by Abigail Armani
Ignoring the many admiring glances cast in his direction, Scott Armstrong leaned back in his chair set outside the Waterfront Bar and Bistro, and sipped a tall iced drink as he gazed at the shimmering waters of the Pacific Ocean. It was good to be back in Newport. He loved the Old Town with its eclectic mix of regional arts and crafts galleries and interesting shops, the refurbished Victorian buildings, wonderful seafood restaurants and lively markets. But his favourite location to relax was right here at Nye Beach. He loved the place and he had business interests here, which was why he returned so many times; there was another reason too. Carla.
He was just about to indulge himself with thoughts of her when the waitress interrupted. "Can I get you another drink, sir?"
"No thanks. I'm good." He held up his glass as evidence. It was three quarters full.
"Oh. Is there anything else I can get you?"
He shook his head. "No thanks." Setting down his glass on the table he leaned back in the chair and pulled his Stetson down over his eyes.
But the waitress wasn't one to give up easily. She had noticed him on many occasions - and who could fail to notice such a handsome guy? He was around 30, 6 foot 2, with a rugged and tanned face crowned with a thatch of dark hair. He had clear blue eyes that twinkled when he smiled, made all the more appealing by the surrounding laugher lines. He had broad shoulders, strong and muscular arms, a narrow waist and a cute butt. And there was no sign of a wedding ring on his left hand.
He was a good catch and no mistake. The waitress regarded him appraisingly for a moment, drinking him in. She smiled to herself. She wanted a piece of that. With her model-girl looks she usually managed to get what she wanted.
"Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you?" she persisted, lowering her voice coquettishly.
"Quite sure." The Stetson remained firmly over his eyes.
"My name's Becky Sue. And I'd love to get to know you better."
The Stetson didn't move and no response was forthcoming. Becky Sue frowned. This was not going to plan. This guy was hard work.
"My shift ends in an hour. I could be your tour guide - show you around the town..."
A hand lifted the Stetson. Those blue eyes swung round to fix on her. "Well it's very nice to meet you Becky Sue, but I have an intimate knowledge of Newport so I don't need a tour guide."
"Ok, but - I also have an intimate knowledge of how to treat a guy - so you'll need me for something," she said suggestively, as she leaned over, displaying her full breasts that threatened to burst the seam of her tight-fitting top.
"Wrong. I won't be needing you for anything," said Scott politely yet dismissively. There was a steel edge to his tone and his eyes glinted. "So, if you don't mind, I just want to relax and enjoy my drink. Alone."
Becky Sue pouted and tossed her head, ruffling her long fringe and causing her pony tail to swing. "Huh. See if I care," she huffed and deliberately nudged his glass, sending it crashing to the floor. "Oh my, look what's happened! Your glass has fallen over and now you're all splashed. I'd better help mop you up." She grabbed a napkin, fixed her eyes on a damp spot at the top of Scott's thigh, and edged closer.
Scott calmly stood up and moved seats. "You'd best bring me another drink and get that mess cleaned up before someone has an accident." He indicated the broken glass.
"And what if I refuse? What ya gonna do - spank me?" she asked, her hands on her hips, and a challenging look in her eyes.
A certain look flickered across Scott's face. The corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes narrowed, fixing on hers.
Ah. Now I have his attention, she thought gleefully.
"Don't flatter yourself. If and when I choose to spank anyone it will be a real woman with intelligence and charm, not an ill-mannered, pushy brat."
Her face registered a look of total surprise and shock, then gave way to a mounting anger. "How dare you speak to me like that!" she yelled, her face turning red with humiliation and embarrassment. "Who the hell do you think you are? You could have been on to a good thing with me but now you've blown any chance of that! I'm going to report you to the management and tell them you assaulted me, you jerk," she spat.
"I don't think that's wise, considering that I AM the management." He regarded her with undisguised contempt.
"Don't give me that. You're a bloody liar, that's what you are. Brad! Brad!" she shouted.
A man hurried out of the bar. "Becky Sue - what's going on? Are you hurt?"
"Oh Bradley," she sobbed, real tears springing effortlessly from her eyes and trickling down her flawless cheeks. "This man... he ... he assaulted me. He threw his glass at me and made rude suggestions. You wouldn't believe what he said! And he groped my ass. I'm just trying to do my job and I shouldn't have to put up with jerks like him. I want to press charges," she sniffed, and buried her face in Brad's chest. "I'm so upset." Her shoulders shook as she began to sob.
Somewhat alarmed, Brad looked up, and when he saw Scott, his expression changed. "Scott. Good morning to you. I hadn't realised you'd arrived."
"Morning, Brad. Good to see you again."
Becky Sue looked up in disbelief, quite forgetting to continue to shed her crocodile tears. "What?! You know him?"
"Of course. He's the major shareholder in the business. That makes him your employer." Brad eyed Becky Sue suspiciously. "Now are you going to tell me what's going on here?"
"Oh. I ... er ... I ..." She stumbled over her words and alternately cast a stricken look first at Brad and then at Scott.
"Nothing that can't be easily resolved," interjected Scott. "I think Becky Sue here needs three months pot washing duties to help sort her unacceptable attitude and help make her more customer focused. After that, if you think she's improved, she can have her old job back. If not, fire her."
"Pot washing?!!" Becky Sue's face was a picture. "You've got to be kidding!! There's no way I'm gonna do pot washing for three months! And I just got myself a French manicure - I'll ruin my nails," she ranted, outraged by this unexpected development.
"Think yourself damn lucky you still have a job," said Scott. "And I warn you, if you ever pull a stunt like that again you'll find yourself doing a spell in jail. Now, off you go - I'm sure there's plenty of washing up awaiting your attention. Shoot."
Becky Sue walked away in a snit, pushing chairs out of her way in her haste to get away from that hateful cowboy. She felt angry and humiliated, and very, very stupid.
After a fresh drink and a quick ten minute conversation with Brad, Scott shoved the Stetson back over his face and prepared to relax. There was only one woman he was interested in and that was Carla Odell. But she was spoken for, and if he couldn't have a relationship with her, then he simply wasn't interested in anyone else. But they were friends. They still talked and enjoyed each others company. He would go round to the Ocean View cafe later and look her up. It would be the usual highlight of his visit.
Scott felt himself relax as the sun's rays warmed him, and a light breeze from the ocean lulled him. He floated off into a reverie, his thoughts drifting to the time when he had just turned 21 and visited Nye Beach with his buddy Brandon Stephens. Brandon liked to surf at Nye Beach, and Scott soon caught his enthusiasm for both the sport and the location. When the one week vacation was over and Scott returned home to the Armstrong ranch in Texas, the germ of an idea began to grow.
He thought of it as his Big Idea. And as the days passed, it began to take shape and substance. It was quite ambitious and not without risk, but Scott divested time and energy in painstaking research, documenting every fact, accurately logging all the figures, formulating a business plan. He spent his days working hard on the successful family ranch, and he spent his nights working even harder on his Big Idea, and two months later, he returned to Newport to turn his dream into a reality.
Scott's father Isaac had given both his sons a substantial sum of money when they reached 21. Hank, Scott's older brother by two years, invested a portion of his share and banked the rest, aside from enough to buy himself yet another horse - he adored horses and invested in a sleek black stallion. Scott used his money to invest in property - property which, ten years on would be worth 50 times what he paid for it. And that property was in Newport, Oregon.
He bought numerous dilapidated houses and shabby condominiums at a fraction of their market value and had them fixed up ready for renting out. He bank rolled start-up businesses. He bought two struggling hotels. He even bought a cannery. He made a number of smaller investments in local restaurants and maritime businesses and art galleries; he collectively acquired thousands of shares. Then he sat back and watched his businesses grow and prosper, and with their growth, his wealth increased at a phenomenal rate.
But being wealthy to start with, Scott was not over-impressed with the figures. He viewed his business growth dispassionately and objectively, and capitalised on it by making further investments. He was that rare being - an ordinary hard-working guy with extraordinary talents, a person who had not the slightest arrogance or superiority. He was unaffected by material wealth and success. He was, as Becky Sue so accurately surmised, a good catch.
He made it his business to visit Newport several times a year, both to check out his investments and chat with associates who had become friends; his fondness for the place was a bonus and he usually managed a day or two recreation time on each visit to enjoy the surroundings. This routine continued until shortly after his 31st birthday. It was on that visit that he first met Carla Odell, and she made one hell of an impact on his life.
You sure did babe, thought Scott. The image of her filled his head. A woman of 25 years, tallish at a little over 5ft 7, with a shapely figure and curves in all the right places. She wore her glorious dark-honey-blonde hair shoulder length. It framed her face - such a vibrantly alive face - cute button nose and a tilting pink-hued rosebud mouth that seemed to be forever smiling. But it was her eyes that were truly special. They were such an unusual colour - a kind of tawny amber, very rarely seen in humans - they had a luminous depth to them and looked exotically wolf-like. Her loved her eyes. He loved the rest of her too. But the problem was, she didn't love him back.
Scott sat up and drank more of the cooling liquid from his glass, then settled back down again, hat over his face, and he recalled their first ever meeting...
He had taken care of business and was indulging himself by taking the rest of the day off. After a walk along Nye Beach to work up an appetite, he decided to try out the Ocean View cafe for lunch.
He selected a small table outside in the shade of a large brightly striped parasol, and as he slid into a seat, the middle aged couple at the next table nodded and smiled to him.
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