he’d impress me with his wealth.” And his daughter, but that part of the story could be omitted. “We had the finest meal. I think it was seven courses.” All of them very American in his honor. And tasty.

  That wouldn’t end the story with a bang.

  “And...” Edna expected something exotic. He didn’t have it to give.

  “They served baked chicken.” Dean glanced over at Andi and Mark to gauge their reactions. Both of them had passed straight faces, headed for full-on coughing fits. “Can you even believe that?”

  Edna frowned and studied him closely. “That did not end the way I thought it would.”

  “Me, either.” Dean blinked slowly and then winked at her.

  Her lips were twitching when she swatted his arm. “Young man, you’ll have to do better than that.” She wagged her finger. “And you will.” The unspoken “or else” was loud and clear.

  “Right now you’re late for the lunch bunch over at Purl’s Place.” Andi stepped between Dean and Edna and wrapped her hand around Edna’s arm. “You don’t want to miss anything. Now you have something to throw in the pot and stir.”

  “Don’t you manage me, Andi Jackson.” Edna looked at her sternly. “Next time, young man. I want your most exciting story, and don’t you dare tell anyone else first.” She paused in the doorway. “Don’t worry. I’ll track you down.” Before he could decide whether that was a threat or a friendly promise, she was gone.

  Dean watched her jaywalk across the street.

  “Breaking the law. Flaunting it in my face,” Andi muttered. “She�
��s definitely not my number one fan.”

  “Nope, that’s me, beautiful deputy.” Mark smacked a quick kiss on her forehead and then danced out of her reach. “Andi’s done you a favor. I don’t know what you had planned for the rest of the day, but Edna’s hard to shake loose.”

  “Yeah, I had that feeling.” He was slightly annoyed until he realized that Edna might be the best judge for him. She wanted stories. He wanted the Bluebird. There was obviously a nice opportunity for back-scratching if he could overcome his emotions and stick with the facts. It would be hard, but making sure he had a solid judge in his corner might be worth it.

  “You should understand that anything you tell her will make the rounds lightning fast.” Andi shook her head. “And stay out of Purl’s Place. Your ears might be burning, but in my experience, it’s better not to hear how the story gets retold.”

  “Good advice,” Mark said and kissed her as he guided her out the door. “Don’t work too hard.”

  Andi pointed her finger at him through the glass and then walked down the sidewalk.

  “She’s going to walk down to the corner, cross the street and then walk back over to Purl’s. Setting a positive example for the citizens of Tall Pines.” Mark stood and watched her make the whole trip while Dean scanned the office and wondered if he should steal a scrap of paper, write his number on it and toss it on Mark’s desk.

  “Sorry. You know what it’s like.” Mark walked behind a cluttered desk and picked up a pen. “Love hijacks my brain sometimes. Don’t tell her I said that.”

  Uncertain where to go with that, Dean took the pen. “Guess I can understand.” He didn’t, but it sounded right.

  When he’d first started overseas assignments, the new locales and people had been a powerful incentive not to settle down. As he’d gotten older, he’d started to understand how thin the line between success and failure or life and death was in his job.

  Any woman who loved him could find herself in mourning entirely too young. Even now he could remember the way his father had just shut down after losing his mother. Love was dangerous. It had taken bullets and explosions and nearly getting caught by one or both to make him understand that the danger might be worth it.