by Jo Leigh
“Agreed.”
“And what did you say after he said that?”
“He cut me off somewhere around, ‘shall I bring a few of these mothers to your place so you can explain where you stand?’” Kate blew out a breath and sat behind her desk. “Forget him. We don’t need some stuck-up know-it-all to front this fund-raiser. All we need is plenty of press interest, and that’s pretty much a done deal. We’ve got music, food, marquees galore...not to mention the Moon Shadows.” Kate felt marginally appeased that one of the UK’s up-and-coming country rock bands backed their campaign. “So, did you want my help with something?”
“If that’s okay...” Nancy grimaced. “Although now is probably not the best time to let you know about another no-show for Saturday.”
“What?” Kate’s optimism wavered once more. “Who?”
“The lead guitarist from the Moon Shadows is sick. The bassist has promised he’ll find a replacement. I’m just worried how the crowd will react to not having Jason Stewart there. He’s the main man, after all.”
“Since when has a guitarist been the main man? What’s wrong with the lead singer?”
“Nothing. It’s just Jason is...” Nancy’s dark eyes glistened with mischief. “Well, Jason.”
“Hmm.” Kate picked up a pen and tapped it on her desk. “As long as they find a replacement and the show can go on, it will be fine. I’d like to think people in the Cove will be there for the cause...even if the mayor isn’t.”
“True.” Nancy pressed her ever-present clipboard to her chest. “Is there anything else I can take off your plate? You look so stressed.”
“I’m fine. Really.” Kate pushed the curls from her brow and forced a smile. “See? All good.”
Her colleague raised her eyebrows, her gaze disbelieving. “If you say so. I’ll see you in the morning then, okay?”
“Sure. Have a nice night.”
Kate dragged some papers from the overflowing tray on her desk and resigned herself to another late night. Her eyes itched with tiredness, and her body ached from the hours she’d put in over the last month trying to pull together what she hoped would be a fund-raiser to beat all fund-raisers.
She put the final touches on the last press release before the event and emailed it to the Cove Chronicle’s editor. With any luck, Claire Neale would run a story about the event on page two, even if she wouldn’t promise Kate the front page. The local radio station had been great, and Kate’s entire team had worked social media to the breaking point, but still, any last-minute ticket purchases would be welcome.
She picked up the phone and dialed the Chronicle’s number. Considering the last press release she’d sent had gone astray, Kate needed to be sure this one was safely received.
“The Cove Chronicle, Claire Neale speaking.”
“Claire, it’s Kate.”
“Hi. What can I do for you?”
“I just sent you the press release for Saturday’s fund-raiser. I’d really appreciate you running it tomorrow, if possible.”
“Can’t do tomorrow, Kate. You should’ve had this with me days ago if you wanted it in tomorrow. I’ll tell you what, as you’ve got the Moon Shadows coming, I’ll put it on page two on Friday. Okay?”
Should she tell Claire about the lead guitarist? No. What good would that do for the cause? “Great. Okay. That’s good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now, get off this phone. Some of us want to get home before nine, if we can.”
“Sure. Have a good one.”
Kate hung up and leaned back. She stared out the window toward the purple-gray clouds beyond. Only a few skeleton staff remained in the office, none of whom she really knew past work. She took a long breath. She was in need of some company. Some fun company. It niggled that she’d not managed to secure the mayor’s attendance and that the main draw of the Moon Shadows would be a no-show. What else could go wrong?
She needed to get out of here and lighten her mood.
Shutting down her computer, Kate grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
A couple of drinks and some friendly company at the Coast and she’d be feeling more positive, ready to fight for some more backing tomorrow. Her charity work mattered—to her, and to the teenagers she tried to help. She would not be beaten down from working for mothers who’d had the courage to go through their pregnancies and the birth of a new baby alone.
She pressed her hand to her stomach. She would’ve found that courage if the baby she’d once carried had made it...if she’d managed to keep her child safely cocooned in her womb.
Kate’s heart grew heavy as fresh doubt and a sense of ineptitude pressed down on her. She quickly buttoned her coat against the February chill and shook off memories that would only serve to upset her. Lately, it felt as though she was losing her fire, failing herself and others. She could not give up her work or her determination to succeed. If she did, she’d have nothing left but the haunting memories of the baby she’d lost and how that had brought her to work at the center in the first place.
That, and Marian’s support, of course.
Kate smiled as she thought of the town’s matriarch and baker, Marian Cohen. A wonderful woman who had also been a surrogate mother to Kate through one of the worst times of her life. She’d never take Marian’s continuing love and comfort for granted. Not ever.
With that thought, Kate’s steps lightened, and a slow smile appeared as she strode toward the Coast.
* * *
MAC ORMAN WALKED to the window of his room above the Coast. Light snow swirled around the parking lot, and the old-fashioned streetlamps shuddered in the gathering wind. Maybe the idea of starting his search for Marian Ball, or Marian Cohen as she was known these days, could wait until morning.
He walked to the small desk in the corner of the room. Papers were strewn across the top, along with his father’s notebook. The chaos reflected Mac’s frame of mind. Despite knowing before he came here two days ago that Templeton was a small town, the lack of activity—and the increased chance of being noticed as a stranger—was worrying. For a fleeting moment, he’d wondered if he had made a bad decision coming to this seemingly sleepy town where a newcomer would undoubtedly be scrutinized like a rare museum piece.
The last thing he wanted was a bunch of nosy people wanting to know him and his agenda.
He’d been exposed to the same suspicion repeatedly as he’d walked along the high street until he’d found the Coast. Why his pretty average appearance could evoke such blatant evaluation was beyond him. Not that it mattered. Self-righteous and judgmental people he could deal with. It was comfort and sympathy from others that irked him.
Mac walked back to his bed and flopped backward against the pillows, picking up one of the letters the adoption agency sent to his father. Whatever happened next, he was here now, and he wouldn’t leave until he’d achieved his goal. Closed community or not.
There would be no going back once he started making enquiries, and many people in this small seaside town might be affected by his actions. He dropped his gaze to the correspondence, feeling guilty.
Marian Ball, married name Cohen—Now resident in Templeton Cove. Approx. 65 years old. No other children.
He folded the letter and exhaled.
God only knew how things would go. Judging by the stony welcome, there would be plenty of people wanting to know who he was and what he was up to. Mac smiled wryly. Well, all they’d know was he had a job to do. A job he was keeping from his family, one with the potential to turn his world—and theirs—upside down.
Templeton Cove, with its rows of seafront shops, B and Bs with vacancy signs hanging from fancy posts, tempting restaurants and bustling offices, was where he would find his biological grandmother. Marian Cohen had given Mac’s father up for adoption, and, according to his father’s research, she now lived in the Cove. She’d been m
arried for eight or nine years but hadn’t had any more children.
Mac clenched his jaw as further resentment whispered through him.
No other children.
Reading between the lines of his father’s sometimes indecipherable notes, the circumstances surrounding his father’s conception had not been ideal. The implication of possible abuse, neglect or abandonment had been alluded to, which was why his mother had asked him to let the search for Marian Cohen go. To leave the past in the past now that his father had passed.
The strain of keeping this trip a secret from his mother and older sister had bothered him for weeks, but now he was here, there would be no going back. He closed his eyes.
His family didn’t feel the same drive to find Marian as he did. Why would they? It was Mac who’d lost his girlfriend and their unborn child, and the future happiness that had been torn from him by a drunk driver.
Anger burned in his chest, and Mac snapped open his stinging eyes to glare at the ceiling. Life was too damn short to ignore a person because you might not like what they had to say, where they’d been or what they’d done.
Rightly or wrongly, Marian Cohen deserved to know what kind of man her son—his father—had been. She deserved to know Dan Orman had cared for his family, worked hard and tried to be everything a good husband and dad should be, but time and again he’d failed.
Insecurity and self-doubt had incessantly plagued Dan’s personal life, no matter how successful his business. Over time, he had pushed away his wife, barely managing to keep the love of his children. Abandonment and unworthiness had pulsed in his blood.
Mac knew all too well the legacy his father’s biological mother had left him with—and Marian Cohen was to blame for her son’s every failing.
Guilt didn’t belong in Mac’s mission, only determination...and resolution.
Neither did the cowardice of a phone call. Marian Cohen would look her grandson in the face.
Pushing up from the bed, he walked into the bathroom. A quick shower and change and then he’d head downstairs for a beer or two. The Coast, with its polished ship’s wheel hanging in pride of place on the wall, ropes looped across the ceiling and the whole interior decorated to resemble a galleon from years gone by, was as corny as any little seaside bar could be.
Yet when he’d arrived, the place had been packed, a three-piece band playing on a raised platform and the small dance floor in front of them decently full for a Wednesday night. From what he’d gathered from the people who frequented the place, the Coast was quite probably the most popular bar in town.
Mac undressed and stepped into the shower. He’d be lying if he said the Coast’s inexplicable familiarity hadn’t influenced his decision to stay here. He’d immediately relaxed a little and allowed the informality to seep inside him and bolster his reasons for being here.
In bars, no one cared who or what he was. When he played and sang, all they cared about was that his music relieved them of their worries.
The sense of loss that squeezed his chest confirmed how improbable it was he’d ever share real love with anyone again. Jilly had been gone three years, and although Mac dated, was open to what might be with someone else, no woman had come close to rekindling his belief in true, lifelong love.
If everything he’d once dreamed of—marriage, kids, a home—wasn’t to be, he could accept that. But what he wouldn’t accept is Marian Cohen not knowing what being given up for adoption had done to his father’s confidence.
Mac was here now and God damn it, he would come face-to-face with Marian Cohen no matter what.
Copyright © 2018 by Rachel Brimble
ISBN-13: 9781488085499
The Navy SEAL’s Rescue
Copyright © 2018 by Jolie Kramer
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