Sweet Carol
Indigo Bay Christmas Romances
Shanae Johnson
Those Johnson Girls
Copyright © 2020, Ines Johnson. All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the author.
Edited by Alyssa Breck
Cover design by Najla Quamber Designs
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition October 2020
Contents
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
More from Indigo Bay
Also by Shanae Johnson
Chapter One
It was all in his head.
The hiss of embers that sizzled at his right shoulder. The shards of debris that rained fire down on his back. The dark, curling smoke licking at the heels of his boots.
Eric Prince knew the explosion was just a dream in his head. A vivid, technicolor dream filled with IMAX theater-quality surround sound. Because he’d lived this nightmare. The dream was a memory.
He turned on his mattress. Instead of a warm cushion, he felt the gravel of the disjointed road as he fell face-first into the dirt. He twisted in the sheets. Instead of a cool blanket, he was wrapped in hot embers from the blast.
None of that was the worst of it. The worst part was the silence that stole over him after the dust settled.
Prince jerked awake to bright sunlight shining on his face. There was a chill to the morning air. He lay bare in the bed, having kicked off his blanket at some point during the dream. All was quiet and serene outside his window. The deathly silence had followed him into the real world.
Rising from the bed, he heard the faint shriek of the protesting box springs. Stretching his arms over his head, he felt the pop and crackle of healed injuries from his years in the military. Like his spirit, Prince’s body didn’t voice any protest. He and his bruises simply soldiered on.
He showered and dressed quickly, avoiding looking into the small mirror of his bathroom. He had to live with his wounds. That didn't mean he had to look at the scars.
After stepping into a pair of pants and pulling on a T-shirt, Prince stepped out of his room and onto the deck of his houseboat. Up above, the sky was a clear blue. The sun's rays were muted by a few clouds. Below the sun, water-filled his vision for as far as the eyes could see. The morning tide rose and fell as it lapped against the side of the vessel.
Under his feet, he felt gentle rocking, which had been the only thing that could lull him to sleep after his last and final deployment. Ever since he was a kid, the houseboat had always felt like a large cradle to him. When he was younger, it was his favorite place in the world. Now it was his home.
It was a quiet day on the Indigo Bay Marina. Most days were here. There were hardly any residents that lived on the water. Most preferred to spend a few hours on the beach and then return to their homes, rooted in soil.
Prince had been born in this town, but he had no roots. All ties to this place and these people had been severed long ago. When he’d been injured in the line of duty, and his injuries prevented him from returning to the work he loved, this place was all he had left.
It was a busy day for him. A trip down Main Street always was. He tried to make as few visits from the marina into his town as possible. But as the waters grew colder, the fish didn’t bite so readily. Prince would have to stock up the cupboards unless he wanted to starve.
On the beach, he saw a large group of teens playing volleyball. Their mouths opened wide as they laughed and joked with each other, the way that friends did. The way that he and his military buddies once did before a blast had ripped their lives to shreds.
Younger kids ran in and out of the water just up to their shins, splashing cold water on one another. Prince could see an older woman standing nearby. Her mouth was agape, and her features were pinched in annoyance. She cupped her hand around her mouth, and her lips began moving. A moment later, the kids trudged out of the water, disappointment clear on their faces. Their own lips were flapping in what Prince was sure was an argument against stopping their fun.
“Hey!”
Prince came to a halt. He blinked a couple of times as the man standing in front of him came into clear view. Arnie Mackenzie, the Marina Manager, had been working the docks longer than Prince had been alive. On the old man’s face, Prince read bewilderment. Arnie must have been calling after Prince for a while before he noticed.
Prince carefully arranged his features into one of disinterest. In his youth, he’d had a reputation for being a hothead and a troublemaker. Though he’d never shown that attitude out here on the docks.
“I said there’s a storm coming in a few days,” Arnie spoke slowly, opening his mouth wider than necessary for normal volume.
A tingling crept up the back of Prince’s neck. The feeling was worse than the memory of the blast embers piercing his skin. Did Arnie know?
Self-consciously, Prince ran a hand through his hair. It was longer than military regulation. He’d started growing it out after his diagnosis. His dark hair was now long enough to cover his ears.
“Son, you know if there’s anything you need…”
Prince allowed the rest of the sentence to drone out. It wasn’t hard to do. The silence from his nightmare hadn’t stopped ringing in his ears. It never did. Likely never would.
“Thanks, Mr. Mackenzie,” Prince called out before heading toward the street.
He chanced a glance over his shoulder, but the man wasn’t following him. Nor was he calling out to Prince. Mr. Mackenzie had turned back and was walking down to the marina.
The tension seeped out of Prince’s shoulders like water swirling down a drain. He wanted to curse the cold-blooded fish for not being able to hack a few drops in the temperature. If not for their inconsiderateness, he’d be scaling his lunch instead of mingling with people.
Up ahead, a gruff dog sniffed at a trash can on the sidewalk. The animal’s fur was matted as though it had taken a bath in the bay’s waters and then run through the dirt. Its tongue lolled out the side of its mouth as though it grinned when it pulled a half-eaten sandwich from the garbage.
It looked up when it heard Prince approach. It didn’t look rabid, just dirty. There was no collar or tags on the beast. One strong wind would likely knock the animal over.
Still knowing all of this, Prince gave the animal a wide enough berth. The dog was no match for a trained Tier One Operator, such as himself. Prince had taken down insurgents with rifles, knives, and even his bare hands without blinking.
Yet when this mangy mongrel sniffed the air around Prince and then sat back on its haunches, Prince’s hands began to shake. Heat licked up his back as though from an oncoming blast. Prickles traced over his skin like the ghost of embers from an explosive.
In the military, bomb-sniffing dogs were trained to sit when they scented an explosive.
Prince tried to shake himself loose of his thoughts. This was a stray mutt, not a trained animal. It was sitting because it was looking to be petted. This was not a warning that a bomb was in the trash.
The dog opened his mouth. It’s jaws working as it called after Prince. Prince heard not a sound of the animal’s barking as he quickly walked away from it.
Six months in a military hospital, three months on a rehabilitation ranch out, and Prince was still not healed. That bomb had stolen more than his career. It had stolen a chunk of his flesh and nearly all of his hearing. The only thing he wanted from this life now was peace and the quiet that would inevitably consume him.
Chapter Two
The screech of the microphone was the best sound to come off the stage in the last couple of minutes. Ariana Carol’s entire body tensed as Betsy Vance tried in vain to hit the high note in Whitney Houston's Bodyguard anthem. But the long note that the amateur tried to trill out scratched the back of her throat.
It was like the squeeze of a lemon on top of chocolate pudding. It was like giving a balloon a hug with the five fingertips of one hand while the nails of the other one scratched down a chalkboard. Ari had to stop in the center of the dance floor for a second and make sure that her soul wasn't splintering, much less the windows of her family’s karaoke bar.
Luckily, all was intact in Carol on the Bay. The seashells on the walls did swing a bit as though the vibrations from the speakers had crashed into them. A few of the portraits of great singers seemed to shake, or rather shudder as the song came near to the end.
Meanwhile, Betsey's tone-deaf friends applauded and catcalled for her to aim for a higher note. For her part, Betsey inhaled and belted out how she would always love the man in the song. At least her boyfriend, Jared Robins, who sat at the table with their group of friends, had the right mind to cringe.
As Betsey brought the song home by hitting it out into left field, Ari regained her sense of equilibrium and headed to the section of tables on the opposite side of the establishment. Dr. Green and her husband, Nurse Tony, were regulars, as were most of the town-folk gathered this afternoon. They all had grown accustomed to tuning out the bad singers that came to the microphone and committed aural crimes against the music industry. Or perhaps their ears had crusted over from the blood-letting that had come through the speakers years ago.
"Good afternoon, Ari,” said Dr. Green. “We'll just have the usual."
Ari didn't bother writing their usual down. She was already carrying Dr. G's Diet Cherry Cola and Nurse Tony's hot tea with lemon and two sugars. Their tuna melt with extra cheese and crab cakes without the bun were already on order. Ari set the drinks before the couple, along with straws and napkins.
“Thanks, Ari,” said Nurse Tony.
Ari nodded before turning on her heel.
She made her way to the table behind the Greens with a coffee pot in hand. She topped off the mug of Harvey Rich. The gray-haired man’s belly was as rotund as Santa’s. His cheeks nearly as rosy. He looked up at her with a grin.
“You’re looking lovely today, my dear. Are you well?”
Ari nodded, returning the man’s grin.
The door opened, allowing a ray of the sunlight to shine into the dimly lit bar. It was another of her regulars. August Cassidy bobbed his head at Ari, before sliding into his usual booth. Ari gave the man a nod, already writing up the ticket for his order of steak -medium rare- and fries. She'd have his beer out in just a minute.
"You know," said Dr. G, stopping Ari as she walked back past their table. “You could do so much better than anyone who comes in here and gets on that stage.”
Ari didn’t nod. She offered the woman a demure smile. But as she turned to go, Dr. G gave her another tug.
"I'm serious, Ari. I heard you sing when you were younger. Do you remember that, Tony? The girl had the voice of an angel."
In response, Ari inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly.
"Shame what happened all those years ago,” Dr. G went on. “You know if you ever want to see somebody, we have some great psychologists on staff these days."
At least she hadn't offered a speech therapist. There was nothing wrong with Ari's voice. She simply chose not to use it.
Finally, with another silent nod, Ari made a quick getaway to the back. The doors to the kitchen slapped her bottom just as Betsey was bringing the song home, trying to make the last couple of notes of the song trill like a butterfly's wings. Instead, the sound was more of the buzzing of an annoying fly.
"Why do we insist on these amateur afternoons?” Adelle Carol slapped a steak on the grill before Ari handed her the order. Her red hair was pinned atop her head, but a few tendrils curled down around her neck, framing her face. "I swear every Thursday afternoon I go home with a hangover like I drank a bottle of tequila."
"It brings in more locals, which brings in more cash, which keeps you in designer threads," said Alanna. Her short red curls radiated from her head like she was the sun.
"Sometimes, I wonder if it's worth it." Adelle tugged at the apron covering her silk shirt. But not before glaring at the grill. It would be a fool drop of grease that dared mar any of her outfits. Adelle was likely the only short-order cook in all of the Carolinas that wore heels and fine linens in the kitchen and somehow walked away without an expensive dry cleaning bill.
“Of course, it’s worth it,” said Alanna. “This place was Dad’s dream.”
“No, the three of us on a stage was Dad’s dream.” Adelle sprinkled a pinch of her special seasoning on the steak. The meat sizzled as though it was pleased with the adornments she’d dressed it with.
Ari winced at the thought. The Carol household had been filled with song and music since before the day she was born. The brick hearth of the fireplace in their living room doubled as a stage with the three sisters using pokers as microphones. Ari had been forever sandwiched between her sisters, belting out a song. Those performances had all stopped ten years ago.
“But Daddy also had those weird dreams of an octopus and eels coming after us,” said Alanna.
The three sisters burst out into laughter. Even the sound of their laughter was harmonious. If Ari could ever bring herself to get back up on a stage, much less speak in public, the sisters would make a killing with their voices.
But that path was no longer open to them. Not since The Incident ten years ago. Ari shuddered to think about it, to think about him. So she shook herself and began loading up her plate of orders.
"Ari, baby,” said Alanna, “you know I gotta take off early today."
Ari put the plates back down and turned to glare at her sister. Alanna didn’t look the least bit contrite. She was looking in a mirror and fixing a seashell barrette in her curls.
"I have a date,” she said as an excuse.
Ari blew air out of her nose. She pursed her lips together. She was irritated enough to have words with her sister.
“It's a slow afternoon,” said Alanna. “That train wreck on stage is almost over. There probably won't be anyone in here other than the regulars."
Ari knew Alanna was right. But still, just the mere idea of interacting with someone who didn't know her, or her tendency not to respond, set her hives a buzzing. But this was a family business, and they all had responsibilities. Her sisters indulged her. They had given up part of their dream for her. When Ari wouldn't go back on stage after her humiliation, they had lost out on a recording contract. They'd tried going on as a duet, but without Ari’s voice, something had been missing.
They still sang together in the privacy of their home recording studio. But Ari knew she would never sing in public again. So, all they had left was this bar that their parents had left them before retiring to Florida.
Ari huffed out a breath as her sister bussed her on the cheek. Before Alanna could pull back, Ari enacted her revenge. She swatted at Alanna’s perfectly tousled hair. Alanna called after Ari, but Ari was quick. She grabbed the serving tray and dashed out of
the kitchen.
Unfortunately, another of the amateurs had taken the stage. On the karaoke machine's screen, the words for Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On was queued up. Ari groaned as she turned her back on the stage.
She served up the Greens’s dishes and Mr. Cassidy’s drink. She walked by the rest of her regulars topping off their drinks and bussing the tables of the one's who'd left. By the middle of the song, as she was wishing she'd gone down with the Titanic, she noticed that a newcomer was sitting in her sister's section.
Ari plastered on her friendliest smile, grabbed for her pen, and headed over. As she got closer, she noted that the man looked familiar. Not familiar enough to be a regular whose order she might have memorized.
That wasn't something to worry over yet. All the specials were written out on the menu. Everything else on the menu was pretty self-explanatory. They lived on the bay. They sold mostly seafood.
She got by most nights with newcomers simply smiling, nodding, and waiting patiently. But as she drew nearer to this man, her smile began to falter as her memory sharpened.
He sat frowning at the singers on the stage. His features were sculpted perfectly like he could've been the David's handsomer older brother who hadn't had time to sit for the sculpture. His dark hair could use a trim as it fell over his ears. He had a few days worth of scruff on his face, but not a full beard yet. Still, it made him look rugged, dangerous. It wasn't until he frowned in distaste that she stumbled.
Ari had seen that look of disdain before. She saw it often in her dreams. In her nightmares, she would be standing on a stage, singing her heart out. With just one glance at the boy in the audience and his features screwed in this very manner, her voice had squeaked. Then it had left her. And it never came back.
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