Love's Paradise Read online

  LOVE’S PARADISE

  LOVE’S PARADISE

  CELESTE O. NORFLEET

  Dear Reader,

  I introduced Louise “Mamma Lou” Gates in my first romance novel, Priceless Gift, in 2002. Since then I have written eight more novels in the series—including this one, A Christmas Wish, One Sure Thing, Irresistible You, The Fine Art of Love, Following Love, When Love Calls and Love Me Now—featuring the gregarious octogenarian. Love’s Paradise is the latest book in the Mamma Lou series, and takes place on Crescent Island. Over the years, readers have asked me to revisit the island. So this story takes you back to where it all began.

  In Love’s Paradise, I introduce Sheri Summers, a historian, and reintroduce Jordan Hamilton, an architect turned developer, who is also one of the Hamilton brothers from Following Love. Although they are on opposite sides of a contentious dispute, the two find it impossible to walk away from their feelings a second time.

  Look for more Mamma Lou novels soon.

  Enjoy!

  Celeste O. Norfleet

  www.celesteonorfleet.wordpress.com

  To Fate & Fortune

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Fall carnival, Crescent Island, Virginia

  October 1947

  “Oh, Louise, have you ever seen anything so amazing?” Emma sighed contentedly as she and her sister walked arm in arm through the Crescent Island fairgrounds. “What do they call this island again?”

  “God’s garden,” Louise said.

  “Yes, that’s it. It’s simply the most beautiful place in the world to go just to get away from everything.”

  “Em, you say that about every place we go.”

  “I do not,” Emma protested and then just as quickly relented. “Okay, maybe I do. But I really mean it this time. Crescent Island is like something out of a fairy tale. It’s magical. It’s so much better than Ocean City and Cape May where Mom and Dad always want to go. What do you think?”

  “I like it. It’s nice,” Louise said dispassionately.

  “Nice! Nice! For heaven’s sake, Louise, how can you say that? It’s more than just nice! It’s…” Emma nudged her sister. “Look, Louise, there he is again,” she whispered.

  “There who is again?” Louise asked, turning around.

  “No, don’t turn around. It’s that guy I saw earlier. I noticed him looking at you when we were over by the Ferris wheel. I think he’s following us.”

  “It’s a carnival, Emma, everybody’s following everybody.”

  “I suppose,” Emma said slowly, “but still…”

  “Em, you read entirely too many of those detective novels.”

  “I do not. And I know when someone is following us and he was definitely following us.” She looked around, but he had suddenly vanished. “Uhummm, I wonder where he went,” she said.

  “What do you want to do next?” Louise asked.

  “I have an idea. Why don’t we get our fortunes told? Carnivals like this always have fortune-tellers, right?”

  “Emma, I am not sitting still just to have someone look at my palm and tell me what I already know. I’m too sensible for that and you should be, too. I’m a practical woman. So why on earth would I believe a fortune-teller who’s going to tell me what I already know?”

  “For fun, of course,” Emma said quickly, then glanced over her sister’s shoulder. “Look, there’s a tent over there. It says fortune-teller. Come on, Louise, let’s do it.”

  “I think I’ll pass. But you go ahead and have fun. I’ll wait here.”

  “No, you have to come, too. It’ll be fun.”

  “No.”

  “Louise Simmons, where is your sense of adventure?” she said as she linked her arm with her sister’s and headed toward the tent. Moments later they stood at the entrance. Emma looked up at the handwritten sign that read, Madam Camille, Fortune-teller.

  Come on,” she whispered as she disappeared into the tent. Louise sighed loudly and followed.

  The inside of the tent was everything Louise had expected. The place was dimly lit yet quite colorful. There were candles all around and ornate-looking tapestries covering the walls that surrounded a table in the center of the room. A young woman, just a few years older than Louise, sat smiling as she shuffled a deck of tarot cards while watching them. She moved the large crystal ball to the side and spread the cards out across the table.

  She was slight and willowy with a soft, whispery voice that immediately made you draw nearer to hear her words. She had a thicket of black hair piled up in a mass of curls on top of her head. She wore a dark colored print dress with a white lace collar. She was barefoot, but had a pair of high heels set neatly to the side. Her eyes were light green and piercing. “I’ve been waiting for you. Welcome. Who wants to go first?”

  Emma smiled brightly. “Me first.”

  Louise nodded and stepped back outside the tent. Ten minutes later Emma emerged smiling from ear to ear. “She’s amazing,” she whispered in awe. “She told me about my life and about my future. I’m going to be an artist just like I’ve always dreamed. I’m so happy. Go ahead, it’s your turn.”

  Despite her reservations, curiosity got the best of her and Louise decided to get her fortune read. She ducked inside the tent and looked around, expecting to see the crystal ball in the center of the table again. But it was gone. “I guess it’s my turn,” she said, as she walked toward the cushioned chair and sat down across the table from the fortune-teller.

  “I take it you’re not a believer.”

  “Did the crystal ball tell you that?” Louise said sarcastically.

  The young woman glanced at the large, glass ball on the chair beside her. “Actually I only use that to check my lipstick. So no, I don’t need a crystal ball, runes or tarot cards to read the expression on your face. No matter. Sit and give me your hands.”

  “No tea leaves?”

  “I prefer coffee,” she said, gesturing for Louise to hold out her hands.

  Louise smiled. Apparently Madame Camille had a sense of humor. “Okay, I’ll give it a try,” she said. She extended her hands—palms side up.

  “I don’t read palms, either,” the fortune-teller said. “I sense things about people when I touch them,” Madame Camille said, holding Louise’s hands. “You’re not very easy to read. No surprise there. But I do see that you have a very special gift.”

  “What kind of gift?” Louise asked.

  Madame Camille didn’t answer but instead continued to hold Louise’s hand. She took a deep breath then bowed her head and closed her eyes to concentrate a bit more. A few seconds later she opened her eyes and looked up. “This won’t do for you. You’re too strong-willed.”

  Louise nodded smugly then got up to leave.

  “No, wait. Sit. Stay. There’s more.”

  Louise sat back down and watched as Madame Camille slowly shuffled the deck of large oversize cards. They were unwieldy, worn and tattered around the edges. Still she shuffled them then stacked the deck in front of Louise, motioning for her to cut the deck. She did.

  Madame Camille arrayed the cards on the table faceup, aligning each one preci
sely. She leaned in and nodded her head, smiling. “Do you have a question?” she asked.

  “Yes, will I ever know true love?”

  “You already do. But your heart is empty right now. It’ll soon be filled. A new love is at the gates. Be open to him when he comes.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There was true love in your life for a short time. He’s gone now, but he will return later. But for now…”

  “When, when will he return?” Louise asked impatiently.

  Madame Camille shook her head. “Not for a very, very long time. But for now, know that there is a new love on the horizon. He’s waiting for you right now. Your heart’s emptiness will soon be filled. That’s all I can tell you.”

  Louise paid the fortune-teller then stood to leave. As she began to turn away she noticed that Madame Camille was staring up at her. “What gift?” Louise asked.

  The fortune-teller nodded. “I knew you’d ask. You see the spark of love in others. Your gift is to show them the way.” Louise nodded and left. When she was outside the tent, she saw Emma smiling broadly.

  “How’d it go?” Emma asked excitedly. “No, don’t tell me or it won’t come true.”

  They began walking toward the carousel. They stepped up and sat on one of the benches as young children around them scurried to climb onto the horses.

  “There he is again. He’s back and he’s still looking at you.” Louise turned around slowly. A young man stood by the railing looking at her. “He’s really handsome, too,” Emma said dreamily as she openly stared at him each time they circled past him. “Told you he was looking at you,” she said.

  He smiled and nodded slightly. Louise returned the gesture.

  Spinning slowly as music played, the carousel continued round and round. Louise licked her lips and steadied her nerves as they circled out of his view. She sighed and finally released the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

  “Do you know him?” Emma whispered excitedly as the carousel rotated away from him.

  “No. Believe me, I’d remember him. Maybe he’s not looking at me,” Louise said, turning her head to look behind her to confirm that she and her sister were the only two in his line of vision. “He might have just been glancing in this direction.”

  “If you think that, then you need your eyes examined.”

  The carousel spun at a steady rate as Louise’s heart raced each time it circled around. Her eyes connected with his again and again. He was smiling now. She smiled back. The next time around she decided to wave, but there was no next time. He was gone. After a while the ride began to slow until it reached a complete stop. Louise and Emma stood to get off. She glanced around curiously, but saw her admirer was nowhere in sight. “Are you okay?” Emma asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Disappointed,” Emma added.

  “About what?” Louise said lightly.

  “Him not being here,” she said.

  “Not at all,” Louise lied as she glanced around nonchalantly one last time. “It’s time I stop mooning over guys who are not even here. I’ve decided. I’m turning over a new leaf. This is the new me and it starts right now.” She turned and stopped short. He was standing behind her holding a bag of popcorn, a soda and some cotton candy.

  “Hi,” he said, smiling. “I got these for you and your friend. My name is Jonathan Gates.”

  Chapter 1

  Present day

  The Hamilton Development construction site was located on the southwest shore of Crescent Island. The site was busy as usual. Six months into an eight-month project, the final stages of construction were almost complete. Still, staying on schedule was important. The main building, situated on fifteen acres of land, was a breathtakingly restored nineteenth-century farmhouse manor. Once it was completed, it would be the most impressive corporate resort on the island, and the crowning achievement of the development company. As the main site neared completion, workers were beginning to turn their attention to a secondary site.

  Two men stood over a deep hole as a third man pulled a thick rubber hose out of the murky pit of water. He turned and waved. “Okay, turn it off,” he yelled. A fourth man flipped a switch and the sound of the generator slowed to a halt. Water trickled from the end of the hose into the hole.

  “There, see, look. I told you something was sticking out of the ground down there. It looks like some pieces of wood.”

  “Yeah, all right, I see it.” The foreman got down on his knees, extended his arm and tried to pull out a bowed piece of wood, but couldn’t. “It’s buried too far down to pull it out.”

  “We’ve got to excavate this area and make it level. Skip the pump, get the backhoe up here. And clear that other stuff out of there. Let’s get this done before we leave here today.”

  Moments later a large backhoe ambled up along the side of the area and parked beside the hole. The steel shovel gouged into the earth, dislodging sludge, soil and scattered debris. The shovel shifted to the side and dumped the contents and then plunged back into the hole a second and third time. The fourth time there was a loud scraping sound and the equipment shut off completely. Everybody stood back. “What the hell is that?” the operator said as he cut the engine, leaning out of the cab.

  “Sounds like you just hit something.” The men looked down to see sludge and slats of wood protruding from the hole. There was a bottle floating in the sludge. One of crew grabbed the bottle, wiped the sludge away then tossed it to the side with the other debris. Another worker walked over and picked it up. “Yo, I’m gonna keep this,” he said. “My girlfriend is gonna love it. She collects old things like this.”

  “Nah, it doesn’t work like that on this construction site, dude. Whatever we find goes to the office. No exceptions.”

  “Yo, man, it’s just an old medicine bottle. No big deal.”

  “No exceptions. Losing your job isn’t worth a souvenir, is it?”

  The worker grudgingly tossed the bottle to the side with the other debris. Then the man in the cab tried to start up the backhoe again. It made a grinding sound then sputtered and stopped again. “Damn, I think the crane’s jammed. It sounds like there’s something wrong with the hydraulics.”

  “Whoa, check it out. That’s a lot of wood sticking out on the side down there.”

  “No big deal, it’s just some wood.”

  “I don’t think so, call somebody up here.”

  One of the crewmen standing around pulled out his cell phone and called the on-site manager. “Yo, Ian. We need you up here at the secondary site, man.”

  A few minutes later Ian Parker approached the site. He looked down in the hole and then at the broken backhoe. He shook his head in frustration. It was going to be one of those days.

  Sheri Summers was feeling restless and impatient and it was driving her nuts. She glanced at her watch. It had been three hours since the conversation that had started it all. She was still seething. Her boss Jack McDonald’s final assessment of her job performance was clear. He thought she didn’t have what it took. She could still hear his words echoing in her ears. You need to have passion to do this job. You don’t have that. Besides, we need you back here in D.C. sooner rather than later.

  Was he kidding? She had more passion for her work in her pinkie finger than most people had in their entire body. Yeah, she was furious. He couldn’t be more wrong about her. And given the opportunity, she intended to make him eat his words.

  Sheri turned and looked out the window. It was the beginning of fall, her favorite time of year. She suddenly felt the temptation to go out and do something wild, something rash. It was a sense of restlessness and anxiousness that she always felt around this time of year. Her grandmother Camille, a fortune-teller, called it her psychic nature coming to life. She didn’t know about all that. All she knew was that she had a feeling that something was in the wind, she just didn’t know what it was.

  She was counting the days until she would have to leav
e, and time was not on her side. She took a deep breath and felt the energy around her. Everything she knew and loved was coming to an end. Distracted, she closed the book she’d been only half reading and pushed it aside. She stood and walked over to the large dormer window in the attic and looked out at the view.

  The tourist season was almost over, yet there were still some vacationers lingering on the island, enjoying the last days of Indian summer. The leaves on the trees hadn’t turned colors yet. But the October wind seemed to creep through the drafty old building, sending an imaginary chill through her body. Although it was unseasonably warm outside, inside it seemed much colder. Sheri wrapped her arms around her body, knowing it wasn’t the weather that had raised prickly goose bumps on her skin.

  The attic was on the fourth floor of the Crescent Island Museum, which was at the far end of town. The museum, a popular tourist attraction, was perched high on a hill, overlooking the city like a guardian angel. From her vantage point, she could see Main Street, the main ferry station and several boutiques and souvenir shops, some of which had been there for well over a century. She reflected on what she liked to call the margins of history.

  A deep sense of pride filled her. This was her hometown. Crescent Island was steeped in culture and tradition. Its past was the foundation for what she hoped would be a promising career as a historian. The island’s charm, warmth and hospitality were well-known, drawing visitors from across the country. It was also becoming the summer destination for Washingtonians and those looking for a break from the hustle and bustle of the Hamptons and Martha’s Vineyard.

  This is where she’d grown up. But soon those memories—that history—would no longer be relevant. All her life she’d heard stories about the island’s rich history from her grandmother. And as the museum’s resident historian and research coordinator, she took pride in preserving its past. Still, the idea of change weighed heavily on her. Her grandmother would say it was foreshadowing a new life. But she was a pragmatist by nature and didn’t believe in all that fortune-telling mumbo jumbo. All she knew was that change was in the air and not necessarily for the better.