by Diana Tobin
FOR THE LOVE OF MIKE
BOOK TWO
MEN OF MAINE SERIES
By
Diana Tobin
For the Love of Mike by Diana Tobin
Copyright© 2016 Diana Tobin
Cover Design Livia Reasoner
Fire Star Press
www.firestarpress.com
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews
DEDICATION
In 1899 my grandfather, John, came to America from Slovakia and, like so many at the time, was processed through Ellis Island. His distant cousin, Mike, had emigrated with his family earlier making his home in New Jersey. Mike’s sister, Anna, emigrated after both men and found employment in New York City.
Mike tried his hand at matchmaking between Anna and John, but John wasn’t ready to settle down. Instead, he roamed around New England working at various paper mills, nearly losing a leg in a mill accident, before settling in Lisbon Falls, Maine.
Finally, Mike’s persistence paid off and John began writing to Anna. John must have had the heart, and talent, of a poet—for Anna packed up and went to Maine to marry John sight unseen.
Anna and John wed November 1904, had nine children, eight of whom lived to be adults, and spent the next fifty years together.
From these two, who came together due to the magic of the written word, generations have been spawned and spread across the globe. I like to think John’s talent came along with the rest of the DNA handed down to me. Our talents are as varied as our family.
My love to all the generations of Pagurkos.
PROLOGUE
He chugged the last of the whiskey as he straddled his motorcycle. He thought he’d be numb by now, but he still felt…too much.
The empty bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered on the ground.
Maybe the booze was working, after all. With shards of glass beneath his feet, he decided littering was the least of his sins.
He’d certainly screwed up his life and the lives of those around him. He should’ve been a better husband. A better father. A better man.
But, he was fixing things the only way he knew how.
The adoptions had been finalized. Their new mother would do what was best, and that was what mattered. He’d kept up the payments on the life insurance policy he’d taken out more than a year ago. It was damn little, but at least it would help keep a roof over their heads, or better yet, give them a new start. The marriage was legal, if not real.
He gave barely a thought to the woman he’d married thirteen months ago. He didn’t consider her his wife, no matter what the law said. His wife had been his one true love.
He’d killed her nearly five years ago.
The law was also wrong about her death. They called it an accident, but it was his fault. Nothing would bring her back, but maybe he could find her. If there truly was an afterlife, as his wife had claimed, he’d find her and they’d never again be separated. If she’d been wrong… What the hell! It would be the least he deserved.
Now, he just had to ride off into the sunset.
No, not into the sun, out of the sun. He needed the setting sun to blind which ever driver would help end his pain and atone for his many sins. Briefly, he hoped that driver wouldn’t grieve over the aid he was about to give.
Leaving his helmet on the ground next to the broken whiskey bottle, he revved the engine of his bike. With gravel, glass, and dirt spitting from beneath his wheels, he raced out to the road for his final ride.
CHAPTER ONE
“Woo hoo!” Nettie Baxter waved her hands in the air as she shouted with glee.
“Good morning to you, too,” said Wilbur Owens as he entered Moose-ley Coffee. Nettie danced around the counter and threw her arms around his neck. His arms went around her waist and he closed his eyes to savor this bit of heaven. “I’d’ve come in earlier if I’d known I’d get this kind of greeting.”
Nettie leaned back to look into his hazel eyes with a huge grin. “Wil, I’m so happy. I know I really shouldn’t be, but I can’t help it. My baby is coming home.”
Wil bit back his disappointment. “Lynn is coming home? Thought she just started with that new firm.”
“Oh, no, not Lynn. Micki is coming home.” Nettie wiggled out of Wil’s embrace and headed back around the counter. “Your usual?”
He nodded his agreement, sighed, and took a seat at the counter while Nettie made his coffee. He’d prefer a cup of plain black, but he’d started drinking the fancy ones she made just to have more time with her. “Why shouldn’t you be happy about Micki coming back?”
Nettie placed the cup in front of Wil then added a plate with a blueberry muffin. “She’s coming home because her husband is dead.” She fussed with the napkin and fork next to Wil’s plate. “She feels it would be best to start over…for the girls.” She aligned his cup and plate. “Her daughters.”
Wil placed his hands over hers to stop her fidgeting. “What’s the problem?” he asked in his laconic Down East drawl.
She met his gaze, leaving her hands under his large warm ones. “I’m sorry Denny is dead, but I never felt their marriage was right for Micki.”
“You didn’t like him?”
Nettie shrugged her shoulders and forced a smile to her lips. “No one is ever good enough for your children. You know how it is.”
Wil withdrew his grasp from her and picked up his coffee cup. “Can’t say that I do.”
“Forgive me, Wil.” She laid her hand on his forearm. “Your ex-wife was a total bitch and you never deserved any of that. Any woman would be proud to be your wife.”
His body went to stone. He had never wanted any woman and the one he’d always wanted saw him as nothing more than a friend. Wil couldn’t hold back the derisive sound in his throat. “It will be nice for you to have one of your kids back in town. Hard to picture you as a grandmother, but lucky for those little girls.”
Nettie bit her lip. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but you know how much I trust you.” She lowered her voice to just above a whisper and leaned closer to him. “The girls, they’re—”
The bell over the door rang signaling more customers. Nettie straightened up to greet the newcomers with a, “Be right with you.”
Wil pushed his plate away. “I’m not hungry this morning. Thanks for the coffee.” He stood up and placed a couple of bills on the counter next to his untouched cup. “I need to get to work, and you’ve got customers.” Nettie’s gardenia scent would linger with him the rest of the day.
She claimed to trust him—just not with the one thing he wanted most—her heart.
Before Nettie could tell him to have a good day, Wil was out the door. Putting a smile on her face, she turned to her customers. She was busy for the next few minutes, filling orders, re-filling cups, and bussing an empty table.
Ethan Reigh stepped out of the back room, poured himself a cup of coffee, and took a seat at the end of the counter. Nettie patted his back as she rounded the counter.
“Good morning, Ethan.”
“Morning, Miz Nettie.” He voice held a trace of a southern drawl. “What can I do to help?”
“Not a thing, Handsome. What would you like for breakfast?” Nettie was only fourteen years older than the former pro-hockey player, but her feelings were very maternal for the young man.
“I’ll just take one of those muffins.” He pointed to Wil’s plate she’d set on the back counter.
“You need more than a muffin to fill you up. If you don’t mind keeping an eye on things out here, I’ll slip in back and cook you up some bacon and eggs to go with your muffins.”
“Oh, no, ma’am,” Ethan protested. “No need for you to bother. I can head down to the diner, or cook for myself.”
Nettie wiped off the counter with a towel and put the muffin plate in front of him. “You can cook?”
He grinned and his brown eyes twinkled. “Yes’m. Well, not much. As long as there’s take-out, I don’t starve.”
She eyed his muscular chest and arms. “You start wasting away and half the women in town will be on your doorstep plying you with food. The other half will just be plying you with their other wares.”
The grin left his face, leaving a cold hard mask in place. “Not likely.” He pushed off from the stool, resting his weight on his right leg. “I’ll head down to the diner.”
Nettie grabbed his hand before he could make his escape. “Ethan. Please, stay.” She waited for him to meet her gaze. “I hope one day you’ll trust me enough to tell me who hurt you.” Seeing he was about to deny what was painfully obvious to her, she rushed on. “Let me fuss over you a bit. I’m excited today, and need to stay busy.”
Ethan glanced around at the coffee shop that had emptied out. “Will you eat with me?”
“I’d like that,” she agreed. Giving his hand a pat, she refilled his coffee cup.
Once Nettie stepped into the back room, Ethan cleared off the tables, wiping them down with a damp towel, then picked up his cup and joined her. “What has you so excited?”
“Micki is coming home today.” She was whipping eggs in a bowl as bacon sizzled in a pan. Nettie had a large stove in the back of her coffee shop so she could bake muffins, cookies, and on cold snowy days, put on a pot of soup or chili.
“Is that your son?”
Nettie’s brow furrowed, before she gave a small laugh. “No, my son is Marc. He’s the eldest.” She met Ethan’s gaze with a smile. “My son, the doctor. He lives in Boston. My baby, Lynn, is a lawyer in Pennsylvania. Micki—Michaela—is my middle child. She’s the one returning.”
“Where is she returning from?”
“She’s been living in Connecticut the past ten years.” She handed Ethan a plate filled with scrambled eggs and crispy bacon. “Find us a table, hon. I’ll be right there.” Nettie picked up her plate, with only a fraction of the food she’d piled on Ethan’s, grabbed a basket of muffins and followed him into the shop. “You want a latte or something else to drink? I’m fixing a mocha.”
“One more cup of coffee will be my limit.” Ethan filled his cup before heading back to their table. “Thanks for cooking.”
Nettie joined him at the table and placed her cup down. “My pleasure. Dig in,” she ordered. “Don’t wait on me.”
“Is Michaela coming for a visit or moving back to Webster?”
“She’s moving back.” Nettie broke apart an apple crumb muffin. “I wish she hadn’t felt the need to leave in the first place. Especially to Connecticut. She could’ve gone to school in Portland.”
Ethan helped himself to another blueberry muffin. “So, you’ve got a doctor and a lawyer in the family. I’m almost afraid to ask what Michaela does for a living.”
Nettie waved a hand as she sipped her mocha. “She’s just a hair dresser.” When she saw Ethan staring at her with his mouth hanging open, she realized what she’d said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“Sounds like you’re disappointed.”
“No, I’m not.” She put down her fork and rested her hands on the table next to her plate. “Who am I to cast stones? I run a coffee shop. Micki is a wonderful beautician. I just…” Her words trailed off as she sighed.
“You just wish she’d gone to college and gone into a different profession?”
“I wish she hadn’t felt she needed to leave town to decide her future.” If Nettie heard the undertone of anger in his voice she gave no indication. “There’s nothing wrong with her profession, and it will certainly be nice to be able to get my hair and nails done without having to leave town.” She was tearing the muffin into crumbs on her plate. “I suppose, in some ways, it worked out the way it should. She should’ve come home sooner. She’s got a tough road ahead of her.”
“Don’t we all,” he muttered as a couple came through the door and Nettie got up to wait on them.
“You finish your meal,” she said as she went to the counter. “Hey, Mac. Gina. What can I make for you?”
Ethan tuned out the chatter across the room as he finished his eggs. Nettie Baxter had been good to him since he’d arrived in town barely a week ago. It was none of his business if she had a daughter who disappointed her. He knew all about disappointment. So what if the girl wanted to cut hair and pamper ladies? At least it was honest work.
Of course, being a doctor or lawyer was honest work, too, he supposed. He’d just had a bellyful of them and would be happy to never see another. Doctors tended to think they were gods and lawyers, well, the less said about them, the better.
He ran a hand through his shaggy, dark hair. He sure didn’t need his nails manicured, but it might not hurt to get a trim. As the new coach of the Webster Wolves, maybe he should clean up a bit.
Nettie slid back into her seat. “Did you get enough? Can I fix you something else?”
Ethan leaned back in his chair and patted his flat stomach. “That was good. Thank you, again. Your eggs are cold.”
She shrugged. “Not the first time I’ve eaten them cold. Won’t be the last.” Chewing the last bite of bacon, she asked, “What are your plans for today? Don’t you have practice?”
“Web is picking up a couple of kids in Portland. Registration is tomorrow. Thought I’d spend my day finding a place to live.”
“Ethan, you know you’re welcome to the room upstairs as long as you want.” She stacked their dirty dishes.
“I appreciate that, Miz Nettie, but it would be good if I had a place so I could host two or three of the boys myself.”
“I would host, but with Micki and the girls coming, there’s no room.” Nettie rose reaching for the plates she’d stacked.
“Let me get those,” Ethan insisted as he got to his feet. “You cooked, I can clean up.” He headed for the back room. “Your daughter is bringing friends with her?”
“She has two daughters.” There was the slightest hesitation before she said daughters. “My house is only a three-bedroom and I understand one of the requirements for hosting is that the players have their own room.”
“Right,” Ethan agreed as he filled the sink with hot soapy water. “What about Micki’s husband?”
Nettie had wiped off their table with a bar towel, then stood in the doorway to the back room. “He died a few months ago. That’s why they’re moving here. Micki thought it would be good for the girls to be in a new place, away from the bad memories.”
“Nettie, was your son-in-law abusive?” Ethan’s wet hands dripped on the floor as he turned to face her.
“No!” She met his gaze then, looked past him, lost in thought. “It’s my understanding the only person he loved more than his little girls was their mother.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He went back to washing the few dishes.
“My…oh, thank you. I didn’t really know him.” She picked up a towel to dry. “Doesn’t matter much, now.”
“You’re a grandma.”
Nettie blinked up at Ethan. “I guess I am.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ethan decided this had to be one of the craziest days he’d had in a long time.
He couldn’t decide if his landlady, Nettie Baxter, was excited to have her daughter and granddaughters moving back or dreading it. For the most part, he’d sensed her love for the wayward Michaela. And, while Nettie hadn’t come out and said so,
something made him think she didn’t approve of the choices her daughter had made.
Another puzzler was the little girls. Didn’t most grandparents brag about their grandkids? Yet, Nettie barely spoke of them, as if she forgot she was a grandmother. That didn’t seem normal, considering the way she mothered him.
At times, she came close to smothering him, but not as bad as his own mother, which was part of the reason he wasn’t in Georgia. Going through rehab and physical therapy had been tough enough without his mother worrying over him. Ethan knew his mother loved him and was concerned for him, but he had to learn to do things on his own. Never again would he feel like a whole man. He could only do his best to get as close to that as possible.
Nettie recommended seeing Catherine Yablonski, the mayor, for help with locating housing. That made no sense until she’d added Mrs. Yablonski was the local real estate agent.
By mid-afternoon Ethan was ready to pull his hair out. Despite his repeated assurances he was not ready to buy, only wanted to rent, the agent insisted on taking him to places out in the country for sale. The woman wore a number of bracelets that clanked and clattered every time she moved one of her arms. Considering she talked, constantly, with her hands moving along with her mouth, the sound of her yammering and the clink-clack gave him a pounding headache with nothing to show for it.
Finally, he refused to get back in her car and punched in a number on his cell phone. “Mrs. Webster? This is Ethan Reigh. Is Web available? I was afraid of that. I’m sorry to bother you, but could you come pick me up?” He glared at the mayor. “Where the hell are we?”
“Really, Mr. Reigh,” Catherine Yablonski sputtered.
“Hold on, Mrs. Webster. Gusta.” He looked across the hood of Mrs. Yablonski’s car. “I told you what I’m looking for and what I’m not looking for. But, you don’t seem willing to listen to me. So, I’m done. I refuse to drive one more foot with you. I’m getting a ride with someone who will take me back to town and then I’ll find an agent who will actually listen to my requests.” His lips thinned and he clenched his fist. “Now, where are we?”
