Wedding Transpires on Mackinac Island Page 2

  She selected a key, tried to cram it into the hole, and then flipped to another. Alanna didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed Jonathan Covington didn’t remember her. Time had passed, but she hadn’t changed that much. Tears filled her eyes as the hopes she’d held for them overwhelmed her. She rammed another key into the keyhole.

  “Work. Please work.” She had to get inside where she could hide her meltdown. She’d known it wouldn’t be easy to return to Mackinac, but the flood of emotions so soon caught her off guard.

  The key swiveled in the hole followed by the door creaking open. Alanna stumbled into the dim interior. The air hung heavy, tainted by mustiness rather than the soothing lavender that usually saturated the space. Shadows filled the room, the eerie images playing on the walls flung from the modern art statues standing in the middle of the room. She might not be able to do much about the lavender until she got to the cottage, but she could turn on the lights and fill the silence. Mom must have left the jazz CDs that usually piped through the music system somewhere.

  “Hey, lady.”

  Alanna startled at the deep voice. She turned and stopped at the red GRAND HOTEL insignia on the shirt. One of the best nights of her young life had occurred when Jonathan took her to an amazing dinner at the grand lady of the island. She’d dressed up, and he’d looked so handsome in his suit. She shook her head to clear the memory.

  “Need help with your bag?” He gestured to the black monolith that languished where she’d left it.

  “Thank you. Could you pull it inside the door?”

  He did, taking it behind the counter. “Unless it’s your latest sculpture, I doubt you want it left by the door. Need me to carry it upstairs?”

  “No, I don’t live there. Thanks for your assistance.” She dug a single out of her wallet and handed it to him. The man left with a smile splitting his ebony face. If only she could generate that kind of response from everyone she encountered. Without the money tied to it.

  She considered the back stairway. Mom used to use it as a studio then had converted it to a small apartment. So far, the space was empty for this season. Alanna guessed she could stay there, but she wanted the comfort and familiarity of the house. The privacy, too.

  A sigh shuddered through her. If she truly wanted her privacy, she should have stayed in Grand Rapids and continued braving the media. All the regulars here knew her. Knew the past. Knew the pieces she’d kept separate from the life she’d created on the mainland. There people didn’t remember Grady Cadieux’s death and tie it to her younger brother, Trevor Stone. There may not have been enough evidence to prosecute him, but she’d seen the questions and anger in her neighbors’ eyes. The popular mayor’s son had captained the basketball team and had dreams the island’s residents adopted as their own. Then he died, and their grief transferred to anger that targeted Trevor.

  She parted the lace curtains and peeked at the street. Even though it was barely 8:00 a.m., people strolled up and down the sidewalk. If she wanted the opportunity to sell anything today, she needed to open. Mom had relayed what sounded like a never-ending list of tasks she must complete each day before unlocking the door.

  A sigh burbled from the depths of her soul. It was Monday morning, and she should be an hour into case reviews. Maybe at the courthouse preparing for a trial or hearings. Instead, she stood on the one place she swore she’d avoid until her dying days. It helped that her parents lived here only during the tourist season and abandoned the island for the holidays. She’d wondered if they did it for her and Trevor. Her brother wanted to return to the island even less than she did.

  She shook her head before the thoughts took over. She couldn’t afford to descend into the past. Not when tourists—potential buyers—peeked in the windows. If Alanna wanted to ensure there was sufficient money to pay her father’s hospital and rehab bills, she had to get the Painted Stone open and sell some art.

  After she flipped several switches, light filled the space. Spotlights highlighted paintings at regular intervals, with smaller works featured in between. Lights she hadn’t noticed on the floor emphasized the sculptures. And each wall was painted a rich shade—crimson, eggplant, gold, and midnight blue—that served almost as an extra mat to the paintings. Her mother’s artistic touch filled the studio. And her father’s fingerprints would dot the office.

  Walking behind the counter, Alanna flipped the switches to turn on the computer that served as a cash register. It hummed to life, and she crouched and rummaged through a box for CDs. Finding one that looked promising, she popped it into the CD player and hit PLAY. Soft notes from a piano filtered through the room. Add some lavender and everything would be perfect.

  “Hello?”

  Alanna popped up, ramming her head against the counter with a yelp. She rubbed her hand across the back of her scalp, biting her lip to keep from saying the words that rushed to escape.

  “Are you open?” A woman’s soft voice edged into the studio followed by the sound of heels clicking against the hardwood floors. “The sign isn’t flipped, but I saw lights and the open door.”

  Alanna smiled around the pain and finished standing. “I’m almost ready, but feel free to look around while I finish.”

  “Thank you, dear.” The older woman had soft white curls that wisped around her face. She wore a lavender spangled shirt over linen white capris, the picture of a visitor. She wandered in front of one of Alanna’s mother’s large oil paintings. She stood in front of it, edged to the right, then the left. She cocked her head like a seagull eyeing a treat someone had dropped. “This scene is quite vibrant. Do you know where it was painted?”

  “Let me see.” Alanna slipped from behind the counter and joined the woman. The location couldn’t be clearer—the Grand Hotel’s long white porch lined with rockers, the yellow awnings peeking from the ground level and first level of the porch. The colors were right. The setting appropriate. But somehow the painting felt off. Different. Not quite like her mom’s usual work. The woman turned to her, a question reflected in her gray eyes. “This is the Grand Hotel. I’m sure you’ll see it during your stay. It’s quite the landmark for the island.”

  “Of course. How could I miss that?” The woman turned with a soft smile. “I’ll just have a look around.”

  While the woman stopped to admire each painting, Alanna hurried to the supply closet to get the items she needed to finish preparing the store. Even as she dusted the paintings and turned the sign to OPEN, her gaze wandered back to the painting.

  The plates held lingering puddles of syrup but otherwise stood empty with every last blueberry and crumb consumed. Mike smiled as he whisked the plates behind the counter. “Can I get anything else for you gents?”

  Edward shook his head, and Jonathan grabbed the bill before the other man could.

  “Ready to explore possible sites?” Jonathan handed Mike a twenty and then pulled out his portfolio. He shook the image of the woman who’d collided with him from his mind again. To accomplish all he’d promised, they’d need to maximize each moment. And that meant ignoring all distractions, especially the ones that made no sense. Mackinac might be small, but it was filled with event and lodging options. “Several bed-and-breakfasts could be perfect for your family and might even have openings since it’s still early in the season. But we don’t want to wait long. Better to check them today and make your decision quickly.”

  Edward’s focus had returned, his eyes clear of the lingering pain that had stained them during breakfast. The athletic man pulled out a smartphone and clicked away.

  At times Jonathan wished technology hadn’t invaded the island to the degree it had. Now everyone had BlackBerries, Droids, and iPads, all the things that invited the world they escaped to assault the protected beauty up at the tip of Michigan.

  “What are the names of the B&Bs?”

  Jonathan laughed. “You’re eager to get to it.”

  “Time’s a wasting, my man.” Edward shrugged, that silly light c
reeping back into his expression. “I promised Bonnie I’d give her a full report tonight. That means pictures, notes, details. She’s really the one who should be here with you.” He swallowed hard. “But I’ll do the standing-in part then let her make the decisions.”

  Jonathan clapped Edward on the shoulder. “No problem. Let’s head to my office. Get you oriented and collect some brochures you can take notes on.”

  As they walked the block west along Huron, Jonathan watched for the woman. He tried to corral his thoughts, but they insisted on returning to the way her head had tilted like a bird trying to decide whether he was a friend or enemy. They turned onto Market, and he picked up the pace. He slowed at the Painted Stone’s door. It stood tucked between a photography studio filled with amazing images of the island and a unique flag shop. The art studio had been closed since the owner had a stroke a week earlier, though it looked like someone had opened the store. He’d have to check on Mr. Stone’s status later.

  Mr. Morris studied the window, his hands shoved in his pockets, an intense gaze on his face. “You think they could commission something?”

  Jonathan startled and glanced at the man. “A painting or a sculpture?”

  “Naw. It’s a crazy idea. Let’s get moving.”

  “All right. We’re almost there.” He said a quick prayer for Mr. Stone as he led Mr. Morris down the street. Jonathan led Edward to a side door tucked among the storefronts. It opened to the stairs to his second-floor office. Edward took in his office. It was small with one main room, a kitchenette, and a bathroom tucked at the back. The walls reflected the rich green of the evergreens on the top half with white paneling on the bottom. The white kept the green from shrinking the room but showed every ding and bang. Jonathan made a mental note to touch it up.

  “Why don’t you take a seat.” Jonathan settled at his cherry desk while he grabbed the folder he’d slapped a label on and filled with brochures and maps of the island. “We’ll start at Haan’s 1830 and explore a few of the other smaller B&Bs. Then we can look at several restaurants. If you think you’ll have more than forty people, we should consider an outdoor venue. One far away from sidewalks.” As Edward’s eyebrows rose, Jonathan hurried on. “Don’t worry, there are plenty of great locations. And several of the hotels have meeting space. But depending on the timing, we could create a fun event outdoors. Plenty of space for the kids to run around and more flexibility in setup.”

  They reviewed the map and plotted the best way to get from place to place. Edward stood, and Jonathan grabbed his keys and cell phone. He ushered Edward toward the stairs and followed him down.

  They had one day to find exactly what Edward and Bonnie imagined for their event. He needed to focus on hitting as many spots as possible while helping Edward define exactly what they wanted. If only he could convince the morning’s mystery woman not to return to his thoughts.

  Chapter 3

  The sun sat poised to rise above the pine trees dotting Jonathan’s property the next morning. A bird’s muted chatter broke the silence surrounding him. He moved around the kitchen as he started a fresh pot of coffee. He rehashed the prior day while he waited for his first cup. Edward had seemed pleased with Jonathan’s suggestions as he took copious notes at their many stops.

  When the coffeepot beeped, Jonathan grabbed a mug from the rack beside the sink and filled it. He carried it to the front porch and sank onto the rocking chair his grandfather had made. He blew on the steaming coffee as his gaze searched the spindly pines. Maybe this morning he’d catch a glimpse of the elusive Kirtland’s warbler.

  He’d tried hard to keep the cowbirds away but hadn’t seen any activity to suggest the warblers had returned. If Jonathan’s ears didn’t deceive him, maybe this fellow was one. The only problem was the bird could be anywhere in a quarter-mile radius. If he was right, the bird had found a good home in the jack pine habitat.

  Chip-chip-che-way-o. That’s how the bird guides described the sound of the yellow-bellied warbler. To Jonathan’s ears, its song rang more melodious in the early morning silence.

  Jonathan sipped the strong coffee. There wasn’t a better way to start the morning than sitting on his cabin’s porch surrounded by God’s creation, even the hidden ones. He might not see the warbler yet, but he would.

  The alarm on his watch shrieked, wrecking the morning’s peace. The trees rustled as birds took flight. He jabbed the buttons on the watch, and it fell silent. So much for a calm start to the day. How could he have forgotten to turn it off when he woke before the alarm? Jonathan shifted against the porch railing, the day’s demands replacing the fleeting peace. Might as well face reality. It promised to be another busy, stress-filled day. Better tackle it head-on instead of wasting another moment worrying about how to land the Standeford wedding account and keep another couple, the Wenzes, happy with their anniversary plans. All the meetings with local hotels and associations to gain new business. His mind spun with the details and ideas. Business looked ready to pick up, but he needed to clone himself if he wanted to keep up.

  At times like this, he wondered if he’d ever find a way to add an employee. Maybe if he pulled everything back to his cabin. He could always meet people at local spots like Mike’s. The problem was his cabin was small. It’d be tough to find space for all his supplies. His office might not be huge, but it did provide the extra space and a bit of separation from his home. Still, working with someone as part of a cohesive team sounded great. Then he could work on the events while someone else focused on marketing to prospective clients. Then his business could really grow.

  The steady clop of horses’ hooves on the packed road running in front of the cabin invaded his thoughts. People rarely traveled the out-of-the-way road, especially this early.

  The taxi passed, containing one passenger, a woman whose short hair turned golden when the sun’s rays reached through the trees to touch it. Only a couple of homes dotted the road beyond his small place. Where was she headed?

  He blew on the coffee again then sipped.

  “Morning, Jonathan.” The soft words carried across the short distance echoing from his past.

  He spewed the coffee. She knew his name? Two words. Yet with them hope and anger spiraled through him.

  It couldn’t be Alanna. Not after all this time. Surely not. Would her father’s stroke pull her back to the island when he hadn’t been enough? The coffee churned in his stomach. He dumped the rest of the brew on the lilac standing by the steps. His grandmother had babied that bush, yet it seemed to do okay with his occasional coffee bath. Though it never flowered like it did under his grandmother’s care.

  So he didn’t have a green thumb.

  Jonathan set the mug on the railing and took a step off the porch. The taxi had disappeared down the narrow lane. Unless he wanted to follow it and risk looking the fool, he’d better stay put. His watch beeped again. He didn’t have time to hunt down an elusive woman who knew his name. Maybe it had been a lucky guess. He snorted. Yeah right.

  Jonathan—one of the top three names on the tip of beautiful women’s tongues. Especially when they saw him.

  Only one woman had said his name with an inflection that felt like a caress.

  He jumped down the steps and hurried to the road. Looked down it. Saw the taxi stop at the path leading to the Stones’ cottage. With a glimpse of a beautiful woman hiding behind Jackie O sunglasses, it hit him he’d run into Alanna yesterday. If she’d arrived then, why hadn’t she come home last night? He hadn’t seen lights when he’d checked the house for the Stones. Maybe that was all the excuse he needed to confirm the woman in the carriage truly was Alanna.

  His watch beeped its warning again.

  Time to get moving. He’d drop by tonight. See if she had a good explanation for the way she disappeared, cut him out of her life.

  He shook his head, trying to free himself of the immediate hold she’d reestablished. What would Jaclyn think? Jaclyn Raeder, the woman who’d worked her way into his life along
with that precious little boy. Sure, he’d never felt the flashes of attraction with Jaclyn, but she was a good woman. And she’d been here. Consistently.

  He couldn’t go there. Not now, and not after two mere words.

  His clients didn’t care about the overpowering desire he had to abandon the day’s agenda and rush to the house, but Jaclyn would. Clients only focused on whether events ran without a hiccup, snag, or noticeable problem. As long as he was the one losing sleep and weight over the details, they’d sign the checks.

  The slow clop-clop of the taxi echoed in the quiet. Jonathan smiled when he saw the empty passenger seats. She was back. Now he had to run or he’d miss his first appointment.

  Alanna leaned against the door. What had she been thinking? Hello, Jonathan? It was bad enough they’d live next door to each other. She’d prayed he’d moved, but the moment she bumped into him yesterday, she knew he still lived in the small cabin. So she’d been a coward and spent the night in an anonymous bed-and-breakfast. Finding an open room had surprised her—even this early in the season—but it gave her the retreat she’d needed as she formed a plan.

  From the moment Mom called with her plea, Alanna’s prayers had included the request for Jonathan Covington to be far removed from Mackinac. That he would be anywhere but here. Why couldn’t God have answered that prayer? It would have simplified her emotionally complicated return. Enough strands existed on the island to capture her in the spiderweb of the past. She didn’t need her heart involved, too.

  Not after she’d worked so hard to pretend she never cared for Jonathan. That their relationship had never proceeded past a weak adolescent shadow of love. But as she hid in the B and B, she had to admit she’d fooled herself. It wasn’t the pressure of law school and starting a career that kept her from relationships. She couldn’t even blame the uninteresting men she ran into. Maybe they’d been uninteresting because they weren’t Jonathan.