The Wishing Tree in Irish Falls Page 2

  Her sister nodded and, over the counter, made frantic hand gestures in the direction of Annie’s apron.

  “Oops.” Annie pulled at the apron ties behind her back, dropped the keys, and reached forward at the same time Seth did. The top of her head bumped his chest. “Sorry.” She jumped back so fast she hit the bakery case, and he held out a hand to steady her.

  “Easy.”

  Her slender hand was small and soft, and her nails were unpainted. Her hair smelled of cinnamon, lemon, and fresh bread. Good, honest smells, together with something else; a sweetness that caught him and held.

  She yanked her hand away like she’d been scalded. “I’m not usually so . . .” She fumbled with the apron and wrestled it over her head then bent to pick up the keys. The green T-shirt she wore underneath rode up to expose a curve of creamy skin above black jeans that shaped her body in all the right places.

  Seth blinked and swallowed. He must be more tired from the cross-country drive than he thought. Or else there’d been something in that coffee he’d inhaled in the hope it would yank him out of the stupor he’d lived in for the past few weeks. After a lot of years in LA, much of his traditional Southern upbringing hadn’t stuck, but some of his grandmother’s teachings still held strong. And one of the things she’d drilled into him, along with please, thank you, and never making a scene in public, was that a man kept his eyes on a woman’s face, no matter how enticing the rest of her was.

  Annie handed the apron to Tara and gave him an assessing look. Her blue eyes darkened like she could see into his soul and the core of the man he was. Then her gaze drifted beyond him, out the sparkling bakery window with its mouthwatering display of sweet treats, to his truck with the California license plate, angle parked in the space out front. She turned and grabbed a chunky knit sweater from a hook by the door. “We’ll take the outside stairs.” She pulled open the door and led the way onto the bustling street, waving at a group of women coming out of a quaint storefront several doors down.

  As he followed Annie around the corner of the two-story, red brick building along a narrow gravel path bordered by several trees still bare of leaves, Seth breathed in the crisp April air mixed with an earthy scent. Amidst the foreignness of this small upstate New York town, a dot on the map miles from any interstate that, until a week ago, he’d never heard of, it was a familiar and comforting smell that took him back to his Georgia childhood.

  Annie clattered up a set of gleaming white stairs, and her bulky sweater hid those sweet curves he shouldn’t let himself notice. “Are you coming?”

  The morning sun turned her shoulder-length hair a rich copper.

  “What’s that noise?” He raised his voice above a roaring sound.

  “Irish Falls.” She gave him a half-smile, and a pair of dimples dented her cheeks. “The main waterfall is behind us. That’s why Jake rented the second floor. He wanted to live and work beside water. After a while, you don’t notice it.”

  Annie pulled open a glass door with KXIF and “Sound of the Adirondacks” printed on it in black letters. Behind the empty reception desk, a dog barked.

  “Hey, Dolly.” Annie dug in her sweater pocket and pulled out a treat.

  A white dog with brown spots bounded over, wagged its tail, and took the snack from Annie’s open palm.

  “Dolly?” Seth took a step back and bumped into one of the two gray-upholstered chairs that flanked a small table stacked with magazines. He’d never had a dog. His grandparents hadn’t let him have one when he was a kid, and his adult life had been too busy for pets.

  “Jake was a huge Dolly Parton fan. He had every album she made. The radio booth is over there.” Annie gestured across a short expanse of beige carpet toward the corner of a glass-enclosed studio. “The morning show ends at ten, and then it’s the farm report before the Lunchtime Jukebox. That’s the oldies show I told you about. The staff can’t wait to meet you. They all have other jobs so they come in and out.”

  “What about the receptionist?” Seth glanced at the empty desk. A fluffy pink sweater was draped over the back of the desk chair and a pair of fluorescent green-framed glasses sat beside the computer.

  “Oh, Sherri will be back in an hour or so. Her dad has Alzheimer’s and she takes him to a special singing group every Wednesday morning.”

  “But what about phone calls? Like from a listener or someone who wants to buy an advertising slot?” Seth tried to keep his voice level. How could you run a business if your receptionist wasn’t there during working hours? “And what if someone comes in? She left the door unlocked.”

  “Everybody around here knows about Sherri’s dad, so they wouldn’t call right now. But even if someone did, Sherri forwards the phone to the bakery while she’s out. She works part-time reception and does cleaning for the station and a couple of other local businesses too. She’s the most honest person ever, so she makes up the time and more. Anyway, most people leave their doors unlocked here, at least during the day.” Annie’s voice was laced with what sounded like laughter. “Small-town life.”

  He wasn’t a small-town guy, but even the most sophisticated security system money could buy hadn’t protected him from the kind of theft and betrayal that was more insidious—an inside job. Seth’s stomach twisted and he looked at Dolly, who nosed his boots. “Dolly was Jake’s dog?”

  The dog whined, and the mournful sound reverberated in Seth’s chest.

  “She sure was, and she’s grieving for Jake. I’ve been looking after her, but I can’t keep her in the bakery, and I have cats who don’t like dogs at home.” Annie shook the key ring and extracted a silver key. “Besides, Dolly’s happier here. I think she feels closer to Jake.”

  “What kind of dog is she?” Seth studied the animal at his feet, who looked back at him with woebegone brown eyes.

  “A mutt with a whole lot of hound is what Jake called her.” Annie bent and rubbed Dolly’s floppy ears. “He found her by the falls two summers ago. He advertised, but nobody claimed her. Maybe Jake needed her as much as she needed him.”

  “And now?” Seth flinched as the dog’s brown gaze turned hopeful.

  “She’s yours.” Annie moved away from the reception desk, and he followed her down a carpeted hall that ended at a wood-paneled door. “Jake wanted you to give her a home.” She turned the key in the lock and the door swung open.

  Seth rubbed a hand across the back of his neck as Dolly bounced up to him and nosed his boots again. He wasn’t going to take on Jake’s radio station. And he wasn’t going to take on a dog, either. Along with selling the station, he’d find Dolly a nice family. A few kids to play with would perk her up in no time.

  “Jake didn’t have a lot of things. My mom and some other folks in town gave him most of the furniture after he rented the apartment. His home was a place to sleep, eat, and do whatever woodworking project he had on the go. He was a good carpenter and most people around here have something he made for them or their kids.” Annie flipped a switch on the wall, and a ceiling light went on. “Except from coming in to empty the fridge of perishables and water the plants, I haven’t touched anything.”

  Seth glanced around the compact living area. A red plaid sofa sat along one wall, with a coffee table in front. A vintage dinette set was in front of a window flanked by two spider plants with a simple wooden chest of drawers to one side. Yet, the simplicity was deceptive. Even from ten feet away, the piece bore the imprint of a master craftsman. In fact, it was similar to a cabinet Seth had admired a few months before in a high-end furniture store in LA.

  “The last time I saw Jake I was seven. I don’t know why he left me his radio station or his dog. I didn’t even know where he was until that attorney tracked me down.” And he’d tried to not think about Jake, either. Or those sultry Southern evenings when, as his mom had gotten sicker and sicker, he and Jake had built a clu
bhouse in the shelter of a giant oak draped with Spanish moss—an oasis of safety in a big and scary world.

  Annie’s blue eyes softened. “You must have meant a lot to him. He also left you his guitar.” She opened a closet and took out a battered case. “This guitar was Jake’s most prized possession.”

  Seth swallowed the unexpected lump of emotion as more memories surfaced. “Jake visited my mom and me a couple of times a year. I remember he had a guitar. He’d play it for us.” That ramshackle carriage house in the old part of Savannah his mom had rented from a friend of a friend was where Seth had spent the happiest years of his childhood.

  A gentle smile spread across Annie’s face. “Jake was a wonderful musician. He could play anything. He asked me to bring his guitar to the hospital. It’s a Gibson. He said it gave him comfort. He played right up to the day before he died.” Her voice was reverent.

  Seth made himself reach out and take the guitar case from her. Then he knelt to open it and take the guitar out. He cleared his throat. “It’s the same guitar he had all those years ago.” He ran his hand across the gleaming soundboard and then caught up a rosewood pick and held it tight.

  An image flashed into his mind as clear as if it had been yesterday. He’d sat on Jake’s lap in the carriage house kitchen, the Christmas he was six, the year before his mom passed. Jake had shown him how to hold this same guitar and where to put his fingers on the strings. Together, they’d made sounds that weren’t like any Seth had ever heard before. In the circle of Jake’s strong arms, something in Seth’s soul had shifted and changed.

  Then his mom had smiled, and Jake smiled back and launched into a song like the ones Seth heard on the radio that sat on the scarred kitchen counter. His mom’s high voice blended with Jake’s lower one, and Seth had clapped along in time to the music. And happiness—along with a new and unexpected sense of completeness—had swelled inside Seth.

  “You need some time. I’ll leave you alone.” Annie’s voice pulled him back to the present.

  “Wait.” He set the pick back in the case and got to his feet. “How did Jake die? The lawyer didn’t say.” And he hadn’t asked, too caught up in his own life to wonder about the end of someone else’s.

  “Lung cancer.” Annie’s voice cracked. “He was never a smoker, at least not when I knew him, but he played a lot of clubs before he came here. Maybe secondhand smoke from years ago, that’s what the doctor said. It was quick.” Her bottom lip trembled. “At first, he didn’t tell us he was sick. He was a private guy.”

  Seth exhaled, and Dolly edged closer to his legs and whined again, a cross between a cry and a groan. He couldn’t let himself think about Jake. Or about all the other losses that had led him here, to this woman with the kind eyes tinged with unexpected wariness. He had to move forward. “I plan to sell the station. I should have a buyer lined up in the next few weeks. I’ve already put out feelers to a couple of media companies.”

  And once he talked to the lawyer and dealt with the paperwork, he’d be out of here. Then he could reconnect with his son and he’d get back in the game with his career, too.

  Songwriting had been good to him before and it could be good to him again. Not only did it more than pay the bills, it had enabled him to care for his son and make a home for the two of them, things he couldn’t have done if he’d stuck with his teenage dream of being on the road with a band.

  “Media companies. You mean chains?

  He nodded.

  “But this is a small, locally-owned station. Jake . . . that was important to him. He wanted to have a trusting, personal relationship with his listeners. Local content for local people and local advertisers too.” Annie’s tone was cool, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  Seth took a deep breath. “I understand, but I talked to some of my contacts in New York City and LA and, these days, small local stations are an anomaly. Most aren’t commercially viable, either. Any chain would still serve the local market with news and weather, but you’d get more programs and more support too. There’s what? A few thousand people in this town? In Buffalo and—”

  “Irish Falls isn’t Buffalo and bigger isn’t always better.” Her voice had a sharp edge he hadn’t expected. “I take it you haven’t seen Jake’s will yet?”

  “No, all the attorney said was Jake left me the station and I had to come here to go through the paperwork and instructions.” And his uncle’s unexpected generosity meant he’d have more than enough money to tide him over until he found his muse again. He’d had dry spells before. He’d dealt with sharks before too. And each time, he’d bounced back stronger than ever.

  Dolly sat on Seth’s feet and draped her tail across the guitar case like a furry white scarf.

  “Jake left instructions all right.” Annie’s voice was low and had a telling quaver. “You can’t sell the station and claim the proceeds unless you run it for six months. He also wanted you to give Dolly a home for life.”

  “What?” Seth took a step back, and Dolly yelped. “What kind of will is that?” He bent to give the dog an awkward pat. He had nothing against this dog or any other, but a pet was a big commitment and he wasn’t good at commitment. Besides, did his condo even allow pets?

  “Jake’s will.” Annie’s mouth got tight. “You have to run—”

  “I heard you, but there has to be some way out.” Seth rubbed the back of his neck and moved to the window that overlooked the falls. The roaring sound was even louder there. “The lawyer will have to find a loophole. What was Jake thinking? I can’t stay here for six months. My life’s in LA. Apart from high school and when I first moved to California, I haven’t worked in radio broadcasting for years. Besides, what am I supposed to do in a place like this? It’s pretty, sure, but . . .” He stopped and stared out the window.

  Tall trees with thick trunks lined a street that ran downhill from the falls toward a river bisected by a swing bridge. A small stone church nestled into trees on the other side of the falls beyond a park with a baseball diamond and war memorial. Multi-colored clapboard houses encircled by white picket fences had kids’ bikes and skateboards propped out front. Laundry danced in the breeze on clotheslines framed by a bright blue sky. The whole vista was as picture perfect, small-town America as the scenes on the decorative plates his grandmother had collected and displayed in the shadowy dining room of her big house in Savannah.

  He turned back to Annie. She’d picked up Dolly and held the dog in front of her like a shield. Although her mouth still trembled, her expression was carefully blank. “Jake updated his will a week before he died. I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t know about you then.” Her voice was low. “And I don’t know what he was thinking. Maybe he wasn’t thinking. I mean, it would be strange for a guy like you to stay here . . .” She stopped. “If you don’t want the station, the attorney and I will sell it and the proceeds will go to charity. It’s your choice.”

  It was. And in Seth’s suddenly way-too-complicated life, the radio station, the dog, and even the woman standing in front of him, with a haunted expression in her eyes that hit him like a punch in the gut, were all complications he didn’t need.

  Chapter 2

  “Hannah Geraldine Quinn. If I have to ask you one more time . . .” Annie raised her voice above the Carrie Underwood song that blared from Hannah’s bedroom.

  “What?” Her sixteen-year-old daughter’s strawberry-blonde head appeared over the railing at the top of the stairs. “I already told you I’m busy.”

  “I’m busy too, and I need your help.” Annie gripped the newel post as she mentally counted to five. “There are two of us in this family, and dinner won’t cook itself.”

  Hannah’s head disappeared, followed an instant later by silence, and then the clump of her feet across the upstairs hall and down the stairs. “I have a ton of homework. I shouldn’t have to he
lp make dinner.”

  “You’ve been at school all day. I’ve hardly seen you.” As Hannah reached her, Annie smoothed the curls that tumbled over her daughter’s shoulders.

  Hannah let out a sigh before she gave Annie a one-armed hug. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Together they moved through the front hall to the kitchen at the back of the house. Annie had painted the room a warm gray and lined pots of red and white geraniums on the broad windowsill to catch the afternoon sun.

  “I hate it when you call me Geraldine. It’s an old lady’s name.” Hannah reached for the head of lettuce and several tomatoes Annie had set out on the countertop.

  “It’s because of your Nana Geraldine we have this house to live in.”

  And not a day went by that Annie didn’t miss her grandmother. Although nobody in the big-hearted Quinn family had judged when she’d come back from her freshman year of college pregnant with Hannah and no husband or boyfriend in tow, it was widowed Nana Gerry who’d suggested she move in with her under the guise she needed company. And with gentle love and understanding, it was Nana Gerry who’d helped Annie put the broken pieces of her life back together.

  “You’ve told me that like a gazillion times.” Hannah pulled a paring knife out of a drawer. “It’s great Nana left us her house, but couldn’t you have given me a different name? I don’t even remember her.”