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“There,” Hope said as she covered the cut with a bandage as the final touch. “You’re free to go back to your surfing, although the salt water might sting.” She wrinkled her nose. She had never quite understood the whole surfing thing. She much preferred swimming or boating.
As he stood up and hobbled toward the front door, Hope felt a twinge of curiosity about this mysterious stranger. They hadn’t introduced themselves, which was a little crazy considering he was in her house with her baby nearby. If he hadn’t been bloodied and limping, she never would have let him inside. And she wasn’t about to tell anyone she’d been this foolish.
“By the way I’m Hope. Hope Matthews.”
“Mighty obliged, Hope. I owe you a big favor for taking such good care of me.” He stuck out his hand. “My name is Grayson. Grayson Holloway.”
**
Grayson knew by Hope’s reaction that she was familiar with his name. Her mouth hardened and she knit her brows together. Her jovial attitude turned on a dime. She looked as if she wanted to push him out of her house. It was a shame considering the lady was beautiful. Dark hair. Exotic eyes. A warm smile. Or at least it had been a warm smile before she knew his identity.
r /> He let out a sigh. Of all the luck!
“Grayson Holloway.” She said his name as if it were poison.
“Yes,” he said with a nod. He snapped his fingers. “Hope. Hope. I knew it sounded familiar. You’re one of the ladies who owns Savannah House, aren’t you?”
She tilted her chin up. “Yes, I am.”
He’d done his research about the six owners of Savannah House. Hope’s photos didn’t do the woman justice.
“Well then, that makes us neighbors. I’m renting out a cottage right across the way.”
Her eyes bulged. She began to sputter, opening her mouth, then closing it.
She shook her head, disgust etched on her face. “I have to go. My baby needs me.”
Before he could thank her again, the door slammed in his face. Ouch. So much for the sweet Florence Nightingale who had patched him up. Not that he could blame her. It wasn’t everyday a person tried to make a claim for the resort you’d inherited. He let out a chuckle. The look on her face had been frosty. It intrigued him, although she was probably taken. She’d mentioned a baby before she’d slammed the door on him.
Hmm. Had she meant an actual baby or was she referring to someone as baby? Like a husband? He hadn’t spotted a ring on her fingers as she’d patched him up. But then again, not everyone sported a wedding band these days. Grayson wasn’t sure he would if he ever walked down the aisle. Just the thought of it gave him the shivers. Grayson had seen enough of his parents’ bad marriage to last him a lifetime.
No thank you. He was happy being single and footloose and fancy free.
You can’t live your life that way forever.
His father’s voice buzzed in his ear, reminding him of everything he was fighting for. Identity. Transparency. A legacy. Hope Matthews could shut the door on him as many times as she pleased. He was sticking around Savannah long enough to lay claim to his ties to Savannah House and the Alexander legacy. Miss Hattie Alexander’s blood flowed in his veins. He was one of her only living heirs. That meant something! Or at least it should. And if things had played out differently, he might be running Savannah House now as the rightful owner.
Grayson was going to make certain the folks in Savannah didn’t brush him under the rug the way Miss Hattie had done to his father. Hattie Alexander. All the research he’d done of her hadn’t filled up the hole inside him. He’d always been curious about his origins, and even though his own father was an expert in the field of adoption, Tanner Holloway had never publicly mentioned his birth parents. Grayson felt the bitterness rise up inside of him toward his father. Why hadn’t he told him that Miss Hattie was his grandmother before she passed away? Why did he get the feeling his father was still hiding things?
It didn’t matter. According to his attorney, he still had a claim to Savannah House. He was Miss Hattie’s grandson, one she may not have been aware of.
He scoffed. What did it really matter what Hope Matthews thought of him? He wasn’t seeking money or riches or fame. He was seeking ownership of his family legacy. Alexander blood ran through his veins. He was a Holloway by birth, but rightfully his last name should have been something different.
Grayson rubbed his hands together. Things were going to be heating up in Savannah now that he was here. He let out a rueful laugh. Hope Matthews and her girlfriends better buckle up. Things were going to get very bumpy.
**
“If you’ve got a battle to fight, there’s no sense facing it on your own. That’s the beauty of friendship.” Miss Hattie Alexander
Chapter Two
Hope made her way over to Savannah House as if her feet were on fire. Ever since crossing paths with Grayson Holloway, she had been itching to tell her best friends, who were also co-owners of the bed and breakfast, about her run-in this morning. The women—all friends since childhood—had inherited the historic inn, Savannah House, from their benefactor, Miss Hattie Alexander. It had been a shocking bequeathal.
So now, Hope, along with Callie, Charlotte, Fancy, Olivia and Morgan were co-owners of the magnificent resort. Using money Miss Hattie had specifically allocated for renovations, the women had renovated the inn and transformed it into a showpiece.
With Ella sitting on her hip, Hope opened up the door to Savannah House and strode down the hallway. She made a point to say hello to every guest she passed by. Being personable was one of the keys to making great connections with guests.
“Whoa. Where are you going in such a rush?” Olivia asked. Olivia Rawlings—guest liaison—was standing at the front desk with a phone at her ear. “I’m on hold,” she said, pointing toward the phone. “What’s up? Hey, Ella. Auntie Olivia is sending you kisses.” Olivia began blowing kisses to Ella. Ella began making cooing noises.
