A Hero Comes Home

by Sandra Hill

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the hometown heroes out there, and their spouses, who hold down the fort. Yes, I mean the military, which I respect wholeheartedly, but also those local police and firefighters, and others who go the extra step in dangerous places to provide for our physical safety. There are heroes all around us, and I love them all.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  By Sandra Hill

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  She was all shook up, for sure! . . .

  Sally Dawson stood, momentarily transfixed, staring at the scene before her. She felt a little like Alice in Wonderland falling down the rabbit hole, except, in this case, it must be the Graceland hole.

  A native New Yorker, she had seen just about everything on the streets of the Big Apple. And, really, she’d been living in Bell Cove for almost nine years now, ever since her late husband, Captain Jacob Dawson, had brought her to his hometown as a bride. So, she shouldn’t be surprised by what the well-meaning wackos in this small town came up with. But this beat them all, even last Christmas’s Grinch contest, where everyone was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying not to get “Grinched.”

  No, this was a new high for Bell Cove. Or was it a new low? In terms of corniness, that was.

  “Jailhouse Rock” was blaring from the loudspeakers, the Sexy Senior Swingers (aka the Old Codgers Dance Club) were performing some amazing jitterbug moves on the newly laid asphalt parking lot, and a twenty-foot neon Elvis, with his trademark crooked grin, oversaw the entire event. Actually, it wasn’t a jitterbug, but that Carolina favorite, the Shag. No Outer Banks event could be held without that homage to boardwalks, hot sun, and beach music.

  The line waiting to get into the diner was twenty deep and, with all the new arrivals, hadn’t gotten any shorter since the doors opened three hours ago, at noon. And, yes, with perfect timing, the town bells, each with their own distinctive sounds, began to chime the hour. First, Our Lady by the Sea Catholic Church. Bong, bong, bong! Then, St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong! And finally the clock in the town hall tower. Clang, clang, clang!

  No one even paused in their conversations at the ringing. It was, after all, a town that had been founded over a hundred years ago by the Conti brothers, Italian immigrants who built Bell Forge. The small factory became known for finely crafted bells, the kind that hung in cathedrals and big city towers and on college campuses, but they also made bells as musical instruments. Every business in Bell Cove—every residence, in fact—had a bell attached to its door, thanks to the Conti influence. The one over the door of Sally’s bakery, Sweet Thangs, was a soft jangle that she’d come to love.

  Still bemused, Sally noticed that everyone in line, not just the dancers, had made an effort to suit their appearance to the occasion. Women and girls, no matter the ages, wore sweater sets or pastel-colored blouses with Peter Pan collars tucked under tight cinch belts into circle skirts over bouffant petticoats, leading down to bobby socks and saddle shoes. Still others wore figure-hugging pedal pushers or dungarees rolled up to midcalf, with flat ballet slippers. Ponytails and poodle cuts abounded. The guys, men and boys, went either preppy with crew cuts, button-down shirts, and back-belted khaki pants with white buck shoes, or else they went full greaser with black leather jackets over white T-shirts and ducktail haircuts.

  No, it wasn’t a reenactment of that movie Grease. It was the grand reopening of the Rock Around the Clock Diner and the Heartbreak Motel, and it looked like everyone in the small town had shown up . . . and was commemorating the event as only Bell Cove-ites could in their own unique, wacky style.

  Delilah Jones—rather Delilah Good since she’d recently married Merrill Good, treasure hunter and former Navy SEAL—was the owner of both businesses, but a little fact like that never fazed the good people of Bell Cove who tended to take over when there was any excuse for a celebration. No wonder then that they were using the reopening of the Elvis- and 1950s era–related businesses as a prelude to the town’s new Lollypalooza Labor Day Weekend to be held in a few weeks. God only knew what they’d come up with for that!

  George Saunders and Lance Bowes, whose Out of the Closet chain of North Carolina thrift shops, including the one on the town square, just down the street from Sally’s bakery, must be doing a thriving business with all this vintage apparel. Sally had to admit, she was benefitting from increased traffic in her bakery today, too, a spillover from this event.

  Enough dawdling! Sally readjusted the large bakery box filled with four dozen fresh-baked hamburger rolls in her arms and walked on. Here and there, people called out to her.

  “Hey, Sally! Need any help with that?” Frank Baxter from Hard Knocks Hardware asked. Frank, who was renowned for his comb-over hairstyle to hide a bald spot, or rather a comb-forward hairstyle complete with bangs, wore an Elvis wig today. And a jumpsuit! At close to seventy years old, with a bit of a paunch, he was not a pretty sight.

  But that was mean, Sally chastised herself. Frank was a nice man. In truth, everyone in this town was. A little bit crazy, but good-to-the-soul people.

  Still, Sally blinked rapidly to avoid gawking. “Not now, Frank. But thanks for offering. Six blocks ago would have been nice, though,” she chided in a teasing way.

  “Ouch!” he said and grinned.

  Standing next to Frank was his main squeeze, or the person Frank would like to squeeze. Everyone knew he had a thing for Mayor Doreen Ferguson, who owned the shop next door, Happy Feet Emporium, which had to be doing a run today on blue suede and saddle shoes. Doreen, also close to seventy, wore purple capri pants with a white sleeveless blouse tied at the waist, à la Rizzo from Grease. Her brown hair had been teased into a bouffant hairstyle with the ends flipped up, thanks, no doubt, to her daughter Francine who owned Styles and Smiles hair salon. “Where’s that outfit I sent you, girl?” Doreen inquired with an exaggerated glower. “You’d make an incredible Ann-Margret.”

  Hardly! I’m too skinny. Don’t have enough on top. And my pixie hairstyle would never do for Viva Las Vegas. “Oops. I left it back at the shop. It’s a little big, and I didn’t have a chance to alter it,” she lied.

  “Excuses, excuses!” Doreen wagged a forefinger at her and said, “You better not think you’re getting out of a costume for Pirate Day.”

  Wanna bet? “I wouldn’t think of it.” As part of Lolly Weekend, the town council had decided to set aside one day to celebrate the shipwreck treasure discovered several weeks ago by Merrill’s salvaging company. What that had to do with pirates was anyone’s guess. But then, Bell Cove folks put their own spin on everything that happened hereabouts. In a nice way, she reminded herself. And it was good for business.

  With a little wave, Sally continued walking to the back of the diner. She was about to set the box down and knock on the door, but it opened suddenly and Delilah smiled warmly at her. “Thank you, thank you for answering my SOS call! We’re almost out.”

  “Really?”

  “Ye
p.”

  “Wow! You started with eight dozen.”

  “I know. Isn’t it great?” She took the box from Sally and motioned for her to come in.

  The narrow kitchen that fed the diner through a wide pass-through window was a beehive of activity: Orders yelled out, mixed with laughter, and an occasional muffled curse as grease spattered. A myriad of smells. Hamburgers sizzling, peanut butter and bananas melding in grilled sandwiches, and Delilah’s trademark multiflavored cinnamon rolls. Overlaying it all was the voice of Elvis crooning through the sound system, “Don’t Be Cruel.”

  Merrill, in a white apron and hokey chef’s hat, waved to her as he helped Andy Briggs, the cook, at the stove. “You’re an angel, Sal,” he declared, referring to the rolls, she assumed, which Delilah set down on the counter near him.

  One high school kid worked the fryers, while another was washing dishes, the two of them exchanging trash talk about some skateboard competition.

  Delilah’s grandmother, Salome Jones, whom some called the “Glam Gram,” was plating dishes, even as she was dressed to the nines in a sheer, shiny silver tunic with a deep décolletage over tight black spandex yoga pants. Her dyed blonde hair was swept up into a beehive style. No surprise that the lady had been a Las Vegas showgirl at one time. From behind, she could have passed for her twenties, rather than her sixties. In fact, she could have played the role of Ann-Margret better than Sally any day, no matter what Doreen Ferguson said.

  Delilah’s five-year-old daughter, Maggie, was sitting on a high stool at the prep table mashing ripe bananas with a fork.

  “How adorable!” Sally remarked to Delilah.

  The little girl looked like a Mini-Me version of her mother, both of them wearing poodle skirts and bobby socks, their blonde hair pulled back into high ponytails, Delilah’s silver blonde and Maggie’s more of a gold tone.

  “Thanks. You have no idea how many hours we spent picking out these ensembles. Maggie is very particular about not being too matchy-matchy.”

  “I’m surprised your grandmother isn’t out there with the dancers,” Sally remarked. “With her dancing background, I mean.”

  “Oh, she was. And she will be. But Stella, Andy’s assistant, needed to take a break, and Gram offered to help out here.”

  “Lilah! Why didn’t you ask me if you need help?”

  “You have enough on your plate without helping me, too. Just keep baking those rolls for me. That’s help enough.”

  “I am so impressed with what you’ve done here, Lilah. Really, how did you manage to pull this all together in less than a month?”

  “Well, we’re working on a shortened menu today,” Delilah said, handing her a cardboard menu insert. “Just three appetizers, three entrées, and three desserts. Fried dill pickles, oysters Rockefeller, and catfish nuggets. Then, bacon-topped meat loaf with mashed potatoes, brown gravy, and Southern-fried corn; fat cheeseburgers with all the works and a side of French fries; and, of course, grilled peanut butter and banana sandwiches, with or without bacon. Then, for dessert, banana pudding, the Fool’s Gold Cakes your bakery made for us, and my cinnamon rolls.”

  Sally had to laugh at Delilah being able to spout out her entire menu. Which wasn’t surprising, really. Sally could do the same for her bakery offerings, even though they changed often. “Everything Elvis related, I notice.”

  “Right. Have to keep everything according to Uncle Clyde. Although I managed to squeeze my cinnamon rolls in, you’ll notice.”

  “Your uncle must have been a character,” Sally commented.

  Everyone knew that Delilah had inherited the business—the diner, the motel, and the bayside land—from her great-uncle Clyde. Even as she’d been in prison! But that was another story.

  “He was,” Delilah replied. “The man loved Elvis, obviously, as evidenced by the Heartbreak Motel, and all the kitschy Elvis stuff everywhere—posters, jukebox music, food. But his business was a tribute to that whole rock ’n’ roll era, as well, by naming this the Rock Around the Clock Diner.”

  “You could say he was lost in the fifties,” Sally joked.

  “For sure.”

  Sally glanced at the menu Delilah had handed her. “So, not a salad in sight.”

  “There will be eventually. We are a work in progress.”

  “Tell me about it! But, when I said I was impressed, I meant the diner renovation itself. I know you were doing all the grunt work yourself for a while but this”—she waved a hand to encompass her surroundings—“well, you made some major improvements in a miraculous amount of time.”

  “Money,” Delilah said with a self-deprecating grimace, making a motion of her head toward Merrill. “My husband is a computer genius and he managed to find all these internet sources for equipment, even the specialized stuff like tabletop jukeboxes for the booths, and service sources, including, can you believe, there are actually people who repair neon signs? But he also used his computer skills to hire staff, set up staff schedules, and make menus. Bottom line, though, is money talks, and without the cash I made for my share of the shipwreck treasure, I’d still be sanding rust off the exterior of this diner.”

  “You’re speaking to the choir here, girlfriend. I was sitting home with three kids just getting by on social security after Jake died. It was only when I got his death benefit check that I was able to open my business.” Jacob Dawson, a captain in the Army, Delta Force, had been declared MIA more than three years ago, leaving her with three kids, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, then aged five, four, and two. Six months later, the death notice came. “Sitting home” pretty much said it all where she’d been concerned in those early days. If it hadn’t been for her young brood, she would have been comatose with grief and guilt. In the end, the bakery had been her salvation in more ways than one.

  Delilah nodded, seeming to understand without the details, and said, “Where are the boys today, anyhow?”

  “Kevin took them fishing.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Delilah said and grinned at her. “Do I sense a love connection here?”

  Sally felt her face heat. Kevin Fortunato, or K-4, an ex-SEAL like Merrill, had been hitting on Sally since he’d arrived in town a month or so ago to join the treasure-hunting company. To no avail . . . until recently. Which was surprising for him, apparently, since he’d avoided the dating scene after his wife died of cancer several years ago. And surprising for Sally, too, since she hadn’t been involved with any man at all since Jake’s death, and given her vow never to be involved with a military man again, even an ex-soldier.

  “Not a love connection.” Not yet anyhow. “But an attraction.” Definitely, an attraction. “I consider him a friend at this point.”

  “With benefits?”

  Sally’s face heated some more. “No.” But lots of almost benefits. Like kissing till my bones melt. Or touching that verges on sex. Sally wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out. Not that he was pressuring her, but just being himself, sexy as sin, was pressure in itself.

  “But you’re tempted?”

  “Oh, yeah!”

  Just then, the cell phone in her pocket buzzed. She took it out and glanced at the screen. “Speak of the devil,” she said, and read the text message.

  Where R U?

  Diner. U back already?

  Already??!!##

  Sally laughed. Eight hours with three energetic boys—on a boat, no less—would tire even the most patient adult. But one not used to kids . . . well, Kevin must be ready for a nap by now.

  Before she had a chance to remark on that, Kevin wrote again.

  U R needed at home asap.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Emergency?

  No. Visitors.

  Who?

  Just come.

  On that ominous note, Sally said quick goodbyes to Lilah and the others, and hurried to her cottage, which was several blocks away in the row built more than a hundred years ago for the Bell Forge workers. Her home was across the street from the one where Jake had grown up with
his mother and father. His father, Joseph Dawson, a commercial fisherman, still lived there by himself since his wife, Margaret, Jake’s mother, died last year of a heart attack. Joe was a godsend of help when Sally had to work, as his wife had been before her death.

  Sally was a half block away when she saw Kevin walking toward her. How nice, that he was coming to meet her! Away from the chaos of her house where her three boys would be vying for attention. They must be across the street with their PopPop. So, Kevin coming to meet her represented a rare, private moment.

  Nice.

  Kevin was wearing the same running shorts and raggedy Navy T-shirt he’d had on this morning with sockless athletic shoes. Tall, compared to her five-five, but no more than six feet, probably an inch or two less. And muscular, as all SEALs or ex-SEALs were. All Special Forces guys, for that matter, as she well knew, having lived in a house cluttered with the old-fashioned weights and barbells that Jake had favored. His black hair was short, but not as military short as when he’d first arrived in town. With dark Italian coloring enhanced by weeks of sun out on the ocean-salvaging expedition, he was one good-looking man.

  Maybe it was time to move to the next level.

  Maybe it was time to check out his bed at the Heartbreak Motel, where he lived, temporarily.

  Maybe making love with Kevin would be the best birthday present she could give herself. She would turn twenty-eight next week, after all, and she hadn’t engaged in sex in almost four years.

  As they got closer to each other, she smiled at him. An enticing smile, accompanied by a quick flick of her tongue to wet her lips, which she hoped conveyed her invitation.

  He didn’t smile back. And there was no doubt he’d understood the message in her smile.

  She faltered and came to a complete stop.

  He came right up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. The expression on his face was stone-cold serious.

  “Oh, my God! Did something happen to one of the boys?”

  He shook his head.

  “Joe?”