Sea Glass Sunrise

by Donna Kauffman

  She slid her fingers up his neck and through his hair, making him groan with pleasure, as his body considered a miraculous twitching return to life. Then she knocked gently on the side of his head and laughed into his shirt. “I can hear the gears turning in here,” she said.

  “You’re a mind reader now?” he murmured, holding on to the moment, holding on to her.

  “You’ve either returned to the real world,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice, “or you’re desperately afraid that the seagulls are going to come down and pluck me away.” She wiggled slightly, just enough to make him realize he was holding on to her rather tightly.

  He relaxed his arms, but didn’t let her go, and was surprised by the relief he felt when she didn’t make any move to disengage herself. “Sorry,” he said, then leaned down and kissed her temple. “And if I’m under oath here, Counselor, the answer is . . . a little bit of both.”

  She lifted her head then and leaned back so she could look up into his eyes, which he’d opened enough to look right back into hers. Her eyes were still a dark and drowsy blue, the look of a woman well pleased, and his body twitched again. Her knowing smile added a little zip to that burgeoning need. But he hadn’t missed the way she was probing his eyes, his face. Even supremely relaxed, she was still focused, still intent. His smile grew at that, because he realized that rather than put him off, or make him think her too stiff or stuffy—something he knew quite intimately not to be true—he found her always-ready sharpness, her intellect, to be a big part of his attraction to her.

  And it wasn’t until that moment that he realized some part of him had always had a bit of an issue with Tenley’s sublime lack of interest in what was going on around her. Well, he’d known it had bothered him, he just hadn’t fully understood why. Tenley hadn’t had a full-time occupation, but she had filled her time both with making a home for the two of them and with her family’s charitable work. He’d been proud of her, hadn’t resented her lack of drive or ambition. She might have been a bit overly emotional about things he couldn’t understand, and she wasn’t particularly self-sufficient when it came to entertaining herself, always needing to be doing something, talking to someone, running off to somewhere, but for all of that, she wasn’t stupid or flakey. She just hadn’t been . . . aware. Tuned in. Paying attention.

  “I can assure you that the seagulls won’t be interested in carting me off. You won’t have to use your mad Samaritan skills to rescue me again.”

  He slid one hand up her back, then pushed back the wild tangle of hair next to her face. “You don’t always have to rescue yourself, you know.”

  Rather than be annoyed by that, or defensive, she laughed and the tone was decidedly self-deprecating. “That’s not the problem. The problem is needing to be rescued at all.”

  He leaned down and caught her face to his, kissing her slowly, but thoroughly, until they were both a little needy again. Her eyes drifted open as he lifted his head. “What was that for?” she asked, and the soft heat in her voice did amazingly restorative things to his very recently depleted manhood.

  “Everyone needs to be rescued from time to time,” he said. Sort of like what you’re doing for me, right now. He straightened up until they were both steady on their feet. “Tide’s out,” he said. “Take a walk with me.” He nodded to the exposed floor of the inlet.

  “Okay,” she said, sounding both surprised and pleased, making him glad he’d gone with the impulse.

  He just wasn’t ready to let go quite yet.

  He zipped up while she reached under her dress and slipped off her ruined panties, and the idea that she was commando under that pretty floral sundress shouldn’t have made him so hungry, given what they’d just been doing, but the truth was, as wild as it had been, he hadn’t actually seen any part of her naked. Yet.

  He went around to the back of the truck and pulled out two pairs of old Wellies, setting them both on the ground. The tide might be out, but what was exposed wasn’t beach so much as ocean floor. Not for bare feet.

  “So attractive,” she said, but rather than nix the stroll, she simply lifted her skirt, bundled it to the side and tied it into a sort of giant knot the way some women did with long T-shirts at the beach. She looked at him and laughed. “What? I’ve already forfeited any style points I had by putting on those things”—she nodded at the mud-spattered green rubber boots—“so going into negative numbers isn’t exactly going to hurt me.”

  He picked up the smaller pair, which belonged to one of the young guys he’d hired on as summer barn help and set them down in front of her, then provided his shoulder while she slipped her slender feet out of her sandals and into the boots.

  “There’s like, straw in these. Or something.” She looked up at him, her hand still on his shoulder. “I probably shouldn’t ask.” Her blue eyes were sparkling and he wanted her even more than he had an hour ago.

  “Safer bet,” he told her, then kicked out of his work boots and tugged on the other pair, over the legs of his jeans. He held out his hand. “Shall we, Miz Scarlett?”

  “Why, I do believe I’ve left my bonnet in the cab of your surrey, Mister Blue.”

  He laughed and gave her a questioning look. She hadn’t been wearing a hat.

  Seeing his expression, she said, “I saw a baseball cap on your backseat. Could I borrow? I’m not supposed to have my face in direct sun what with the stitches, black eyes—”

  “You’re beautiful,” he told her, knowing she wasn’t fishing for compliments, which made it that much more fun to give them. “I can’t vouch for what condition the ball cap is in, but . . .”

  “I’m sure it will be fine. Thanks,” she said, as he opened the door and dug around under the lunch leftovers.

  It was a Blue and Sons company hat, thankfully not in bad shape. He kept it, along with a hard hat, in the truck for walking job sites, so it didn’t see too much wear and tear. Still, he dusted it off on his thigh before handing it to her.

  “Thanks.” She scooped her hair up in a high ponytail, popped the hat on her head, slid the ponytail through the strap opening in the back, then pulled the strap snug, all in a matter of seconds.

  “I’d almost believe you’d done that a time or two before,” he said.

  She tilted her head and he thought there wasn’t anything she couldn’t make look good. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

  “Well, neither the sundress you have on now, nor the lawyer suit you had on earlier, looks like it goes well with a ball cap.”

  She laughed easily, and it was that self-deprecation thing that always caught him off guard. Tenley had been very worried about her appearance, always wanting to present herself in the best light, and there was no teasing her on the subject. And Lord help him or anyone who made her mess up her hair. Calder was not interested in making anyone feel bad about herself, but even he had to admit the minefield of his ex-wife’s insecurities had been exhausting at times.

  “I will admit that my current wardrobe—or the one I had when I left D.C.—was not conducive to ball cap wearing. I didn’t even own a pair of jeans.” At his raised brow, she said, “I was never doing anything that informal.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.

  She laughed again. “I know, right?”

  He nodded toward the waterfront and they made their way down to the washout and started picking their way between the kelp beds and other flotsam and jetsam. She occasionally stooped and sorted through the tidal detritus with a stick, leaving him to marvel over how she could go from cool, sleek, and elegant lawyer—which she’d been, even in her soft cotton sundress—to baseball hat-, knotted-up dress-, and muddy boot-wearing beachcomber. Both suited her like a second skin.

  She crouched down and was picking up shells, discarding some, rooting some more, when she let out a particularly content-sounding sigh. “I used to do this all the time growing up. I never got tired of it. Like a treasure hunt.” She glanced up at him. “Which is where th
e mad baseball-cap-wearing skills come from. Apparently some things you never forget.” She laughed rather delightedly, and went back to digging.

  The sun was shining on the thick fall of her ponytail, which was wild and messy from their earlier adventures; her knees, which were exposed as her knotted dress had ridden up her thighs, were somewhat knobby, he noticed. Which made him smile, because somehow that was the last thing he’d expected on her sleek frame, and yet, in that moment, he thought, of course they were knobby. And suddenly he wasn’t having as hard a time picturing her on his farm. Not having a hard time at all.

  “Aha!” she shrieked, and straightened, then wobbled when her boots sank in the muck.

  He reached out a quick hand for her elbow, steadying her, and she turned into his arms. I could get used to this, Hannah, he thought, feeling both protective and possessive, certain she wouldn’t be grateful for either emotion. I could get used to you.

  “Look! Sea glass.” She turned the small, blue, pitted piece of saltwater-worn glass in her fingers. “For Kerry, it was fossils, and for Fiona, it was rocks and shells.” She looked into his eyes, hers a brighter blue, sparkling like the water beyond. “For me? It’s always been sea glass. I had jars of these at home, all shades of blue and white and green. I wonder where those jars are now?” She looked down at her dress. “No pockets. Figures.”

  She went to toss it back, but he caught it before the speck of blue left her fingertips.

  “It’s okay,” she said, looking sheepish. “It’s no big deal.”

  If she’d seen her own face, the delight in her eyes, she’d know it was definitely a big deal. He took the smooth pebble of sea-washed glass and slipped it in his shirt pocket. “Fortunately, I have pockets.”

  Instead of rolling her eyes, and turning back to her hunt, she rose up on her tiptoes, her boots making a sucking, popping sound as the heels came out of the muck, making them both grin, and she kissed him on the mouth. “Thank you. You’re always rescuing me,” she said. Their kiss tipped up the brim of her cap and she put a muddy hand on the top of it to keep it from falling off, her mouth curving in a dry smile. “I don’t know why I’m surprised any longer.”

  He grinned, turned the brim of her cap sideways, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Deeply, slowly, thoroughly. She moaned into his mouth as he parted her lips; then he groaned when she readily welcomed him. “Hannah,” he said, raggedly, when he finally lifted his mouth from hers.

  “Mmm,” was her only response; then she slid her arms around his waist and nestled more deeply, more perfectly, in his arms, and pressed her cheek to his chest.

  Something inside of him seemed to settle, almost like a part of him physically clicking into place, when he had her in his arms this way. He couldn’t question it or wonder about it; he could only accept it, and how it made him feel. Like I’m home. She’s home. He wrapped her up close and held her there, looking out toward the receding harbor waters, but not seeing any of it. I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to let this go. Of course, he’d have to do both. He let out a slow, quiet sigh and pressed his cheek to the top of her ball cap, wishing life weren’t so complicated, for either of them.

  After a few moments, she shifted in his arms, slid her hand down, and took his as he let her go, then silently continued on their walk, not releasing his hand, even when she crouched down to continue her hunt. It wasn’t clingy, or needy. In fact, there was something both sweet and very intimate about it, a connectedness that was somehow more powerful than when he’d been buried deep inside of her.

  By the time they got to the end of the small cove, he had a breast pocket full of sea glass and a few more chunks in the front pocket of his jeans. He’d just opened his mouth to ask her if she had some time the following day—Saturday—to drive out to his farm with him. He wanted—needed—to see her there now. Even though he knew it might be the stupidest thing he could do. She’d just come home to her family, a place she clearly loved, and seeing her here on the water, he felt pretty positive that she’d made the right choice. Would she want to go back to D.C.? Only time would tell. But was she in any real shape to make some other big leap? Say, in the direction of Calais? You’re an idiot. And since when are you in an all-fired hurry to take any big leaps yourself?

  He still had one to take with his father, and his brothers, about his future with the company. And that would have to wait until after he’d gotten out from under the arson situation here in Blueberry Cove. So the very last thing he should be thinking about was tangling her life up with his any further, much less imprinting the memory of her in any part of his life on the farm. That was his new life. His life. No regrets. No . . . foolish ideas of happy ever after, his little voice supplied.

  It was probably divine intervention when his phone rang before he could issue an invitation. He hadn’t realized he’d shoved his phone into his back pocket until the ringer went off. He couldn’t help going tense, but he’d be damned if he’d let his father intrude on any of the remaining time he had with Hannah. “Sorry,” he muttered, and slid the phone out. Then he paused in his steps, bringing her to a halt alongside him, as he looked at the name on the screen. He looked to Hannah. “It’s Winstock. Or his office, anyway.”

  She nodded, her face instantly going into sharp, legal-eagle mode, and damn if that didn’t make him grin, too.

  He answered the phone. “Calder Blue.” Then his eyes widened when none other than Brooks Winstock himself came on the line.

  “I’m back in the Cove,” he said. “Dinner meeting, seven o’clock?”

  So much for preliminaries. “I can make that work,” Calder said.

  “Come on up to the house. I’m buried under a mountain of stuff here and I can have the cook rustle us something up. More relaxed that way. Sounds like we could both use a little of that.”

  Calder wasn’t entirely certain what Winstock was alluding to. Their protracted attempts at meeting? That both of them had been questioned regarding the arson fire? He didn’t sound amused or pissed off, just . . . direct. So Calder didn’t probe for clarification. “Sounds good.”

  “I’d give you the address, but anyone can direct you. Why don’t you ask your lawyer?” he said, and for the first time, there was the barest hint of an edge to his voice. “She knows exactly where I live.” Then the line went dead.

  Calder slowly pocketed the phone again and looked at Hannah, who, standing as close as she was, had clearly heard both sides of the conversation. “So,” he said. “That was fun.” He smiled, though it was rueful. “I wonder if he knows my father?”

  Her smile matched his. “Do you want me to go along? As counsel? Arbitrate the contract?”

  “There won’t be any contract,” Calder said.

  She grinned. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

  He laughed outright, and pulled her into his arms for another fast kiss. “I believe you have bridesmaid debauchery to attend.” She made a face, which made his grin deepen. “I’ll handle this one on my own.” He leaned in, kissed her again, but softly, then deeply, until she moaned again. He ran slow kisses along her jaw to her ear, his body leaping in response when he felt the shudder of pleasure race through her. “But I reserve the right to request counsel later.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hannah stood on the stretch of lawn that separated the old keeper’s cottage from the lighthouse, marveling over the stunning transformation of her childhood protector. At least that’s how she’d always thought of the Point light, though she’d never told anyone that. She cradled an oversized mug of her brother’s famously delicious coffee between her hands, and thought about how, while listening to her grandfather’s many stories about the McCrae lightkeepers and the lighthouse itself, her seven-year-old self had considered that if roadways had the same sort of beacon lighting as Pelican Bay, maybe her parents wouldn’t have crashed their car during that ice storm when she was five. Maybe they’d all have remained one big, happy family.

  She’d l
oved listening to her grandfather’s stories of when the lighthouse had been operational, of her ancestors and their families who had been both lightkeepers and cottage caretakers. After the accident, those stories had become a great comfort to her, as had the tower. She’d somehow come to believe that as long as she had the lighthouse in sight, or in her heart, nothing bad could happen to her. “And we see how well that worked out for me,” she murmured as she brought the mug to her lips again and sipped.

  Although, if she were honest with herself, she hadn’t really kept the Point light in her heart, not in any meaningful way. She loved her home and her family, but she’d let her life in D.C., her goals, her dreams, her relationship all hold sway over her, until they consumed her every waking thought, pushing her home, and even her family, to a distant second place, especially the past few years. Standing there now, she wondered how she could have possibly gone a full three years without seeing her brother, or either of her sisters, without her beacon.

  “What a lovely setting for the wedding.”

  Hannah didn’t start; she’d heard the approaching footsteps. She turned at the sound of Owen Hartley’s voice, a sincere smile of affection creasing her face. “Isn’t it? They’re calling for sunny and clear tomorrow, just like today. It’s going to be beautiful.” She turned her head so her hair would catch in the wind off the water and blow away from her face as she laughed. “Though they might have a tough time trying to say their vows in the ever-present sea breeze.”

  Owen smiled as he leaned in for a quick one-arm hug, careful not to jostle her coffee mug. “Somehow, when your brother looks up and sees Alexandra at the end of the aisle, I doubt anything else will register in his mind.” He smiled as he stepped back and shifted to stand beside her, both of them looking over the preparations that were under way for the following day’s festivities. “From talking to Alex, my sense is she’ll have the same feeling, looking at her groom.”