Low Tide: Rarity Cove Book Two

by Tentler, Leslie

  With the extent of his trauma, the specialists had said memory loss surrounding the attack wasn’t uncommon. There was a slight possibility he might eventually remember some things, but more than likely, he never would.

  Maybe it was a blessing.

  Mark had attended Dobbins’s hearing on his behalf. She had been remanded into the custody of the state of California and, ultimately, declared unfit to stand trial. She was confined to a mental institution. Her face was now nearly as famous as his. The media had gotten photos of her, had plastered them in magazines, on the Internet, on television.

  Carter drifted into an uneasy sleep, until a dream brought him awake again. Breathless, he swallowed heavily in the darkness, feeling the too-hard beat of his heart.

  In the dream, he had been on the red carpet when he saw Kelsey Dobbins staring back at him from a cordoned-off crowd of fans. He’d stood, paralyzed, as she had broken through the barricade, threading past the others until her icy fingers clenched his arm. Her words echoed inside him.

  I love you more.

  Chapter Three

  It was the dog’s barking that pulled Quinn Reese from her meditation. She sat in Padmasana, facing the ocean and wearing an old Stanford University sweat jacket, her wavy auburn hair wound into a loose knot from which tendrils escaped in the strong breeze. Having completed her yoga practice, she had been focused on mindful breathing when Doug’s excited barking pulled her back to the cawing seagulls and snap of cold, briny sea air. Opening her eyes, she shielded her face from the anemic slant of sunlight that had temporarily broken through the clouds. Surprise filtered through her as she recognized the approaching man Doug now trotted alongside. Quinn stood and brushed off her yoga pants, knocking away grains of sand her bare feet and the wind had scattered onto her mat.

  As he came closer, a smile of recognition on his even features, Quinn felt a tug of bittersweet emotion.

  “Mark,” she said as her former brother-in-law reached her. Taking her hands briefly into his, he then embraced her. Quinn closed her eyes against his chest. In the time since her sister’s passing, she’d seen Mark only on occasion, whenever she was in town for a visit and wanted to see her niece. The last time had been over three years ago, something she regretted.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I went by the house.” Mark wore khakis, loafers and a windbreaker, giving her the impression he wasn’t working at the St. Clair that day. “Nora gave me your new cell number, but you didn’t answer. She told me where I could probably find you.”

  Quinn thought of her phone buried inside her yoga bag, aware she had purposely been keeping it on mute.

  “You were looking for me?” Wobbling a bit, she slid her feet into the shoes she had removed earlier, ignoring the sand still stuck between her toes. “How’d you know I was here? In town, I mean. I’ve only been home a few days.”

  “It’s a small town. Word gets around.”

  Quinn felt a flush creep onto her cheeks at the concern in his eyes, wondering just how many people here knew her business. She shoved her hair back from her face in the soughing breeze. “I was…planning to call once I got settled in. I’ve been hoping to see Emily. I know it’s been a long time. Too long.”

  Mark nodded.

  A pang inside her, she shook her head and forced a smile. “She probably won’t even remember me.”

  “Of course she does. She always gets a kick out of your gifts.”

  Quinn thought of the last thing she mailed to Emily, an oriental fan and child-size kimono she had purchased in San Francisco’s Chinatown. That was last summer. “I was going to ask if you could bring her by Mom’s for a visit. I wasn’t sure about coming to your house since—”

  “You’re Emily’s aunt. You’re welcome anytime. Nora, too,” Mark assured her. “Samantha and I want Emily to stay connected to her mother’s side of the family.”

  Nora had given Quinn a distinctly different impression of Samantha St. Clair. But she also knew her mother was less than accepting of Mark’s new marital status. Five years had gone by since the car accident that killed Quinn’s older sister, Shelley. Mark had remarried some two years later. But it was as if her mother expected him to live out the rest of his life as a widower, continuing to mourn her daughter just as she still did. Shelley had always been the apple of Nora’s eye. Quinn suspected she had taken Mark’s remarriage as a betrayal.

  “Congratulations on getting married again.” Her heart squeezed as she added, “And on your little boy. Ethan.”

  Mark thanked her. His features appeared pained as he studied her. “I…heard about the miscarriage, Quinn. And about the separation. I’m sorry.”

  She simply nodded, watching as Doug ran along the shore, harassing seagulls fishing in the tide. She was sure Mark had questions, but to his credit, he didn’t push.

  “Who’s your friend?” he asked as the dog bounded back to them a few seconds later, shaking off his wet fur and sending cold saltwater flying. Shaggy-haired and underweight, he appeared to be a combination of several breeds, most predominantly a wheaten terrier. Mark bent to pet him.

  “That’s Doug,” she said.

  He squinted up at her. “Doug the dog?”

  She shrugged. “It’s a placeholder until I can think of something better. Or until someone claims him. I found him on the beach the first day I was here, and he followed me home. I’ve put up fliers around town, but no one’s called about a lost dog. I took him to the vet to see if he’d been microchipped, but no luck. They said he’s already been neutered, but I got vaccinations for him, just in case. Nora hates him with a passion. She claims he’s bringing fleas into her B&B.”

  Mark chuckled.

  Quinn pulled her sweat jacket more tightly around herself, trying to ward off the chill, which had grown sharper without the distraction of her yoga practice. Carefully, she asked the question that was on her mind. “Mark…how is Carter? There hasn’t been much on the news about him lately.”

  Her own personal tragedy had been a mere footnote on the televised sports programs, focused solely on Jake Medero’s loss, not hers. But what happened to Carter had been a headline story for weeks. No matter what feelings she had about Mark’s brother, the brutal stalker attack had shocked and disturbed her.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. I was wondering if I could buy you a cup of coffee? The boardwalk’s closed, but my car’s here. We could go into the square. Nora said you walked here.”

  “I’ve got Doug.”

  “We’ll sit outside, then. At least we’ll be off the water where it’s warmer.”

  Curiosity nudged her.

  “All right,” she said hesitantly. “But make mine green tea.”

  * * *

  “You’re between jobs right now. It makes perfect sense.”

  Clasping her teacup, Quinn faintly shook her head. They sat on the bricked patio of the Coffee Cabana, which had the benefit of an outdoor heater.

  “I’m licensed for PT in California,” she reasoned. “You need someone now, and it could take several weeks for me to get instated here.”

  And that was if she even made the decision to stay.

  “I’ve already spoken about you to Carter’s cardiac physician in Charleston,” Mark told her. “He’s researched your credentials and knows your relationship to our family. He said your CSCS certification could help us get around the rules and let you start working with him before your license comes through here.”

  In addition to her doctorate in physical therapy, Quinn was also a certified strength and conditioning specialist. She’d worked with professional athletes to improve their performance. It was how she had met Jake, in fact.

  She sighed. “I don’t know…”

  “We’re in need of someone good, Quinn, and that’s you. Everyone I’ve talked to says Brookhaven is the top sports medicine and rehabilitation center on the West Coast.”

  Quinn felt the teacup’s fading warmth against her palms. Where she’d work
ed. Past tense. Following her separation from Jake, she had tried to get her former position back. Quinn had been readily offered the job, only to have it yanked away from her at the last minute. She’d also found herself blackballed at two other large rehab centers in the Bay Area. It wasn’t a mystery to her as to why. Attempting to ease her thoughts, she peered out over the town square with its tiered fountain and ancient live oaks that provided a canopy for the hibernating green space. Nostalgia filtered through her as she remembered summer festivals and picnics here as a child.

  “Carter hasn’t responded well to physical therapy so far,” Mark confided. “He needs to build up his strength and endurance. He has fatigue and some occasional breathlessness. His sternal precautions ended a couple of weeks ago, and his doctors are adamant he needs to do more.”

  He placed his coffee mug on the table, his forehead creasing. “He’s unmotivated and sleeping too much. I worry he’s leaning on pain pills to get him through the day.”

  Quinn frowned at Mark’s confession. She was aware of Carter’s open-heart surgery, one of the many grim details that had made the news. Her voice gentled. “Depression is common with cardiac patients.”

  “Don’t ask. He won’t see a mental health professional. He gets angry if you even suggest it.” He shook his head in obvious frustration.

  “He sounds like a handful,” she said, forcing a smile.

  She tried to process the situation, still slightly shocked that Carter St. Clair was here in Rarity Cove. Beneath the table, Doug released a sigh. He’d lapped up the water the shop’s waitress had brought to him in a plastic bowl and now lay on his side, napping, the end of his leash looped around one of the table legs.

  “There’s outpatient therapy at the medical center in Charleston, but with Carter’s celebrity, it hasn’t proven to be the most practical idea,” Mark said. “We’re trying to keep his presence here under the radar.”

  “But I still don’t understand, why me?” she asked, puzzled. “There must be scores of properly licensed PTs in Charleston who can do private, at-home sessions.”

  “I need to be completely honest with you, Quinn.” Mark hesitated. “Carter’s been through three therapists already. Although, the first one wasn’t his fault.”

  Anger reflected on his features. “The guy had excellent references and came highly recommended, but the greed got to him. Carter found a hidden camera he’d planted. He was in negotiation to sell photos to Starglazer magazine.”

  Quinn stiffened in indignation. “I hope you reported him.”

  “To the hospital and to the APTA. He won’t be working anywhere else anytime soon.”

  “What about the other two therapists?”

  “I don’t have a similar excuse. Carter clashed with both of them. He let the most recent one go last week.”

  “And you think things would somehow be different with me?”

  “Maybe. You have a history with us, Quinn. He’d be less likely to dismiss you so easily. You’ve also been trained to be part of a more holistic approach, and I think that’s something Carter needs. That might be standard in California, but it’s still somewhat uncommon here. We need more than just someone who’ll run him through the exercises, which he currently isn’t doing, anyway. I don’t know, maybe you could work with him on meditation or yoga to relieve stress and try to improve his outlook? He’s under a lot of pressure—the studios want him back to fulfill commitments.”

  “I do incorporate therapeutic yoga and meditation with my patients who are willing,” Quinn explained. “But Carter would have to be open to it, and from what I’m hearing…”

  “I’m just looking for something that might help.” Mark rubbed a hand over his mouth, his concern visible. “I’m worried about him, Quinn. He won’t talk much about it, but he’s been thrown hard by all this—his own near-death experience and compromised health, Bianca Rossi’s murder.”

  Quinn thought of the up-and-coming young actress. Images of her with Carter had been aired nonstop in the weeks following the attack. “Did you know her?”

  He shook his head. “No, we never met.”

  With a tense release of breath, Quinn became aware of the low winter sun finally beginning to burn off the clouds that had been hovering since she had arrived in town. Farther down the square, the bell tower on the centuries-old, Methodist church chimed out the hour. Where Mark and Shelley were married.

  “My family trusts you, Quinn. And you already know Carter.” Mark’s soft-blue eyes held hers. “The last two therapists treated him with kid gloves because of who he is, and he used it to deflect their efforts. You wouldn’t be so intimidated by his fame.”

  She understood the implication. Pensively, she toyed with the teabag that sat on the edge of her saucer. Quinn had been married for ten months to Jake Medero, a high-profile running back for the San Francisco Breakers—technically, she still was. The state of California required a six-month waiting period before finalizing a divorce, and there were still four months remaining. As she thought of the situation she had fled, Quinn’s stomach soured. It was another reason why she wanted nothing to do with someone else considered to be a god by the rest of the country. Not to mention, she had her own clandestine, awkward history with Carter. But the desperation in Mark’s voice tugged at her.

  “Carter’s changed since you knew him. Despite his celebrity, he’s grown up. He’s not the person you knew in high school.”

  Quinn doubted it. If anything, wealth and fame only brought out the worst traits in people, she’d learned. “I don’t know, Mark. How long do I have to consider this?”

  “We’d like a decision soon. Mercer’s been staying with him for the past several weeks, but she’s going back to Atlanta.”

  “Wait. It’s a full-time, live-in position?” She bit her lip. That was something she hadn’t expected.

  “Not necessarily. We have other help, and Carter doesn’t require constant supervision. He’s ambulatory and able to handle the basics. I’m not expecting you to be his caretaker. You could come and go as you please.” Pausing, Mark stared briefly into his coffee mug. “Mercer’s been a big help, and losing her is going to be an adjustment, but Carter and I agree we don’t want her delaying her life again for family.”

  Quinn nodded, understanding that, too. After Shelley’s death, Mercer had come back to Rarity Cove to help Mark care for Emily. They all owed her. It was a role Nora should have fit into, but she had been far too devastated by Shelley’s death. Her constant crying and hysterics wouldn’t have been healthy for a child Emily’s age, who’d been suffering from emotional trauma herself. And Quinn had been completing her residency at the UC San Francisco Medical Center, not that it was a bulletproof excuse. Guilt nagged at her. She had intentionally disappeared from Rarity Cove. Even her sister’s death had brought her home only temporarily. Quinn wondered again if she had made the right decision in coming here now.

  “Does Carter know about this?”

  “I wanted to talk to you first.”

  She peered out again across the town square. An image of Shelley as high school homecoming queen—blond and luminous, waving as she rode atop a float traveling down Main Street—appeared in Quinn’s mind. She had loved her sister dearly, she missed her, but she’d always taken a backseat to her.

  It was disconcerting to be back here. Quinn was painfully aware that, at the age of thirty-two, she had little funds and not really anywhere else to go. She’d left California and gone to the other side of the country to escape her problems.

  Mark used a pen to write on the back of one of the Coffee Cabana’s paper napkins, then slid it toward her. “Just think about it, all right? We’d pay you well for your time.”

  Quinn looked at the napkin. The amount he’d written on it was startling.

  Chapter Four

  They sat in Mark’s Volvo as it idled outside Quinn’s childhood home, a large, revival-style brick colonial. The sign in front proclaimed it The Reese House Bed & Breakfast.
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br />   “I’m happy for you, Mark. I want you to know that,” Quinn said sincerely. “I believe Shelley would’ve wanted you to move on with your life.”

  Mark peered somberly at the house. “She blames me, you know.”

  Quinn laid a hand on his arm. “There was nothing you could’ve done. You were hit head on by a drunk driver and were injured yourself. Deep down, Mom knows you’re not responsible and that you still have a life to lead.”

  He appeared doubtful, but after a moment, he changed topics. “You’ll come on Saturday, then?”

  The family dinner Mark had invited her to would give her a chance to see Emily…as well as meet Mark’s new wife and son. But Quinn also understood the real reason for the invitation. It would let her evaluate whether she might be able to work with Carter, at least from a personality standpoint. She couldn’t control the small flutter in her stomach. Despite the fact they’d been in-laws, her exposure to Carter had been minimal during Mark and Shelley’s marriage. He’d been in New York, and she had been on the West Coast. The few times when they had crossed paths at the occasional family gathering, things had been polite but impersonal. She and Carter hadn’t been in the same room since Shelley’s funeral more than five years ago, in fact. At that time, he’d been a soap opera actor, on the cusp of superstardom. And she had been too grief-stricken to dwell on what had happened between them when they’d basically both been just kids. Quinn had never told anyone about it. Based on Mark’s apparent unawareness, neither had Carter, she guessed. She’d always figured it had been so meaningless to him that he’d simply shrugged off the entire incident.

  Quinn thought of the substantial hourly rate Mark had written on the napkin. If she could set teenage hurts aside, it would provide her with some needed income while she tried to figure out her next steps in life.