The Bluebird Bet

“And you think this place can give you what you need?” The doubt in his voice was clear. Dean tried not to take it personally, because he wasn’t fully convinced himself.

They both heard the crunch of gravel down the washed-out road.

“Guess she’s here.” His father squeezed his shoulder again. “We’ll figure it out, son.” Dean hoped to convince them both that letting him have the Bluebird was the best decision, but the right words wouldn’t come.

“Just meet her. I’ll show her how run-down the inn is. Might be enough to convince her she’d like to build her own house somewhere nearby. We could be neighbors, and everyone’s happy.” His father didn’t look like he believed that, though.

“Hard to imagine another space like this anywhere, Dad.” Dean was relieved to be on firmer emotional footing. His father whistled as they walked up the hill to the overgrown yard.

When the car door shut on a sensible gray four-door sedan, Dean watched the doctor, if she was a doctor, tiptoe carefully through the gravel in sandals that had no business outside the city streets. Instead of scrubs or a white coat, she was wearing a sundress. She looked like a model for a beachside getaway. Obviously, she’d dressed for the old Bluebird Bed-and-Breakfast. If she’d known about today’s disaster, she’d be wearing work boots or mourning. Either way, she was not prepared for what she was about to see.

Didn’t mean she wasn’t pretty in a very serious, very studious kind of way. Her dark glasses perched on the end of her nose, and her hair was twisted up on top of her head. Except for the setting, she could be out for brunch with the ladies.

“Hi. I hope I’m not late, Mr. Collins,” she said breathlessly as she stepped into the grass in front of the porch. “Beautiful day for a drive.”

“Shoulda warned you about the road. You could have called me from the highway to save your car a little wear and tear.” His father propped his hands on his hips. Dean had seen the pose a few hundred times. It was the one his father struck when he was carefully assessing the situation.

“Oh, it’s not so bad.” She held out her hand. “I’m Elaine, Dr. Watson. It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

Caught off guard, Dean grasped her hand in his. She surprised him again when she gave it a firm shake and then dropped it as though it was too hot to hold.

“What do you think?” his father asked. “Not quite what you remembered, is it?” The uncertainty on his father’s face had a few defensive comments popping to mind, but before Dean could get any of them ready to fire, she said, “I love it.”

She slowly stepped forward as if she was drawn toward the building, being towed in by a mixture of old memories and the charm of the faded wraparound porch.

“I can’t believe it’s taken this long to come back,” Elaine said quietly. “Only good manners have kept me from showing up on your doorstep, Mr. Collins.”

His father laughed. “And crazy hours, double shifts and patients who need you have no doubt hampered your ability to explore.” She smiled at his father over her shoulder and instead of being the enemy out to build a better offer than anything he could put together, she was a beautiful woman. A beautiful, happy woman in a breezy sundress posed in front of the old farmhouse as though she was a model spokesperson to sell relaxing vacations. She seemed to fit the landscape perfectly and at the same time made him wonder what it would be like to be the man who put the smile on her face.

That smile was dangerous. Land-mine dangerous.

Determined to get things back on track, and Dr. Elaine Watson chugging down the washed-out road as quickly as possible, Dean roughly cleared his throat. “Well, you’re here now. Might as well get the whole tired picture.”

When she turned her eyes to him, he was thankful for the glass lenses, which were probably the only things saving him from incineration. She didn’t miss a thing, and as she assessed him from head to toe, he was aware again that he’d dressed as if his only choices were in the Lost and Found. “Sorry. If I’d known we were having company, I’d have put on my dress flip-flops.”

Dr. Watson didn’t like him, didn’t want to like him, and the sharp eyes of a competitor were easy to see. She was here to win. When his father frowned at him, Dean almost apologized, but then her cool smile made him double down. She obviously had her act together while everything about him was scattered across the globe. She could put up with ratty flip-flops for a few minutes.

But her charmed smile and the way his father stepped up to offer her his arm made it crystal clear how weak his own position was. He followed them up the steps and watched the doctor spin around to take in the view, the best part of the Bluebird Bed-and-Breakfast. The inn was situated on a peaceful cove of Spring Lake, so there wasn’t much traffic close to the shore. It felt like the three of them were the only people on the planet. The falling-down boat slips ruined the view a little, but he could picture them the way his mother had insisted: clean with fresh paint, a shiny red metal roof on top and an American flag blowing in the breeze.

Since his plan was to run the whole place as a fishing camp, restoring the docks and adding a small marina store would be his first project. Fishermen didn’t really need fresh paint or new carpet, but they had to have a spot to keep the boat.

“I could stay right here all day,” Elaine said and stretched her arms out wide.

“Not much excitement compared to your waiting room or the emergency clinic,” his father answered.

“That’s why I need it.” Elaine glanced at Dean and then quickly looked away, probably to see if he understood her motivation. He did. But she and her...neatness were annoying.

He propped his hands on his hips and studied the view. Somehow the restlessness eased while he was standing here, looking past the overgrown yard to the calm waters of Spring Lake. Had to be the setting. The company was not soothing at all. Maybe the magic of home was finally starting to work.

“Let’s see the inside,” Elaine said and towed his father to the ancient screen door. The paint, which had once been a bright blue, was peeling, but it could be restored easily. That door fit the character of the Bluebird perfectly even if the pop as it slammed shut could make him jerk as if he’d heard a gunshot.

His father opened the door, and they stepped inside. The view was not inspiring. Dry, scratched hardwoods that had gleamed like mirrors when his mother ran the place, wallpaper that was in excellent shape if twenty years out of date and dust-covered furniture. His father used only the living quarters upstairs, so the bottom floor was frozen in time. Preserved, but not alive.

Except for the kitchen.

As he trailed the exploration party, he heard Elaine say, “Well, it looks like it could use some updating. Do all the appliances work?”

He’d had the same question. As far as he could tell, his father lived on cereal and sandwiches. As long as the refrigerator was running, he was set. The fact that she didn’t make a big deal out of the biggest deal said something about how Dr. Watson played the game.

“Yep, stove, fridge, whatever’s here works.” His dad ran a hand through his hair as if he wasn’t quite sure how to address the most obvious problem in the room. “And all the cabinets...well...”

There wasn’t much to say about that. The fact that they were all missing made it clear what he was talking about.

“I decided it was silly to have the old Bluebird sitting empty, but I knew reopening was going to take some renovation.” His dad shrugged.

“So you started with the kitchen.” Elaine nodded as if she approved. “And are you going to—” she waved a hand vaguely “—finish?”

“Nah, I remembered why I hadn’t taken on any DIY projects in twenty-plus years.” His father opened the refrigerator door to show the good doctor that it was fully functional.

When Elaine glanced at him for help, Dean had to shrug his shoulders. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him, either, but he’d had some time for the state of the kitchen to sink in.

“Why is that, Mr. Collins?” She tilted her head to the side as if she was so very curious about why anyone would leave a kitchen torn up like this one. It was a valid question.

“I hate DIY projects.” His father grimaced. “That’s why I didn’t do them when Martha was alive and why I had no problem letting everything ride after she died. Eventually, even the regulars started staying at the chain hotel in Lawrence.” He toed the peeling linoleum. “I purely hate construction of any kind. Been running the place so long, it was nice to have a vacation. All that money we saved for someday, when we could retire to see the world, kept the lights on. And I’d rather fish. So I did.”

“Because you could,” Dean added. “I don’t blame you a bit. And you should say that Mom wouldn’t let you tackle any home improvements.”

Then he leaned closer to the doctor. “Very bad for his blood pressure and hers, if I recall correctly.” He was irritated she didn’t at least smile in return. He hadn’t spent a lot of time charming women lately, but surely he hadn’t completely lost his touch. If she liked him, maybe she’d back off, drop her offer.

Her small frown was cuter than it should be. Dr. Elaine Watson was obviously conscientious if a mention of his dad’s blood pressure could concern her even on her days off.

“Do you still have the cabinets?” she asked as she turned away from Dean. “Maybe I could get someone to put them back in.” The look she shot him suggested that maybe he should have already taken care of it. Dean considered his father and wondered if there was more to the story than he knew. Why was she giving him a glare that said, “Why aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“Hey, I’m not all that handy myself,” Dean said with a laugh. “That must be genetic, but we could hire someone to put the cabinets in. I’m sure they’re exactly what I need when I open the Tall Pines Fish Camp.”

“Fish camp?” Elaine wrinkled her nose as if she could already pick up a whiff of lake water and fish scales. “What a waste of this space.”

Annoyed again, Dean sent a pointed look around the gutted kitchen. “Or maybe exactly the right solution. Fishermen don’t need granite countertops. I could have this place up and running in no time.”

Elaine’s snort stopped him in his tracks. His father tried to hide a grin behind a cough. “Did I say something funny?”

“I’m sure they’re going to love the antiques in the front room and the morning-glory wallpaper that covers your entry.”

Morning glories. Finally! He’d been racking his brain to try to remember what the blue flowers were. His mother had loved them and babied a couple of vines in her garden. He wondered if they’d survived the neglect.

Dean was determined to ignore the doctor’s very good point. He would have to get a bigger television and some comfortable chairs. If he recalled correctly, most of the furniture in the front room looked like reproductions from an era when people were smaller and chair legs could be much fussier.

“Maybe the kitchen would work for your fish camp,” she said with a grimace, “but I bet I could open before you would.”