Recipe for Eagle Cove, page 15
“Have you accepted yet?”
“Have I—” Well, he hadn’t actually. Not in so many words. He’d thanked them when they took him out to lunch at the club yesterday, but he hadn’t actually said yes. “Why? Do you have a better idea?”
The Judge laced his fingers together as he always did when delivering a verdict, whether from the bench or at the dinner table. This time he kept his two forefingers pointed outward and tapped the tips together as he only did when he was uncertain of his choice of words.
“Just spit it out, Dad.”
He grimaced, but stopped with the finger tapping. “There is an upcoming election for the 17th District Circuit Court in Newport, Oregon. There is a certain gentleman who is running uncontested for my old seat who is…”
“An incompetent boob?” Harry offered into the Judge’s silence. His father had notoriously little patience for weak judges.
“An ambulance chaser has more savvy.”
“It’s way past time to file even if I wanted to be on the ballot.”
“And yet you have retained your membership in the Oregon State Bar.” An easy fact for the Judge to look up. It simply surprised Harry that his father had cared enough to do so. Yet he’d cared enough to travel all the way to New Orleans.
“Fought too hard to earn it, just to let it go.”
“You are a sensible man.” The Judge managed to say it without sounding too condescending.
“And you’d suggest that I do this how?” He was actually rather flattered that his father would suggest Harry run for his old seat. Actually, it was tempting. Perhaps even very tempting.
The Judge slipped a large envelope across the table.
Harry opened it and half expected a snake to jump out at him.
Instead there was a campaign sign. Eye-catching. Sharp design.
Vote Slater for Judge (Write it in!)
“Your sister-in-law’s work,” the Judge nodded approvingly.
“But she hates me. Told me so at length on the phone.” However, it was a chance to help dispense justice rather than spending his life trying to trick it. It would be a huge cut in pay, but he lived the high life now and it had done less for him than… Than a week with Becky Billings.
“Yes, Jessica is a passionate woman.” The Judge pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and handed it to Harry while it was still ringing.
Oh no!
“Hi, Jessica!” Harry tried to put on a cheery tone, then winced in preparation for the reply.
“Idiot! Natalya and I still want to beat you purple!”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
Jessica huffed at him over the phone. “But if you love Becky—”
“I do!” And the statement shocked him into silence but didn’t slow Jessica down for a second.
“I know that, idiot brother-in-law, I’m just glad that you finally do. Okay, here’s the plan that I have put together so far.” And Jessica began rattling off promotions, ads campaigns, appearances at grange halls and Kiwanis meetings, and more that he couldn’t even begin to follow. “You’re kicking off your campaign on Sunday at Salmon Days, so you’d better get back here by then.” As if his compliance was a foregone conclusion.
And Jessica was gone.
Harry slowly handed the phone back to his father.
“That is a very determined woman.”
“She is,” the Judge agreed.
“I like that in a woman,” because he’d never met a more determined woman than Becky Billings.
“So do I,” his father nodded, obviously talking about the new woman in his life.
Oddly, for once, Harry didn’t need to prepare a thing to make his decision. The jury didn’t even have to leave the room for him to know his own verdict.
Chapter 12
Becky knew something was up. But she didn’t have time to think about what it might be. This week had been both wonderful and horrid beyond imagining.
Among the worst moments was that she’d been able to overhear what Jessica had yelled to poor Harry’s voicemail over the phone. She loved her friend, and appreciated her staunch heartfelt support, but Harry had done nothing to deserve it. He had promised nothing and in so many ways given her everything.
All of the good things this week had kept her too busy to hurt for long.
After a few calls around, she’d hired Alex away from Cal Jr. “Let’s hope he makes a better brewer than he did a baker,” had been Cal’s gruff statement after practically forcing Alex on her with high recommendations. The 5B Brewery had finally grown beyond anything she could manage herself. Alex drove deliveries, picked up product, and helped her with the heavy hauling work around the brewery. He seemed genuinely excited by the process. But even with his help, it had been a miracle that she’d been ready for Salmon Days at Eagle Cove.
The tasting room had been swamped, and not just with tourists. Four different pubs and three restaurants over in The Valley had come in for a tasting and left her with their cards to contact them about standing orders after Salmon Days was over. Peggy would have normally pitched in to help, but she’d been assisting Greg over at The Puffin Diner for most of the week. And now that it was the weekend, she had flights booked for almost every minute of daylight.
Becky had managed to corner her friend briefly over pie this morning, but Peggy had been very close-mouthed about why the Judge was out of town, suspiciously so. However, she had been completely open about how she and the Judge had hooked up. Becky had just assumed it was Peggy’s doing, but couldn’t be more wrong.
He’d come out to the airport one day over a month ago, with no one the wiser, and asked for a plane flight. He’d brought a picnic lunch and they’d landed on the sand of a remote cove.
It was hard to picture the Judge wooing a woman, but it sounded as if he’d done an excellent job of it, plying her with Becky’s non-alcoholic cider, and homemade crab sandwiches.
“He spent a whole month courting me. It was only after I spoke to you on last Friday,” she had the decency to offer a sympathetic squeeze of Becky’s hand, “that I realized he was waiting for me to take the final initiative. ‘Woman’s prerogative,’ was all he said when I asked. He doesn’t say much, but the way he says it…” Peggy had looked very pleased with the results. “He was a little flustered that you caught on. You’re the one who outed us.”
“But I didn’t tell a soul.”
“No, but you proved to him that secrecy was not so crucial. He’s not demonstrative, except in private, though he’s very demonstrative there.”
Becky offered the best smile she had, and struggled not to think of Harry. He too had been demonstrative and he hadn’t been shy about being seen with her in public. Except now he was back in New Orleans.
The Saturday afternoon crowd had cleared out all the cases of two flavors entirely. She was trying to calculate if she had time to run a couple of batches through the bottler when Jessica and Natalya dropped by.
“Natya! I didn’t know you were back in town for this.”
“Just managed to get in. How’s the knee?”
“Doc says that I was so good about wearing the big brace that I can probably lose it permanently Monday. Then I’ve got six weeks of physical therapy, but I should be good. I hate to ask this, but can you finish up here in the tasting room? I’ve got to get some bottling done.”
Jessica and Natalya didn’t even hesitate, they both jumped right in and shooed her off.
She came up behind each one and hugged them hard for a moment, “I love you both so much.”
“Likewise, champ. Now go!”
Becky hurried back into the brewery and after about twenty minutes had the bottler running her Rushing River Stout into dark brown glass with her trademark bluebird-colored caps.
There was a clack and rattle as the bottles were jostled into position, filled under pressure, and capped. The labeler made a smooth slick sound and she taught Alex how to slide them into cases.
Peggy and Greg showed up while she was checking the progress of the next batch in the malt tun.
“Aren’t you guys busy?”
“Dinner at The Puffin isn’t for a couple of hours,” Greg poked at a couple of gauges that he obviously knew nothing about. “I’m taking a quick break. Thought I’d come out and see my wife.”
Peggy just drifted over and started inspecting the gauges on the CCV tanks, knowing exactly what she was looking at. The two of them often geeked together over plane engines and the brewing process. She soon had a wrench and was tightening fittings on the whirlpool filter that Becky had been meaning to get to all week. Peggy made her feel calmer just by being here.
Tiffany wandered in, which was unheard of on a Saturday. In her typically odd way, she simply sat on the couch and without a word pulled out her knitting. Even though it was Saturday rather than Friday, others soon joined her: Gina, Marjorie…
Becky didn’t have a moment to go over and ask what was going on, not with the bottler running. The machine was awfully fussy and had to be watched over like a hawk to keep it running smoothly. She started teaching Alex the tricks to making it behave.
Jessica came in the back, “Crowd is thinning in the tasting room. Natya’s shooing the last ones out the door.”
“Thank heavens!” Becky loved the income she’d just received. She’d probably banked the next month of Alex’s salary just from the sales that the tasting room had generated, but she really needed for everything to just slow down for a moment. Tomorrow was going to be even crazier.
“Someone just handed me this,” Natalya came in and shoved an envelope into Becky’s hands.
There was no address or marking.
She started to pull it out and swore. It was a legal document with the line numbers down the side and the header block of a lawsuit title.
“I don’t have time for whatever this is.” She really, really didn’t want to know what else had just gone wrong with her life.
She tossed it aside.
Jessica retrieved it and shoved it back into her hands.
Becky groaned in protest, but pulled it out from the envelope and began reading.
“Pleading for Forgiveness,” she read aloud. “What?”
“Keep going,” Peggy prompted, suddenly at her elbow.
“The party of the first part, hereinafter named Harold Davis Slater…” Becky lost her breath and leaned back against the copper cooking kettle. It was warm. She’d started heating it earlier so that it would be up to temperature as soon as the mash was ready for cooking.
Natalya snatched the document from her nerveless fingers and continued reading aloud, “…hereby petitions the party of the second part, hereinafter named Becky Billings—fool doesn’t even know that you’re really Rebecca—for consideration of this motion being placed before the court.”
Becky would have slid to the floor if she hadn’t been wearing the big leg brace which kept her pinned upright with her back against the kettle.
“Do you want me to keep going?”
“Yes!” About half the people shouted, which was good, because Becky couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The brewery felt so full with her friends all about her.
“How about if I finish it?” The Judge’s deep voice sounded from the back of the crowd that had gathered. He moved up to stand beside Peggy.
“No,” Harry stepped around him. “Let me.”
Becky couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe. She could only watch as Harry stepped into the brewery.
“It has been pointed out during a long drive across the country,” Harry scowled at his father, but Becky could see there was humor behind it. “That counsel is not the sharpest lawyer there is. That title obviously goes to Dylan McDermott.”
Becky almost choked herself on a half laugh.
Harry kept coming. Other than the bottler rattling away in the background, the room was dead silent.
“But he begs the court to consider the changed circumstances.”
“What—” Becky had to cough to clear her throat. “What changed circumstances?”
“First,” Harry came to a stop and took her hands. He held them tightly, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles.
Even that simple gesture sent shivers up her spine. Really good shivers filled with hope.
“I appear to be the hot write-in candidate for the 17th District Circuit Court.”
“Which is where?”
Harry smiled down at her, “Which is here. Newport anyway, but very commutable as my father proved for years.”
Becky couldn’t even breathe so it was a good thing that Harry continued without prompting.
“Second,” and he kept her hands in his as he knelt so that she was the one looking down at him. “In front of these good friends and this copper kettle, I wish to state that I love you.”
She could feel the tears running. They were the kind of tears with which a beer should be flavored. It gave her a recipe idea for a new brew that she’d think about later.
“Please, Becky Billings, please tell me that you’ll have me, for without you, I’m lost.”
Becky leaned back against the kettle, letting the warmth radiate through her and chase away the chill that had sunk into her body all week and threatened to freeze her heart forever.
“The court has a condition, Counselor.”
He smiled up at her, “Name it. Anything.”
And Becky knew that was true.
“The court demands,” and she brushed a hand through his hair, before cupping his cheek and coaxing him back to his feet.
“The court demands that you kiss her here and now to prove your intent.”
And Harry pressed her back against the warm copper and kissed her as the room erupted with cheers and applause.
If you enjoyed this, you might also enjoy:
Longing for Eagle Cove (excerpt)
“This is…different.” Natalya Lamont had been to a number of friends’ weddings, but none like this.
“But it is very Becky,” her mother agreed. That had them both smiling because it was absolutely true.
The double wedding, which appeared to be the first in Eagle Cove’s history, held in what had once been Becky’s father’s cow barn, added an extra layer of merry confusion to the event. The best man for both weddings was the same person—one groom’s brother and the other groom’s son, as it was to be a father-son double wedding this actually made some form of common sense. Greg’s brother Harry was marrying Becky and his father, three years after his wife’s death, was also marrying again.
Natalya had come down from Portland to the Oregon Coast for the weekend to help set up and decorate, and it was going to be surprising…surprisingly wonderful.
The reception after the pending ceremonies would make this an even more Becky-esque event. She was a top craft-beer brewer, so there was beer rather than champagne. In addition to being best man twice, Becky had twisted Greg’s arm (which hadn’t needed much twisting), to cater it. His restaurant had just been named the best on the entire coast, making both the Whale Cove Inn and the Heceta Head Lighthouse Bed & Breakfast rather tiffy, and promise of his food might have helped account for the amazing turnout.
But most especially of all, the barn setting that was no longer a barn was completely Becky.
A classic January storm was rattling the Oregon Coast hard with intense winds and curtains of lashing rain. Eagle Cove in mid-winter didn’t offer a lot of venues for weddings.
The Grange Hall—which for a while had also doubled as the Unitarian Church (which now held service in The Flicker movie theater)—had recently been converted into dog kennels and a training area for Catbird Service Assistance Dogs. Catbird had offered the use of the training space which was big enough, but since it smelled of wet dog…
Her mom’s grand Victorian B&B, commanding the head of the beach, had hosted weddings in the past but couldn’t accommodate the scale of Becky’s. It seemed as if half the town had turned out for the doubled nuptials today. So maybe the draw was more than Greg’s food.
“Doubt if you’d get a dozen people at my wedding,” Natalya whispered to her mother as they waited for the first ceremony to begin.
Her mother threw her head back and laughed. Gina Lamont had the best laugh; she always gave in to it completely. The people around them joined in with bright smiles even though they couldn’t have heard the conversation. Mom’s laugh just did that to people. Natalya had always envied her mother’s laugh.
“You’ll have more than you think, dear. We’ll invite Becky and she’ll bring her friends.”
“Thanks a lot, Mom.”
“That is if you bother to marry one,” her mother plowed on completely ignoring Natalya’s sarcastic tone. “You know my advice.”
She did. Her father, only ever referred to as “That Unholy Disaster,” had been gone before Natalya was born and her mother had never remarried. A few months ago a stray comment had made Natalya suspicious enough to ask whether or not they’d ever been married in the first place. Her mother had slyly avoided answering by wielding a fresh batch of her irresistible macadamia nut-chocolate chip muffins.
She turned to ask again now, but at that moment Becky’s mom, who was as short, blond, and buxom as the bride, made her way between Natalya and her mother like they were pool table bumpers.
“Sorry,” she gasped out and waved a cherry-flavored ChapStick as an excuse before plunging back into the crowded “bride’s room.”
The main room for the wedding was packed, but the smaller space where the two brides were getting ready was utter mayhem. Natalya and her mom had retreated to the big side-sliding door that opened into the main area just to avoid being trampled by the herd. There was no questioning Becky’s power to win people over.
