Billionaire’s Coastal Haven (Welcome to Pine Ridge #3)

Chapter 1

Zoe

Have you ever run into a bear in the wild?

Your hiking boots crunch over the rocks under your feet as you descend the mountain peak.

Birds flit and chirp through the trees. The bright blue sky overhead kisses your cheeks, and a gentle breeze cools your skin.

The calming scent of pine tickles the back of your nose as you inhale a deep, cleansing breath. It’s a perfect day.

You inhale another breath, but this time, instead of pine filling your lungs, it’s something musky and pungent. Hints of rotten fruit, fish, and mud. Your nose wrinkles and you cover your mouth.

And then you see the bear.

Eight hundred pounds of ominous, dark fur.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Your stomach cramps. Breathing? What’s that?

You’re supposed to finish your peaceful nature walk and head back to town to put the finishing touches on a bake sale.

But the bear.

The never-ending list of the things you need to do today flashes through your brain as he lazily munches berries at the edge of the trail and separates you from your car…and every item on your monstrous to do list.

Your brain tells your feet to run. Turn around and get out of there you stupid, stupid woman.

But they don’t move.

Instead, your legs cross and lower you to the ground, choosing to watch and wait. Hope for the best. Because you can’t outrun—or outmaneuver—the bear.

Just like you can’t abandon your dad.

“You can do this. It’s like every other day for the last two months.” I nod at my reflection in Siren’s Shelf Books’ front window, and my brown hair swings over my shoulders with my forced confidence. “You may not have the title, but you’re mayor in your heart, and that’s good enough.”

My internal voice snorts. Keep telling yourself that, Baby Girl.

But if I don’t believe I can be Dad’s proxy mayor, no one else will believe it either.

That’s my bear.

Dad isn’t a little sick. He doesn’t need just a month or two to recover from his trip to the hospital.

He had a massive heart attack. He can’t climb a flight of stairs. He doesn’t have the endurance, energy, or strength to do anything except slowly haul himself to the dining room table, where I lay out the paperwork that needs his signatures and brief him on what’s going on in Rainwater Bay.

The mayor doesn’t get to be sick.

Not if he wants to keep his job.

We know the bear is there. The town council will force him into retirement if we can’t keep up.

But my dad has been mayor my entire life.

He doesn’t know who he is if he isn’t mayor.

I don’t know who he is either.

I can’t watch him wither away if they take his purpose from him.

When he’s ready, he’ll step down and nominate me as his replacement.

But he says I’m not ready. I’m only twenty-six. I don’t have enough “life experience” to embrace his mantle even though I’ve been training since I was ten years old.

So I keep his secret.

I acknowledge the bear and head to The Bright Spot for my morning coffee and the gladhanding he normally does with the regulars who stop in before it’s time to open their shops for the day.

The sun crests the forest-covered mountains that ring Rainwater Bay as the town comes to life.

Right on the edge of the Pacific Ocean, nestled at the foot of Olympic National Park, our little hamlet is idyllic, calm, and peaceful in a way that only small towns can be. I love it here.

The coffeehouse sits on the southeast corner of Main and Cedar streets across from Rainwater Square, the center of town where we build an ice skating rink every winter.

Since it’s the beginning of March, the cobblestone park isn’t much to look at, but soon it will overflow with townsfolk when we host family movie nights under the stars, starting in June.

Sunny yellow-and-white-striped awnings shade half a dozen tables outside The Bright Spot. Inside, metal tables overflow with patrons clustered over steaming cups of coffee, tea, and hot chocolate.

The bell rings as I push through the door. Ryan Brighton waves hello from the register, but Lucky Reynolds holds everyone’s rapt attention in the center of the room.

“He can’t do it.” The manager of the local apothecary and the newest elected member of our town council twists her brunette hair into a messy bun on the top of her head and replaces her sparkling headband behind her ears.

“I told him he’s not allowed, but he wouldn’t listen.

Smiled as he tucked the contract into his coat pocket.

” She mimes the action. “And walked out the door with his black coffee like he hadn’t just screwed the rest of us. ”

Everyone starts talking at once. Voices—loud, annoyed, and angry—bounce around me like spiky ping-pong balls.

I squeeze around the group and press my hip against the counter. “What’s going on?” I ask Ryan.

In a backwards “Rainwater Bay High School” baseball cap, worn jeans, and canvas apron, he’s the master of his espresso machine domain. He lifts a paper cup. “Your usual?”

I nod. Grande flat white. People appreciate predictably in their elected officials even if the redundancy bores me.

He grinds espresso beans into the portafilter and tamps them down. “Old man Webber sold the Reeves estate to some billionaire from out of town.”

My heart drops. No! “He can’t do that.”

Yes, he owns the property and can technically do whatever he wants with it, but every historic building in the state is monitored by the Washington Trust for Historic Preservation.

The Rainwater Bay Historical Preservation Society answers to them and verifies we are maintaining every landmark listed in the National Register of Historic Places. Like the Reeves estate.

We make sure history is preserved and cherished. That includes guaranteeing they treasure it like I do.

I mean…like we do.

“Mr. Webber didn’t notify the society.” I would have heard if he had.

“Everyone’s up in arms.” Ryan gestures to the mob around Lucky. “She’s riling them up.”

“That is her specialty.” I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t say anything more. Lucky and I aren’t friendly.

But she can’t be my focus.

Sitting on the bluff overlooking town, the Reeves estate is the most historic home in town.

The Webber family bought it decades ago when the Reeves went bankrupt, but they haven’t cared for the mansion the way the town expected them to.

Not since my mom died. She was the one who petitioned for the estate to be listed as a historic site and was working to restore it when she had her accident.

At first, no one had the heart to touch the house she loved so much. Then time got away from us, and its reputation as a bad omen became an urban legend no one wanted to tempt.

Watching bits of the bluff crumble into the ocean every year breaks my heart. Like losing Mom over and over again.

The Historical Preservation Society fined and taxed the Webbers to encourage them to restore the property, but they haven’t touched it in years. They haven’t paid the fees either.

Will the new owner honor the Reeves’s contributions to our community? Will they pick up where Mom left off? Do we want them to?

Dad needs to know about this. “Did Webber say why he was selling?” I ask.

Ryan shrugs. “Why does anyone sell anything? For the money. Rumor mill says Mrs. Webber’s cancer is back, so that’s my guess.”

Ryan’s coffee shop is rumor mill central, so if anyone knows, it’s him or his fiancé, Francesca.

She darts from the back of the store with a tray of fresh pastries as if I conjured her. Her bright red hair, pulled high into a ponytail, trails halfway down her back.

“Who’s the buyer?”

Francesca sets the tray on the counter, reaches over and gives me a bear hug, then unloads the treats into the display case.

“New to me. I would remember if I’d seen him before.

For a second, I thought Thor had walked through the door.

The forearms on that man were downright sinful.

Tattoos from his wrists to his shirt sleeves. ” She fans herself.

Ryan frowns at her description. “Gave Francesca the name Landon for his coffee.”

Landon?

A tingle shoots down my spine. The last time I met a guy named Landon, I was ten years old playing in the conference room at Town Hall while Dad took meetings.

A teenager in bright-pink board shorts and a white polo with a popped collar found me. The memory of his sarcastic laughter makes my skin itch like poison ivy.

But it can’t be the same kid. Dad drove that family out of town when he refused their building permits. “What did he order?”

Ryan smirks. “Sugar-free peppermint mocha with macadamia nut milk.”

Francesca giggles. “Can you believe it? City boy for sure.”

She would know. As our resident billionaire heiress, she has more connections around the world than I can imagine.

I join in her laughter. A man who looks like Thor isn’t expected to drink a frilly coffee. Not if he wants to keep his man card in this town. We expect our men to be masculine and kind, our women to be feminine and spirited. Sugar free aren’t words you will ever hear come out of our mouths.

“What did he do when you told him you don’t carry sugar-free anything?”

“Oh, I didn’t. He was none the wiser.” Ryan hands me my drink. “Definitely not from around here.”

Francesca gestures to Ryan. “Baby Girl, that man’s shirt cost more than Ry’s entire wardrobe.”

I flinch at the nickname. Then internally scold myself for reacting.

Dad has always called me Baby Girl, and everyone in town adopted the name as their own when I was growing up.

Even Francesca, who’s lived here for less than a year, picked up on it.

It’s the price I pay for my legacy, even if I do hate the nickname.

“Did Landon say what he’s going to do with the property?”

Ryan’s eyes dart to Francesca, then back to me. “What do billionaires usually do with pristine oceanfront property?”

She shoves his shoulder. “Do not lump me with the megalomaniac narcissists. My billions are not the same.”

“But you know I’m right.” He cuddles her to his side and kisses her temple. “Other people in your tax bracket don’t tend to leave things alone.”

My optimism sinks through my stomach. “They bulldoze history and build theme-park-style resorts or mega mansions.”

There’s a town in Oregon where investors built a gigantic casino. The town was never the same. Crime rates skyrocketed. Residents were priced out of the real estate market. That’s not the direction we want for Rainwater Bay or Pine Ridge County.

“What are you going to do about it?” The room goes quiet at Ryan’s question.

Dozens of eyes swivel to meet mine. Lucky smirks. “Yeah, Baby Girl. Don’t you need to run to Daddy so he can tell you what to do?”

Heat builds in my cheeks, but I force calm through my system. I didn’t sink to her level of pettiness in high school. I won’t sink to it now. “We need more information before we jump to conclusions.”

Lucky rolls her eyes. “We know your dad isn’t going to let anything happen to that house.

It’s like a mausoleum.” She rests her elbows on the table and cups her chin in her hands.

“What this town really needs is some way to boost our economy. A billionaire investor sounds like a good place to start. All that money flowing through our town…you should make sure that guy is building something to help the little guy, not just a palace on the hill like the Reeves.”

She’s not wrong, but like I said, I’m not going to jump to conclusions. This is my first real test to prove I deserve to be mayor when Dad retires.

I will keep our town peaceful and harmonious. I will boost the economy and keep everybody happy.

With my brightest smile on my face, I relax the grip on my coffee cup. “No worries, everyone. I’ll talk to the buyer and figure out what he has planned.”

“You’d better.” Lucky crosses her arms over her chest. “Your dad wouldn’t have let Webber sell in the first place.”

I add wattage to my smile and hide the vice constricting my chest.

She’s right. Dad wouldn’t have let Webber sell. He would’ve known what was happening a week before anyone else. How did I not know?

I can’t make that mistake again. Not if I’m going to keep Dad’s secret. Not if I’m going to prove I can be mayor.

Ryan pats my shoulder. “Time to earn your keep.”