The Women of Bayberry Cove. Cynthia Thomason

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СКАЧАТЬ near the Outer Banks. Vicki had moved there six months ago and now, deliriously in love and pregnant, she hated to leave the town, even to check on her antiques store in Fort Lauderdale. Endlessly praising the quiet virtues of the place, Vicki had repeatedly invited Louise to come for a visit, but Louise never had time.

      She turned away from her grossly mortgaged view and went into the apartment to call Vicki. You’ve got plenty of time now, honey, she told herself. And if Bayberry Cove can’t turn you from a lioness into a pussycat, I don’t know of any place that can.

      TWO DAYS LATER, on a spectacular May afternoon, Louise drove her black BMW down Main Street, Bayberry Cove, North Carolina. To her right was a row of two-story buildings with granite cornerstones proclaiming each of them to be over a hundred years old. To her left, a typical town square with ancient trees dripping shade over brick sidewalks and cast-iron benches. A perfect place for people to stop and enjoy the simple pleasure of a picnic lunch or lazy afternoon chat.

      The only problem was that while Louise could admire the pastoral solitude of a leafy town green, she wasn’t a picnicker, and she wasn’t much for small talk. She was a woman to whom every minute was precious and not meant to be squandered. She pulled into a parking space and approached an elderly man seated on the nearest bench.

      As she came closer, he shielded his eyes from the sun and grinned with obvious interest. Accustomed to such blatantly admiring looks, Louise settled her ball cap low on her forehead and flipped her long black ponytail through the opening at the back. Then, since she could plainly determine the focus of the old guy’s attention, she tugged her halter top so it covered the slash of midriff above the waistband of her Liz Claiborne stretch capris.

      “Hi there,” she said, flashing the man a sincere smile. “Can you tell me where I might find Pintail Point, the home of Jamie Malone?”

      He looked her up and down with appreciative scrutiny, murmured directions and gestured into the distance with a gnarled finger.

      Louise thanked him and headed out of town to a two-lane road he’d identified as Sandy Ridge. She turned right and in three miles spotted the causeway that would lead her to where Vicki lived with her husband.

      The tires crunched on loose gravel as she drove across the narrow spit of land. Dust settled on the wax on her car. When she parked at the end of the point, she got out and walked toward a neat little houseboat with geraniums in the window boxes. She heard a welcoming squeal before she actually saw her best friend.

      “Oh, my God, you actually came!” Vicki crossed the wooden bridge from the boat and ran toward Louise.

      “It’s me,” Louise stated unnecessarily. “Now slow down or you’ll pop that baby out four months ahead of schedule.”

      Vicki threw herself into Louise’s arms. “Don’t worry about him. He—or she—is as protected as the gold in Fort Knox, and not going anywhere.” Keeping her hands on Louise’s shoulders, Vicki stepped back and fired questions. “How was your trip? How long can you stay?” She darted a glance over her shoulder where her husband, the totally gorgeous and charmingly Irish Jamie Malone, was approaching at a leisurely pace with his odd-looking dog beside him.

      “Cover your ears, Beasley,” Jamie said to the dog. “All this squealin’ and squawkin’ is typical womenfolk jabber.”

      He placed his hands on his hips and grinned at Louise. “Well, well, Miz Lady Attorney. Fancy seeing you on Pintail Point.”

      She sent him a smug look. They’d had their disagreements in the past, especially about the divorce Vicki had claimed she wanted from the virtual stranger she’d married thirteen years before when he’d needed a green card and she’d needed money. Thinking she was doing her friend a favor, Louise had had the mysterious Mr. Malone investigated and subtly intimidated—until Vicki had fallen head over heels in love with him and shredded the divorce papers once and for all.

      Louise took a step toward him. “Come on, Jamie. I know you’re glad to see me.” She angled her cheek toward his face. “Give us a wee kiss now.”

      He laughed and obliged her.

      “So this is the love nest?” she said, walking to the boat. “The famous Bucket O’ Luck I’ve heard so much about.”

      “This is it,” Vicki said, keeping pace with her. She stopped and pointed across Currituck Sound to a hill rising next to Sandy Ridge Road. “And that’s going to take her place in a few months when it’s finished.”

      A partially completed house crested the hill, its bare timbers rising toward the afternoon sun. “Very nice.”

      “It will be. But for now, it’s the Bucket or nothing.” She opened the door and waited for Louise to precede her inside. “So talk, Lulu. What’s the real reason you’re here? You were very vague on the phone. I never thought you’d come.”

      Like the true friend she was, Vicki listened to Louise’s tale and sighed at the injustice of it. “What are you going to do now?” she asked when Louise finished her story.

      “Well, this looks like a nice place,” Louise said. “I’ll probably stay here for a while. Maybe Oppenheimer is right. Maybe I do need some downtime.”

      Vicki shot a glance in Jamie’s direction. He hunched his shoulder in male confusion. Louise laughed. “I don’t mean here here,” she said. “I’m not moving in with you, for heaven’s sake. I meant here in Bayberry Cove.”

      Relief washed over both faces. “Oh, well…” Vicki said. “If our house was ready, there’d be no problem, but we only have one bedroom on the Bucket and…”

      Louise waved her hand to dismiss her friend’s concern. “Enough, Vic. I don’t want to stay with you two any more than you want me to. Just direct me to a motel. Anything in town will do.”

      Vicki shook her head. “That’s a problem.”

      “Why?”

      “There are no places to stay in Bayberry Cove.”

      “What? Nothing?”

      “Nope.” Vicki looked to Jamie for a suggestion.

      He thought a moment and finally said, “There’s always Buttercup Cottage. I could ask Haywood if he’d rent it.”

      “There you go,” Louise said. “Of course, I’ve never churned butter or made my own candles….”

      Vicki laughed. “It’s not like that. It has indoor plumbing and electricity.”

      “Good. Show me the dotted line I sign on.”

      “You’ll have to talk to Haywood Fletcher,” Jamie said. “His family owns the place. I think you probably recognize his name.”

      Louise winced. “How could I forget the attorney who claimed he’d found flaws in that perfectly executed divorce decree I wrote for Vicki?”

      Jamie laughed. “Don’t blame Haywood for that. It was a stall tactic I used to buy time until Vicki admitted she loved me. Haywood will treat you fairly, but there might be one problem.”

      “What now?”

      “My mother used to work СКАЧАТЬ