finally laughing so hard that he started coughing.
“My God, bro.” Brad caught his breath in his damaged chest. “This woman really has your number.”
“I guess she knows what buttons to push. Maybe she’s a con artist.”
“Kim will deal with it. How’s she doing, anyway?”
“She’s high profile now, really in demand.”
“But how is she personally?”
“Terrific,” Zack said. “Stunning as ever. And you know Kim—she’s unflappable. The perfect attorney.”
Brad scratched his ankle. “Is she spending the night?”
“Trudy assigned her a guest room. I’d invite her to stay with us, but she draws a distinct professional line. I’m her client. She’s my lawyer.”
“That’s Kim’s style.”
“She’s looking forward to seeing you.”
Brad didn’t respond. He stared at the passing scenery and Zack wondered what he was thinking. Did it upset him to be with people who’d known him before he was injured? Zack almost asked, then saw Brad was asleep again.
As the SUV approached the resort’s entrance, Brad roused himself.
“Are we here?”
“This is it,” Zack said, hearing the pride that crept into his voice. He slowed to prolong the moment; none of the family had visited until today.
He’d spent a hefty sum on the stone entry to establish a defined border between the outside world and the place he’d created. The words Mar Vista were fastened to the stone arch in bold bronze letters. The coastal air was already putting a subtle patina on the metal.
“Mar Vista?” Brad questioned.
“It means ‘Sea View,’” he explained. “We’re in California, so it seemed fitting to have a Spanish name—something catchy and easy to remember.”
“I thought your name would go on the thing.”
“The corporation is Denning Enterprises, but a resort should have a gracious title.”
The road curved through a grove of evergreen trees and then opened to the buildings nestled on the gentle slope. Care had been taken during construction to preserve as many of the trees as possible, and the buildings were reminiscent of the great lodges built in the Edwardian era. To the north occupants had a view of the coastline; to the west was the golf course and the brilliant blue ocean.
“Lord, Zack,” Brad said, staring at the vista. “You’ve done a damn fine job.”
“I’m glad you like it. Every penny I have is riding on this, and money from the folks, too. I’m going to make it a success.”
“That’s what you’d say when we were kids and the teacher declared something couldn’t be done.”
“And I never failed to pull it off.” Zack parked in his private space and gestured. “My apartment is above the offices. You can rest or do whatever you want. There’s a garden with reclining chaises, or a pool if that appeals— Oh, and a hot tub and sauna. In the meantime, I should go to—”
“Work?” Brad finished.
“I can free up some hours later this afternoon.”
“Don’t change your routine. I’m sick of people tiptoeing around me and making special arrangements. Mom and Dad haven’t had a normal life since I came home.”
Yeah, Brad would hate that. Zack was the bullheaded son, determined to win no matter what, while his brother was the easygoing one. Few things had surprised Zack more than when Brad entered the Marine Corps. Yet he’d done well, rising in the ranks and becoming highly respected by the soldiers under his command.
He showed Brad the apartment, urged him to order from room service or one of the Mar Vista restaurants and trotted downstairs.
It was time to locate Kim and find out how soon Jamie Conroe and the Little Blue Fruit Stand would be gone.
CHAPTER THREE
THE SURVEYORS ARRIVED with their gear the following Thursday morning. Jamie had a steady stream of customers the first hour, and soon the surveyors drifted over. They bought three baskets of strawberries and ate them on the spot.
During a quiet pause in business, Jamie settled in her Adirondack chair and took in the familiar scents and sounds. Her grandfather’s heavy wood chair had dated to the 1950s. Instead of dragging it from the house, she’d found two made from recycled plastic. It would be too weird to use his, anyhow. Even as a kid she’d never sat in his chair—it belonged to Granddad and nobody else.
The day was unusually warm. This part of the coast didn’t get much hot weather; it was moderate most of the year.
Mmm.
Jamie yawned.
Ocean waves crashed on the shore and the sea shimmered brilliant blue with streaks of greenish-aqua. It was no wonder that Granddad had loved this place; it was peaceful and wholesome. The sunshine was blissfully soothing, and she could always sketch a pendant or bracelet design if inspiration came to her.
Crunching gravel nudged her eyelids open. The approaching vehicle was a black van with Mar Vista in gold lettering on the door and Denning Enterprises in smaller print below. The logo was striking—a lone cypress and soaring seabird.
Jamie stretched, ready to rev up her brain for another verbal bout, but neither of the men who climbed from the van was Zack Denning. The driver seemed genial and innocuous, and his passenger was thin and pale, with a narrow scar above his left eye. He walked with a limp and hugged his arm to his rib cage as if it hurt. She recognized the cautious posture too well.
“Hello,” the driver called. “I’m Gordon Chen. Your sign says you carry certified organic fruits and vegetables.”
“Yup. More and more people are eating pesticide-free.”
“That’s great. I’m looking for someone to supply the restaurants at Mar Vista. Dealing directly with growers is time-consuming, so I was hoping we could come to an agreement that would benefit both of us.”
Jamie shifted in her chair, clinging to her tranquillity. “Let me guess. You’ll be able to buy all of my produce, so there won’t be any reason for me to keep the stand going.”
Gordon frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean. I don’t want you to quit your business. Quite the contrary.”
“In that case, you’d better get oxygen for your boss. He’ll be gasping for air when he hears the news.”
The second man laughed and Jamie was struck by the difference it made in his appearance.
“Morning,” he said. “My name is Brad Denning. I hitched a ride to come and meet you.”
She extended her left hand to shake so he wouldn’t have to move his injured side.
“I’m missing something here, but it isn’t important. Are you interested?” Gordon asked. “I’m choosy about what goes into my kitchen and want someone equally careful to coordinate my produce.” He must be the chef, which accounted for his air of confidence.
“I’m interested,” she assured him. “And I can work with the organic farmers to get you a wider variety than what I stock. The biggest problem is that I don’t have a large enough truck, and there’s no point in getting one for a single customer.”
Gordon shrugged. He seemed unusually easygoing for a high-priced chef. “I can send a guy to get my orders. It’s still an improvement over having a dozen sources delivering throughout the day.”
“The other problem is that for now the stand is only open for the summer