The Coast Road Home

by Vickie McKeehan

  Her brows knitted in a frown. “Was I?”

  He hadn’t heard a word she’d said. His eyes had meandered down her body so that his mind had gone blank. “Were you what?”

  “Covered in blood when the paramedics brought me in?”

  “Oh. That.” He scratched his chin, trying to get his mind back on track. “You were. Yeah. Maybe I’m approaching this all wrong. This isn’t very romantic, is it? Plus, I don’t want you getting the impression that I hit on every female patient that comes through the door. I don’t.”

  “I don’t think that.”

  “Good, because you’re the first patient I’ve ever felt this way about. Quentin’s advising me not to…act on it.”

  “Do you listen to Quentin often?”

  “Hardly ever. But the purple bruising on your ribs isn’t something we should ignore.”

  She looked up into his silvery-blue eyes and recognized need, maybe the beginnings of hard lust. “You shouldn’t worry about this being awkward. First thing Monday morning, I’ll make that appointment to see your counterpart, Dr. Blackwood, for all my…health issues. Maybe I can persuade him to remove the stitches.”

  “You’re welcome to try.”

  To put some distance between them, Marley stood up and went over to the grocery bag, began setting out the appetizers.

  He wasn’t the only nervous one, Gideon noted as he watched her flit from cupboard to cabinet looking for dishes and glasses.

  After lining up the cheese and crackers on a plate, she opened the bottle of red and filled the wine glasses. “This should probably chill. But…” When she went to hand off his drink, she found him staring at her. “What?”

  “Despite your injuries, you move like a ballet dancer.”

  She held up her glass. “Dance lessons, eight years straight. And when Riordan showed signs of interest in that area, I signed her up with an instructor. She was so cute in her little outfits. I have pictures…” Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed back tears. “She’d only been taking lessons for about six months. But she was so…enthusiastic about it.”

  “I’d like to see the video of that.”

  “Want to see Leo play baseball? I have dozens of mom videos like that.” She shook her head and forced herself to switch topics. “By the way, I met one of your ardent admirers earlier today. Shiloh Jones. A real knockout who’s absolutely besotted with the man who performed a miracle and saved her grandfather.”

  “Ah. Shiloh exaggerates. I just met her and the grandfather for the first time last week. For some reason, she seemed taken with me right off.”

  “A devoted fan for sure. She wants to ask out the hunky doctor. Shelby put the kibosh on it. But I have a feeling it wasn’t enough to discourage the very enthusiastic Shiloh.”

  “Don’t tell me that.” The knock on the door prevented him from a long-winded rant. “That’s gotta be the food delivery.”

  During the meal, the sexual vibe got stronger. So great was the feeling that it hung in the air like juiced up sparks leftover from a lightning storm. Small gestures—leaning in to share a laugh, their hands touching, reaching for the same piece of garlic bread—kept them off balance.

  “The chianti pairs well with the sage ravioli and the creamy sauce.”

  Marley bumped his shoulder. “And I didn’t even know what we’d be eating for supper when I bought it. This dish is quite good considering it came from a pizza place.”

  “Longboard’s is no ordinary pizza place,” Gideon stated. He went into detail about the chef from New York.

  “Wait a minute, you said that about the burgers we got from the pub. How do two talented chefs from New York wind up living here?”

  “As I understand it, Fischer Robbins knew Decker Latigo back in New York, went to the same cooking school…or something…and ended up working at the same restaurant in Manhattan. They were both unhappy there. Fischer got his chance to escape when his buddy, Thane Delacourt, got the grand idea to start a pizza place back here in Thane’s hometown. Fischer told Decker about The Shipwreck needing a cook, and, I guess, Decker packed up and headed west.”

  “Someone else who started over. I wonder if these guys have a sad backstory. I bring it up because this town seems like a melting pot for wounded souls.”

  “That sounds very Scott-like. You mentioned him before.”

  “So did you. Neither of us can explain how we’ve had conversations with a man who’s been dead for years. I saw the plaque in the park.”

  “That’s nothing. I went out to the cemetery. I saw his gravestone. Before that, I’d been warned about him. People see him everywhere around town.”

  “I suppose that’s validation. But it’s still a sad story.”

  “Yeah.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “One I don’t want to dwell on tonight. Not when there are better…other…more interesting possibilities.”

  “Having sex won’t hurt my ribs,” Marley assured him. “I’m sure of it. You’ll be gentle.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I have my ways,” she said, placing a kiss on his palm, anticipation rushing through her blood. “I want you, Gideon. More than I’ve wanted anyone in years.”

  “We should wait.”

  “I don’t want to,” she reiterated, sounding like a petulant child. “I’m tired of waiting for my life to kick back in. I want to start living. Now. Tonight. With you.”

  He let out a low groan. “How am I supposed to resist you? We’ll go slow,” he promised, moving to the stairs. He all but dragged her up each step. “And you’ll tell me if anything hurts, any discomfort at all, right?”

  How long had it been since anyone cared about her like this? she wondered. How long had anyone wanted her? That sentiment had her willing to lie. “I will. Could you just…stop being my doctor for two seconds…and be my…lover.”

  “If we do this, it’ll take me longer than two seconds,” he said as he pulled her into his bedroom. She met his eyes. It was her undoing. Somehow those sexy pools lured her with the promise of indescribable erotic delights waiting for her. Or so she hoped.

  She started to unbutton her top.

  “Let me do that,” he offered. With long, slim surgeon’s fingers, he took care of the buttons, and then slid the mint green fabric down over her shoulders. His eyes flared. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

  “A-cups,” she whispered as she reached to pull up his shirt.

  His fingers gravitated to her breasts, and he toyed with the nipples right before he yanked off his own shirt and pulled it over his head.

  He might’ve seen her naked already, but she hadn’t set eyes on his bare chest yet. It was like he’d stepped out of a fitness magazine or one of those celebrity rags.

  He caught her staring and found it amusing. A wicked grin split his face. “Now we’re even.”

  “Not even close,” Marley said as she snagged the top button of his jeans while he did the same for hers. They kicked out of their pants about the same time he realized she wasn’t wearing underwear.

  As she wrapped her arms around his neck, he scooped her up.

  Standing heated flesh to heated flesh, Marley didn’t give him time to change his mind before she assaulted his mouth, latching onto all that glorious dark hair.

  They spun toward the bed with him falling on top of the mattress and Marley tumbling onto his chest.

  “You should be on top,” he mumbled, trying to find the control he needed.

  “Whatever works best.” Longing bloomed inside her and spread through every bone. Everywhere he touched it was like little fires that flared, quick and hot. His hungry mouth fused to hers and then moved to a breast.

  In a show of heat, she ran her hands through his hair again while his fingers caressed curves, explored flesh, got busy finding all the right places to touch.

  Fire licked along every nerve ending. There was no slapping back the heat.

  She covered his hands as they caressed her breasts, then slid them
down to her own waist and over her hips. “Don’t stop touching me. Don’t stop.”

  “Not a problem,” he muttered as he reared up and took her mouth again. They fed off each other’s hunger. Every yearning flowed toward that one single goal.

  It was like battling a storm at sea, an onslaught of pleasure that hit her like a gale. Riding the crest, she savored and tasted, drew out each sensation…prolonging the kiss, the climax.

  As if he sensed she intended to hold back, his long fingers moved lower, skillfully plunging, deftly exploring, cleverly sending her into sweet bliss.

  Like missiles taking off and then sailing midair, she threw her head back and came in a tsunami of tremors and quakes.

  “Don’t stop,’ she heard herself yell.

  Longing ebbed and flowed as she arched her back and they rocked into one another. Carried by the fierce wave of lust, she hung on, rocketing toward one more silky ribbon. Past the quivers and shocks now, she still burned hot. She dug her nails into those massive shoulders and rode him fast and hard.

  Gingerly, she collapsed on top of him. “Those breathing exercises really work.”

  He busted out laughing. “I’ll alert the American Journal of Medicine.”

  Holding her side, she let out a low groan and rolled off him.

  Instantly, he was there above her, leaning over her. “Did I hurt you?”

  She barely had the breath to whoosh out, “Do I look like I’m in pain?”

  “No, you look thoroughly satisfied with yourself.”

  “I had a little help.”

  He cocked a brow. “A little?”

  She zeroed in on his tousled hair, those heavy-lidded, silvery eyes. “Okay, a lot. I’m too numb for anything to hurt. I’m riding this high right now. I want to go on record, make it official. That was fantastic. You’re very good.”

  “You did all the work.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Proud, but damp and sweaty, she angled toward him. Nose to nose, she ran her fingers down his jawline. Fighting the bump of sizzle that popped in her belly, she nipped his face. “I never noticed before, but you have a very sexy chin.”

  “Mmm,” was all he could manage as he fell back into a mound of pillows. Swinging his arm up and out, he brought her into him.

  She cuddled into his chest. “You’re not sorry, are you?”

  “That’s a bad question to ask me right about now. But no, I’m not. Are you?”

  “Nope. It’s good exercise, too. I’d forgotten that.” She watched as his eyes closed and his mouth went slack. Soon, he was fast asleep and lightly snoring.

  She wiggled until she found a more comfortable position. Her mind raced with the complications of what they’d just done. But she forced anything negative out of her head and drifted off, dreaming about the possibilities of a do-over in life.

  Fourteen

  That do-over was looking better and better every day.

  By the time April slipped into May, Marley was on the mend, but it had taken weeks to be able to get her mobility back. During that time, she’d transferred the money to Logan for the house. She waited impatiently for the moving van to show up, but it was taking its sweet time getting there.

  In the meantime, Gilly’s house had sold to the people from San Francisco just as Scott had told her. Expecting a baby in August, the thirty-something couple wanted to get in and get settled as quickly as possible.

  Marley couldn’t blame them. Without much persuading, Gideon had helped her pack up the few things she had and moved the stuff into her own place.

  Since closing, she’d slept on an air mattress upstairs in what was the master bedroom, waiting for her furniture to arrive.

  On the nights she spent here, she couldn’t seem to fall asleep unless she’d sketched out, and listed, all the things she wanted to do with the house. She arranged the furniture in her head, and then re-arranged it again on paper.

  She started her mornings in the sunroom, drinking her coffee sitting in her one lawn chair and watching the waves. She couldn’t get enough of that view. Even when the fog rolled in, the ocean held an indescribable mystique—as if she’d been born here—watching its whitecaps and chop roll onto shore.

  Maybe she’d write a novel, a mystery, set in a small, coastal town with quirky characters to play with. Probably not, she conceded, amused with herself for even considering such a leap. Fancy daydreams like that had become her pastime. Since moving in, she felt like a weight had been lifted, one she’d been carrying around for three long years.

  In the yard, her own trees could’ve been an artist’s inspiration, especially the gigantic oak. The trunk was so big and gnarly that her arms wouldn’t reach around it. The branches stuck out almost as high as the tree itself. It had sprung to life in the boldest shades of green she’d ever seen. Beneath it, wildflowers of every color had popped up at the base. If only she could draw and paint, she’d capture the mighty oak on canvas and hang it in her living room above the fireplace. It took her days to realize the next best thing was a photo taken with her cell phone. Keva showed her where to get it enlarged and framed. The picture of the tree now hung in her living room.

  The smell of clover was everywhere. Maybe because the lawn needed to be mowed. The knee-high grass bent in the breeze. The grass was so high she wasn’t even sure her riding lawnmower could get the job done when it got here. Before closing, Logan had offered to cut it for her. But she’d declined, wanting, perhaps needing to do it herself.

  She made a point to spend part of the day sitting outside overlooking the bay, listening to the sound of the pelicans and gulls, spending time appreciating life.

  She’d even hired Beckham and Faye to clear out that junked up rectangular outbuilding at the back of the property that no one had touched in decades. And when the teens had discovered a nest in the rafters with newly hatched baby robins tucked inside, she thrilled at the chance to watch the baby birds grow and figure out how to fly. One day, they would all leave the nest. She wanted to be around to chart their progress.

  Buying the house hadn’t come without a string of concerned phone calls from back home. Leading the way was her friend and banker, Evelyn Thorson, who had tried to talk her out of doing it. When that had failed, a host of others had weighed in, and they hadn’t been shy about giving her grief for staying in California. They thought she’d lost her mind. And maybe she had.

  But she didn’t care…and she hadn’t caved. She’d all but given up trying to make the people back home understand the way it was. But they didn’t get it. Unless they’d been through it, how could they?

  She loved it here, right in this spot, next to the ocean where it seemed like she belonged now. In short order, she’d gotten used to a routine. Rising early, a habit she didn’t seem to be able to break, she started with coffee and cereal. She kept it simple, especially if she hadn’t spent the night at Gideon’s place. She could hardly ask him to sleep on the floor on an air mattress, so until her furniture got here, if they were together at night, it was mostly at his house.

  But if he happened to get a call in the middle of the night from the hospital, she’d head home, just as she had done last night. They didn’t need to live together. For her, it was enough to have someone who could hold her at night and then let her go in the morning.

  This day had started with a May gray fog hugging the coast like a cozy blanket. It hadn’t burned off until well after lunch.

  She liked spending her days getting a feel for her new home and the land around it. Taking long walks had never recharged her like it did now. It was on one of those long walks around the bay that she’d discovered a stray pup hiding and living in a shack at the back of the woods.

  The filthy-looking black and tan furball took off every time she tried to get close to it. All she saw was a sad-looking canine that seemed determined to dodge her efforts to rescue him.

  It had taken her three days to coax him out and into the open, and only then after trading doggie treats for table sc
raps. The pooch invariably turned up its nose at regular dog biscuits, preferring people food instead. But the strips of bacon had done the trick, the pork had lured him out into the open, which had allowed her the opportunity to get a leash around his neck and whisk him off to the animal clinic.

  Cord had taken one look at the mutt and announced, “He’s a Rottle.”

  “A what?”

  “A mix of rottweiler and poodle. They’re known as Rottles or sometimes Rottie doodles. And I think I know how this little guy came to be living rough.” Cord looked over at Marley. “Are you sure you want to know the details?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “His owner, Mrs. Darnella Clarkson, died the middle of February. She was inching toward eighty, but a spry eighty. Neighbors hadn’t seen her out and about for almost four days when they called the cops to do a welfare check. Colt went in and discovered she’d passed away sometime over the last week. But there was no sign of the puppy that I’d talked her into adopting only a few weeks before she passed. Keegan and I looked everywhere for this little boy but with no luck. And here you come along and find him wandering around in the woods. How many days after you moved in?”

  “Five. He was good at heading into this shed whenever I approached. It’s really nothing more than a ramshackle hut. But I guess it was enough to keep him dry. Will he be okay?”

  “He’s malnourished for sure. And he’s eaten up with insect bites. I’ll start a saline drip, get his shots up to date, and then my tech, Jessica, will test him for parasites. After that, Ellie will get him scrubbed up, groomed, and make him look pretty. He’ll be recharged in a couple of hours. You said he finally ate for you, right?”

  “People food. He turned up his nose at the dog treats I bought. He probably has worms by now.”

  “Probably. We can get that under control and test him for heartworm. He’s probably been eating out of trash cans along the pier to survive and whatever small rodents he could catch.”

  “Eww. That sounds terrible for his overall health.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it.”