Secrets in the Sand by Carolyn Brown

            Overgrown acreage: Ten acres of out-of-control shrubs choked with vines and weeds.

            He’d seen all this on his first and only inspection; he knew what he was getting into. Though he had never attempted to renovate and flip a long-abandoned house before, he knew he possessed the necessary skills to do it successfully. Hell. Even JP—the ex-business-partner and ex-friend he’d known since high school—had made a fricking fortune flipping houses. If all-talk, no-action JP could do it, Quinn could roll up his sleeves and do it ten times better. The sale of this polished-up diamond would provide the seed money he needed to start his own construction business in Magnolia Bay and, maybe even more important, prove his talent to future clients.

            When his lowball offer was accepted, he hadn’t known whether to whoop or moan. The hidden gem of this dilapidated estate could only go up in value. Located on a remote back road several miles outside Magnolia Bay and an easy hour to New Orleans, the place was a rare find he wouldn’t have known about if he hadn’t been dating the local real estate agent who helped him find an apartment here after his divorce. But the next-to-nothing price and a small stash of cash for renovations had consumed every penny of the equity he’d received in the divorce. And he still hadn’t quite convinced himself that leaving New Orleans to follow his ex and their son to her hometown was the best decision he’d ever made.

            He reminded himself that moving to Magnolia Bay was the only way he could spend enough time with his teenage son. After years of working more than he should and leaving Sean’s raising to Melissa, Quinn knew this was his last chance to rebuild the relationship between him and his son. Quinn was hoping they’d bond over the renovation, if he could convince Sean that helping out would be fun. So it wasn’t just a business decision; it was a last-ditch effort to be the kind of father Sean deserved.

            When Delia Simmons, his real estate agent, showed him this estate, a thrill of excitement and hope had skittered through him. This old place had good bones. Putting it back together would be the first step toward putting his life back together.

            And when she told him the rumor she’d heard around town that the adjacent acreage between this road and the bay might soon become available as well… Maybe it wasn’t a sign from God, exactly, but it sure lit a fire under his butt. With the right timing, he could use the money from the sale of this place to buy the strip of Magnolia Bay waterfront land that ran behind all five estates on this dead-end road.

            He could subdivide the bayside marshland along the existing estates’ property lines, then sell each parcel to its adjoining estate. If he had enough money, he could build nice elevated walkways from each estate to the marsh-edged bay, maybe even haul in enough sand to make a community beach complete with boat docks and shaded pavilions.

            Maybe he was dreaming too big. But he couldn’t stop thinking that with perfect timing on the sale of the estate and the availability of the waterfront land, he could make an easy-peasy fortune for not too much work. And—dreaming big again—the ongoing maintenance for five private boat docks would give him a steady stream of income doing seasonal repair work that he could depend on from here on out.

            Quinn parked his bike on the cracked patio around the back of the sprawling bungalow-style house and killed the engine. Expecting silence, he was assaulted by a loud racket of braying, mooing, and barking.

            “Are you kidding me?” He walked to the hedge separating his property from the annoying clamor. When he’d toured the property with Delia, it had been as peaceful as a church. She hadn’t warned him it cozied up to Old McDonald’s farm.

            Or, maybe more accurately, Old Ms. McDonald’s farm. He’d glimpsed the crazy-looking woman hiding in the shrubbery with her wild mane of honey-brown hair, ratty bathrobe, and cowboy boots. How the hell would he get top dollar for a house with an eccentric animal-hoarding neighbor next door? He stalked to the overgrown hedge between the properties and bellowed at the animals. “Shut. Up.”

            The noise level escalated exponentially. “Fork it,” Quinn said, forgetting that without Sean here, he could’ve used the more satisfying expletive.

            The multispecies chorus ramped it up. Parrots screeched loud enough to make the donkeys sound like amateurs. Parrots? “What next? Lions, tigers, and bears?”

            Fine. He would work inside today. Quinn planned to get the pool house fit for habitation in time for Sean’s scheduled visit next weekend—unless the kid canceled again, claiming homework, football practice, school projects, whatever.

            All great excuses, but was that all they were? Excuses?