Christmas on the Coast

by Lee Tobin McClain

  “I don’t need financial counseling, I need money,” Imogene said. “A lot, and soon.”

  That didn’t sound good. “I can help you out with your smaller bills,” Mary clarified, “but I can’t give you a big sum of money.”

  Imogene opened her mouth, obviously intending to protest.

  Mary held up a hand to stop her. “That’s what got you in trouble before. It’s really what sent you down the path to using, and I don’t intend to facilitate that happening again.”

  “I’ve changed,” Imogene whined. “And I’m flat broke.”

  Mary needed a strategy. “I can give you a small amount now to tide you over,” Mary said. “But I’m not going to be able to support you. You need to get things figured out yourself. If you need money, you’ll have to find work.” Not here. Please, not here.

  Imogene’s lower lip stuck out the same way it had when she was fifteen. “How much will you give me?”

  “Let’s talk about it as we walk back to my place,” Mary said. “Or better yet, to the shop. I have a lot of work to do.”

  “How would your customers like to know about your history, what you did?” Imogene said in a snotty voice.

  Dread washed over Mary. Her ears seemed to ring with avid, curious questions from the neighbors, and her head hurt with the remembered effort to decide the least hurtful things to say about what had happened. All while she’d been coping with the loss of her precious daughter. Or not coping, really, because how could you ever cope with that? Even brushing up against the edge of that pain made Mary spiral down into the darkest despair.

  She had escaped the past, just as she longed to do. That had saved her. Now the past was nudging her again in the form of a very needy, very seedy woman, and Mary had no idea how to handle it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE WEEK AFTER they’d looked at properties sped along, busy with preliminary plans for the program they were calling Victory Cottage, and therapy sessions for Paul, and all the ordinary school and shopping and cleaning of daily life. Suddenly it was Thanksgiving week, and Paul hadn’t thought about what to do for the holiday, except that he didn’t want to go to his in-laws’ house like in years past. Wendy had been the youngest of three, and her sisters had older kids. Georgiana and Ferguson wouldn’t be alone.

  He and Davey needed to establish new traditions—that was one thing his counseling session had helped him to clarify last week. He just hadn’t figured out exactly what those traditions should be.

  As it turned out, he didn’t have to make a decision and do it all himself, because Pleasant Shores wasn’t the kind of place where you could spend a holiday alone. Half the people in town went to a community Thanksgiving dinner at one of the churches, and since he and Davey had attended services, they got called and nagged and harassed into coming.

  As soon as they walked into the Fellowship Hall in the church basement, two little girls ran up to Davey. “We’re playin’ in the gym,” one of them said. “Come on!”

  “Go ahead,” Paul encouraged.

  But Davey held on to Paul’s hand. “Come in with me?”

  “Sure.” Paul followed his son into a big room set up for children to play, with a ball pit, low basketball hoop and easels for painting. At first glance, the place seemed chaotic, packed with kids and teens. But Paul soon figured out that the teenagers were helping the little ones under the supervision of Trey, the cop he’d met on his first awful night here in town, and his wife, Erica.

  Had they really been here almost three weeks already? The time had flown by.

  Davey clung to Paul’s leg, obviously intimidated by all the noise and action, so Paul knelt down beside him. “Want to just watch for a while?”

  Davey nodded and leaned into Paul, and a sudden wave of love for his son made his chest hurt. Whatever happened here in town, whatever happened with his career, wherever he ended up, Davey was the center that governed it all. For the hundredth time he vowed to himself to protect his son at all costs, help him grow up strong and happy.

  “C’mon, Davey!” This time, a little boy ran over and stood in front of Davey and Paul. “We’re playin’ cops.” He held out his finger and thumb like a gun.

  “Cool!” Davey pulled away from Paul and followed the boy toward a cluster of kids on the far side of the room.

  Paul’s gut twisted a little, but that was what kids did: they tried on roles, pretended to have weapons, played fighting games. He didn’t want to make that type of play forbidden fruit, and he couldn’t let his own issues stand in the way of Davey growing up like any other kid.

  “Looks like you’ve gotten settled.” Trey had come over and was standing beside him.

  Paul stood and shook his hand. “Getting there. Davey likes his pre-K class and I’ve started working on a project for Mary Rhoades.” He hesitated, then added, “Listen, thanks again for what you did for us when we arrived in Pleasant Shores. I’m seeing a counselor and Davey may get some play therapy, too. I’m working on my issues.”

  “Good man.” Trey thumped him lightly on the back. “Go relax, mingle. We’ve got Davey until dinner starts.”

  Paul didn’t like to leave his son—not only for Davey’s safety, but because Davey could be a buffer against people who wanted to know his business or get too friendly. He knew he needed to loosen the strings, though, so he waved Davey over and told him he’d be next door, and that Davey could stay and play until dinner was ready.

  He walked through the Fellowship Hall and into the kitchen. Both places were abuzz with people talking and laughing and working together. Nice. Pleasant Shores was too small to hold anything for him long-term, whether he returned to police work or started a new career, but it seemed like a good place to regroup. On Thanksgiving Day, he needed to remember to give thanks for the opportunity.

  “Give me a hand with these tables?” a bald man asked, and Paul realized it was Kirk James, the man who’d tried and failed to give Mary a puppy. Paul found himself setting up a whole row of long tables while listening to the man, who kept up a running commentary on all the women they saw. “There’s Ria. Pretty, but married. Kim Johnson, she’s cute and loves to go out. A little too young for me, but I have her number and I can give it to you. Goody, she runs the ice cream and sandwich shop and I wouldn’t advise messing with her. Have you met Lisa Bates? She just went through a breakup and would really appreciate some attention from a man.”

  “I’m, uh, really not interested in dating just now,” Paul said.

  Kirk waved a hand. “Heard you lost your wife. Sorry about that. Get back in the saddle, that’s what I always say.” He grinned. “It’s always been my philosophy. All I ask is you stay away from her.” He gestured at Mary, and his expression went moody. “She’s mine. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine.”

  Mary was one of the most attractive older women Paul had ever seen: slender, with classic bone structure and flowing silver hair. “Pretty sure she’s out of my league, anyway,” Paul said.

  “You’re too young for her. Tell you what, you go for the under fifties, and I’ll go for the overs.” Kirk frowned. “Actually, I’ll go for as low as forty-five. Nobody ever believes I’m sixty-eight.”

  “You don’t look it,” Paul said truthfully. “Listen, thanks for the tips. I’m going to see if they need help in the kitchen.”

  “Go ahead,” Kirk said magnanimously. “Lots of women in there, too.”

  Paul chuckled as he went through the door. Kirk’s statement proved to be true: the kitchen was full of women stirring and dipping, talking and tasting.

  He stood inside the door, feeling a little out of place, but then someone gestured him over to a counter where giant bowls of salad stood ready to be distributed into individual serving bowls. Paul donned the gloves handed to him and then started scooping.

  He’d just finished the job when there was a prickling in the back of hi
s neck and at the same time, a baby let out a squawk. He turned, and just as he’d sensed, there was Amber. She was holding a baby, cooing at it, and Paul’s breathing hitched. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  She looked up and saw him gawking. “Well, hey, happy Thanksgiving,” she said, coming over to him. She gave him a casual hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  Once again, his breath seemed to be sucked out of his chest. “Whose baby?” he managed.

  “My sister Erica’s. This is baby Hunter. He’s four months old.”

  Paul remembered when Davey had been this age. He’d worn a similar pair of tiny overalls, too. Paul took off his glove and held out a finger to the baby, who squeezed it.

  A teen girl who looked to be about eighteen marched over and held out her arms. “My turn,” she said, and lifted Hunter out of Amber’s arms. She walked away, bouncing the baby and whispering to him.

  “That’s Hunter’s biological mother,” Amber explained. “She lives in town and is friends with all of us. She gets to see the baby pretty often.”

  “You looked good holding a baby,” Paul blurted out, and then heat spread up his face. What a thing to say.

  Amber didn’t seem to notice his embarrassment. She sighed. “I loved having a baby,” she said. “But I was even younger than Sophia is.” She nodded at the young woman who’d taken Hunter. “So it wasn’t exactly the right time of life to savor those moments. Everything was a scramble.”

  The smell of roasting meat filled the air now, as people started pulling turkeys out of the big industrial ovens. The sound of voices from the hall got louder.

  Paul and Amber leaned against the counter together, and despite the hustle and bustle going on around them, they seemed to be in their own little bubble.

  “You can’t have more? You’re still young.”

  “No.” She waved a hand at her abdominal area. “The cancer.” She looked away from Paul, and then her face softened. “Hi, honey.”

  A teen about the same age as the one who’d taken the baby put an arm around Amber, and Paul immediately saw the resemblance.

  “You’re all hot.” Amber touched the teen’s sweaty curls. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, helping with the kids, huh?”

  “They’re wild. I had to take a break.”

  “Paul,” Amber said, turning toward him, “this is my daughter, Hannah. She’s a college student, home for the Thanksgiving break.” Her voice was full of pride. “And I didn’t make her come and help today. She volunteered.”

  “I’m glad to meet you.” He held out a hand, stepping out of the way of someone who’d started putting salad bowls on a big tray.

  Hannah shook hands, but her eyes were narrowed.

  “Our neighbor for the moment,” Amber explained. “He’s in the Healing Heroes cottage, along with his son, Davey.”

  “You might have met Davey in among the wild kids,” Paul said. “Ravens shirt and freckles. Last I saw, he was playing cops.”

  “I saw him. Cute kid.” Hannah tilted her head to one side as if she was sizing Paul up. Her gaze flickered to her mother, then back to him.

  “Not as cute as you are.” Amber gave Hannah a quick hug. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  “Me, too,” Hannah said. “We’ll do some fun things together this weekend, right? Just us girls.”

  To Paul, it sounded like a marking of territory, and that was fine with him. Amber should spend time with her daughter. Not with him. Because Amber as a mother was just as compelling as adventurer Amber was, though in a completely different way.

  * * *

  HE’S ACTING WEIRD. Amber didn’t know what to make of the way Paul kept looking at her and then looking away. So after Hannah had gone back to hang with the young people, Amber nudged him and led him over to the turkeys. “I think we need a man to start carving,” she said, looking up at him. “Are you up for it?” Even as she said it, she was aware that she was both flirting and being sexist. A woman could just as well carve turkeys as a man could.

  His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, so quickly she wasn’t sure if she’d seen it. “Sure, I can do that.” His voice was matter-of-fact.

  Yeah, she’d imagined it. “I can help, but I’m no good with knives,” she said. “You carve and I’ll make it look pretty.”

  They worked, with Paul cutting thin slices and Amber piling them into the metal trays to go back in the oven and stay warm.

  For whatever reason, she was curious about this man. With her hands busy, she felt freer to ask him questions. “Did you and Wendy hope to have more kids, before she got sick?”

  She glanced up in time to see the corners of his mouth turn down. “I did,” he said slowly, “and I think she did, too. But we were having some problems.”

  The reality of what she’d thoughtlessly asked hit Amber like a giant rock, almost taking her breath away. She pretended to drop something on the floor and bent down to pick it up, trying to compose herself.

  Paul didn’t actually have any biological children because Davey wasn’t his biological child, if Wendy’s confession was to be believed.

  Wendy had confided in Amber because she’d been near the end of her life, thinking about dying. Amber hadn’t invited the confidence, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to cut off Wendy’s halting words, either. And when Wendy had called her the next day in a panic, regretting what she’d revealed and begging Amber to keep the secret, Amber had readily agreed.

  The request, the whole situation, had made her sad. Despite her wild reputation, Amber had always been a one-man woman. She knew, of course, that there were people who cheated on their partners. But Paul had seemed like a devoted husband and good father, even in the few minutes she’d talked with him. Why would his wife seek out someone else? It didn’t make sense.

  But she’d heard the pain and remorse in Wendy’s voice, understood that the woman’s conscience was sharpened by her imminent death. Wendy’s actions weren’t hers to judge. Amber would never have published the information in her book, of course, which seemed to be what Wendy had feared.

  Anyway, Amber hadn’t expected to see Wendy or her family again.

  What were the odds that she’d end up living next door to Paul, knowing Davey, and truth to tell, being incredibly drawn to both of them?

  “Daddy?” The small voice came from the kitchen door and Paul wiped his hands and headed in that direction immediately, with that radar all parents seemed to have.

  Amber watched as he knelt to talk to his son, listened, laughed and then swung Davey into his arms. She wasn’t the only female watching the scene with appreciation, either. Was there anything more appealing than an involved daddy and a cute little kid?

  Mary came up beside her to finish the carving, and she was watching Paul and Davey, too. “He seems like a good man,” she said.

  Amber nodded. “I think so.” It was true. And not only was he good, but he was getting better; he already seemed much calmer than the first time they’d met. “The Healing Heroes program is working, it seems.”

  “I’m glad.” Mary smiled, looking satisfied. “The Healing Heroes program means a lot to me. Makes me happy to see an officer getting his life back.”

  The intensity in Mary’s voice caught Amber’s attention, and she was glad to look away from Paul and Davey. “I never thought to ask,” she said, “but what made you decide to start the Healing Heroes program?”

  Mary smiled, but her face was a little sad. “Police officers have been a help to me several times in the past. I wanted to give back.” She gestured toward Paul. “I don’t suppose he’d be willing to let me watch Davey while he carries these trays for us, would he? He seems very...strong.”

  “He does.” Paul’s muscles were on display as he picked up Davey again, and Amber had to force herself to look away. “But I’m sure that, between us, we
can carry the trays.”

  “Good point, dear. We’re hardly helpless.” So they each took an end of a tray and carried it over to the oven.

  Determinedly, Amber turned the conversation away from Paul. “Whatever happened with the puppy Kirk brought by?” she asked.

  “He took him right back. I don’t want another dog.” Mary didn’t sound convincing, but Amber was all too familiar with having people interfere in her life. She wasn’t going to do that to Mary. She was really getting to like the woman. Mary seemed to have managed single life well for a long time, and it was obvious there was real depth behind the older woman’s glamorous exterior.

  “If you don’t want a puppy, what do you want?” she asked Mary. “What’s your big dream?”

  Mary dipped her chin and raised her eyebrows. “Not everyone acknowledges that someone my age could have a dream, so thank you, dear.” She hesitated, then added, “As for my dream, I’m just trying to clean up the past.”

  It was hard to imagine what a woman like Mary would need to clean up, but from her work interviewing people for her book, Amber knew that people held all kinds of secrets beneath the surface. “Is that anything to do with the woman who was stalking us the other day?”

  Mary heaved a huge sigh. “It’s everything to do with her,” she said, “but unfortunately, I can’t tell you any more than that.”

  Amber nodded and busied herself arranging plates of dessert for the buffet line. She wasn’t going to pry. Mary had the right to her secrets, like anybody else.

  Except maybe Amber, who was keeping a secret that wasn’t her own from the person to whom it would matter the most.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ON THE SATURDAY after Thanksgiving, Mary held her cell phone away from her ear as Imogene ranted on. It was the third call in a week and a half, and this time, in addition to needing money, Imogene was claiming to be upset that Mary hadn’t cooked a Thanksgiving dinner. “I’m family, after all,” she whined. “I was all by myself, all day.”