A Summer Love, Chapter 8, by Jean C. Gordon

Jenny looked up the path to the beach house and her gazed locked with Jake’s. She had enough saved from her time with the Peace Corps and stint working in Alaska to buy his half of the house, nearly enough to buy the whole property outright. But Jake had said yesterday that that wasn’t an option. She strode up the walkway to the beach house determined to get some answers from Jake before she lost her nerve.

“Woof,” Ralph greeted her first.

She patted the dog on the head. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. Sit down.” Jake motioned to the matching rocker. “I’d ask you what brings you out here so early, but I think I know.”

Jenny warmed in a way that had noting to do with the bright sunshine. She and Jake had often known each other’s thoughts.

“You want to know why I can’t let you buy my half of the house.”

It looked like they might still have that part of their former connection. She studied his serious expression and swallowed the lump in her throat. And how much more?

“Yes.” She sat on the edge of the rocker.

His eyes narrowed. “Then, you didn’t receive your copy of Mom’s will from her attorney, didn’t know about the codicil she’d added concerning the house?”

“No, my mail-forwarding from Alaska has not been particularly timely.” A knot of irritation formed in her gut from his implication that she’d feigned ignorance about the house, and just when she’d decided this morning that they might be able to at least salvage part of their former friendship. “I told you last night I didn’t know she’d left me half ownership.”

“So that’s not why you came back?”

“No, it was time. Summer Shores is my home. When my commitment in Alaska was done, it called me back. For good.” She looked at him full faced, her heart thumping, trumpeting to him to say the same.” Jenny closed her eyes and leaned back in the rocker, stunned at the revelation. She wanted more than simple friendship.

She opened her eyes and breathed deeply. “But that’s why you’re finally home.” She hated the way the emphasis on finally had crept into her voice.

He flexed his ankle and she wanted to crawl under her chair, or maybe under the veranda. Dear Lord, why can’t I help blurting the wrong things to Jake? The night she broke their engagement flashed in her head.

“I’m sorry. You were hurt, That’s why you’re home. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”

Jenny didn’t know which of her questions he was answering, but she had the wisdom to keep her mouth shut.

“I want to talk about Mom’s stipulation about the house. Before either of us can sell, we have to spend six months in Summer Shores at the same time.”

Unable to speak because of the hope ping ponging through her, Jenny nodded understanding at the opportunity she … they’d been given. “Starting now,” she said, “now that you’re home.”

What looked like pain twisted his face. “No, I’m not home here. I’m only on medical leave.”

He was still in the military. The other questions she’d had for him were unimportant. The only important question was, did she still, now, love him enough to let him go to complete what he needed to do, as she’d completed what she’d needed to do before she’d come back to Summer Shores? To give them another chance?

Saga of Lovelace Lane: Chapter Four

by Jean C. Gordon

Mason ran his hand through his hair and looked upward for guidance as he waited for Rose to join him at his office above the Forever Yours flower and trinket shop. The shop was one of the many unique local business that Lovelace would lose if Rose sold out to one of the developers. The old building with its original 1880s false front had once been housed a bank started by his great, great grandfather, a contemporary and possible friend of Rose's ancestor who'd bought the town—at least that's how it looked from some photographs and letters his mother had found in her genealogy research of his father's family.

She'd also found another odd document. A document that appeared to go with a similar document Mason and Valentin Redmond's housekeeper Eden Damask had found with the old man's original will. The pages seemed to be incomplete directions to something.

Mason pushed back from the heavy oak desk purported to be from the office of the first Mason Grant, the Lovelace banker and walked to the back window of this office. It looked out over Lovelace Park with its heart-shaped rose garden. Family legend was that every male Lovelace Grant had proposed to his future wife in that garden. His father had, and Mason had planned to. But his law school sweetheart had hated the small-town atmosphere of Lovelace and Mason's plans to practice family law here, politely turned down his proposal—a family first—and hightailed it back to her hometown Atlanta. He'd recently heard she was up for a judgeship there.

Where was Rose? She'd said she had to run back to the house for a minute before she came to the office. The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled him away from the window and the play of colors the setting sun brought out in the park below

"Hi." He opened the door before she did. "Come in and sit down. I have your grandfather's file out and ready to go over."

She sat across the desk from him and he did the official reading of her grandfather's will. "As you heard, except for the modest bequest to Mrs. Damask for her retirement, you inherit all of your grandfather's property, which consists of his real estate and personal property." He lifted two papers from the file folder. "Here's what the real estate is valued at for property tax purposes and what the two developers are offering currently.

Rose's eyes went wide and her rosebud lips opened to a perfect "O" before drawing to a thin line. "Do I understand correctly? Grandfather had no other property. No bank accounts or investments?"

The pain in her eyes shot through him. "I'm afraid not. All his liquid assets had to be used for his bequest to Mrs. Damask."

"She deserves whatever Grandfather has given her for her retirement. She's the widow of his lifelong best friend, and they were dear friends as well."

Mason swallowed the fear that came with what else he had to tell Rose. "In addition, much of the property has a lien against it."

"Grandfather borrowed against the land?"

Mason nodded. "Apparently, your grandfather never raised any of the existing townspeople's or their descendants' rents, only the rents of new people when they moved in. And he forgave back rent for anyone who ran into unpreventable financial difficulties. Job loss, illness."

"That sounds like Grandfather," she said. "May I see the developers' offers."

"Of course. "The look of despondency on Rose's face made him want to leap over the desk, take her in his arms, and assure her that everything would be all right.

"DeFoliate." Rose read the last name of both developers. Are they related?

"Apparently, they're brothers. Rival brothers."

"Why does that name sound familiar?"

Mason wasn't sure if Rose was talking to him or herself. "Their family was among the early settlers of Lovelace," he answered.

"That's where I've seen it." Her eyes lit up. "In the history of Lovelace Grandfather had a copy of. The DeFoliates lost their fortune in the 1880s mining bust." She pushed the papers away as if they weighed one hundred pounds, rather than a few ounces. "I'm going to have to sell the land aren't I?"

Mason knew what he should advise as an attorney. "Not necessarily. You're a historian. Take a look at these and tell me what you think." He handed her the puzzling yellowed documents his mother and he and Mrs. Damask had found.