Fallling for the Prodigal Son Read online

  Falling for the Prodigal Son

  by Julia Gabriel

  Published by Serif Books

  Copyright © 2013 by Julia Gabriel

  Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc., http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com/

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any mean, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system, without the written permission of Julia Gabriel.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN-10 098863385X

  ISBN-13 978-0-9886338-5-8

  Chapter 1

  Lucy entered the library quietly, the only sound her loafers brushing against the thick pile carpet as she walked. John Matthew looked small and frail, sitting in his big leather wing chair, a soft cashmere blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his eyes closed.

  "Come in, dear," he surprised her by saying. He opened his eyes, still crystal blue as ever, and brushed a lock of gray hair from his forehead. "Sarah said you were going to stop by. Did she feed you?"

  Lucy walked across the library and knelt by the chair. "I was down at the camp, helping Douglas and the counselors with the first night's dinner. The first week is always crazy until the kids settle in and feel comfortable."

  "The camp is in good hands with Douglas. That's one thing I don't worry about."

  Lucy held her breath. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry, not in front of John. John Matthew was the owner of the Chesapeake Inn and Resort in St. Caroline, a small coastal village on the eastern shore of Maryland. Five years ago, he had hired Lucy to be the marketing director at the resort, at a time when she had needed to pick up the pieces of her life and move away from Washington, DC. Move anywhere, she had thought at the time, anywhere that was away from Joshua and his broken promises.

  John and his wife, Sarah, had taken her in immediately. They had introduced her to their friends in town, invited her over for Sunday dinners, set her up on dates with every eligible bachelor they could think of.

  And now John Matthew, a pillar of the community and a father figure to Lucy, was terminally ill. When Sarah called, Lucy had immediately cut her vacation short and returned to St. Caroline.

  John pointed a frail arm toward his large mahogany desk, papers stacked neatly with almost military precision, the fountain pens he'd collected from around the world displayed in a glass-topped box. This was all Sarah's doing. John was as messy as a person could be, his mind always running on a dozen tracks at once. Sarah complained lovingly of picking up after her husband and keeping the trains running on time, as she put it, but Lucy knew she was going to miss it terribly when he was gone.

  John stretched his arm out further and grimaced. Lucy finally noticed what he was pointing at. A brown leather photo album, lay in the middle of the desk.

  "I gave Douglas the photo archives for the camp. But then I found this album later. Can you take it to him?"

  Lucy picked up the heavy album and opened it. Tears blurred her vision as she flipped through the pages. The album was filled with snapshots of the camp and the kids who, over the years, had discovered the outdoors there, and themselves in the process. You could date the older photos just by the clothes the kids were wearing. Tube tops and flared jeans in the seventies. Cut-off flashdance sweatshirts and baggy basketball shorts in the eighties. Plaid shirts and construction boots in the nineties. Everyone in flip flops in the newest pictures.

  "We will take good care of the camp. I promise you that," she said.

  John leaned back into his chair. Lucy helped pull up the blanket that had slipped off his shoulders.

  "People have asked me over the years why I kept the camp going when I could have used that land to make money. But you know, the regular guests, maybe some of them remember their stay at the inn. If it's their honeymoon or anniversary. But most of them stay at many places in their travels. We're not so much more special. But the kids. They remember their summer at camp forever. You, of all people, know that."

  Lucy clutched the photo album to her chest. The resort—the entire town, for that matter—simply wouldn't be the same without this man. Lucy couldn't imagine it. She refused to imagine it, to even try. How could this be happening to so wonderful a man? And his sweet, dear wife Sarah? To everyone? Lucy couldn't think of a single person in the town whose life hadn't been touched by John Matthew.

  How can life just be going on as usual? Outside the library window, the Chesapeake Bay sparkled in the soft early evening light. Fishing boats were motoring back in. A skipjack was heading out, taking tourists and honeymooners out for a sunset tour. She wanted everything to come to a complete halt.

  There was a soft knock on the library door and Lucy turned to see Sarah entering the room. Right behind her was a couple, a thirty-ish man and a tall slender woman with long red hair, the kind of hair Lucy would kill to have. The woman was sharply dressed, impeccable in a black sleeveless dress and heels. She was stunning, Lucy thought, with creamy skin and a light smattering of freckles that would have made Lucy look like a thirteen-year-old but on this woman simply confirmed that she was a natural redhead.

  The man with her was a different story. He wore cargo-style pants that had been cut off at the knees, leaving an uneven fringe of loose threads hanging all the way around. His shirt was a stretched-out tee shirt advertising some kind of European beer. On his feet were black sport sandals. His hair was an unruly mess of waves and he clearly hadn't shaved that day.

  Lucy recognized him immediately.

  Sterling Matthew, John and Lucy's only child. Older, taller, more filled out than he'd been as a teenager. Lucy had thought him devastatingly gorgeous as a seventeen year old, but the mussed hair and sloppy outfit weren't as appealing on an adult.

  Would he recognize her? She drew in a long, slow breath and held it.

  "Sterling and Elle are here, darling. Are you ready for them?" Sarah said.

  Neither of them seemed to notice Lucy.

  "Father," Sterling said.

  Lucy was surprised at his tone of voice. All business. She didn't belong here, all of a sudden, and began to slip away quietly toward the door.

  "Lucy, hold on a minute. Sterling, I'd like you to meet Lucy Wyndham. She's your marketing director," John said.

  Sterling finally looked directly at Lucy. "Pleased to meet you," he said without smiling and without making any effort to come shake her hand. His companion, however, strode gracefully over to Lucy.

  "Elle Scott-Thomas," she said and extended a cool, slender hand. "Nice to meet you."

  Sarah walked Lucy to the front door. "You didn't have to cut your vacation short, Lucy. You work hard all year. John would never expect you to do that," Sarah said. Lucy noticed the dark shadows beneath Sarah's normally lively blue eyes. Sarah was in her early sixties, younger than her husband by almost a dozen years. Lucy had said on more than one occasion that she hoped she would age as well as Sarah Matthew. But tonight, Sarah was looking older already.

  "I was just visiting my college roommate. She completely understood." Lucy embraced her friend. "If you need anything, Sarah, please let me know. Anything at all. You must be glad to have your son home for awhile. He'll be a help."

  "Well, hopefully, it's for more than awhile," Sarah replied. "Sterling is taking over for John."

  "At the Inn?"

  Sarah nodded, hugging herself. Lucy noticed the wariness in her eyes. Something wasn't right, she thought. But she couldn't imagine what.

  "Well, things are in good hands then, aren't they?" In reality, Lucy had no idea whe
ther Sterling had any sort of a head for business. Sarah and John never spoke of him. According to employee gossip, Sterling Matthew was a ne-er do well playboy who spent his time—and his trust fund—skiing in Europe and squiring around one beautiful woman after another. Well, he certainly had a beautiful woman on his arm tonight. Lucy could confirm that rumor, at least.

  Outside, the sun was setting over the expansive front lawn of the Matthew estate. Lucy's bicycle was propped against the low stone wall that ran along the driveway. She dropped the camp photo album into her backpack, then slung the straps over her shoulder.

  "Lucy!" She looked back to see Sarah jogging down the driveway.

  "Come to brunch on Sunday," Sarah said. "My brother and his wife are sailing in from Annapolis."

  "Are you sure?" Lucy wondered whether the day was a family reunion for Sterling.

  "Of course. I'll invite some single men," Sarah added with a mischievous smile.

  "You still haven't given up on me, have you?"

  "You know I don't give up that easily. I'm going to marry you off if it's the last thing I do."

  Lucy straddled her bicycle. "Well, we're running out of eligible bachelors in St. Caroline."

  "Only because you and Douglas stubbornly resist fate." Sarah looked up at the fading evening light, then frowned at Lucy's bike. "Is it safe for you to ride all the way home? It's getting dark, dear. If you can wait, I'll have Sterling give you a lift home."

  Fifteen years ago, Lucy would have given anything to ride in a car with Sterling Matthew. But she'd been a mere teenager back then. Tonight? She doubted that the grown man she'd just seen in there would be all that happy at having to give her—or anyone—a ride home. He'd seemed irritated and bothered. His vibe was decidedly not happy camper.

  "It's only two miles," Lucy replied to Sarah. "I'll be home before it's dark. I need to turn in early, anyway. Tomorrow it's back to the office." She smiled at Sarah, wishing with all her might that she could wave some magic wand and restore John Matthew's health.

  Lucy rode back home to the small waterfront cottage she had been renting from the Matthews since she moved to St. Caroline five years ago. As Lucy pedaled around the last gentle curve, the cottage and its white painted porch came into view. It was nothing fancy, just one bedroom and an open living-dining-kitchen space, but it sat right on the water. The wooden porch wrapped around three-quarters of the house, all the way to the back where it overlooked the bay. The bows of Lucy and Douglas' sea kayaks peeked out from underneath the porch—hers orange, his a green tie-dye pattern. As much as the lapping waves called to her, it was too late to take hers out on the water tonight.

  She leaned her bike against the side of the house, then trudged up the short set of stairs to the porch. She had just settled herself in with a cup of tea and the photo album when the phone rang.

  "I knew it would be you," she said when she heard Gina's voice. Gina was the Inn's pastry chef and Lucy's closest friend in St. Caroline.

  "How was Chicago?" Gina asked.

  "Windy," Lucy replied. "Summer hasn't arrived there yet. But it was a nice visit."

  "Are you okay? You sound distracted."

  "I'm fine. A little tired from the flight and the drive from Baltimore. And then I went over to Sarah and John's."

  "How is he?"

  "He looks tired. So does Sarah." Lucy paged through the photo album as she chatted, stopping every once in a while to squint at a blurry photograph. She sighed. "I'm having trouble actually believing it. He's always been so ... I don't know. Vital. Alive."

  "He seems to have gone downhill so quickly," Gina said. She paused, then broached the Topic. "Have you heard the rumor?" Gina asked.

  "I think I met the rumor," Lucy replied. "You mean John and Sarah's son? He was at their house this evening. With his girlfriend or wife, I guess."

  "Hah. Definitely not wife. She's also been installed as a management consultant." Lucy could hear the air quotes in Gina's comment.

  "At the Inn?"

  "You got it. She's ruffled a few feathers already."

  "She seemed nice enough to me. Nicer than he was anyway. Why, has she ruffled your feathers?"

  "Oh, I get the impression there are going to be some changes made around the Inn. Change or get changed, I guess."

  "Change is not necessarily a bad thing."

  Gina laughed. "When was the last time something changed in St. Caroline?"

  I changed, Lucy thought. I changed in St. Caroline.

  Lucy reheated her tea in the microwave, then returned to the photo album. She made a mental note to ask Douglas how many boxes of photos John gave him. The photos really should be scanned and stored digitally. The oldest of the photos in the album dated back to the seventies, based on the clothing the kids were wearing. Even so, some were showing signs of fading. Some had water damage, corners were dogeared. These need to be preserved, she thought. And if they were scanned, then she and Douglas could use them on the camp alumni web site the two of them were developing.

  She flipped a few more pages, then stopped short. She carefully peeled back the yellowing plastic protector and pulled off a photo. She walked into the kitchen where there was better light. It was a group photo. Lucy counted thirty kids. There was Douglas in the back row, already taller and more developed than half the counselors. He was making rabbit ears behind another camper's head.

  Maybe she had missed ... no, wait. Second row, on the end. There she was. All arms and legs, bony knees and chopped hair. Lucy shook her head at the image of her sixteen-year-old self in cutoff shorts, bared midriff top and torn black chucks. That week at camp had been the end of her old life and the beginning of a new one.

  She had told Gina nearly everything about her life, told her years ago. About Josh and her marriage, her poverty-stricken childhood in the mountains of southwestern Virginia, her father's abandonment. All things that Lucy, as a rule, didn't tell people. She didn't need anyone's pity. But there was one thing, one very important life thing, she hadn't told Gina. Hadn't told anyone—not even Josh—and certainly could never tell anyone in St. Caroline. She'd lost her virginity to a rich kid one summer at camp. A rich kid named Sterling Matthew.

  Chapter 2

  When Lucy awoke the next morning, it was easy to believe the night before had been merely a dream. Had she really seen Sterling Matthew again? Had he really been at John and Sarah's house? It just didn't seem possible. In the five years Lucy had lived in St. Caroline, Sterling had never come home‚ not even once, to visit his parents. Not at Christmas, not at Thanksgiving, not on their birthdays.

  Lucy wanted to believe it was a dream. I mean, how embarrassing is that? I lost my virginity to someone when I was a teenager and now he's my boss? Maybe he wouldn't remember her, she told herself. After all, a man as handsome and rich as Sterling could easily have an endless parade of beautiful women in his life. All of them better lovers than mousy, teenaged Lucy Wyndham had been.

  By the time she got to her office, Lucy had convinced herself that there was no way on earth Sterling Matthew would ever remember her or the three evenings they had snuck off to a boathouse after lights out at the camp. She grabbed a coffee from the employee lounge and settled in front of her computer to begin wading through the hundreds of emails that had piled up in her inbox while she was on vacation. She was almost finished when, at 9 am sharp, she heard a tap on the doorframe, a tap that managed to be both light and authoritative at the same time. It was the redhead from last night, Elle Scott-Thomas.

  Okay, so I didn't dream last night at John and Sarah's.

  Ms. Scott-Thomas was as perfectly pulled together this morning as she had been last night. She wore a slim navy suit with a gold cuff around each wrist, her red hair pulled back into a sleek, glossy ponytail. She was overdressed for St. Caroline by at least a factor of ten. And something in her demeanor was not as open or soft as she had appeared to Lucy last night.

  "Can I help you?" Lucy asked.

  Elle Scott-Thomas st
rode into Lucy's office, making no effort to hide the fact that she was assessing every inch of it. Lucy was suddenly self-conscious about its decor, or lack thereof. The Chesapeake Inn was exquisitely decorated but most of the offices were hidden from guests so Lucy had never taken much time to spruce up hers. A row of overgrown spider plants lined the deep windowsill. At least Gina had been watering them. A worn Persian rug that Lucy had rescued from the lobby redecoration two years ago covered the wide-plank wooden floor. The walls were painted the same cheery yellow they'd been the day Lucy was hired. She imagined how unsophisticated that color looked to the elegant woman who had just taken a seat on the other side of Lucy's desk. She extended a cool, dry hand to Lucy.

  "We met briefly last night. Elle Scott-Thomas," she said.

  "Yes, I remember," Lucy replied. "It's nice to see you again."

  Elle skipped right over any Monday morning chit chat and got straight to the heart of the matter.

  "I'm working as a consultant to Mr. Matthew. He and I have gone over the marketing plan you completed for the current year." She spoke with the crisp, clipped accent of private schools and summers spent in Europe. "We've made some notes to help guide you in developing next year's plan."

  Lucy took the document that Elle was holding out to her. "Okay. But it's June. We don't usually start work on next year's plans until September, after the high season is over."

  "Be that as it may, Mr. Matthew would like everyone to start work on next year's plans and budgets now. He has some new ideas for the business that may take additional time to implement."

  She is one cool customer, Lucy thought as she watched the other woman's neutral poker face. She and Sterling Matthew struck Lucy as an odd match. Slacker rich kid and buttoned-up businesswoman. Granted, a lot of money will smooth over a large assortment of differences but women who comported themselves the way Elle Scott-Thomas did usually wanted a man with a similar disposition. Last night, Sterling had looked like he'd gotten stuck in some grunge-era time warp.