Pelican Pointe Boxed Set Books 1 - 3 (A Pelican Pointe Novel)

by Vickie McKeehan

  She wasn’t sure what to do about it either, just as she wasn’t sure what to do or think about Nick. At times, it was as if he were two different people. He could be helpful, charming, considerate, but the minute she tried to amp up the closeness, he’d pull back, even if he had to leave the house to do it. She was pondering those thoughts, when the doorbell rang a little after nine in the morning. Jordan set Hutton down to go answer the door and was surprised to see Carla Vargas standing on the porch with an anxious look on her face.

  “Carla what a nice surprise.” But Carla didn’t look like it was nice at all, in fact she acted nervous. And she was dressed in a suit, carrying a heavy-looking briefcase. Her stomach fluttered as it flitted through Jordan’s mind that this early morning visit looked official. After all their precautions had they put Lilly’s stipend in jeopardy?

  “Jordan, how are you this morning?”

  Jordan opened the screen door and let her inside. “Fine. I’ve got coffee and some banana walnut muffins still warm from the oven.”

  “That sounds fine. But…this isn’t a social visit…this is… professional.” Carla looked around the foyer and into the living room as if she were trying to find someone. It wasn’t until her eyes landed on Hutton that Jordan began to worry. At the sight of Hutton, Carla’s demeanor became all business.

  “Professional? What do you mean?”

  “The county—social services received a complaint.”

  “A complaint? I don’t understand.” She thought of Mr. Taggert and wondered why he would call social services complaining about noise.

  “Someone called the county and said they saw bruises on Hutton.”

  Jordan’s mouth dropped open. “What? That’s—impossible, that’s—ridiculous.”

  “I know, but surely you understand we—I have to check it out, Jordan. Pelican Pointe is part of my territory.”

  “But… When? When did they say they saw bruises on her?”

  “At the street fair. I told my supervisor it was ridiculous and that I didn’t believe one word of it, but it’s my duty to check out reports, for the file. It’s my job.”

  Clearly taken aback, Jordan tried to act normal, tried to maintain her composure as she led Carla into the kitchen. On automatic, she got coffee cups out of the cabinet and plates for the muffins. But her hands were shaking so much the dishes clanged together. “Can you tell me who made the complaint?”

  “It was anonymous. The person said they saw Hutton in town at the fair and she had noticeable bruises on her arms and legs. My supervisor said they sounded very convincing.” Instinctively, Jordan’s hands flew to her mouth. Convincing enough that a social worker came out to inspect her child, she thought, as she began to cry. “I knew the people in town didn’t like me, I’ve known for almost two years they didn’t want me here, but this is beyond that, beyond comprehension.” She turned to pick up Hutton before dropping into a kitchen chair. She set the baby on her lap and immediately began to undress her. Hutton, as toddlers will do started to squirm in her arms. But she managed to pull down the child’s pink overalls and showed Carla the baby’s legs. There were no bruises anywhere. On automatic, Jordan began to shed Hutton’s white long sleeve top to bare her arms for inspection. “I’m sorry to have to do this.”

  It took barely fifteen minutes from beginning to end, but Carla did her job. She examined Hutton from head to toe, even removing her diaper. Afterward, she breathed a sigh of relief and said quietly, “That’s it, Jordan. You can put her clothes back on. They were obviously mistaken.”

  “More like mean is what they were, Carla. Why would anyone be that mean?” An image of Sissy during the street fair, mad as a hornet, flitted through her head. “I haven’t done anything to these people. They’ve never liked me. That much I knew. But this—turning me into social services, how could they hate me that much to jeopardize my child to the system.”

  “Jordan, you have plenty of friends in town.”

  “Name one.”

  “Murphy likes you. And there’s Lilly.”

  “Murphy’s nice to everyone. But he isn’t really a friend, is he? Besides Lilly there isn’t another soul in town who has taken the time to come by for a visit or to get to know me. But to do something like this—to be so mean to turn me in for something so serious, something I didn’t even do—it’s unimaginable.”

  Carla began to break apart her muffin. “This is good.”

  “Just like that you can talk about food?”

  “Yeah, I can.” She reached over and patted Jordan’s hand. “It’s okay Jordan. I’ll file the report that it was totally bogus. Everything will be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s over as far as social services is concerned.”

  Jordan blinked tears from her eyes and blew out a shaky breath. “Thank God.”

  On board Wade’s twenty-foot fishing trawler, Haunted Lady, it took Nick four hours to catch an undersized, scrawny perch. The fish reminded him why he’d never had the patience for the sport, if you could call it that.

  As the boat rocked and swayed Nick, Murphy and Wade leaned back in deck chairs with their fishing lines thrown over the railing and dangling in the water, taking in the sunny day. Nick hadn’t fished since summer camp when he’d been twelve. Something about the memory was a lot more fun than the actual event. But he didn’t dare share this sentiment with Murphy and Wade. Although years older, the two men were a kick. They had spent the day taking turns rehashing old stories about the early smugglers in the area, the ones Jordan had mentioned. And when Wade started entertaining them with local ghost stories about the area, pirates and smugglers alike, it prompted Nick to ask, “You really believe in ghosts, Wade?”

  “I do. In fact, I had one some years back that wouldn’t leave me the hell alone.”

  Nick cocked a disbelieving brow at Wade and found himself genuinely fascinated at the prospect that someone else had seen a ghost. “At the time, had you experienced, you know, any type of trauma that might have brought it on?” Nick asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Trauma? No, no trauma,” Wade answered.

  Nick prodded further. “So what did you do? How’d you handle it?”

  “Well now, I’ll tell you. Most ghosts linger around, bugging the hell out of people because they have unfinished business. Once they finish whatever it is keeping them earth bound, they usually move on. I was a novice when it happened to me, kept keeping me up at night making the lights go on and off, making things move around, you know, real cheesy stuff. Anyway, I put up with it for several months before I contacted a specialist out of Savannah who makes a career out of the paranormal. Why do you ask?”

  “Jordan said you brought your electronic gizmos out to The Cove and got a hit.”

  “I did, but didn’t get an apparition, no materialization of any kind, just a lot of energy. So much so it was off the charts. That was after Scott died. I figured it was him, you know, watching over her.”

  “You didn’t mention that to her, did you Wade?” Murphy asked, horrified at the prospect.

  “I might have mentioned the fact that my sensors went crazy and she might have a resident ghost or two.”

  “Jesus, Wade. A woman living alone out there with a child. Are you nuts?”

  Nick had to chuckle. “I don’t think Wade got to her, Murphy. She’s pretty well-grounded.” He suddenly found the whole thing ridiculous. It’s true he’d seen Scott in material form more than once, but he’d also brought the image back with him from Iraq, back to L.A. along with a shitload of lingering guilt. Scott never bothered much with moving things around or blinking lights, but liked making a nuisance popping up out of the blue. Now that he thought about it, he considered the whole thing laughable. He decided to chalk it up to an overactive imagination and a whole lot of survivor’s guilt.

  When Wade went into detail with yet another ghost story, Nick realized he missed Jordan, even though for the past couple of days the sexual tension had him wor
king like a fiend to stay busy, to keep his hands off her. He knew with all the necking they’d been doing he had upset her with all the conflicting signals he’d sent out. But he couldn’t help it. If he’d given in and taken her to bed, he’d have a helluva mess on his hands. But he couldn’t deny what he wanted. He wanted Jordan in bed, under him, moaning as he came inside her. It’s all he thought about.

  Big mistake. She was Scott’s wife. Had been, he corrected. But damn, lately every time he was near the woman, he wanted to get her naked and horizontal. You didn’t do that with another man’s wife, a man who’d been your buddy. And yet, that’s all he could think about doing. What kind of a friend was he anyway? Scott deserved better.

  He looked out over the water at the horizon. Fishing wasn’t exactly a contact sport. It gave a man plenty of time to think. And all he could think about was Jordan, the way she smelled, the way she moved, the way sunlight brought out the gold in her hair. He’d never missed a woman before, but he missed Jordan like he’d miss his next breath.

  And even though Wade and Murphy expected him to sleep on the boat, he’d already decided not to. They’d already said they would motor back to the pier, drop him off if he wanted. He had decided to take them up on the offer. He’d already planted the seed, telling them he still had a lot of work left to do that he couldn’t put off. While that was true, it wasn’t the truth. He worried about Jordan in that big house alone with just Hutton for company. He knew how silly that was. After all, she’d spent almost two years there alone before he ever showed up. But a blind man could see she was lonely. And he’d be damned if he was going to spend the night out on the goddamned water fishing when he could be spending it with her. Maybe he’d make it back in time to read Hutton a story.

  A guy could hope.

  As soon as he reached the apple-green and white sign at the bottom of the long driveway leading to the house, Nick cut the engine on the Harley. Even though it was only a little past eight o’clock in the evening, on the off chance Jordan had already put Hutton to bed, he didn’t want the loud noise of the motorcycle waking up the baby.

  In the darkness, he crawled off the bike and wheeled it silently down the path the rest of the way. When he reached the side of the house, he parked it beside the porch. It wasn’t until he reached the bottom step, when he’d removed his helmet that he thought he heard a noise and turned to see Jordan sitting in the porch swing—alone—and crying. He moved so fast, his big feet tripped on the porch steps trying to close the distance. Dropping down on one knee in front of her, he asked, “What’s wrong? Something’s wrong, Jordan, talk to me.”

  Jordan sobbed out, “Someone in town turned me in for hitting Hutton, for abusing her. They…they called social services. Carla Vargas was out here today, made an official visit. They said…they told social services Hutton had bruises, purple bruises on her little body. Why would they do that, Nick?”

  Seething at the news, he wanted specifics. “Carla was here? Today? What exactly did she say?”

  “This morning just after you left. I tried to put it behind me, tried to get some work done, but I…I don’t like it here anymore, Nick. I don’t want to stay. I…these people are mean. The whole town must hate me to do something like this. I can’t live here anymore.”

  “Whoa, come on, let’s get you inside. You’re shivering. I’ll build a fire, fix you some tea, and we’ll talk about this.”

  He pulled her out of the swing, keeping his hand on her shoulder while his other hand slipped into hers. Once inside, he started to head to the kitchen to make the tea when she said, “There’s brandy in the liquor cabinet. I think I’d prefer that instead.”

  Nick poured a generous amount into two snifters, and brought the glasses over to where she sat on the sofa. He took a seat next to her. Staring into the fire, Nick struggled to calm down. He glanced over at Jordan sitting next to him, watching the fire just as intently. The woman had every right to be upset. Without thinking, he touched her arm, rubbing his hand up and down trying to get her warm. She sniffled and rubbed her nose. Even with eyes rimmed red, her nose runny, the woman looked adorable. “Talk to me.”

  “I’ve given this town over two years to come around. It’s time to pack up and head back to San Francisco, back home to my family.” She took a gulp of brandy. The alcohol burned her throat all the way down to her belly. But she didn’t care, she felt like she needed glasses of the stuff just to get Carla’s visit out of her system. She’d have the memory of having to undress her own daughter in front of a social worker stay with her for too long.

  Nick listened, but didn’t think she really meant it. She’d worked like a dog trying to get this place ready to open. But she was hurt and angry and maybe a little scared at the moment. She had every right to feel that way. It was that combination of things that had her wanting to run without a fight. She wasn’t thinking straight. “Your husband had a dream, right? It’s almost a reality. Just a few more weeks and you’ll open, guests will start showing up for real. Then things will look a whole lot better. Everything will turn around.”

  “If people in this town are that low, that mean, maybe I don’t want it to turn around, maybe I don’t want to be around people like that. Did you think of that? Maybe I don’t want my child growing up in a town like Pelican Pointe. Maybe this is the wrong place to have a dream, the wrong place to make it happen.” She finished off the brandy and let it slide down, warming her insides before getting up and going over to pour herself another glass. She felt so cold even being this close to the fire. How could she ever have thought these people would ever warm to her? Scott. Scott had told her they would that’s how, she thought, as she threw back another drink from the glass she’d just poured. Once you got used to the taste, the liquid wasn’t nearly as fiery.

  He smiled into her warm brown eyes. “There is that.”

  The brandy loosened up her tongue. “Look, Scott’s gone. He isn’t coming back. I’ve given some thought about what you said that night at the cove. Scott had this memory from childhood about this little town that he loved so much, but that little place doesn’t exist. The people here simply don’t live up to the image Scott painted. He went on and on about these people. Other than Murphy have you met anyone here who’s nice? Have you met anyone here who’s worth knowing? And Lilly doesn’t count. I mean she counts. You know what I mean, she and Scott didn’t even know each other. These people treat Lilly just as badly as they do me. Look at Sissy. What possible reason could Sissy have for begrudging Lilly a little extra money?” Jordan paused, staring into the gold liquid in her glass before adding, “I think it was Sissy who made the call.” With that bad taste in her mouth, she drained her glass.

  He thought about that and remembered the scene at the fair. “Figures. She’d do it just for spite to stir things up, pay you back for getting Lilly the booth.”

  She poured herself another brandy and drank it down. “Exactly. She’s the only one with a real grudge against me.” Her words started to slur.

  Before she knew what was happening, Nick dragged her down onto the sofa with him and into his chest. Her head began to spin. She let it fall to his shoulder. She felt him stroke her hair. The warmth of the fire and the brandy began to settle her nerves. Or was it Nick, having him here? She relaxed into his body. His shirt felt worn and smooth and smelled a little like the ocean, or maybe fish. She closed her eyes reveling in the intimacy of this moment.

  He turned her mouth up to meet his. It tasted hot from the warmth of the brandy. When she licked at his lips, he lost what little control he had and deepened the kiss.

  He made her tingle all the way to her toes. She tilted her head back to allow him better access. Her breathy sighs poured into his mouth. He felt her body loosen, relax, knew the exact moment she let go and got caught up in the kiss.

  She moaned. “When you touch me I can’t think...touch me, Nick.”

  He turned her in his arms, sighing into her hair. “Shhhh. You’ve had a rough day. You ne
ed to relax, baby.” His thumb found her nipple through her shirt and circled it until it pebbled. He slipped his other hand beneath the waistband of her cotton shorts. And found her moist and hot. While his fingers moved back and forth, back and forth, she moved with the rhythm stroke for stroke. His mouth stringed kisses from her temple to her neck and back again leaving a wet trail. “This’ll make it better.”

  “Oh. Nick, don’t stop.”

  “Hang on to me, Jordan, just me.” As she clung to him, it took every fiber in him to steady his breathing and concentrate on getting Jordan to climax. With each sigh he felt her body surrender a little more, a tremble here, a tremor there until seconds later she came into his hand with a shudder and a low, sultry moan.

  With the tension drained from her body Nick kept his arms wrapped around her holding her tight. “Better?”

  She looked up at his face with a dazed, satisfied glow, and ran a hand along his jaw. She all but purred in a drained voice, “Nick, don’t leave me tonight.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Make love to me, Nick.”

  “You’re plowed, honey.”

  “I am not.” She did feel a little drunk. “You wanted me relaxed, I’m relaxed, that’s all. I want you. Period.”

  He took her chin and tilted it up so he could see her eyes. Despite the glazed look, he was tempted. “Listen to me, Jordan. When I take you to bed the first time, I want you completely aware of what you’re doing. I don’t want you regretting it the next day.”

  After several minutes of silence, Nick glanced down and saw the alcohol had finally kicked in. She was snoring softly. He held her like that for nearly an hour before carrying her to bed. Dropping down on one knee on the mattress, he gently laid her on top of the comforter before maneuvering her body and legs under it, covering her up.