Surface Currents (Golden Shores Book 3)
Chapter One
Looking the other way had never been Shannon Tweed’s motto. Maybe if she had spent a little less time trying to calm tense situations and help, she’d have helped herself to a life. Old habits died hard. Especially when the brisk ocean wind whistled through a supposedly deserted alleyway and the faintest hint of a whimper echoed out from behind a restaurant sized dumpster.
She threw her last, overloaded garbage bag into the container, letting the plastic lid crash back against the metal rim and settle into place. Ignoring the smell of food and animal waste emanating from the hulking green dumpster, she crouched down until her knees rested on the rough gravel. Trish had advised against wearing a skirt, and once again her cousin had proved to be annoyingly correct. Ducking her head under the dumpster, a pair of brown eyes instantly met hers and she nearly swore.
Great. A dog. What was she supposed to do with a dog? She probably could have left a cat in the alley to fend for itself. Not man’s best friend. No she couldn’t walk away from a dog.
As the thoughts formed, she slowly extended her hand, palm facing up. Tentatively, the dog sniffed her palm, its wet nose tickling against her skin. Wet nose had to be a good sign, right? She knew nothing about dogs. Other than she’d begged her aunt to get her one but had been constantly denied. Dogs required constant care and companionship, and was Shannon willing to commit to that? No, even as a nine-year-old, lonely girl, she knew she’d be gone the first chance that she’d get.
“Come here, sugar,” she cooed, letting the local colloquium invade her speech.
She’d only been on St. Simons Island for three months, but already she appreciated the new turns of phrase she’d picked up.
Step by step, or maybe paw by paw, Shannon drew her hand back and the pup followed. At the end of the dumpster, a brown pile of matted fur appeared, a bright pink tongue darting out. Hungry. That she could solve. She pulled a package of shortbread cookies out of her cardigan sweater pocket. The dog sat still but for its tail beating rapidly against the metal dumpster in anticipation.
“I planned to save this, but I can get more.”
Ripping the package, the cookies popped out of the wrapper and the dog caught the sugary discs in midair, like she’d thrown a tennis ball on the beach.
“Wow, I don’t know if I should be impressed or more worried. How hungry are you?”
The snack seemed to embolden the little dog who began to sniff the ground around Shannon and then Shannon’s pocket, looking for more food. When the pup moved to her left side, however, a rumble in her pocket startled the dog who made a break for the safety of the dumpster again. She shushed and extended her hand palm side up again and pressed the phone to her ear. Of course, the one time she actually had the cell phone Trish and Phil had given her on her person it caused more trouble then it was worth.
She really couldn’t get used to being constantly connected.
“Hello? This is Shannon.”
“Shannon, dear, this is Marie,” came the lofty tones of the leader of local island tap group, the St. Simons Senioritas.
Marie Smith-Thomson, former Rockette and general Grande dame, was an intimidating figure to say the least. When she’d found out Shannon worked in the entertainment industry as a cruise ship performer, she’d wasted no time in recruiting her to choreograph and sometimes fill in as substitute for the group. Recruiting didn’t seem like a strong enough word. She’d been too scared to cross the lady to do anything other than readily agree.
“Yes, Miss Marie,” she cleared her throat and wiggled her fingers, luring the dog to come back out of its hiding spot. “Hello ma’am, how can I help you today?”
Adapting quickly to the local manners had been a skill born out of necessity that served her well.
“We really need to find time to go over the routine for the New Year’s Eve show. I know your cousin needs you and it’s almost Christmas, but that’s the point, it’s almost Christmas. We’re running out of time, and I’m not thrilled with our routine. I think we need to tighten up the middle. What’s the point of dancing to Cole Porter if we can’t carry on the man’s legacy?”
The dog licked the tips of Shannon’s wiggling fingers. Emboldened by the dog’s action she moved closer and smacked her forehead into the dumpster. Grunting, she rubbed a hand to her forehead and rocked back to sit on the ground. At the noise and the sudden loss of her hand, the dog approached and hopped into her lap.
“Dear, there is no need to revert to caveman responses.”
“Oh sorry Miss Marie. I was… I just hit…” she cleared her throat and rested a hand on the little dog cradled in the soft gray felt of her favorite skirt. “Miss Marie, I’m out behind the bar and I just found a dog. I have no idea what to do. I would love to chat with you about the performance, but the sun is starting to set, and I have to figure out where to take this little guy.”
“That I can help with. If you hurry, you should be able to reach the animal shelter over in Brunswick before they close. I volunteer my time there.”
“Really? You do?” Shannon coughed, realizing she’d spoken before thinking. Miss Marie’s charitable nature wasn’t surprising. Only the fact that the woman found more time to help yet another worthy cause. Shannon felt rather lazy in comparison to the woman over fifty years her senior.
“I mean thank you, Miss Marie. Let me run this little guy over there, and I’ll give you a call tomorrow about rehearsal time. I don’t think we’re at risk of ruining Cole Porter’s reputation with our routine, but we could always use more practice.”
“I’ll look forward to your call.”
Dropping her phone into her sweater pocket, Shannon scooped the dog into her arms and set off to the street on the end of the alley. Stiff and trembling in her arms, carrying this dog reminded her of trying to juggle too many hangers when she packed up her wardrobe and got off the last cruise. She stroked the dog with her free hand and bundled the pup closer to her body. The unseasonable weather had continued right up through the week of Christmas on the Georgia coast. After a few years spent mostly in the Caribbean, even weather in the lower seventies could make her shiver and shudder.
She reached her car and got both of them inside without incident. The dog happily sniffed and circled in the passenger seat until it sighed and settled down. A dog used to riding in cars? How had something so small and obviously house-trained ended up behind a bar a few days before Santa showed up?
Turning over the engine, she backed the little SUV out of the spot and pulled onto the road. Loud snores sounded and Shannon turned on her Carpenter’s Christmas album. She needed a little more Christmas spirit. Letting her mind drift to the negatives of humanity came all too easy. She didn’t want to spoil the holiday by being dragged back into a foul mood. Especially not during the first holiday spent with her family in years. Although her absence for all the preceding years had been of her own choosing.
She dialed her cousin’s number from memory as the car soared over the Torras Causeway. On the map, Jekyll Island, St. Simons Island, and Brunswick all neatly butted up against each other. In reality, getting from point a to point b took a little more navigation then expected and she wouldn’t be back in time to open the bar or grab dinner.
“Hello?”
“Hi Trish. It’s me. So…umm…something came up and I can’t open tonight.”
“You can’t open? Huh? Wait? I hear static. Am I on speakerphone? Are you in the car?”
“I am but don’t freak out. I’m not driving away. Well, I am driving away, but it’s not what you think.” Shannon’s words tumbled over one another.
The tiny dog had jumped over the console to nestle on her lap. Her car swerved at the shock of the weight on her legs. Glancing around wildly, her racing heart slowed down once she confirmed hers was the only car on the road.
“What do I think?” Her cousin’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“That I’m runnin
g away.”
Running away. She sniggered. If only leaving one place behind for the next adventure was as easy as she hoped her life seemed. In reality, moving from one job to the next was the only life she knew. Childhood instability, even for a brief blip of her growing up, had left deep impressions.
“So what are you doing?” Trish cleared her throat.
“I found a dog in the alley when I took out the trash, and Miss Marie says there is a shelter I can take it to.”
“Couldn’t we have taken the dog?”
“No, no,” she shook her head adamantly, even though Trish couldn’t see. Trish had the biggest, kindest heart of anyone she’d ever known. Scratch that, Trish tied her mother, Aunt Elena, a woman who should be sainted. Shannon loved her hope and goodness and kindness. Part of her always wanted to protect her cousin. She wanted Trish to continue to live in a bubble where good things happened to good people and you could attain anything through hard work. Because maybe one day Shannon wouldn’t be so jaded and she’d join her there.
“No Trish. I’m sorry. This dog is sweet but…a mess. I can’t take a chance that something might happen to you or Charlie. Phil would never forgive me, and we have a deal.”
“Oh stop that. Phil and you have no deal, he loves you just as much as I do. Are you sure though?”
“I am. Please tell him I’ll be back as soon as I can, but this might be a while.”
“It’s fine. No rush, just be safe. I’m sure he can handle the bar by himself for a bit. Call me when you’re on your way back, okay?”
“Got it. Bye.”
The pinks and purples of sunset filled the car, set off in stark contrast to the darkened trees before her. She followed the winding road of the mainland until she caught sight of a tiny wooden sign. Humane Society. Must be the place. She turned off the road and pulled into the parking lot. Cutting the engine, she glanced down at the sleeping bundle next to her. Maybe that was the dog’s first night’s rest in a long time and she was about to hand Caramel over to strangers?
Ugh. Don’t name the dog. It’s not your dog. If it’s a she, she could go by Cara for short. Nope. Stop.
Scooping up the bundle into her arms, this time she rested the dog against her heart. Caramel was the present she’d asked Santa for all those years ago. Only now, she couldn’t accept the gift. Timing was everything and hers had always been off. Slowly stepping out of the car, she kicked the door shut behind her and walked into the shelter.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim, fluorescent bulbs flickering off the concrete floor and her nose started twitching immediately. Cats. She’d always had an allergy to cats. The sound of far off barking and a door swinging shut was quickly accompanied by shuffling feet coming down the hall. The bundle in her arms woke up and raised its head.
“We’re closing up,” a deep baritone with a delicious gentlemanly Southern twinge boomed. His accent was faint, but present.
Shannon cleared her throat. The man stared down at his feet. Deliberately? Was he avoiding eye contact with her? She couldn’t tell. Wearing a baseball cap, flannel shirt, light colored jeans, and work boots he could have been a country boy. No man typically avoided eye contact with her.
“I know, I’m so sorry. I just found this little dog and I was hoping that—”
“Nope, sorry. I don’t do any of the…” he reached her and raised his head and his hand to cut her off. Then his words cut out and she caught herself catching flies with a slack jaw.
If he looked like some good ole boy from a distance, up close he was pure male model caliber. A strong jaw with the hint of stubble begged her to run her fingers along the edge. Piercing blue eyes, deep and wide set, stared straight and true into hers. Like he could see into her soul. She’d always been undone by eye contact, either squirming to get away from the scrutiny or desperate for notice. Under his gaze, something inside her unclenched and she relaxed. When he dropped his eyes to the bundle on her chest, she felt the loss physically. Like someone had been hugging her and then abruptly stepped away. She’d experienced that a few times.
“Is this the dog?”
“Yeah, sorry. Hi. I’m Shaz—Shannon. I’m Shannon. Marie Smith-Thomson told me to stop by. I found this dog in an alley.”
“Little thing like this? Looks to be in rough shape.”
“I wouldn’t know. I just found it. I didn’t even bother looking if it’s a boy or girl.”
He chuckled, a deep, low rumble that sounded as rich as the chocolate cake she’d had on her last birthday. Lucky number twenty-six. Maybe next year she wouldn’t be alone to celebrate. She bit the inside of her cheek. She had to get the ridiculous thoughts to stop slipping into her every moment. Besides, finding someone to spend the night with wasn’t the problem, wanting to stick around for a good one was.
“I don’t actually work here. I’m just a volunteer. I promised the staff I’d lock up so they could get home to their families. Kind of a skeleton crew here for the next couple weeks.”
“Really? Oh shoot. Well… I don’t know what to do then.”
“I could take her, at least for the night. I’m a trainer and I have a few other dogs. She might like it okay for the night.”
His words rushed out in a low mumble. The unwavering clarity in his eyes told her his sincerity. Tall, calm, and handsome. He’s exactly what I’m looking for.
She wasn’t looking for anyone. She’d be gone in a few months. With any luck. She gave herself a little shake and Caramel shifted in her arms.
“You wouldn’t mind?” She cleared her throat.
“No, not at all.”
“Maybe Santa will put you at the top of the nice list this year.”
“I don’t think there’s any need for that.” He stared down at his feet.
Had she embarrassed him? Standing somewhere over six feet, the man exuded machismo and power. Could a little teasing about the jolly ole elf have rattled him? Interesting. Shannon untangled Caramel from her chest and handed the dog to him. Strong, rough hands brushed against her wrists sending a spark through her. The calendar might have said December but she felt as electrified as the fourth of July.
“Thank you. I appreciate you helping me out like this.”
“No thanks needed. Glad to see someone else who can’t turn their back on someone in need.”
Shannon forced her lips to stretch into a smile. The contortions of her face felt more like a grimace than any expression of happiness or pleasure. No, turning her back on someone in need had never been her style. Others had found it easy enough to do to her, though.
“Be sure to tell Miss Marie I said hello.”
“I will. I have a phone call scheduled with her tomorrow. I’ll let her know how helpful you are.” Her words babbled, falling one on top of the other. “I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Joe. Joe Butterfield.”
“Joe Butterfield. Nice to meet you,” she rocked back on her heels. With the dog securely in his arms, she smoothed down her sweater and skirt, her hands playing with the brass details on the waist. She hadn’t been at a loss with a man in a long time. She also hadn’t purposefully tried to talk or flirt with one either.
“I guess I’ll go. Thank you,” she bobbed her head and turned to stalk out of the building without a second thought.
She didn’t stop until she reached her car, backed out of the spot, and zoomed back down the road toward the island. Caramel would be safe with Joe. Would she be able to stop thinking about him?

Staying in one place has never been Shannon Tweed’s style. She agreed to move in with her cousin, Trish, to help her through a difficult second pregnancy and still has another five months before she can put St. Simons Island in her rearview. She has plenty of time to have a little fun. Unfortunately, she might have stumbled onto Mr. Right instead of Mr. Right Now. Finding a little slice of seclusion on the beautiful Georgia coast was exactly the balm Joe Butterfield needed to heal his aching soul. He’s not the kind of guy to tak
e for himself. Then he meets a woman who has him questioning what to do with the rest of his life. If only he’ll trust his heart enough to make the choice.
About the author
Rachelle Paige Campbell lives in the Midwest, spending her days taking care of her family and her nights plotting her next story. Setting her books in some of her favorite locales provides the perfect excuse for plenty of research trips.
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Coastal Erosion Page 21
