River's Bend

by JoAnn Ross

  “I didn’t come here looking to fall in love.” It wasn’t part of the plan she’d been focused on for months.

  Mitzi laughed at that. “Join the club. When I arrived in town looking for a vacation ranch property for a wealthy client, if anyone would have suggested I’d end up staying, I would’ve accused them of being certifiable.

  “But then I dropped into the New Chance for a cup of coffee and there was Dan, risking ptomaine by eating one of Johnny’s ghastly burgers. And my heart started doing cartwheels right on the spot.” She patted her breast as if just talking about her fiancé could cause the same reaction. “I swear it was love at first sight.”

  Having seen them together, Rachel wasn’t about to challenge Mitzi’s statement. While it might have more likely been lust at first glance, the couple’s love was obvious.

  “That was your heart,” she said, working out her own feelings aloud. “What about your head?”

  “What about it?”

  “Weren’t you worried that you’d lose your independence?”

  “Not for a minute. Dan knows I love my work. He’d never ask me to stay home all day and cook for ranch hands.” Mitzi laughed. “Which would prove dangerous, since, as we’ve already determined, I can’t boil water. And there’s also the fact that if I even tried to enter her kitchen, Betty would probably go after me with a cleaver.”

  “There is that,” Rachel murmured.

  “Look, honey, I don’t know anything about your relationship with your husband, but—”

  “It was wonderful. I adored Alan. And he loved me. He also encouraged my catering.”

  With the caveat that her career plans wouldn’t interfere with her continuing to handle everything at home, including being a proper hostess.

  The social part of her marriage had been the most difficult because although she’d learned to dress, talk, and act as if she belonged in the rarified circles in which she and Alan had moved, despite having left the farm behind, inside, a very strong part of Rachel had remained a small town girl.

  When she shared her sudden revelation that she’d chosen River’s Bend, not just because it was affordable, but because it was so far removed from her life in Connecticut, Mitzi wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  “I see that all the time in my business,” she said. “A move represents change and women, especially, are always re-inventing themselves as they go through life stages. And while we can run, we can’t always hide from our inner child.

  “I grew up in a coastal logging town not much bigger than River’s Bend. Escaping to the big, glittery city was my dream. I loved living in Portland, where I first landed after leaving home, then Eugene after my divorce. I was perfectly content with my life.

  “Then I fell in love with Dan and found that returning to my small town roots was as easy as sliding into a warm bath.”

  Yet Mitzi hadn’t abandoned her past entirely. Rachel realized that instead, she’d melded different aspects of her previous lives into one that fit the woman she was now.

  “I was swept away by Alan,” Rachel murmured. “It was like a fairy tale. Unfortunately, instead of ending happily ever after, it turned out to be more Grimm’s than Disney. Lets say, hypothetically, that Cooper was to get serious about me—”

  “I suspect that bull has already left the chute, to use the local cowboy vernacular,” Mitzi broke in dryly.

  “If things got serious,” Rachel forged on, “I’m not sure I’m capable of juggling a new restaurant, motherhood, and marriage.”

  “I suspect you’re capable of doing whatever you set your mind to,” the older woman argued. “I’ve watched all you’ve accomplished since contacting me about the New Chance. And, sticking with the hypothetical, you wouldn’t be doing it alone. Cooper’s wonderful with Scott. It would be a partnership of equals.”

  What Mitzi was saying made sense. But . . .

  “I’m getting ahead of myself,” Rachel said.

  “Perhaps a bit,” Mitzi agreed, not sounding convinced. “But meanwhile that is one dynamite dress. Poor Cooper’s toast.”

  “You make it sound so easy.” As she smoothed non-existent wrinkles from the tight, short skirt, Rachel’s attention was drawn to her wedding ring. Not for the first time, she felt her courage faltering. “I really did love my husband, Mitzi.”

  “Of course you did,” the older woman said soothingly. “But as tragic as his death was, Alan’s gone, Rachel. Don’t you think it’s time to start living for yourself for a change?”

  Rachel’s grave gray eyes met Mitzi’s sympathetic blue ones in the mirror. “What do you think this weekend’s all about?”

  Mitzi nodded approvingly. “Do you have any wine?”

  “In the fridge.”

  “Good. You change out of that,” the older woman said with renewed briskness. “I’m going downstairs to pour two glasses, and we’ll toast your romantic weekend and my nuptials before you return to the salt mine.”

  Before changing back into her working clothes, Rachel took another long look at the sexy stranger in the mirror. Then she smiled.

  Take that, Cooper Murphy.

  31

  After Mitzi left, Rachel returned to work, her mind caught in an endless loop between her previous life and the one she was creating for herself in River’s Bend.

  “Everything okay?” Cooper asked as he did the dishes after having declared her mac and cheese the best he’d ever tasted.

  “Fine,” she said, hedging a bit.

  “You’ve been quiet this evening.”

  “Have I?” She’d discovered that not much got past the man. “I guess I’m just tired.”

  “No surprise there. I’m starting to feel guilty about you cooking for me every night.”

  “Don’t. You’ve no idea how much it helps to have someone to test my new menu. River’s Bend isn’t exactly Connecticut—”

  “There’s a newsflash.” After hanging the dishtowel on the oven handle, he began massaging the boulders in her shoulders.

  “You know the people. What they like.” She tilted her head, giving his talented hands better access to her neck muscles. “And despite hearing what a terrible cook Johnny was, I’m not aiming to be merely better. I want to serve home cooking that local diners will not only enjoy, but could hold its own anywhere in the country.”

  “I may be a hick from the boonies, Sweetheart. But I’ve eaten at some fine dining establishments in Portland. And you’ve got them all beat.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.”

  “It’s the truth.” He bent his head and brushed a light kiss against her neck. “All you need is a decent night’s sleep for a change. Why don’t you cancel Mrs. MacGregor and make it an early night?”

  “I think I will,” Rachel said.

  But not for the reason Cooper was thinking.

  After he’d kissed her goodnight, and Scott had gone to bed, Rachel retrieved a DVD she’d hidden away in her dresser. Then, snuggled into her grandmother’s quilt, she settled down on the sofa with a cup of cocoa and a box of Kleenex.

  By the time she’d watched her wedding DVD three times, the forgotten cocoa was cold and the box of tissues nearly empty.

  Alan had looked so worldly, so sophisticated in white tie. Taking in the bold, confident man standing at the altar, Rachel could foresee the advertising titan he would become.

  In contrast, as she’d floated down the white satin runner (the third time in slow motion), she’d looked so young. So naive. Like Cinderella crossing the ballroom toward Prince Charming. Her hand trembled when Alan slipped the ring on her finger.

  How could she have forgotten that?

  “If you’d only known how things would turn out, would you have run away?” she asked her twenty-one year old self.

  No. Absolutely not.

  Dashing at tears with her fingertips, Rachel knew that if that fairy godmother she’d tried so hard not to believe in had suddenly appeared at the altar, opening a magic window into the future, she
wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment about going through with her wedding.

  She’d been blessed with a good life. A wonderful life.

  She’d adored a generous, loving man who’d loved her back. And yes, Alan had been flawed. But wasn’t everyone? Hadn’t she been using the same excuse for her workaholic behavior these past weeks that Alan had used whenever she’d question his seeming obsession with his career? He’d always insisted he was only trying to do the best for his family. As she was attempting to do for Scott.

  But, Rachel belatedly realized, by focusing solely on work as she’d been doing, she’d ignored so many other aspects of a full life.

  Cooper had tried to convince her to take more time to relax once in a while. His brother, after taking her blood pressure, had prescribed some R&R. Even Mitzi had advised her to start living for herself.

  Rachel froze the TV screen on Alan’s face, drinking in the unqualified love she viewed in his dark eyes the moment before he’d kissed her after they’d been declared husband and wife. And she knew, that were it possible for him to be able to see her now, he’d tell her the same thing that the others had.

  “Nobody loves a damn martyr,” she sniffled as she blew her nose.

  After ejecting the DVD, she put it back in the dresser, beneath her underwear, then picked up a frame photo of Alan and her on the beach from the bedside table. With all their income going into building his agency, rather than an expensive destination honeymoon, they’d opted for a weekend beach getaway in New Jersey’s Cape May. The hosts of the Victorian B&B, who’d gone out of their way to ensure a memorable time, had taken the photo.

  Rachel felt a tug in her heart as she looked down at their happy, glowing faces. The honeymoon may have been short, but what they’d lacked in time, they’d made up for in pleasure.

  After touching her fingertips to her lips, she pressed them against her husband’s glass-covered face before putting the photo away in the top drawer of the table. Then she slipped off the gold band that hadn’t left her hand since her wedding day and set it into the blue Tiffany box next to the photo.

  As she blew out a deep, shuddering breath, Rachel felt a weight she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying all these months lift off her shoulders.

  32

  Having guessed that Cooper would be strictly a country music fan, Rachel was surprised when he tuned the Jeep’s radio to a smooth jazz station that allowed for conversation during their drive across the snow-capped Cascades to lush valleys where vineyards were a blaze of gold and red leaves.

  “Thank you,” she said as her eyes drank in the brilliant hues.

  “You’re welcome,” he responded as, coincidentally, Al Jarreau began crooning about berries on the vine getting sweeter all the time. “What did I do?”

  “The day my furniture was sold off, I stood on the back terrace thinking how much I was going to miss the fall colors. But this is beautiful.”

  “It is,” he agreed. “We’ll have to come back next summer for a tasting tour.”

  “That sounds lovely.” And wonderfully romantic.

  Rachel was falling for Cooper. She wasn’t going to try to deny it, to herself or to him. Which was why she was in his Jeep, headed toward the coast for a weekend she knew would take their relationship to the next level.

  The sensible thing would have been to have sex at his house. That way, afterwards, she could go home. Give them both space.

  The problem was that the man had done something to her mind. She didn’t feel the least bit sensible. Or cautious.

  Rachel had been the “good girl” her entire life. The good daughter. The good wife. She’d never complained or made waves and could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d raised her voice. Even at her husband’s funeral, keeping in mind her father’s words that big girls don’t cry, she had used every bit of inner strength she’d possessed to channel Jackie Kennedy, refusing to shed a single public tear.

  Her father, like all farmers, had been a gambler at heart. As had Alan. While Rachel had always possessed a need for peace and security.

  And look where that got you a judgmental voice in the back of her mind piped up.

  It had gotten her to River’s Bend. And into Cooper Murphy’s arms.

  Which was why, for this one stolen weekend, Rachel intended to throw caution to the wind and take a walk on the wild side.

  Then once they returned to River’s Bend, desire satisfied, heads cleared, life could return to normal.

  *

  Shelter Bay, with its charming Cape Cod style shops and galleries, reminded Rachel of Cape May. Despite the chilly rain falling from a quilted pewter sky, sailboats, white sails billowing in the stiff sea breeze, skimmed along the blue-gray water while Gortex-clad tourists stood at the sea wall, looking through binoculars in hopes of spotting the pod of resident whales. Fishing boats chugged into the harbor while sea lions lounged on wooden docks, barking at one another.

  Drops of silvery rain spattered the Jeep’s windshield as they drove up a hill, passing a park where a bronze statue of a young woman looked out to sea, eternally awaiting her fisherman husband’s return from the sea.

  The Whale Song Inn was a turreted, gingerbread-encrusted Victorian with a wide, wraparound front porch that spoke of the opulence and optimism of a bygone era. In contrast to the exterior, the lobby’s floor was a simple whitewashed pine and the blue and beige hues of the walls and furniture brought sea, sand, and sky indoors.

  “This is lovely,” Rachel said as they rode up to the fourth floor in an old-fashioned cage elevator.

  “We used to come to Shelter Bay for summer vacations when I was a kid,” Cooper said. “We didn’t stay here because it was beyond our budget, but since the trip was all about hanging out at the beach, a rental cottage made more sense.”

  “And was probably more fun.” As casual and comfortable as the lobby was, Rachel couldn’t imagine bringing a wet and sandy boy through it.

  “We had some great times,” he agreed as he opened the door to a room painted in sea glass blues and greens. A pair of French doors led onto a balcony that offered a dazzling view of the bay, sea, and a lighthouse.

  “Oh.” She drew in an appreciative breath as she opened the French doors and despite the drizzle, which had lessened to a mist, stepped out onto the balcony. “It’s stunning.”

  “I realize you had beaches back east,” Cooper said, coming out to stand beside her. “But there’s something special about the Oregon coast.”

  “From what I’ve seen so far, I’d have to agree.”

  “We’ll play tourist tomorrow,” he promised.

  Her knee-jerk response, which she wisely didn’t share, was to remember that Hal would be putting the wall sconces in tomorrow without her there to ensure they ended up in precisely the locations they’d agreed upon.

  Then, determined to take her own—and everyone else’s—advice, she turned her focus to smelling the roses. Or, in this case, the scents of salt and fir trees on the sea air.

  “I can actually feel myself unwinding,” she murmured. And it felt wonderful.

  He put his arm around her. “That’s the idea.”

  The sun was lowering in the sky, gilding the pewter clouds and turning the white caps to a gleaming gold.

  They’d arrived later than originally planned because, on a whim, Cooper had turned down a winding road to a winery, where they’d had a lovely lunch in a glassed-in room overlooking the vineyard. The spontaneity had made both the wood-fired Pacific rockfish tacos and sunshine bright Chardonnay taste even more delicious.

  “I suppose I should leave and let you get unpacked,” he said just before lowering his head to skim his lips teasingly over hers. In the heartbeat that his mouth was on Rachel’s, his hands moving down her sides, she couldn’t have responded if her life had depended on it.

  Too soon, he drew back. A slow smile curved those dangerous lips. “I’m glad you came, Rachel.”

  “Me, too,” she sai
d as she left the balcony and walked across the room with him.

  He paused at the door. “I know the guy in charge of security here. He used to be Secret Service, assigned to protecting foreign diplomats, so this place should be nearly as safe as the White House. Especially since it’s filled with cops tonight. But things can happen, so don’t forget to fasten the security latch.”

  Rachel shut the door and turned the lock. But as she fastened the chain as instructed, she knew that it was too late to protect her heart.

  33

  Rachel lay in the Jacuzzi tub, luxuriating in the warmth of the scented water and as she imaged the fragrant bubbling foam to be Cooper’s caressing hands, her bones turned as soft and pliant as the water.

  Her rebellious mind, once stimulated, seemed unable to stop painting erotic pictures as she continued to get ready for the evening. Checking her reflection for the umpteenth time, Rachel wasn’t at all surprised that the image gazing back at her was of a woman who wanted to be made love to.

  By the time Cooper knocked on door between them, Rachel was feeling as sexually frustrated as Maggie the Cat in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.

  “You’re late,” she said as she opened the door.

  Seemingly struck speechless by the vision in front of him, Cooper stared at her. He was wearing a dark charcoal suit, white shirt, and burgundy tie. As handsome as he was, she found herself preferring him in those chambray shirts and jeans.

  “Cooper?”

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said you were late.”

  He glanced down at his leather-banded watch. “Actually, I think I’m early. But I was getting lonely.” His slow gaze took her in, from the top of her head down to her stiletto heels, then back up again. “You are the most stunningly beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Except for Alan on their wedding day, no one had ever called Rachel stunning. Usually, pretty tended to be her highest accolade.