Read Online Bungalow Nights (Beach House No. 9) by Christie Ridgway - Free Book Online Page B

shriek rent the air as the stranger spun around. Her eyes were wide and her fingers clawed at the neckline of her long sweatshirt as if the ribbed fabric was intent on strangling her. “Oh,” she choked out. “Sorry.”
    “My line,” Layla said with an apologetic grimace. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    “No, no.” The stranger took a breath and tucked her long, coffee-colored hair behind her ears. In her mid- to late-twenties, she was swathed in too-large clothes that did nothing to camouflage the high-cheekboned beauty of her face. “It’s all my fault. I usually walk around with one eye over my shoulder, but my mind was somewhere else.”
    On Vance? Layla wondered.
    “I’m Skye Alexander.” The brunette held out a slender palm.
    “Layla Parker.” She shook hands, then nodded toward the beach house. “I’m staying here for the month,” she said, then hesitated. If this was Vance’s girl, she should probably clarify the nonsexual nature of the situation. “I don’t know if Vance told you, but I’m here with him because—”
    “You don’t need to explain. I’m the one your father made the original arrangements with,” Skye put in. “And I’m the one who Vance contacted about the change in circumstance. I manage the cove’s rental properties.”
    “Oh.”
    Skye touched Layla’s arm with cool fingertips. “Please accept my condolences on your loss.”
    Loss, Layla thought. My loss. Her father was gone, wasn’t he? The truth dug deep again, pain stabbing the center of her chest, a burning, breathless ache. She fisted her fingers, her nails biting into her palms. He’s really gone.
    “Are you all right?” Skye asked, and her gaze darted toward the house. “Should I get Vance?”
    “No . ” Reaching out to him when she felt vulnerable was the dumbest idea yet. “I’m good.” Layla inhaled a deliberate breath, then let it go. “Just fine.”
    When she could almost believe that, she again addressed the other woman. “Is there something I could help you with?” At Skye’s quizzical glance, she added, “You were staring at No. 9 when I walked up.”
    “Preoccupied with old memories,” Skye admitted. “And some new ones.” She smiled, and it transformed her classic, cool beauty. She looked younger, more...relaxed.
    “Good memories,” Layla guessed.
    “I grew up at the cove.” Skye made a small gesture with an arm.
    “Addy March told me a little of its history. You’re a descendant of the original owners?”
    “That’s right. My great-great-grandparents owned the property and operated Sunrise Pictures from here into the late 1920s. Its colorful history doesn’t stop there, though. During Prohibition, rumrunners were known to use it as a drop-off point. Later, my family rented out the property to families during the summer. Finally, we sold off some plots for residential use—though most of the cottages we still own and lease as vacation rentals.”
    “My father heard about Crescent Cove from a journalist that was embedded with the troops in Afghanistan.”
    That radiant smile lit her face again. “Griffin Lowell.”
    Aaah . “Special friend?”
    “Griffin and his family spent every June through September here when we were kids. Idyllic summers.”
    Layla nodded. “Like I said, special friend?”
    Skye blinked, then shook her head. “He has a twin, Gage—” She stopped, a blush rising on her neck. “Both of them are friends, but not special like you mean.”
    Sure, Layla thought, keep telling yourself that .
    “Griffin’s getting married next month, to a woman—Jane—he met right here at No. 9.” A small smile curved her mouth. “I warn you, there are people who claim the cottage is magic—like the love potion.”
    “You don’t say.” Layla didn’t buy such romantic drivel.
    Skye buried her hands in the front pouch of her sweatshirt. “But I stopped by because the party who signed for August failed to pay the balance of the deposit. I can’t seem to