Page 112 of A Soldier's Return

“Sage! There you are! I’ve been trying to catch you all week.”

She groaned at the perky voice ringing through the center. Damn Eben Spencer anyway! If she hadn’t been so distracted by thoughts of him, she might have been able to employ her usual tactics to avoid Tracy Harder. Now she had nowhere safe to go.

“Hi, Tracy. How are you?”

The other woman beamed at her. “Just great. I got the listings for two new properties today, right next to each other in Manzanita. They’re half a block from the ocean and ought to move fast. So how were my two little terrors?”

She forced a smile. Tracy had been bringing her twins to camp for three years, ever since they turned old enough to attend, and right around the time their parents divorced.

The boyswereterrors but she liked to chalk it up to high energy, not maliciousness.

“We had a great day today. I tried to keep them too busy to get into trouble.”

“You are amazing with them, Sage. Thanks for putting up with them every year. I just wish you had camp year-round. I’d pull them out of school in a heartbeat and sign them up to every session.”

Sage managed to contain a slight shudder. Fortunately, Tracy didn’t require an answer before she went on. “So, let’s talk,” she said abruptly. “Brambleberry House.”

Though she mentally groaned, she managed to keep a polite expression. “We’ve had this discussion already, Tracy. Several times. And nothing has changed at all since the last time we discussed it. I’m sorry, but Anna and I aren’t selling.”

“You two are crazy! Do you realize how much I can ask for a fifteen-room mansion on the beach? The place is a gold mine! With a little creative investment, you and Anna could be set for life.”

“We can’t do that, Tracy. I’m sorry, but Abigail would have hated to see us sell it.”

“Abigail is not the one who will have to deal with all the repairs and the property taxes and the gigantic utility bills. Do you want to be tied to that house for the rest of your life?”

She had a brief, stark image of living forever in her turret apartment, growing old like Abigail, alone except for a big furry red dog who had been rescued from the pound.

A week ago, she would have found that image comforting. She wanted nothing more than to emulate Abigail, to be as feisty and independent as her friend for the rest of her days.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore. Her old childhood dreams of having a family of her own, born out of empty loneliness, had somehow re-emerged.

“You need to think long and hard about this,” Tracy pressed. “I know you’re still grieving for Abigail—we all are—but you’re a young, beautiful woman. Trust me, someday you’re going to want options.”

She opened her mouth to answer but Tracy cut her off. “I’ve got a couple of Portland clients looking for a property for a bed and breakfast in town. Brambleberry House would be perfect. They have money to spare and I’m sure we could push the asking price well into seven figures. Talk to Anna about it. You have to!”

Sage shook her head. “No, Tracy. We’re not selling.”

The other woman’s attention suddenly caught at something in the doorway, at the same time a tiny shiver skittered down Sage’s spine.

Tracy’s eyes widened and she let out a long breath. “Oh. My. Word. Who’s the yummy guy? No, don’t turn around.”

She didn’t need to turn around to know who it must be. Since this session of camp contained mostly local children, Tracy had to know all their parents—except one.

“How can I know who it is if you won’t let me turn around to look?” she asked.

Tracy’s eyes widened. “He’s coming this way! Unless my eyes deceive me—and I don’t think they do, trust me, I’ve got radar for these things—I can’t see a ring. How’s my hair?”

Sage studied her polished friend. Her makeup was perfect and not a strand of her highlighted blonde hair dared escape its trendy style.

In contrast, Sage didn’t need a mirror to tell her what she must look like. Her dratted hair was probably falling out of the ponytail again, her skin felt tight and itchy, probably from a slight sunburn, and she didn’t doubt she smelled as if she’d been chasing thirteen active elementary school students all day.

She sighed. “You look beautiful, as always.”

“Liar!” Tracy purred, then her white teeth widened and she thrust out a hand, complete with the French manicure Sage knew she drove to Astoria to get and no trace of a callus or wrinkle.

“Hi there. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Tracy Harder with Harder Realty. Welcome to Cannon Beach! Are you a summer visitor or are you moving in? Before you answer, let me just say how much I sincerely hope it’s the latter. We just love new faces around here, don’t we, Sage?”

“Uh, sure.”

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