Moonshell Beach: A Shelter Bay Novel

by JoAnn Ross

  Unsurprisingly, a line of spectators had formed outside the terminal. Given that her photo—or some badly Photoshopped version of it—was continually appearing on those tacky supermarket tabloids and online blogs, she’d reluctantly grown accustomed to being recognized everywhere she went.

  Breaking away from the others, she went over to the crowd and spent the next fifteen minutes signing autographs and posing for photos. This was one advantage the small-town airport had over larger ones. She’d learned the hard way that if she even paused for a moment in a larger-city airport, she’d soon be mobbed.

  But this gave her the opportunity to thank some of the people who’d provided her with a very comfortable living. It also took her mind off that very rude driver.

  “Would you mind holding my baby?” one woman asked, holding out an infant wrapped in a pink sweater and wearing a pink knit cap. “She’s named after you…Muirenn.”

  Which was actually her character’s name, which translated to “born of the sea.” She’d begun receiving more and more mail that included photos of baby girls who’d been given the ancient Irish name solely because of her movies. While flattered that her work would touch someone enough to name a child after a fictional character she’d created, Mary also found it a little unsettling.

  “She’s lovely.” Which was the truth, but understanding that all newborns are beautiful to their mothers, she would have said the same if the baby had looked like a hobbit.

  Cradling the infant in her arms, she smiled for the woman’s camera. Then asked Bodhi to photograph her with the mother and child.

  “I’m going to put this in her scrapbook,” the mother said. “When she gets a little older, I’ll tell Muirenn all about the day she was held by the queen of the selkies.”

  Uncertain whether the woman was serious, Mary merely smiled again, and, having reached the end of the line, continued on to the waiting SUV where she came face-to-face with the scowling male wearing the aviator shades. Who, unlike the other Oregonians she’d met so far, wasn’t proving the least bit welcoming.

  Without a word of hello, hi, or nice to meet you, he began loading her bags into the back of the Suburban while the mayor shepherded everyone else into the SUV. Saving—oh joy—the passenger seat for Mary.

  “J.T.’s going to be providing security,” Mayor Dennis said when the silent driver joined them.

  “Security?” Surprised by this announcement, Mary glanced over at him. “I seriously doubt I’ll be needing any on this trip.”

  The studio typically arranged for a security detail when any of their stars were going to be thrown into a huge, uncontrollable event, but this was a small, quiet town.

  “The sheriff thought it would be a good idea,” the Sphinx finally spoke. “Since you seem to have a lot of…enthusiastic fans.”

  From his momentary pause, she suspected he’d been close to using another, far less flattering description. “They may be enthusiastic. But as I’m sure you could tell, they’re not dangerous,” she argued.

  “Maybe those weren’t,” he allowed. “But there’s no way of knowing about any others. Until it’s too late.”

  “Well.” Fighting back a flare of annoyance, Mary folded her arms. “And won’t you be adding a festive air to these upcoming days?” Her voice dripped sarcasm.

  “J.T. may be overstating the situation,” the mayor jumped in before the negative man could respond. “Kara Conway—that would be our sheriff—is merely taking precautions. J.T.’s here to allow you to get from venue to venue.”

  “I’ve managed to walk on my own without assistance for several years.”

  “Although I’ll agree that he might be overkill, there’s no denying that he could prove helpful with running your gauntlet of fans,” the theater professor allowed.

  His tone suggested he had no more use for this J.T. person than she did. Which, perversely, almost had her changing her mind about the scowling male sitting next to her. Almost.

  “They began arriving in town this morning,” Reece Ryan volunteered. “Though less than we’d expected because somehow the word erroneously got out on the Internet that your flight was landing in Portland. According to the airport security officer I spoke with, there’s a crowd waiting for you there.

  “Others, for some unknown reason, also showed up at Eugene. Some apparently decided to skip trying to see you at the airport and came straight to Shelter Bay. Several have shown up at the tourist information office, asking where various locations from your movies can be found.”

  “While several of the sites were inspired by ones both here and back home in Castlelough, the films were shot on the northern coast of California,” Mary said. “Which, in many ways, resembles this coast, which was why it was chosen.” In between breaks in the stands of fir trees spearing into the silvered sky, Mary could see the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

  “It’s not surprising that facts got twisted,” she said. “I’ve discovered, since earning a bit of fame, that celebrity news is often like that old game we played as children. Where one starts a story and it continues until it no longer resembles the original statement.”

  “Gossip.” Mayor Dennis nodded. “We always played it at Girl Scout camp on Rainbow Lake. But the lighthouse is definitely ours. You didn’t shoot that in California.”

  “True. A second crew filmed some local color to edit in with the California scenes.”

  “They’re good,” Ryan said. “No one ever noticed them.”

  She smiled at that. “That’s because the photographer blended in with the tourists. You’d be surprised what people are shooting with DSLR cameras these days,” she said.

  “What about the cave?” Bodhi asked.

  “Those scenes were shot on a studio set,” Mary admitted. “Even if we had wanted to film in the actual cave, the lighting would’ve been tricky and we would have been up against time constraints trying to time the light with the tide. But it is one I remember from when we visited. My nephew, Rory, thought it was made of diamonds.”

  “I remember thinking the same thing,” he said. “So do my kids.”

  “Those fans at the airport seemed harmless,” the mayor said. “And the ones who’ve shown up in town so far are very friendly.”

  “And enthusiastic,” the Sphinx repeated. Once again, he did not make it sound like an attribute.

  And wasn’t he Mr. Sparkling Personality? Mary turned toward him. “Are you a sheriff’s deputy?” He certainly didn’t have the look of a small-town policeman.

  “No.”

  “From a private security firm, then?”

  “No.”

  “J.T.’s recently separated from the Marines,” the mayor volunteered. “With multiple deployments under his belt, so you needn’t worry. He’s totally qualified to keep you safe.”

  “I wasn’t worried to begin with,” she said. Hearing that he was a military man brought that erotic dream crashing back. Surely it was only a coincidence that she’d end up with a former Marine providing security? And speaking of safety, who was going to protect her from him? “Unlike some of the other genres, my movies don’t bring out the serious crazies.”

  “Just people who think they’re seals,” he muttered.

  “Would you happen to have to have a last name, J.T.?” She was pleased her voice remained calm, without revealing the temper he’d sparked. “Or do you go by just one? Like Bono. Or Sting?” She racked her brain. Damn. Most of the ones who came immediately to mind were women. “Or Mr. T?”

  “Mr. T happens to be two words.”

  “And isn’t J.T. two letters?” Ha! Score a point for her side.

  “Got me there.” He shrugged shoulders as broad as ax handles. And kept his shaded eyes on the road. “It’s Douchett.”

  “Is your family French?” Although growing up in the west had made her fluent in Irish, Castlelough had enough French tourists that she’d picked up some of that language, which had proved useful in Cannes.

  “Cajun.”


  He wasn’t a sparkling conversationalist. Then again, Mary reminded herself, the sheriff hadn’t assigned him to this one-man security detail to keep her entertained.

  She may have learned to control her temper, but her Irish stubborn streak went all the way to the bone. Which was why, although she’d never considered herself a glutton for punishment, because she could feel the mayor in the backseat desperate for things to go well, Mary found herself trying yet again to draw the man out.

  “I first tasted Cajun food in New Orleans on a fund-raising visit after Katrina. Although it’s much spicier than the plain Irish fare I grew up with, I fell in love with it at my first taste of gumbo.”

  “The Douchetts have owned one of the most popular restaurants on the mid-Oregon coast for two generations,” Colleen Dennis volunteered, in an increasingly desperate attempt to fill in the silence that settled over them when the frustratingly closemouthed Marine didn’t respond to Mary’s statement. “Which was why we decided to hold the private reception tonight at Bon Temps.”

  The city council, taking advantage of their position, had scheduled a cocktail and buffet party for the evening, giving them all an opportunity to spend personal time with her. Apparently, along with the contestants who’d entered films, local business owners and other citizens actively involved in the community had been invited.

  Remembering the buzz in Castlelough when the movie people had arrived from Hollywood, Mary couldn’t blame them for being excited.

  “Good times,” she translated the restaurant’s French name. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Merely a polite white one. Having spent the last two days and this morning doing press interviews, which involved sitting in a room answering the same questions from entertainment reporters writing for newspapers around the world, she’d just wanted to escape to some desert island, without TV, cell phones, or the Internet.

  Then again, desert islands weren’t exactly known for their crawfish jambalaya or shrimp gumbo. Just the idea, after all those cheese and salad trays the hotel caterers kept sending up, had her mouth watering. She supposed a spicy Cajun meal would be an upside to having to play movie star for a few hours.

  They were passing a sign declaring Shelter Bay to be the home of Navy Cross winner Sax Douchett. “I assume that’s a relative?” Mary asked her silent driver/bodyguard.

  “My brother.” Another sign announced the town to be the sister city of Castlelough. He slanted her a look. “Though he’d probably appreciate it if you didn’t mention that Navy Cross when you meet him.”

  Well, wasn’t that more words than the frustratingly silent man had managed to string together thus far? Mary, who understood the complexities of families all too well, found it interesting that it was the mention of his brother that had him opening up just that little bit.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said mildly.

  Going back into silent mode, he didn’t respond. But he did nod. Slightly. Which, Mary thought, was at least acknowledgment that she’d spoken. Which, while progress of a sort, also had her thinking that it was going to be a very long five days.

  6

  J.T. could feel the annoyance from the others in the back of the Suburban and sensed that the mayor was second-guessing Kara’s idea of assigning him guard-dog duty.

  He knew he was behaving badly. Maureen Douchett had taught her three sons better manners. But the truth was that he’d spent so many months mostly listening to the families he’d been assigned to take care of, and being careful to try to always say the right thing, even when he knew there really wasn’t anything he could ever say that would make the pain go away, he’d totally lost the knack of having a normal conversation that didn’t revolve around death.

  Since returning home, he’d found that the one thing that got him out of bed each day was having a routine. Okay, so maybe Kara didn’t consider running and drinking a responsible routine, but it had been working for him.

  The only reason he’d agreed to babysit Mary Joyce—a job that had the potential for being far from routine—was that he hadn’t wanted to upset Kara, who was not only a stand-up cop but a childhood friend and the woman his brother was going to marry. Which meant that she was going to be family. And family always backed up family.

  He had made a commitment to her to take on the assignment and he needed to see it through. Although before coming home he’d been suffocating in duty to the point when there’d been times he could barely breathe, and had even wondered if a guy his age could actually have a heart attack, no way could he could turn his back on his responsibility now.

  Then, if he’d needed any more proof that just when you thought things were really bad, they could get a whole lot worse, he’d woken up this morning with an all-too-familiar black cloud hovering over his head. And not the one that had begun drizzling rain along the coast, but the suffocating one that followed him around like his own personal damn albatross.

  He’d wanted to go running, to clear the ghosts and his head, but after Kara claiming he was scaring the tourists, he decided to just put off any PT until the actress left town. It wasn’t as if all those hours spent pounding the pavement and sand had helped make his depression go away.

  However, he knew from experience that he could still function if he had to, even when he found himself stuck in this dark place. So, since Marines didn’t hide beneath the covers just because life got a little tough, he’d dragged himself out of the bottomless void, downed about a gallon of coffee, and headed out to begin his day with the best of intentions.

  He’d figured the others would be eager to talk with a bona fide movie star, so it wouldn’t be as if anyone expected him to be chatty. He’d intended to be civil, though if given the choice between babysitting some spoiled, self-indulgent Hollywood sex symbol or having his spleen removed with a rusty chain saw, he’d have to say, “Start up the engine.”

  But proving yet again that missions never turn out the way they’re originally planned, the moment Mary Joyce walked down the steps of that jet, J.T. had felt a faint, distant spark simmer. Making him think that maybe he wasn’t all-the-way dead after all.

  And just when he was trying to figure out whether that was a good or bad thing, she’d glanced over at him while chatting up the delegation the town council had sent out to greet her. It wasn’t a sexy, come-and-get-me-big-boy look. Merely a quick appraisal that had hit his gut like a grenade blast.

  Since every mission depended on solid intel, he’d spent the past two nights watching DVDs of her movies. Cole had been dead-on when he’d said that Mary Joyce was really, really hot. The fact that she spent a great deal of time naked hadn’t hurt, either.

  But she wasn’t naked today. And while she wasn’t exactly dressed for a drizzly day on the coast, neither was she all dolled up like he’d expect a movie star to be. Those leopard-print high heels might be impractical, but it wasn’t as if she were going to be jogging on the beach in them, and he’d known enough women to realize that, for some unfathomable reason, they all seemed to go gaga over footwear. His own mother, who could never be considered high maintenance, had an entire wall of shelves in her closet just for shoes.

  So, while Mary Joyce wasn’t decked out for the red carpet, damned if there wasn’t something about her—a sparkling force field—that had captured the attention of every person on the tarmac. Including the guy who almost drove the luggage truck into the side of a tied-down Cessna as he’d driven out to the jet to retrieve her suitcases.

  Although the bio information he found on the Web site said that she currently lived in—where else?—Malibu, instead of sporting a California beach bunny tan, her oval face was as pale as the porcelain his mother would bring out for special dinners.

  The ruler-straight black hair that fell below her shoulders was as shiny as obsidian. Her eyes were nearly the exact same blue as the neon light surrounding the Orcas Theater marquee. But much, much warmer when she smiled.

  Someon
e at the airport must’ve tipped off the people in the terminal, because by the time she’d begun walking toward the SUV, a line of lookie-loos had gathered. He’d watched as she bestowed that dazzling smile on the bystanders and waved; then, instead of going straight to the SUV to escape, she’d broken away from the delegation to personally greet the crowd and sign autographs.

  When she’d held a baby wrapped in a pink blanket, and not only smiled for the woman’s camera but asked the newspaper guy to take a photo of her with both the mother and daughter, J.T. had decided that if she hadn’t chosen to be a movie star, she might have made a good politician.

  During the drive up the coast road to Shelter Bay, he could tell that she was puzzled by his attitude. And growing frustrated. Hell, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with it himself. He might not be the same fun-loving guy who’d left Shelter Bay so many years ago for adventure, but he wasn’t by nature rude. Until now.

  “Oh, except for so many of the windows being painted, it’s just the way I remembered it,” she murmured as he drove past the shops on Harborview Drive. Which, as the name suggested, provided an expansive view of the harbor, marina, and bridge. A sailboat was skimming across the blue water, reminding J.T. that there was a time, in what now seemed like another life, when he’d enjoyed sailing.

  “The paintings were created by art students at Shelter Bay High School,” Colleen Dennis chirped up from the backseat, proving that although she might be in her late sixties, there was nothing wrong with her hearing. “You’ll be announcing the winner of the competition tomorrow after the parade.

  “As for Shelter Bay seemingly being stuck in a time capsule, that’s one of the things those of us lucky enough to live here love about our town,” the mayor said.

  “Castlelough’s much the same way. Many towns experienced unprecedented growth during the Celtic Tiger boom, mostly from houses built by wealthy Dubliners or Englishmen wanting a country holiday home. But being off the beaten track as Castlelough is made it less attractive for developers. Plus, many of the residents, including my brother and sister, are active in the preservation movement.”