Chapter 3

three

"I demand a retrial," Isabelle said from the back seat of her son's car on the way home from the courthouse.

Pritchard locked eyes with her through the rearview mirror. "Really, Mother? Based on what grounds?"

"Discrimination. Judge Merrick was your father's fishing buddy. Naturally, he would be biased toward Edward's will. Where was Judge Buchanan anyway? What was so important to keep him out of court today?"

"Apparently, he had a family emergency," Savannah said from the passenger seat.

"I'm aware of that, Savannah. I want to know what kind of family emergency is more important than court." Isabelle stuck her tongue out at the back of her daughter-in-law's head. She resented the young woman's intrusion into their lives. She rarely had time alone with her son since they married a few months ago.

Pritchard shot Isabelle a warning look over his shoulder. "That's none of your business, Mother. And there's no need to get snippy with Savannah."

Isabelle settled back in her seat. "Couldn't they have delayed the case until Judge Buchanan returned from his family emergency?"

"We needed a decision today with the bed and breakfast scheduled to open on Friday."

"We should've delayed the opening too," Isabelle said, riding the rest of the way home in silence. Her life was about to take a drastic turn for the worse.

When they arrived, Isabelle exited the car and hurried to the front door, rummaging in her purse for her keys. Hearing the car door slam behind her, she spun around to face Pritchard and Savannah. "Now is not a good time for a visit. In case you haven't noticed, I'm terribly upset and need to be alone right now."

"We aren't here for a social visit. We need to discuss opening the inn." Pritchard took the keys from Isabelle and unlocked the door.

She followed him into the living room with Savannah on her heels. "What's there to discuss, Pritchard?"

He shrugged off his navy linen blazer and tossed it onto a nearby chair. "For starters, how many reservations have you accepted?"

"A bunch." Isabelle lifted a file folder off the desk and handed it to him.

He thumbed through the disarray of scrap paper where she had jotted down names and dates. "This is a mess. You need to come up with a better filing system."

"She needs a website," Savannah volunteered.

Isabelle glared at her. "I don't do computers, Savannah. I have all of the reservations written in my daytimer," she lied.

The phone on the desk rang, and Isabelle snatched up the receiver. "Hello," she answered in a gruff voice.

The woman on the other inn coughed into the phone. "Excuse me. I may have the wrong number. I'm trying to reach Magnolia Shores Bed and Breakfast."

"You have the right number. But if you're calling about a reservation, we're booked solid through the summer," Isabelle said and slammed down the receiver.

"Mother! Why on earth did you do that?"

"Why do you think? I need a drink." Isabelle entered her husband's adjacent study and poured a splash of vodka into a cut crystal glass.

Pritchard followed her, taking the glass from her before she could drink it. "It's too early for this. You told me you had everything under control."

Isabelle let out a humph. "And you believed me? What do I know about managing a bed and breakfast? I haven't held a job since before you were born."

"Maybe you don't have real job experience, but you've hosted dozens of beach weekends for your out-of-town friends. This is only slightly different than that."

"Have you lost your mind? This is vastly different than that. These people are strangers. And they are coming to stay in my home. They will be sleeping in my bed." Isabelle crumpled into a nearby chair. "I was certain I would win in court today. How could Edward do this to me?"

Savannah lowered herself to the arm of the chair. "Look at the bright side, Izzy. You have an opportunity to make his dream come true."

Isabelle glared at her. "Edward's dream is my worst nightmare."

Prichard held out his hand to her. "Let's go to the kitchen. We'll fix some lunch and come up with a plan."

"Fine." She accepted his hand, and he pulled her to her feet, leaning on him as he walked her down the hall to the kitchen.

Savannah made lunch while Pritchard and Isabelle sat at the antique oak farm table with a pitcher of sweet tea and a legal pad.

"What staff have you hired?" Pritchard asked with pen in hand, poised to write.

"None yet. I guess I'll hire two of the maids I interviewed yesterday. Hilda and Pearl were the best."

"Good! That's a start." He scribbled on the legal pad. "And we already have a bellman."

Isabelle held her tongue. Her son wouldn't be happy to learn she'd sent his bellman packing.

Pritchard chewed on the end of the pen. "What other staff should we hire? Do we need a lifeguard?"

From across the island, Savannah suggested, "Why don't you determine your needs before you hire any more staff?"

Pritchard smiled lovingly at her. "That's probably smart."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. Her son would approve if his wife suggested they hire a belly dancer to greet their guests.

"Are you set up to accept credit cards?" Pritchard asked.

"Nope. That's not necessary."

Pritchard's mouth dropped open. "How do you plan for your guests to pay?"

Isabelle tapped on the bottom of his chin. "Close your mouth, son, before you catch a fly. The guests can pay by check."

Pritchard narrowed his blue eyes. "When's the last time you paid by check at a hotel?"

She leveled her gaze on him. "When's the last time I stayed in a hotel?"

He considered this a minute before nodding. "Fair point. Have you done anything to prepare?"

Isabelle shook her head. "I already told you. I was certain Judge Buchanan would save me from this predicament your father left me in."

Pritchard tossed his pen on the pad and fell back in his chair. "Since you're adamantly opposed to all this, let's discuss your choices. I'm your only other option since Kate's life is in Texas. Unless you're willing to turn our family's legacy over to the state."

Isabelle felt a stabbing pain in her chest. Was she having a heart attack? Or was this what guilt felt like? "Never."

"Not that I know more about running a bed and breakfast than you." Pritchard glanced over at his wife. "What do you say, sweetheart? Do you fancy yourself an innkeeper?"

Savannah smiled at him. "I know a thing or two about hospitality."

Isabelle held her tongue at the mention of her daughter-in-law's menial profession. While Savanah had recently been promoted to manager of the most popular tavern in town, she'd worked for thirty years as a bartender in Washington State. "What will happen to me? I'll be forced to live in the poor house on the paltry allowance your father left me."

When Pritchard placed his hand on hers, the world fell away, and Savannah disappeared from the room. They were mother and son, having one of the many heart-to-hearts talks they'd had at this table over the years. "You can do this, Mother. You set the bar high when it comes to entertaining. You welcome guests into your home with grace, no matter the size of the party. You'll be the town's envy, the elegant Isabelle St. Clair, mistress of the five-star Magnolia Shores Bed and Breakfast."

Savannah interrupted them by delivering their lunch—an assortment of sandwich halves and a bowl of kettle chips—to the table. Isabelle fell silent while they ate. She watched her son and his bride interact as they added items to the to-do list. Isabelle was once as lovely and vibrant as Savannah. Pritchard looked at Savannah with the same love in his eyes that Edward showed Isabelle every day of their lives together. Not once during all their married years did she question Edward's love for her. Until now. She was furious at her husband for putting her in this situation. He'd pulled the rug right out from under her beautiful life.

Isabelle sat up straighter in her chair. She would get through this. She'd survived much worse before. She would suffer through the first round of guests this weekend, but first thing Monday morning, she would meet with her attorney to begin the process of appealing Judge Merrick's decision.

* * *

"You're a million miles away. What's on your mind?" Savannah asked Pritchard in the car on the way home from Magnolia Shores.

"My mother." He glanced over at her. "I'm tired of her being so hostile toward you."

"She resents my sudden presence in your life. She's used to having you all to herself."

Pritchard returned his attention to the road. "Maybe so, but that doesn't excuse her rude behavior. She's in over her head with this bed and breakfast. She's not even trying."

"Do you blame her? She's seventy-five years old. Without her knowledge, your father imposed a drastic change on the comfortable life she's been living for decades. Why did he wait until he was dead to fulfill his dream?"

Pritchard sighed. "Because he ran out of time. Shortly after Dad retired from his law firm at age sixty-five, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He had one health issue after another until the pancreatic cancer killed him."

"I'm sorry, Pritch. I didn't realize he'd been sick with other illnesses for so long. That's a valuable lesson about not putting things off until tomorrow."

"Right? I give my mother credit. Despite her many faults, she took excellent care of him. And now, when she's finally unburdened of those duties, he saddles her with a bed and breakfast."

Pritchard pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. He'd been thrilled when the small cottage on the inland side of the island came on the market. He enjoyed having a dock for his boat and watching the boat traffic in Catawba Sound. He and Savannah had completed the restoration themselves, opting for an interior of mostly white—walls, floors, and furnishings—with accents of ocean blues. She claimed the clean palette reminded her to focus on the future and leave her baggage in the past.

Savannah walked her fingers up his arm. "I don't have to be at work for a while. Can I interest you in a little hanky panky?"

"Hmm. I like the sound of that." Pritchard checked the dashboard clock for the time. "I have an hour before my call."

Giggling like children, they raced each other inside to their bedroom, stripped off their clothes, and fell into bed. They'd been married for two months and living together for almost a year, but their honeymoon was far from over. After thirty years of being apart, they had a lot of making up to do.

Thirty minutes later, they lay spent in each other's arms. "I'm sorry if I was grumpy earlier. I just want us to be a big happy family," Pritchard said.

"Your vision of the ideal family is unrealistic, Pritch. All families have issues. We have more than our share on both sides. Although my siblings are getting along better than we ever have."

"Thanks to you. You were the glue that brought them back together." Pritchard nuzzled her neck. "But you're right. My expectations are unrealistic. I'm grateful to have you and Harper back in my life."

Savannah splayed her fingers on his bare chest. "And Harper will marry Cody, and we will soon have grandchildren."

The thought of not sharing his grandchildren with his mother saddened him. But he would have no choice but to distance himself from his mother, Izzy, if her attitude toward Savannah and Harper didn't improve.