Sea Glass Sunrise

by Donna Kauffman

  “Everyone else can go now,” Ted screamed. “It’s over, okay? Just a business deal now.” He cackled and tapped the gun barrel to Jonah’s temple. “Just a business deal.”

  Yeah, so that’s not exactly how I hoped that would go, Calder thought. Bit was still standing on the pier, looking up at her great-grandfather, tears welling again.

  “You go on now,” Jonah said, speaking for the first time, his voice gruff but otherwise surprisingly gentle. “See that lady? You go talk to her. I need to talk to Ted here. Then we’ll get some ice cream.”

  Bit looked from Jonah to Ted, her bottom lip quivering.

  “Go on,” Jonah said, and Calder could see what the gentle tone was costing the man. He was visibly shaking. “See the nice lady? Go to her. I’ll be done here in a minute.”

  Calder risked a quick glance over his shoulder, and what was left of his heart rose right up into his throat. Hannah was just behind him, about ten yards back, crouching down with outstretched arms, beckoning to Bit. “Hannah,” he hissed, but she didn’t look at him.

  “I’ve got coloring books, Bit,” she called out. “Let’s go play until your Pawpaw is done, okay?” She wiggled her fingers.

  Bit looked uncertain and Calder knew the window was closing.

  “Go on now,” Jonah said, a bit of impatience creeping into his voice. “You know better than not to listen to your elders.”

  She nodded, bottom lip still wobbling, but then she took off down the pier toward Hannah. Calder let out a breath so loud he thought he’d be light-headed. He didn’t watch Bit, he watched Jonah. The man’s gaze was locked on the little girl, so Calder knew the moment she and Hannah had made it off the pier, because that was the same moment a little of the tension went out of Jonah’s frame.

  Calder looked at Ted, and lowered the bullhorn, taking a few steps closer. “Do we really need him?” he said, talking conversationally now, as if the worst was over. When it was anything but. “Let him go with the kid.” He looked at Jonah. “You go babysit while we do some real business, old man.”

  Even though Jonah knew, quite clearly, that this whole thing was a bunch of bullshit, the fury in his eyes when he looked at Calder was quite real. I just saved your great-granddaughter, he wanted to shout at the old coot. So back the hell off.

  “I don’t know,” Ted said, looking stronger now, less uncertain, which Calder belatedly realized was not necessarily a good thing, since he was still holding a gun to Jonah’s temple. “Maybe it’s time he was really done. Show this town we mean business.”

  Calder tried not to show any of his real reaction to that; instead, he looked disgusted. “Seriously, Ted? We don’t have time for this bullshit. And I don’t have time to walk you through the legal minefield you’re going to be in if you shoot the guy. He’s a pain in the ass, no doubt. God knows I’ve wanted to shoot him pretty much every minute since I met him. But there’s no time for that.”

  “Fuck this,” Jonah said; then in a move faster than Calder would have thought possible, he brought his bound hands up, snatched the gun, turned, and cracked Ted in the skull with the butt. The younger man dropped straight to the dock in a limp, lifeless heap. Then Jonah shuffled inside the warehouse, pulled a gutting knife off the wall, bent over, and snapped the cords on his ankles with hardly more than a flick, then stalked down the pier, all while Calder stood there, gaping at the hulk of a man. “What?” he said, as he passed by. “You expected me to stand there with a gun to my head while you talked him to death?”

  He kept on walking, popping his hands free a moment later, then sending the gutting knife, point first, into the pier as he crouched down while Bit ran into his arms. He held her tight as a team of EMTs, SWAT guys, Logan, and Hannah, all raced down the pier. Most heading toward a now-groaning Ted. Hannah, however, stopped in front of Calder.

  She stared at him wordlessly for what felt like a day and a half; then she leaped into his arms, wrapping him tightly in her own, and buried her face in his neck. “That was the most selfless, brave, stupid, idiotic, foolish thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.” She beat on his back with closed fists, then clutched them in his hair and leaned back to look in his eyes. “Don’t ever do that again. Promise me.”

  He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, grinning as he held her so she stayed up face-to-face with him. “Promise,” he said, hearing the shakiness in his voice. Which spread rapidly to his arms, then his legs. “Now, I think I need to go sit down. And maybe throw up a little.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Hannah pulled into the Winstock compound and parked beside Calder’s truck. They hadn’t talked much on their way back. He seemed to need a little time to come down from the adrenaline rush and process what he’d just done, and she needed some time to figure out how she was going to keep from throwing herself at him.

  “I didn’t think to find out where Brooks and Cami got off to,” she said, stealing a glance at him.

  He looked . . . well, he looked wonderful was how he looked. But he also looked tired and a bit freaked out by what he’d done, which somehow made him all the more endearing to her. Human, imperfect. Mine. “Logan mentioned they’d gone off to the hospital where they took Ted for evaluation before booking him for assault, arson—” She waved her hand. “The list is endless.”

  “I guess he is still Cami’s husband, so Brooks will want to do damage control.”

  “I’m not sure even his money and power can smooth over this kind of thing.” She shook her head, then looked at him. “So, what are you going to do now?” she asked, not sure whether she was ready to hear the answer. But finding out she’d never see him again would at least thwart that whole throwing-herself-at-him part.

  He leaned his head back on the headrest, but didn’t reach for the door. “I tried to talk to Jonah, while you were talking to Logan and your sisters.”

  Fiona and Kerry had come down to the docks. Well, pretty much the entire town of Blueberry had been at the docks. It wasn’t often—as in never—that they had that kind of hysteria in town.

  “And?” she asked.

  Calder shook his head. “Stubborn old coot. Wouldn’t let me anywhere near him.”

  “You’d think, if nothing else, he’d want to thank you for what you did for Bit.” She shook her head. “I’ve half a mind to go have a chat with him myself.”

  That earned her a brief grin from Calder. “I’ve half a mind to let you.” Then he reached over and cupped her cheek with his palm. It was the first time he’d touched her, in any intentional sort of way, since they’d walked off the pier and been separated by Logan and the EMT crew, who wanted to look over Calder, check his vital signs, hydrate him.

  She leaned into his palm, unable to help herself. He could have been hurt or killed. So many things could have gone so horribly wrong. And suddenly the crap that had happened to her back in D.C., the stuff Tim had done, all of it ceased to matter. Life was what mattered, living it was what mattered, enjoying every moment was what mattered. Not worrying over what had happened, or over what might happen next.

  “It would be my pleasure,” she told him, smiling, seeing the real weariness in his eyes, and suspecting it had a lot more to do with his own stuff than with what had happened on the pier.

  “You know what would be my pleasure,” he said, his head still pressed against the seat. “Making love to you again. Preferably on something flat. And soft. I’m not sure my legs are up to another round of against-the-truck at the moment.”

  She laughed, even as her body reacted with an instantaneous and resounding yes to that idea. She tried not to let herself wonder what he meant, if it was just about the sex, or if he wanted more than—Stop it, she scolded herself. What happened to living in the moment?

  Yeah. She was pretty much going to have to work at that.

  And Calder Blue was going to head back to Calais, and to his farm on the St. Croix River. Could she handle being with him one more time, knowing it would be the last? Because the first time had b
een mind-blowing and they hadn’t even gotten naked. Of course, Calais was just an hour and a half away. She looked away from him, back through the windshield. Is that what you want? Someone you occasionally go have sex with?

  Maybe that would be easier. At least no one would get hurt. No one would be betraying anyone or lying, because there wouldn’t be the promise of anything in the first place.

  “You want to borrow my oil can?” he asked, his voice deep and a little rough, still weary, but amused at the same time.

  She wanted to push her hands through his hair, to kiss him slowly, deeply, then take his mind off of what he’d done, before sliding into a long, blissful nap, wrapped against his heated, spent body. “What?” she said, belatedly processing what he’d said.

  “For all those gears spinning in your mind.” He shifted in his seat, sat up straighter as the hand that had been cupping her cheek fell back to his lap. From the corner of her eye, she could see he was making a visibly conscious effort to shove the aftereffects of his hostage negotiating aside. “I know what I want, Hannah. And you’re probably not ready to hear it. But I don’t think I’m going to have the luxury of waiting until you are.” He waited until she looked directly at him. “I do want to make love to you. Truly make love to you. I want to do a lot of things with you. In and out of bed. I don’t know how it would all work out, given where you are and where I am, and what we’re trying to figure out for ourselves. But if there was any way those things we’re figuring could align—” He broke off when his phone chirped. He pulled it out of his pocket. “I’m sorry. Eli has called like four times, and I’m really not up for a family conversation. Let me turn this off.”

  “There were media trucks there,” Hannah said. “At the end. Maybe they saw the news. You might want to see if—”

  But Calder looked at the screen of his cell phone and what color had come back into his face washed straight back out again.

  Now Hannah sat up straighter. “Calder, what is it?”

  “Text. From Eli.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve been ignoring his calls because I wasn’t up for another round with him or Dad. I knew I’d be back soon enough and whatever the crisis, it could just damn well wait.”

  “Calder—”

  He looked at her, and she saw something she hadn’t seen the entire time he’d been standing there on Jonah’s pier, putting his life at risk for family members who didn’t know him and—speaking for one of them anyway—didn’t want to get to know him. She saw fear.

  “My father collapsed at one of our job sites. Not a heart attack. Could be a stroke. They don’t know—” And then he sort of blinked and reacted, shoving the phone in his pocket and all but kicking the door to the Mustang open as he fished his keys from his pocket. “I’m sorry,” he said, almost absently, his attention clearly and understandably no longer on her. “I have to . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence, he just climbed out of the car.

  For her part, Hannah jumped out of her side and skirted the back of the car just as he unlocked and yanked open the door to his truck. “Calder. Don’t race over there. I mean, don’t—just be careful,” she said, feeling beyond lame and useless, because if she’d gotten that news about any one of her family members, nothing would keep her from getting to him or her as fast as possible, and reckless driving would only be the beginning of the risks she’d be willing to take. She got to the driver’s-side door just as he closed it. “Is he—?”

  He lowered the window as he jammed his key in the ignition and gunned the engine. “He’s at the hospital, in ICU. That’s all I know. I’ll call Eli on my way there.”

  “Okay,” she said, and though she wanted to step up on the running board, kiss him, cling to him, imbue him with some kind of willpower and strength, she stepped back instead, doing the one thing she could do, giving him a clear path with those wide rearview mirrors of his, to back out next to her and get on his way. “Just be safe. And—let me know.” She had no right to ask, but she couldn’t not ask. She didn’t know his father, but she knew Calder, and what happened to his dad affected him. And that mattered to her, if nothing else.

  “I will,” he said, but he wasn’t even paying attention to her, not really. He threw the truck into reverse, then just as quickly slammed it back into park and looked at her. “Come here,” he said, commanded actually, or maybe begged.

  She all but leapt up on the running board, clinging to the open window frame of the big dually. “It’s okay,” she said. “I understand. Go. Please.”

  “Nothing is okay,” he said roughly, then reached out and gripped the back of her head, and kissed her as if his life depended on it. And maybe it did.

  “You’ve been through a lot today,” she said, breathless when he let her go. “Just be careful, please.” She cupped his face now, and looked into his beautiful, honey-colored eyes, her own heart clutching at the fear and pain, the guilt and regret she saw in them. “I need you to be careful. Okay?”

  He looked at her, truly looked at her. “I will,” he said, so intently, he sounded almost ferocious. “I promise, Hannah.” And then he yanked the truck into reverse and she jumped off the running board so he could back out. He looked at her through the passenger window as he shifted the truck to a forward gear, and held her gaze for what felt like an eternal, heart-stopping moment, then drove off without saying another word.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hannah stood in a bridesmaid dress she actually loved, tears swimming in her eyes, grinning madly as she watched Alex walk down the aisle, beaming at Hannah’s incredibly dashing and handsome brother. Fergus was the bride’s escort, and he looked about as thrilled as any good Irishman could be. And quite dashing in his kilt and full plaid regalia as well.

  She watched Fergus lift Alex’s veil, a tear in his eye as he leaned in and bussed her cheek. Hannah grinned, sniffling herself, as she saw the love glowing on Alex’s face when she turned and looked at Logan, their gazes meeting as he took her hand, and they turned to face the minister. Hannah had been so worried about this moment, about how it would make her feel. And the only emotion brimming in her . . . was joy. Unmitigated, soul-filling, life-affirming joy. Seeing the looks on their faces, the love they had for one another, watching them smile, laugh as they shared a private whisper when Logan fumbled the ring he’d stowed in his tux pocket, all she could feel was joy, and all she could think was how happy they’d make each other, and how lucky they were to have found love, fortunate to be smart enough to recognize it, reach for it, hold on to it.

  She felt Fiona’s hand gripping her elbow, and let go of her bouquet with one hand, to reach down and cup her sister’s fingers, pressing them tightly, as she glanced quickly past her to Kerry, who was gripping Fiona’s other hand and letting the tears slide down her cheeks unabated. The three shared a watery little laugh, then Delia turned, saw the sisters grinning madly, and juggled the bouquets to reach for Hannah’s other hand, her own eyes brimming now, too, even as she laughed at herself.

  In the end, all four of them stood there watching Logan marry Alex, abandoning completely the traditional bouquet-holding pose, their hands linked, one to the next, bouquets clutched between them, tears tracking down their perfectly made-up faces, sniffling and grinning as vows were traded, rings slid on fingers, and the minister finally pronounced, “You may now kiss the bride.”

  A cheer went up from the gathered guests, and from the bridesmaids, who lifted their joined hands in a victory celebration as Logan bent his bride back over his arm, laid one on her, then scooped her up against him, leaving her dainty slippered feet dangling a good foot off the ground as he kissed her again. Then she was in his arms, scooped up against his chest, as he carried her down the aisle, Alex waving her bouquet at the clapping, cheering, laughing guests as everyone filed in behind them, and the celebration began in earnest.

  Hannah lost track of how many hours had passed before she finally sat on the edge of Fiona’s bed back inside the house. She wiggled her toes, her h
eels mercifully no longer on her very tired feet, and flopped straight onto her back, deciding the bridesmaid dress could wait a few more minutes. “Oh my God, I had way too much champagne. I can still feel bubbles tickling my nose.”

  Fiona flopped back beside her. “I had too much cake. But it was Boston cream. So, really, I can’t be blamed. I mean . . . seriously, who has a Boston cream wedding cake?”

  “Alex does. Bless her renegade-wedding-cake-loving heart,” Hannah said, with a deep, appreciative sigh. “Where’s Kerry?”

  “I’m not her keeper. Not today. Last I saw she was dancing with—I don’t even know his name. Right now my sugar high is in dangerous risk of crashing. Which I’m pretty sure means I need more sugar. You know, to balance it back up again. Only the thought of one more bite of cake is making me feel a bit queasy.”

  “Just lie here for a minute. The feeling will pass.”

  “The urge to eat more cake, you mean?”

  Hannah giggled. “No, silly. The feeling queasy part. Because you’re right, that was ridiculously amazing cake.”

  “It would be, like, a crime, to waste it.”

  “I saw Delia stow a wedge of it in the fridge along with the top of the cake.”

  “We can’t eat that. It’s for their first anniversary. You freeze it, then take it out when you celebrate your first wedding anniversary. Tradition.”

  “I’m not talking about the topper. I’m talking about the wedge.”

  “Oh.” Fiona grinned. “Well, yeah. We’re kind of obligated to eat that.”

  “My thought exactly.” Hannah let her eyes close, only the room seemed to move a little when she did that. “Maybe it’s just as well Delia didn’t stash any champagne in there with it.”

  Fiona giggled. “She didn’t have to. I might have smuggled some up here earlier when I came to change shoes.”