Praise for Vickie McKeehan’s books
“Powerful, moving story of a survivor. A must read!”
The Bones of Others
Skye Doggett
“…well written, fast paced, exciting read…”
The Bones of Others
Paulette Mahurin, author of
The Persecution of Mildred Dunlap
“Strong, distinctive characters.
I cannot wait to get my hands on the next book.”
Just Evil
Coffee Time Romance and More
“Queen of suspense…”
Just Evil
Jill D. Hidy, author of The Old World Series
“…an excellent storyteller…”
Deeper Evil
Toye Lawson Brown, author of When the Music Stops
“For an entertaining adventure and love story,
I highly recommend.”
Hidden Moon Bay
Marilyn Holdsworth, author of Pegasus
“…the Pelican Pointe Novels are not to be put down ’til the last page…”
Dancing Tides
Sheryl Dickson, reader
“This is a wonderful series…”
Starlight Dunes
Steve Ashley, reader
“An outstanding book series…”
The Bones Will Tell
Brian J. Hodson, reader
also by Vickie McKeehan
The Evil Secrets Trilogy
JUST EVIL Book One
DEEPER EVIL Book Two
ENDING EVIL Book Three
The Pelican Pointe Series
PROMISE COVE
HIDDEN MOON BAY
DANCING TIDES
LIGHTHOUSE REEF
STARLIGHT DUNES
LAST CHANCE HARBOR
SEA GLASS COTTAGE
The Skye Cree Novels
THE BONES OF OTHERS
THE BONES WILL TELL
THE BOX OF BONES
INNOCENT BONES
Spring 2015
The Indigo Brothers Trilogy
Summer 2015
Sea Glass Cottage
A Pelican Pointe Novel
Published by Beachdevils Press
Copyright © 2014 Vickie McKeehan
All rights reserved.
Sea Glass Cottage
A Pelican Pointe Novel
Copyright © 2014 Vickie McKeehan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without written permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-10: 0692330348
ISBN-13: 978-0692330340
Published by
Beachdevils Press
Printed in the USA
All Titles Available at Amazon
Cover art and Pelican Pointe map by artist, Jess Johnson
You can visit the author at:
www.vickiemckeehan.com
www.facebook.com/VickieMcKeehan
http://vickiemckeehan.wordpress.com/
www.twitter.com/VickieMcKeehan
Sea Glass Cottage
by
VICKIE McKEEHAN
For those survivors who went through the hell
of domestic abuse and got out.
And for all those who weren’t as lucky.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to the
Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History.
And as always, I thank my team, Jess, Dana, and Kristi.
Any mistakes belong to me.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.
Emily Dickinson
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Welcome to Pelican Pointe
To see the complete Cast of Characters list go to my website:
www.vickiemckeehan.com
under the Pelican Pointe Series tab.
Sea Glass Cottage
Sea Glass Cottage
by
VICKIE McKEEHAN
Prologue
Three years earlier
Denver, Colorado
The morning broke gray and dreary with the sky spitting down at her in disapproval. After spending the night in the middle of nowhere, miserable and cold, Marisa Lattimer had to admit her plan had come completely undone. She wasn’t sure how it had fallen off the rails so quickly.
A short twenty-four hours earlier she’d set in motion what she’d thought was a brilliant escape plan. But this wasn’t like the movies. In Sleeping With the Enemy, Julia Roberts’ character’s blueprint to fake her own death to get away from her controlling husband had gone off without a hitch. Marisa was learning the hard way that reality was a lot different.
She hadn’t counted on slick roads last night or wrecking the car. Sliding off into the ditch and breaking an axle hadn’t been part of the grand plan. Maybe she should’ve waited until spring. The only problem with that strategy was that she was fed up with waiting for her chance to escape, fed up with taking the verbal battery and humiliation dished out on a daily basis. That’s why she wasn’t about to give up now.
Instead of panicking, Marisa realized the car accident might actually work in her favor. If she could ever find her way back to the highway, she could maintain the course of action, maybe hitch a ride. That way, she’d still be able to cross the Canadian border. She’d be on foot in rugged terrain but it could be done. Once she reached Alberta she’d make contact with Shelby Bullock. Shelby had promised to help her lose herself in the new country, start life over again with a new identity, and provide a safe shelter until everything settled down.
On that air of hope, Marisa raised her head and peeked over the ridge where she’d spent the night, taking note of her surroundings. It seemed the prairie grass went on for miles in either direction, broken up only by thickets of Juneberry along the ravine. A wind whipped up causing the branches to crackle and dance with raindrops. The swath of tall bear grass bent in the chilly breeze. Even the songbirds seemed too cold to sing this morning. She knew Montana just before Thanksgiving, could be an unforgiving place this time of year. It had to be at least twenty degrees, colder when she stuck her head up out of the gulley to look around.
Decked out in winter garb, a coat, a ski cap, a pair of gloves and a scarf, the clothing didn’t keep her from shivering in her tracks.
Glancing up
at the ominous clouds overhead, she huddled from the frosty bite of the wind. Plunked down between two banks of a narrow riverbed, she fought the urge to cry. Any other time, she might have. On any other given day, the circumstances might’ve broken her spirit. But not today. Today, she had to be strong. She had to get moving. It wasn’t a good idea to stay in one place for too long. The way her luck had gone, by this time, someone probably had found the car by now.
Forced to regroup, she had to think fast. The last road sign she remembered on the highway—before she’d smashed Garth’s BMW—had indicated she was near Lewis and Clark National Forest. She recalled passing through a heavily wooded area before the car had careened into the ditch, which meant she most likely still had a good two hundred miles left to go before crossing into Canada.
Of course, that was a rough estimate on her part. It felt like she’d walked a good five miles after the wreck. But in the dark she hadn’t been sure of the direction. Only when she’d spotted an oncoming car’s headlights barreling straight toward her had she taken off into the desolate stretch of landscape. She remembered falling in some kind of hole and having to crawl out. During it all, she’d somehow gotten turned around.
And this morning, without any sunlight, she had a difficult time getting her bearings. The fact that she’d hit her head in the crash, didn’t help matters any.
She looked at her watch. It was a little after eight. By this time Garth would’ve contacted the cops back in Denver and reported her missing.
Let Garth go crazy on them for a change, she decided as she set off toward the next ridgeline that she hoped like hell led northward. If only she’d thought to pack a compass with her. Sad to say, after all her careful planning, she’d left with nothing but the clothes on her back and a knapsack filled with a few essentials. It was the only thing she’d been able to squirrel away over the past six months without Garth missing specific items and catching on.
Because the lonely grassland beckoned to her right and the rolling hills to her left, she decided to head away from the safety of the ravine and look for a road, maybe circle back to a service station or quick mart so she could pick up some supplies.
As she maneuvered through creeping juniper and sedge, past Douglas fir and cedar, the cold raindrops turned to icy flakes. But she refused to allow a little sleet to dampen her resolve and give up. She’d reach the border or die trying. It was just that simple. She’d never go back to her abusive way of life with Garth. Never. Not even if she had to hide for weeks in the wild, live off the land, and wait for the right opportunity to cross over into Canada. She wouldn’t go back.
After several hours of trudging though, she’d ambled farther into bushes and scrub without seeing any sign of life. Hungry, she sat down on a rock, rested her head back on a fragrant pine. Shrugging off her rucksack, she dug into its contents and came up with the only food she’d brought with her—several fruit grain bars. She’d have to eat sparingly and make them last. She pulled out the bottle of water she’d been hoarding since last night, half gone now, and took a few precious sips.
As she munched on the dry oats and blueberry combo, the snow came down harder, bigger, faster. Chilled, she closed her eyes, leaned back against the lace bark and soon fell fast asleep.
She woke trembling and covered in a layer of fresh snow. Blinking awake, she puffed out a heavy breath, not wanting to move but knowing she couldn’t stay where she was for too long. She swung her pack to her shoulder and stood up.
It was then she thought she heard a noise. A thwack, thwack, thwack echoed off the heavy air. Perhaps that sound was what had caused her to stir in the first place.
Doing her best to determine where the sound had originated, she turned in a circle, decided it was coming from beyond the patch of woods on the other side. She started walking in that direction.
As soon as she came out of the trees and reached the meadow, a dog began to bark and set up a din. Her eyes landed on the tail-wagging golden retriever about the same time she spotted its owner.
Not knowing what else to do, she waved at the forty-something man dressed to chop wood. Standing in front of a rustic cabin, he wore a gray puffer jacket over a dark brown sweater and blue jeans. She tried to ignore the ax he held mid-air in his fist in such a protective manner and the menacing scowl on his face.
“What are you doing out here?” the man asked, surprise written in his brown eyes.
“I got lost. I’d appreciate it if you could point me the way north from here.”
His brow furrowed. “Now? But it’s almost dark. Besides, there’s a storm brewing. Forecast says we’ll likely get five inches by morning, temp hovering around single digits.”
“I just need to find my way back to a road so I keep heading north. Is one nearby?”
He finally dropped the ax with a whack and left it wedged in the chopping block. “Did you have car trouble?”
“No.” Determined not to give anything away, she kept her face blank, tried to keep her hands from shaking.
“So you just appear out of the blue in my front yard headed for Canada, eh?”
“I’m just trying to get home, mister.” She stared at the doubt on his face, knew he wasn’t buying a word of her story.
The dog sauntered over, flopped on his back hoping she’d rub his belly. She took her eyes off the man long enough to oblige.
“Looks like you’ve captured Rusty’s heart.”
She looked up, saw him studying her. In the waning light, she weighed her options. Could she really rough it in a snowstorm? Deep in those misgivings, her own self-confidence beginning to falter, she wasn’t prepared at his offer.
“Okay, I’ll go get my truck keys. How about if I drive you across the border?”
“Just like that, no questions asked? You’d do that for a complete stranger?”
She saw him staring at the bruises on her face, some fresh from the accident, some yellowish ones leftover from two nights before when Garth had put them there. She held her breath waiting, wondering if there was any kindness left for people like her who had taken off to start life over.
She noted he answered her question in a determined, matter-of-fact voice. “Like I said, I’ll get you across the border during what will surely be an epic storm bearing down on both of us.”
“I don’t know what to say or how to thank you.”
“Survive. Live. Make a new life for yourself. Next time, try to remember the devil sometimes comes in pretty packages offering everything under the sun except the most important things of all, kindness and honesty. Try to keep in mind that old saying, if it sounds too good to be true, it usually is.”
Marisa swallowed hard and nodded. “Should I remember that about you? This sounds too good to be true.”
“I have no desire to hit a woman. In fact, a bully, male or female, makes me sick to my stomach. Do you want something to eat before we go? I could throw a couple of sandwiches together for the trip.”
Her stomach rumbled. “That would be great, but the sooner I get this over with, the better it will be before I lose my nerve.”
“You don’t want to do that. You can wait in the truck if you want while I go throw together some food for the road and grab my keys.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded. But as he turned to go, she caught the wave of embarrassment on his face. Even with that, she was taken aback by his next bold statement. “My mother took it from my father for years, never did anything about it, stayed when she should have left. We’re going to do something about that today, tonight.”
“Thank you,” Marisa stated again. “I’ll never forget what you’re doing for me.”
“Then one day return the favor. Be there for someone else. My mother could’ve used a friend when she needed it the most. But there was no one for her to turn to, no one who would help her leave.”
“Okay. Sure. Will we make Alberta by tonight?”
“Count on it.”
Chapter One
Present Day
Pelican Pointe, California
Isabella Rialto felt like a bird in flight, wings spread, soaring high over ocean and beach. To her, freedom meant she would never take anything in life for granted again. She could make up her own mind about things, even if those things meant simple decisions. If she wanted to, she could stay up late at night and watch a movie of her own choosing, or watch re-runs of Friends until the wee hours of the morning if that struck her fancy. Or she could curl up with a good book or her Kindle in front of the fire and read until her eyes were blurry. She could do any of it without a hassle or an argument. She no longer had anyone standing over her, telling her what to do or when to do it.
It was true she’d once been beaten down—which made watching her newfound independence seem like a bud sprouting and then slowly opening so that the world might fully appreciate its beauty. Each day she blossomed fuller and stronger. That was Isabella. Somewhere during the last few months, spending time inside Sea Glass Cottage, she’d rediscovered her soul, its independent streaks, something she’d forgotten she possessed. Sad to say, it had been chomping at the bit to unleash itself after getting stymied for so long.
She knew a few of the more curious in town were still wondering about her, whispering, talking. But it was only a matter of time before they came around. At least that’s what her friends, Logan Donnelly and his wife, Kinsey, had said. She wanted to believe them. Since her arrival in town the closest thing she had to a job was babysitting the couple’s twins, Liam and Leah. Not only did the job give her something to do, it also gave her a glimpse into what she’d missed married to a bully. Children. And after spending a few hours with other people’s babies she’d determined that kids were a lot of work. It took patience and devotion and most of all a generous amount of love. All vital things the bully had lacked.
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