First Comes Love

by Heather Heyford

  True enough, in theory. What Kerry hadn’t told him, though, was that she wasn’t only one month late. She’d been so wrapped up in her studies and him that her first missed period had come and gone without her noticing. She was already well into her first trimester.

  “By the time Shay was born the following August, it had been months since I’d heard from Chris. Except for the times when Shay asks about him, which are getting to be fewer and further apart, it’s almost like he never existed. Then, ten years ago, I married a detective and had Chloé and Ella, and for a while, Shay had a stepdad. But within six months of us separating, he admitted he had a new girlfriend and was moving to Boise to live with her. He calls from time to time and makes promises, but he’s not very good at follow-through.”

  Now Shay was paying for yet another of Kerry’s mistakes, and so were Chloé and Ella.

  At a whoop followed by a splash, they turned to where Shay and Chloé’s heads bobbed in the water.

  “You’ve given Shay something positive to focus on. For that, I’m grateful.”

  But that’s where it ended. Kerry was through with cops, even cops as good-looking and generous as Alex Walker.

  Chapter Ten

  “Dinner was great, Mom. Thanks for having us.”

  “When are you going to stop thanking me? This is your home. As I’ve said I don’t know how many times, we’re just so very glad you’re here. You and your beautiful girls.”

  “Sorry.” Kerry had been thanking her family ever since she’d come back to town. But she was just so grateful to have them and this place as a safety net. Most people weren’t so lucky.

  Kerry, her father Seamus, brother Ryan, and his wife Indra relaxed around her parents’ teak picnic table beneath the shade of a portico around which lavender-colored wisteria bloomed. They were watching the six boisterous cousins chase Hobo, his pink tongue lolling happily out of the side of his mouth, up and down sandstone paving landscaped with low-growing plants and fragrant herbs.

  When the farmhouse’s steep staircase became too much for her parents’ knees, they’d rented it out and put the income toward building this new, light-filled home nearby, complete with a main-floor master suite and all the latest conveniences.

  Kerry’s brothers were all established in their respective careers. After their father was elected judge, Ryan, the oldest, had taken over his law firm. Marcus and Keith had gone into the family wine business. The Friestatts were one of the earliest landholders to convert from hazelnut orchards to wine grapes, back when most experts still thought Oregon was too cold. And it might have been at one time, pinot noir being a notoriously finicky grape. But climate change had worked in their favor, overheating Northern California and bringing balmier temperatures to the Willamette Valley. Now, three decades later, Marcus was making a name for himself as yet another in a string of winemakers and Keith was in sales.

  All three O’Hearn men had found bright, interesting women and, in O’Hearn tradition, wasted no time starting broods of their own. Ryan had Indra, Marcus had Paige, and Keith was with Sherilynn. The staunchly Catholic family of Judge Seamus and Rose O’Hearn would be almost freakishly perfect were it not for their only daughter getting pregnant out of wedlock, followed by a short-lived marriage and a divorce.

  Kerry and Ryan had always been close, despite—or perhaps because of—their eight-year age difference. When she needed an ear, Ryan was the one she called for his wise counsel.

  Ryan knew she’d managed to keep it together over the years, despite her ex getting further and further behind on his share of support. Then, one day, she complained without thinking that the rent on her Portland apartment was about to skyrocket with the renewal of her lease. That was at the same time that Ella had hit the terrible twos and outgrown her crib and would need new bedroom furniture.

  Ryan was never cut out to be a defense attorney. He’d won respect doing family law, real estate transactions, and dealing with small business issues, mostly relating to the wine industry.

  “In a small town, you have to be a generalist,” Ryan explained to Kerry.

  But it’d been years since Ryan had seen the inside of a courtroom. Knowing when to challenge evidence and how to negotiate plea bargains were learned skills, skills he didn’t possess. So, when Ryan’s strongest guy moved on to a bigger playing field at the same time Kerry was having problems, he made her an offer.

  Her parents offered up the farmhouse at whatever rent she could afford. “But you need the rent money for your new mortgage,” Kerry argued the day they sat down at her parents’ picnic table to talk it out.

  “It’s not like we’re in dire straits,” grumbled her father. To his way of thinking, pleading, even with his own daughter, didn’t become a man of his generation.

  Still, going back to her hometown felt a little like an admission of failure.

  “Didn’t we offer to help you out after Shay was born, when you were still struggling to get through law school?” asked Mom. “You insisted on doing everything yourself.”

  “I am her mother. It was my responsibility.”

  “Don’t be silly. We love having you and the girls around. Without you, something was missing. Now we have our whole clan back.” Mom folded her napkin on the table, resting her case.

  With three kids to support and educate, what choice did Kerry have? Kids grew so fast. Before she knew it, Shay would be starting college.

  The worst part was, she had no one to blame but herself. Her responsibility to her girls was the bottom line.

  In the course of her career, she’d been both an assistant DA and its opposite, a public defender. She had a rare appreciation for both sides. But defense was where the money was, even if she had to cut her hourly fee when she moved to bring it into line with Newberry standards.

  “I’m just so glad the lease was up on the farmhouse when it was,” said Mom, setting Dad’s after-dinner cup of coffee down in front of him.

  “While I’m thinking of it,” said Dad. “Now that I don’t live and die by a calendar anymore and I don’t have a picture window that looks out on the meadow every day, remind me to hire someone to mow it when the end of summer comes around.”

  “That’s three months from now. What do I do with it in the meantime?” asked Kerry. It had been ten years since she’d lived on a vineyard, and before that she was just a kid, innocent of how to maintain a large property. She braced herself for yet another in an overwhelming list of tasks.

  “That’s the beauty of a wildflower meadow. No fertilizing, no watering, and it only needs to be mowed once a year to keep the weeds down.”

  “So noted.”

  Kerry’s eye traveled over the pleasantly cluttered table, including what was left of the banana bread Mom had baked that morning. She might have a new house, but Mom was still at it, baking and cooking and gardening.

  At the head of the table, Kerry’s dad sat back, both hands resting on the arms of his white canvas director’s chair. “Alex Walker,” he said. “Tell me about him.”

  Darn Shay, going on about Alex all through dinner.

  Kerry turned her hands palms up. “Shay said all there is to say. He’s her boxing coach.”

  “By way of forced community service for the NPD.” Dad looked up from under bushy eyebrows.

  “He’s a cop. Guilty as charged.”

  “And to think I used to like cops,” muttered Dad under his breath.

  Judges spent their careers working closely with law enforcement. Seamus O’Hearn gave cops the respect he felt they deserved. Until two of them had hurt his only daughter.

  “Don’t tell me you’re—”

  “No, Ryan,” Kerry spat to her brother.

  “And even if I was seeing him, I’m thirty-eight years old. I can see whoever I want. I don’t need anyone’s permission.”

  “Don’t get your hackles up. I’m just saying. Given your history, I’d have thought you’d have learned your lesson.”

  “I have. Quit jumping t
o conclusions.”

  “I’m only looking at the evidence as presented.”

  “Ding ding ding! Back to your corners, everybody. Let’s not ruin a perfectly good dinner,” said her mother.

  Indra lay her hand on Kerry’s forearm. “Guess who was asking about you?” she said, black, doe eyes sparkling. “Danny Wilson.”

  The only thing surprising about Danny’s name coming up was how long it had taken. The O’Hearns had known the Wilsons for generations. Danny was even-tempered, good-looking, and a hard worker. Back when they were teens, he and Kerry looked like a match made in heaven. Everyone had taken for granted they would be together forever.

  “Paige said Danny asked how you were doing.” Paige worked with Danny at the Sweet Spot.

  “Hard to believe Danny never married,” sighed Mom. “A nice boy like him. Such a waste.”

  “That’s easy. He never got over Kerry,” said Indra with a sideways glance.

  Kerry couldn’t be mad at her sister-in-law. Indra was just trying to get her parents off her case about Alex Walker. But in doing so, she was putting her thumb on the scales.

  “Are you going to the Police Benefit and Fair next weekend?” asked Mom, changing the subject.

  Kerry breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Yes, she is,” Ryan interrupted as he reached for another slice of banana bread, demolishing it in two bites. O’Hearn Associates always sponsored it in exchange for getting their name prominently displayed on all the promotional pieces. “Everyone in the firm needs to make an appearance.”

  Kerry glared at her brother. “Thank you, Mr. Bossypants.” Then she turned to her mother. “Yes, Mom. I was planning on taking the girls.”

  “This year marks its twenty-fifth anniversary. Your father and I have never missed one, have we, Seamus?”

  Behind his beloved, print copy of The Oregonian, her father grunted.

  “We’ll be there around suppertime.” Indra winked. “One less meal to cook.”

  “Come with us,” said Mom to Kerry. “I used to bake something for the bake sale every year, but now with all the new health department laws, they can’t accept homemade food anymore. Tsk. A shame, if you ask me. Homemade just tastes better than store-bought.”

  “Sure.”

  “Good!” She clasped her hands together. “Oh, I’m so happy you moved back home.”

  Kerry smiled. “I am, too.” She meant it. Despite the inevitable bickering, it would be good for her kids to spend at least some of their formative years around family, even though her brothers and dad would never be a substitute for a real father.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Thank you for your donation. Would you like some juice?”

  If Alex had heard that phrase once today, he’d heard it a hundred times. It came from one of the EMTs at the blood donation booth squeezed next to his in the postage-stamp-sized parking lot of the Newberry Fire Department. The EMT held out a small plastic cup, the donor chugged the juice, tossed the cup into the trash can provided, and then went on his way. Unless he felt faint, in which case he was invited to sit until the feeling passed.

  Alex had been flipping burgers and turning hot dogs at the NPD stand since two o’clock that afternoon. Chief Garrett had assigned each available officer on the force a two-hour shift. But when Washington and her K9 got called out to a suspicious traffic stop, Alex volunteered to let Myers go home and pulled a double. Now the suppertime crowd was trickling in.

  “Thank you for your donation. Would you like some juice?”

  It was a hot day for this early in June, and standing on the macadam over a commercial-sized charcoal grill made it feel even hotter. Alex’s NPD T-shirt stuck to his back, and beneath his ball cap his scalp was on fire.

  At least there were two people manning the booth at all times, which meant he and Zangrilli could take turns grilling and waiting on customers.

  “Switch?” asked Zangrilli, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “You look about done to a crisp.”

  “Thanks,” said Alex, handing Zangrilli the tongs and stepping up to the window, where a line of a half-dozen people drifted forward. “Next?”

  He looked up, straight into the eyes of Kerry O’Hearn.

  Kerry seemed as surprised to see Alex as he was to see her. Neither could find the simplest words to say.

  “Coach Walker!” shouted Shay. “Look, Grandpa. It’s my boxing coach!”

  Shay’s grandpa had bushy black brows and a tattersall shirt, the kind on the window mannequins at the stodgy men’s shop on Main Street. Despite his slight stoop, he towered between the two small girls whose hands he cradled in his. When they recognized Alex, their eyes widened, and smiles blossomed on their faces.

  They remember me. Despite the blistering heat, that bolstered his mood.

  “Dad. Mom. This is Detective Alex Walker.” She turned to the older couple. “My parents, Seamus and Rose.”

  “Everybody still calls him Judge, even though he’s retired,” said Shay. By now, she’d all but lost her shyness around him.

  Alex slipped off his plastic glove to take Rose’s proffered fingertips and shake Seamus’s hand, freckled with age.

  “How do you like Newberry so far?” asked Rose politely.

  “Nice change from where I was.”

  “Portland, if I heard right,” said Seamus.

  Alex nodded, wishing he had met the esteemed man on more equal footing instead of looking like a fast-food worker. He recalled Curtis informing him that everybody in town knew who he was. He wondered what else Judge O’Hearn had been told about him.

  “Yessir.”

  “My granddaughter, here, has told me all about her boxing lessons.”

  “She’s a quick study.”

  Shay peered up at her grandfather. “Coach Walker said I might get to be in a demonstration.”

  “Is that so?”

  “We’re working on it,” said Alex.

  “She’s close to her grandpa, aren’t you, Shay?” Seamus said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Tells me everything.” His watery blue gaze underscored a distinct message.

  Zangrilli brought over their order.

  “Well, it was nice seeing you,” said Kerry.

  Alex held up a hand in farewell and watched the O’Hearns meander off to his left, toward the blood donation booth.

  In the brief lull between customers, Alex cracked open another roll of quarters into the cashbox.

  There was a break in the live music coming from the makeshift stage.

  “Thank you for your donation. Would you like some juice?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Alex’s head whipped around in the direction of the blood donation booth. Nobody turned down the juice. The juice was a badge of honor. Refusing it was like throwing away a thank-you card without opening it. The juice was part of the whole giving-blood experience.

  There he saw an athletically built guy with thick, nut-brown hair, looking fresh and neat in his pressed pants, rolling down his shirtsleeve over the telltale adhesive tape circling his forearm.

  “Kerry,” Mr. Perfect said, the thick clot of emotion in his throat audible from where Alex stood.

  “Danny,” Kerry breathed, her voice freighted with history.

  The rest of her family had already moved on to one of the silent auction booths. Chloé, on hearing her mother’s voice behind her, stopped and pointed backward.

  That kid was attached to her mother like glue.

  When Rose O’Hearn glimpsed Kerry and Danny talking, she gently urged Chloé onward with a whisper in her ear and a hand on her back.

  “Heard you were back in town,” said Danny.

  “Since last September. Ryan offered me a place at his firm.”

  “I know. But then, who doesn’t? By the way, props on winning that big embezzlement case. Everybody’s still talking about it. I mean, granted, not everyone agrees with the verdict, but . . .” Too late, Danny bit his tongue.

  “So,” said Kerry. “
What’s new with you?”

  “Nothing. Well, something, come to think of it,” he said, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I’m head winemaker over at the Sweet Spot now. Maybe you heard?” His brows met in the middle with so much pride and hope that Alex’s heart squeezed for him.

  “Oh, sure,” she said with forced enthusiasm. “Indra told me.”

  “Indra. She must’ve heard it from Paige.”

  “Paige,” she said at the same time, resulting in a little pantomime of shared chuckles, smiles, and nods, in the imitative way of two people who know each other very, very well.

  “Well, I should go,” said Kerry with a nervous glance toward where her parents examined an auction item. “My family . . .”

  “Right. Your girls are getting big.”

  “Last time I saw you, I don’t think I’d even had Ella.”

  “Between Paige and Marcus and Seamus, I feel like I know all about her.”

  Seamus? thought Alex. Apparently, not everyone called Kerry’s dad Judge.

  Kerry cocked her head in a question.

  “Your dad and I started having breakfast together once a month, after Rotary. He didn’t mention it?”

  “It hasn’t come up.”

  “Oh. Do you think—can I give you a call some time? We could all go out together—you, me, and the kids—and get something to eat.”

  Just as Kerry’s mouth opened to reply, a couple of teenagers stopped in front Alex’s stand, loudly debating burgers versus dogs.

  Desperately, Alex tried to read Kerry’s lips without being seen but without success.

  Then she smiled at Danny and retreated a step.

  But before she could escape, Danny took her arm, leaned in, and kissed her on the soft, downy part of her cheek, right in front of her ear, just as she spotted Alex staring daggers at them.

  “Bye,” she mouthed to Danny with a flutter of her fingers. And then she jogged to catch up with her family while Danny gazed after her with cow eyes before heaving a brooding sigh and heading in the opposite direction, toward Alex’s booth.

  Unable to make a decision, the rowdy teens took off without ordering anything.