The first in an exciting new series from Mary Manners.
Honeysuckle Cove Inn has been in the Brennan family for three generations. When Maggie Brennan’s parents retire, they call her home to Honeysuckle Cove and hand over the reins of the historical inn. If Maggie successfully maintains the business over the course of a year, the inn is hers forever. Maggie considers the timing perfect, with one exception—she finds her path entangled once again with that of Dylan O’Connor.
Dylan has made a name for himself as the go-to guy when it comes to renovations and repairs in Honeysuckle Cove, and he’s waited nearly a decade for high school sweetheart Maggie Brennan to return home. But his handyman skills will be put to the test when it comes to rebuilding the bridge between Maggie’s heart and his, and designing a future…together.
Extract:
Maggie
Brennan tossed her overnight bag across one shoulder and slammed the door of
her SUV. Her belly skipped with excitement and a jumble of nerves as she turned
toward Honeysuckle Cove Inn. Her breath caught at the Victorian structure perched
along an undulating knoll, its sweeping wrap around porch and turn-of-the-century
style back-dropped by sun-dappled breakers of Wanderlust Lake. Whitewashed wood
encased panels of glass that shimmered beneath late afternoon light, while a regal
spire soared three stories to kiss the winter sky.
The rooms inside
were filled with countless legends and stories that had grown throughout the
years. Maggie wondered how many more tales might be woven over the coming
months. The thought sent her pulse into a barrel roll.
Easy
there, Maggie…pull it together. You can do this.
A light breeze
ruffled her hair and whispered beneath the collar of her cotton shirt as she
made her way up the winding walk. She shivered and gathered the overnight bag
to her chest like a shield, wishing she’d thought to grab a sweater from one of
the many suitcases and boxes piled in the SUV’s trunk and stacked across the
backseat. She’d forgotten how cool January afternoons could be in East
Tennessee. Not hard to do, since it had been several winters since she’d come
home.
But an
unexpected phone call from her mother had changed everything.
“Dad
and I are heading south to the coast for the foreseeable future, Maggie. Surely
the warm weather will soothe relentless aches that have worsened in your
father’s battle with arthritis. The inn is yours. It’s too much for us to
manage now, and it pains me to say we’ve really let things slide over the past
year or so. Coaxing it back to life won’t be easy, but we know you have never
shied away from a challenge…”
Maggie drew in a
breath. With her sister Candice gone, the task of rescuing the family’s inn
fell solely upon her shoulders. Her parents were right—she rarely shied from a
challenge. But there had been one situation she’d run away from many moons ago.
It remained the reason she hadn’t returned to the cove for more than a handful
of days here and there since she’d graduated college and moved west.
And on those
occasions she’d popped in for a visit, she’d done her best to stay put along
the grounds of the inn, enjoying time with her parents and the beauty of the
landscape while avoiding any chance of running into the one person she wanted
least to see—Dylan O’Connor.
But the lure of
the inn with all its intrigue and history…the many fond childhood memories that
danced through her dreams when she lay her head against a pillow at night…made
it impossible to stay gone any longer. Despite the fact that living
twenty-four/seven in a small town like Honeysuckle Cove would make it much
harder to avoid Dylan, she considered her parents’ offer to rejuvenate and
manage the inn a blessing in disguise.
Who was she
kidding? Considering recent disasters in both her work and personal life, their
offer proved an answer to her prayers.
Except for Dylan…and
the still-raw memories of her sister Candice, as well.
Maggie forced
the thoughts from her mind before they had time to bloom. There was work to be
done, and no time to waste energy on recent failures or regrets from the past.
The scent of
honeysuckle drifted, drawing Maggie’s attention to a tangle of flowerbeds
surrounding the inn and gardens. Broken pavers lined what once served as a
walkway to the rear patio and lakeshore beyond, while unseasonably heavy rains
had washed away layers of mulch, leaving trenches of dirt in their wake.
Maggie shook her
head and heaved a sigh. Mom hadn’t been kidding when she said she and Dad had
let things go. It would take a small army to put things to right. Not very
promising, since she proved a lone soldier.
Refusing to be
deterred, she made a mental note to launch an attack on the mess as soon as she
had her bearings. She’d have to get moving if she planned to stick to the rigid
schedule she’d outlined. Her parents hadn’t booked a guest room in more than
six months and the inn’s business account now straddled the fence between
operating in the black and plunging into red. But Maggie planned to start taking
reservations just as soon as she had things in order again. She’d revitalize
one room at a time, and also open the dining area to local dinner patrons as
soon as the revamped website and a workable menu—as well as adequate staff—were
up and running.
Which circled
’round to the fact that she’d need to hire a chef…and a landscaper…and possibly
even a carpenter or handyman to help with simple—and not so simple—repairs.
Again she
considered Dylan. He was the best carpenter she knew. Too bad she couldn’t call
on him now. It would make things so much easier.
And so much more
difficult.
Maggie’s belly
blanched. So many things to consider. The enormity of the tasks that faced her threatened
to wash over her like a tsunami, taking her prisoner if she allowed them to.
So she would
keep her chin up and stand tall. She’d focus on first things first. The once-beautiful
gardens tumbled with a graveyard of untended plants and tangled weeds. It
wouldn’t do well to have visitors arrive to such unkempt grounds. And pulling
weeds was a task she could manage on her own. She’d found digging in the dirt
to be cathartic…at least when she was eight years old.
Clean-up would
take some elbow grease, but all was not lost. As she neared the porch, a closer
look at the flowerbeds proved that buried beneath the weeds a flurry of
honeysuckle bushes lay dormant, their sleepy buds curled against the cold, waiting
patiently for spring. Maggie imagined after so many countless seasons drenched
in blooms, the inn itself had taken on the sweet scent that seemed to linger
like a spirit, drawing its warm, fruity bouquet into the inn’s wood and fabric.
Even now, the
inn sighed and whispered, welcoming Maggie home. The thought made her smile as
she reached the front steps.
Suddenly a deafening
screech ripped the air. Maggie tripped and stumbled. She clutched the stair
rail and waited a beat for her heart to jig back into rhythm. What on earth…?
The earsplitting
whine died and then wailed…died and wailed in a rhythmic assault to her
eardrums. It took a moment for the realization to dawn that the brain-numbing
sound came from inside the inn. She tilted her head and peered up toward the
third floor of the spire. A shadow crossed the window and she zeroed in,
studying the rangy figure that moved with an unmistakable, languid swagger. Her
brain struggled to process information. It couldn’t be…it wasn’t…
Dylan?
No way. The inn
was supposed to be empty—especially from the likes of Dylan O’Connor.
Maggie’s spine
turned to steel as she climbed the porch steps and paused at the front door.
She toed a worn welcome mat and found the keys her mother had tucked there
waiting beneath. She bent, clutched them in her fist, and quickly realized
there was no need for them as the door stood unlocked and more than slightly ajar.
It was just like
Dylan to waste good money letting a steady stream of frigid winter air into the
house.
She gave the
door a shove, then dropped her bag in the hallway. Familiar scents of warm cedar,
cinnamon-hazelnut coffee, and oak logs piled beside the fireplace conjured
memories, while force of habit had her padding through the living room and past
the library to a winding staircase that led to the third floor. She attacked
the staircase, her heart thrumming with each footstep.
When the stairway
opened to the third floor landing, she couldn’t believe her eyes.
There he stood—Dylan
O’Connor—leaned over a pair of sawhorses with his back to her as he waged
battle with a circular saw against a length of two-by-four.
The day had just
become much, much more difficult.
Review:
The last thing Maggie wants or needs is Dylan back in her life. However it seems her parents, God and maybe even Dylan himself have other plans for her. Coming from Mary Manners, I knew this was going to be another good story and I wasn't disappointed. Can't wait for the next story in this series.
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