Mission of Mersea

By Jan Janssen

When Sean Callaghan shows up in Mersea Heights to start a new business, he inadvertently steps on a few toes, some of which belong to Molly McKenna, all round good girl and longtime resident. At an antiques auction his first day in town, he outbids Molly on items from her grandparents estate. Items she was anxious to get back!Sean wants to make amends. And after meeting Molly, he starts to think he'd do nearly anything to get into her good books...and her bed. But Molly refuses to give in to his hot looks and come-get-me hints. She gives Sean the cold shoulder, and even her dog attacks him! Then, things go from bad to worse for Sean, and Molly begins to think that his misfortune just might be her fault. She tries to fix things before they get completely out of control, and Sean brushes the dust of Mersea Heights from his shoes forever! Because, while she's been avoiding him at all costs, her heart has been busy falling in love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: Apr 1, 2005
• ISBN: 9781593741549

Book preview

Chapter 1

Molly groaned softly as Number Eighty-six waved his paddle in the air. The hunk in jeans and a dark green sweatshirt was going to beat her out—again. She’d already lost three items to him. Rats! She glared at the back of his head covered in neatly cut, nearly black hair and willed him to glance her way so she could give him an evil look.

Sold, for two hundred dollars to number eighty-six. The auctioneer’s voice boomed out over the crowd. At his country auctions, George paced the front of the room and made eye contact with his buyers. No podium and gavel for him. The immediacy of roaming through the throng seated in the hall obviously made it more fun. Molly knew half the people there had come for the entertainment value, and George’s jokes. Most of them would probably go home empty handed.

So would she, if Mr. Eighty-six didn’t stop filching everything out from under her! She stuck her tongue out at his back, as he continued to face steadfastly forward, then settled into her chair with a disconsolate sigh.

Another piece of her grandfather’s life gone.

There wasn’t much she could afford to buy, but she wanted to return what she could to the old Victorian Eastlake-style house she now called home. Maybe it was a good thing that she wasn’t winning everything she was bidding on. She had one particular item in mind that would become hers. She’d need all her cash for that. It would be up soon.

Molly sat quietly for the next hour as item after item from her Grandfather’s estate was hauled to the auction block and carted off triumphantly by the highest bidder. Number Eighty-six got more than his fair share.

Every now and then, she’d catch a sympathetic glance sent in her direction. It looked like the entire town of Mersea Heights had turned out for the fun. In fact, the large attendance surprised her. Who knew so many of the good people in town were into antiques? But nearly everyone present was either a neighbor or friend, and they all knew how unhappy she was about this auction.

Maybe she should have sent someone else to do her bidding. No pun intended. She’d tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible by slipping in at the last minute and concealing herself in the back row, but when you’d grown up with half the population and the other half had helped raise you, it was hard to be invisible. She nodded to a few people who looked her way, then slouched lower in her seat, waiting for the last item she would bid on. Everything else would have to go to new homes.

Okay folks. George’s gravelly voice cut across Molly’s thoughts. This is the final item of the day, and the best of the lot. He paused for effect, and to wait for his runners to carry out the foot and headboard of an old bed. They set them down gently beside George and melted back into the shadowy storeroom behind. Molly could almost feel ears prick up and she watched necks strain to get a better view.

What we have here is an original, signed Stickley bed. It’s done in the Mission style and was built in the heyday of the Grand Rapids furniture boom. The McKenna family guarantees it to be an original piece, purchased in 1910 by their Great-grandparents, William and Kate McKenna. Everything is here. The bed-rails are in the back, and it all looks in great shape. So what am I bid for this lovely piece of history? George launched into his auctioneer’s spiel, revving the crowd to fever pitch. Paddles started popping up all over the place but Molly clutched hers tightly, waiting for the right moment. The enthusiasm usually died as the price climbed, and she would be ready.

"The bid’s at two thousand dollars. Do I hear twenty-five hundred? Come on, people, an original Stickley." A paddle fanned the air. The price quickly jumped to four thousand. Still Molly sat patiently.

Now we have five thousand. Do I hear fifty-five hundred? The rippling murmurs in the crowd had slowed, as had the paddles.

Is that all Ladies and Gentlemen? Anyone for fifty-five hundred? George scanned the crowd. Going once, going twice...

Molly shoved her paddle in the air.

George met her eyes. I now have fifty-five hundred, ladies and gentlemen. Fifty-five hundred. Do I have six thousand? Six thousand dollars anyone? The crowd was hushed.

Going once, going twice…

Number Eighty-six raised his paddle and Molly moaned silently. Damn! Six thousand, he offered in a deep, charming voice. He still faced straight ahead, glancing neither left nor right, just keeping his eyes on the auctioneer.

George swiveled his glance in her direction. Do I hear sixty-five hundred? Sixty-five hundred dollars? he asked hopefully. Molly ran her bank balance over in her mind. The savings account would take a beating. She raised her hand and nodded at George.

Sixty-five hundred dollars! I have sixty-five hundred dollars. Going once...

Eight thousand dollars. The quiet words of Number Eighty-six cut across George’s routine. The crowd held their collective breath, and half of them turned to stare at Molly. But not the hunk in the green sweatshirt.

Eight thousand dollars! Two thousand more than she had in her account. She’d have had to scrounge for the extra five hundred she’d already bid. She looked at the bed with sad regret. It was not to be. George was still watching her sympathetically—waiting. She shook her head and tried to stem the instant tears that sprang to her eyes.

Sold, to number eighty-six for eight thousand dollars. The auctioneer glared at the winning bidder before turning back to the crowd.

* * * *

Sean Callaghan could feel the tension in the room. In fact, you could cut it with a knife. He gave a start when the friendly auctioneer frowned darkly at him. Sheesh, he’d just helped the guy earn fifteen percent on eight thousand dollars, not to mention all the other stuff he’d bought. He’d paid a pretty price for all of it too. More than he’d ever had to shell out at an auction before, if memory served. So what was with the nasty look?

Although his apartment had been ready for almost a month, he’d only made the final move to town a day earlier, and so far the people of Mersea Heights had been friendly and generous to a fault. So the disapproving looks aimed at him as he went to the collection table to pay for his purchases mystified him.

While he waited his turn in the long line-up, he studied the crowd around him. Few faces were familiar. But it had been years since he’d stepped foot in Mersea Heights for more than a couple of days. Even though, as a child, he’d spent a couple of summers here visiting his grandparents, he didn’t remember many people. But he planned to change that. He felt a rise of excitement at the thought of the ground they would break on Monday. A start on his newest venture.

As the line inched along, he picked up the babble of hushed voices. Whispers eddied around him and he caught something about the number eighty-six. Turning around, his glance intercepted a pair of deep blue eyes fixed on him reproachfully.

The woman was petite, barely five feet by the looks of her. Her light brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail that swished jauntily each time she turned her head. She filled out her jeans nicely, and the bulky sweater she wore did little to hide the rest of her curves.

Sean had never seen her before. He would have remembered her. She was flanked on either side by two other women, who seemed to hover around her protectively, using their added height as a barrier against the world. Judging by the daggers that shot from her eyes, she didn’t need protecting! He smiled tentatively, which had absolutely no effect. Shrugging, he turned his back to her. Immediately the point between his shoulder blades began to burn, but he refused to meet her eyes again.

If she had some kind of problem, it couldn’t be with him. He didn’t even know who she was!

* * * *

Molly’s eyes bored into Mr. Eighty-six’s back. The brief glimpse she’d caught of his face had caused a jolt of awareness to run through her.

Being that good looking ought to be against the law. Trisha whispered the words into Molly’s ear in a disgusted tone. Cath, leaning close on her other side added, "Did you see those eyes? They couldn’t possibly be that color for real. They matched his sweat-shirt!" Her tone echoed Trisha’s.

Molly eyed her two best friends in surprise. Since when do you guys dis’ a great looking guy? I’m shocked that you aren’t both over there fighting to get his number. She sneaked a glance at the hottie in the green sweatshirt again. He may have beat her out of most of her goals today, but he looked like a dream. Who the heck was he?

He spoke quietly to the elderly clerk as he paid for his purchases and Molly watched him with growing interest. Just then, he turned back in her direction. Caught in the act, she dropped her eyes to the floor as he walked briskly toward her, making for the door. He moved with a sexy gait that had more than a few of the women in the room following his progress with interest. His jeans molded to his muscular body in all the right places, and the moss-green sweatshirt—sleeves pushed up to his elbows to reveal fine dark hair on his forearms—did appear to exactly match the color of his eyes. He offered her another brief smile on his way by, then disappeared through the double-doored entrance to the hall.

Cath and Trisha let out a collective sigh. Cath licked her finger and stuck it on Molly’s arm. "Sssss...that guy’s hot! What planet did he pop in from? I wanta move there!"

Hey guys, put your tongues back in your heads. You’ll be tripping over them. Molly frowned at her two friends as she moved up to the collection table to pay her total. "He wasn’t that spectacular. And besides, he got my Grandparents’ bed. I really wanted to get that back, she muttered. Eight thousand dollars! It must be nice to afford that kind of money for something," she finished wistfully.

Her own finances were in the toilet. She’d lived on her savings after quitting her job to care for her Grandfather during the last four months of his life. Then, when Gramps had died without leaving a will, she’d been forced to buy her Grandparent’s old Victorian house to prevent it from being sold out from under her. The money well was about to run dry.

Hi, Mrs. Jenkins. Molly smiled and handed her check to the tiny old lady seated behind the table. Delia Jenkins had lived just a few doors down from her grandparents for years. The street of Victorian houses claimed many faithful, longtime residents, and Mrs. Jenkins and her grandmother had been good friends.

Hi, Molly. Mrs. Jenkins gave her a sympathetic smile. I’m surprised to see you here, dear. It must have been extremely hard to watch your grandparents’ things being sold. She glanced down at the receipts in her hand. But I see you managed to win back a few of them. That’s wonderful. She looked up at Molly again. Your two cousins didn’t put in an appearance, did they?

Molly snorted. Not likely. They’re only interested in the money they’ll get. They don’t give a damn about anything else. She glanced apologetically at the elderly woman. Sorry. One of my hot buttons, I guess. And I’m a little ticked that I couldn’t win my Grandparents’ bed back. It meant a lot to Gramps. She heaved a dejected sigh.

Mrs. Jenkins looked surprised. Oh, really? I didn’t know that. She fell silent for a moment. Well...I’m so sorry you didn’t get it. She seemed genuinely upset.

Molly patted her hand. Don’t worry. I’ll get over it. Sooner or later. I couldn’t really afford it anyway. Leave it to my great-grandparents to buy a Stickley. If it had been some ordinary piece of furniture, there would have been no problem. She grimaced, then noticed the disturbed expression still lining the paper-thin skin of the old lady’s face.

Really Mrs. J…don’t worry yourself over it! She’d had no idea Mrs. Jenkins would be so distressed.

Well, I’m still sorry, dear. I just didn’t realize the bed meant that much to you. She placed the check Molly had given her into the cash box, signed the receipts and handed them back to her. Well, anyway, you can pick up your things around at the back entrance, but I’m sure you know that. Her voice dropped slightly. If you need anything, Molly, please call me. I know it’s been awhile since we talked, but I’d be more than happy to help in any way I can. That big house you bought will be a handful. I know. She gave Molly another compassionate smile. We want to help. Her glance encompassed the people left in the hall.

Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Jenkins. I might take you up on that. Taking her receipts, she headed back to Trisha and Cath.

What was that all about? Trisha whispered as they made their way through the dwindling crowd to the exit.

Molly shrugged. That was just Mrs. Jenkins, being her usual kind self. She and Grams were close, before Grams passed away. She glanced back at the elderly lady, now deep in conversation with MaryJane Curran, owner of the only diner Mersea Heights boasted. She could pick MaryJane’s purple hair out of a crowd with no problem. The two women were so deeply engrossed in their conversation that they were holding up the remainder of the line. Molly turned back to her waiting friends. She seemed really upset that I didn’t win the bid on the bed when I mentioned it to her. I was sorry I said anything.

Trisha dropped her arm around Molly’s shoulders and gave her a brief, sisterly hug. Hey, we all know how much your Grandparents meant to you, Hon. Most of us wanted to see you get back as much as you could. It stinks that your damn cousins couldn’t come to some kind of agreement on your Gramp’s estate. That they forced the sale of everything!

The old feeling of helplessness and anger washed over Molly for a split second, before she pushed it away. No! No more self pity. She was getting her life back on track and she wouldn’t let the thought of her greedy cousins drag her down. She was determined to stand on her own two feet, no matter what it took. She didn’t need any reluctant largesse from her money-grubbing cousins. Let them have the cash. She had a house full of great memories, and a plan to help her keep it!

Come on, she said with determined cheerfulness, as her two friends helped her collect up her few buys. You help me drag this stuff back where it belongs and I’ll treat you to some pizza.

Cath punched