All of You, Always (Walker Beach Romance #1) - Lindsay Harrel Page 0,1
the view—at the whiff of briny spray in the air that spoke of fun and relaxation in the sun. Of retreats and vacation. Of the West Coast at its finest.
No wonder Mom was willing to pay through the nose for this property. When combined with the two B&Bs that Moody Development had already bought on either side of the Iridescent Inn, this location would make for a beautiful—and profitable—new resort.
Once Bella convinced Ben Baker to sell.
She let herself through the wrought-iron gate that led from a walled-in courtyard down toward the beach. Trees provided a lot of shade, and a stone fountain nearby gave a pleasant ambience despite the fact no water trickled down its face.
But that’s where the charm gave way to destruction. From this side of the inn, the significant scratch—or scratches, rather—became obvious. The entire northwestern wing of the Iridescent Inn had visible damage, with a hole in the northern part of its roof, cracks in the western blue clapboard siding, and scattered roof tiles and wood that lay strewn below.
She walked closer, her eyes moving along the house, taking in every casualty. The poor old inn had met its match in the earthquake.
As she stood next to a partially collapsed winding staircase that led to a damaged upper-story deck, a pang of sympathy curled around Bella’s heart—even though all this was to her advantage.
The ground began to shake again as nature showed off with another aftershock. A large dangling piece of the staircase’s railing cracked and plummeted through the air toward Bella.
“Watch out!”
Before she could even shriek, a flash of movement crossed her path as someone knocked into her with a grunt, felling her breath. Bella rolled a few times until she landed on her back. Taking in a few gulps of air, she cringed at something beneath her and pulled out a sharp rock that she tossed aside.
“Are you hurt?”
Bella turned her head to find a man sitting next to her, groaning as he rubbed his head before looking her way.
She peered up into warm chocolate eyes and a handsome tan face. Her tongue grew heavy. “No.”
Scratch that. Her knees and elbows pulsed with a raw pain like the first time she’d ridden a bike without training wheels at the age of seven. Down the hill she had flown, and when she’d reached the bottom, onto the asphalt she had splayed. As usual, Mom hadn’t been there. “Nothing feels broken at least.”
“That’s good.” The man peeled thick work gloves from his hands as he bent toward her, squinting, examining, his eyebrows knit together. “Your knees are scraped up, but it’s nothing a good cleaning and some BAND-AIDs won’t fix.”
“Guess I won’t be wearing my favorite little black dress anytime soon.” Bella forced a chuckle at her bad joke. She wouldn’t need to wear something fancy if she were here for any length of time.
Not that she intended to be—though if Mr. Baker turned out to be as obstinate toward Bella as he’d been toward Mom, well, who knew how long she’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere.
“Can you sit?” Her rescuer watched Bella, something deep and assessing in his gaze.
Bella’s stomach roiled at the scrutiny as her mother’s warning came to mind. “You’ll have to be on your toes at all times.”
Right. She needed to focus. This minor incident couldn’t endanger her mission, however conflicted she was about it.
“I think so.”
“Here. Let me help you.” He offered his hand. His white long-sleeved T-shirt pulled against his broad chest.
“Thanks.” Bella slipped her fingers inside his, nearly pulling away at the shock his touch rendered, like the static electricity that always clung to the end of a slide and zapped kids when they least expected it.
After getting her upright, the guy let go of her hand and ran his fingers through his blondish-brown crew cut. “I’m really sorry about this.”
She glanced down at her injuries and nearly cried out. The heel of her left Louboutin pump had snapped off and laid lifeless on the dirty ground, a victim of the aftershock and subsequent fall. Mom had better reimburse that as a business expense.
“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have been standing so close to the staircase.”
“I was out here cleaning up when I saw you.” A yellow hard hat lay discarded upside down on the other side of him. Mr. Baker must have hired him to clear the debris from the earthquake damage. “Another second or two and that loose railing would have creamed you.”
“Instead, you