Christmas on the Coast

by Lee Tobin McClain

  Maybe PTSD would explain why Imogene’s issues were so big and unending.

  Maybe it would even explain something about Mary herself.

  * * *

  PAUL WASN’T SURPRISED that the first hour of working with Amber, the Tuesday morning after the town’s big shopping event, was kind of awkward. He had expected that. He had withdrawn from her that day she’d kept Davey for him while he called Davey’s grandparents, and then she’d seemed to run away from him last night.

  He wasn’t sure why she’d backed away from him, but he was crystal clear on why he’d backed away from her. He was trying to save himself—and especially Davey—from the attraction sparking between them every time they spoke.

  But they needed to do this part of their project together, so he’d suggested working together at his place, making a case by email. They needed to grow up and do their job for the sake of Mary and the crime victims she wanted to help. Trying to work remotely, in their separate homes, would take twice as long and be half as effective.

  Pretty quickly they got into a groove. Amber did most of the writing, while he provided a lot of the content about victims as well as law enforcement expertise. They both worked on the technical stuff because they were not only drafting materials to send to various agencies, but they were also working on a public facing website for the program.

  They understood each other, had a similar quick pace of work and matching visions for the program. Soon, the awkwardness faded away and they both delved deep into the project.

  After several hours of hunching over the computer together, Amber stood and stretched. “I need to move,” she said. “I think I’ll take a walk down the shore.” She hesitated and looked at him.

  He looked back at her, opened his mouth and then paused.

  “Want to come?” she asked.

  “Can I come?” he asked at the same time.

  They both laughed, and there was another one of those sparky moments. But Paul ignored it, and soon they were walking down the road in front of the bay. This time, they didn’t go toward town, but toward the docks, where Paul hadn’t yet spent much time.

  Short wooden piers jutted out into the water, some with boats adjacent, and most with small shacks linking them to the land. Crab traps were stacked beside some of the shacks, and that smell of fish and saltwater was everywhere, sharp but not unpleasant.

  It was another unusually warm day for December, or at least, it was unusual to Paul. Apparently, it happened fairly often on the Eastern Shore, where the waters of the bay and the nearby ocean moderated temperatures.

  Paul was happy. His heart pounded a little faster than usual, and he looked at Amber a little too often, but it was under control. He was just enjoying a walk on a beautiful day with a beautiful woman.

  “Hey, Bisky, Sunny,” Amber called.

  Two women who had to be mother and daughter turned and waved from where they were doing something over a tin water tub. Then both of them walked toward Paul and Amber, the mother removing rubber gloves and tossing them into a basket by their shed.

  Amber hugged the tall one, who pretty much dwarfed her, and then she hugged the teenager, too. Then she stepped back and gestured to Paul. “Bisky, Sunny, I’d like for you to meet Paul Thompson.”

  Sunny waved a greeting, but Bisky, the mother, grasped his hand in her own large, calloused one. “Heard about you,” she said. “You’re the one who’s staying at Healing Heroes, with the little boy.”

  “That’s right,” he said, wondering how she had heard of him. Surely his story wasn’t that interesting.

  Amber must have noticed his confusion. “Small town,” she said, “and gossip spreads especially fast at the docks.”

  Bisky put an arm around Amber. “We like this girl. Be nice to her.”

  Paul raised an eyebrow. Bisky seemed to be assuming that he and Amber were a couple, and he felt no inclination to correct her mistake. “I was planning on that.”

  Amber, though, went pink. “And I’ll be nice to him and to you and to everybody. Come on, Paul, let’s leave these ladies to their work.”

  Obviously, Amber hadn’t liked it that Bisky made the assumption they were together. Too bad. He almost wanted to ask her about it. Not that they were together, nor ever could be, but he didn’t mind if people thought they were.

  As they wandered on down the road, Amber seemed intent on changing the subject. “Did Davey have fun at last night’s event?”

  “What’s not to like when your grandparents treat every day like Christmas?” He had tried to rein Georgiana in, but it was hard with Davey jumping up and down beside them, obviously enthralled with all the toys in the shops.

  “Yeah, how’s that going?” She glanced at him and then looked out over the bay. “Did you have that gun-control-for-four-year-olds discussion with them?”

  Her relaxed attitude made him comfortable talking about it. “Yes. It was Ferguson’s idea to get the gun, and he’s realized the error of his ways.”

  “Seems like a pretty significant error. How could he be that out of touch?”

  Paul grimaced. “Wendy’s parents don’t exactly mingle with the common herd. He’s into skeet shooting, target practice, things like that, and he always wanted a son to share that with. He didn’t have one, so Davey is it for him.”

  “I guess.” Amber frowned. “Plus, he’s from a different generation. Everyone used to be more comfortable with guns before mass shootings.” And then she clapped her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t even like hearing those mentioned.”

  Her words had made his stomach jump, but he didn’t plunge into the memories. Progress. “It’s okay. Anyway, Ferguson apologized and they begged to come and spend some time with Davey. The shopping event seemed to be the right thing, and it went well.”

  “Good.”

  They’d passed the end of the docks and were coming to a tip of the land with the bay on three sides, a tiny peninsula. At the end was a bench, and Amber gestured toward it. “Would you mind sitting down for a few minutes?” She wrinkled her nose. “I get tired easily. The jogging helps, but I’m still only good for short distances.”

  “Of course I don’t mind.” Automatically, Paul took her arm as they walked toward the bench. “I’m sorry, I should have been more thoughtful.”

  “No, don’t apologize! I love it that you don’t always think about my medical history. Most people do.”

  They sat down, close together, the bright sunshine making diamonds on the water. The breeze here was brisk, and Amber shivered a little, so he put his jacket around her shoulders.

  He left his arm there rather than pulling it back.

  She looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

  This time, he didn’t look away. “You’re a great person, you know that?”

  She laughed and waved a hand and scooted a little away from him. “No, don’t say it!”

  “Don’t say what?” She definitely kept him guessing, and he was charmed by it.

  “Don’t tell me I’m a great person, and I’ll make somebody a great wife/girlfriend/partner one day. Somebody else.” She rolled her eyes. “Believe me, I’ve heard that speech a time or two already.”

  Paul stared at her, puzzled. “That surprises me. I would think men would jump at the chance to be with you.”

  “Thanks for making me feel better.” She gave him a brilliant smile, dazzling him, making it hard to breathe. “I’ve only heard it from the few nice guys I’ve dated. They never like my type.”

  “Do you like nice guys?” he blurted out.

  She tilted her head to one side, holding his gaze. “Some of them,” she said in a flirtatious voice.

  “Why don’t they like you? Is it the tattoos?” He dared to reach a finger out and trace a rose on her arm.

  She looked up at him through long lashes. “More l
ike what the tattoos represent. I’m not the kind of girl mothers tend to approve of.” She laughed a little, then shrugged. “Now that I’m a mother myself, of a girl of dating age, I get it. When Hannah told me she liked a boy on the basketball team who’s huge and muscular and looks twenty-five at least, I freaked out.”

  “Understandable. I’m sure I’ll be protective of Davey when the time comes.” But now he was studying her tattoos more closely. The rose he’d touched had two smaller roses twisted around it. “What’s that one for?”

  “The big rose is my mom. She loved roses. Erica and I do, too, so the small roses are us.”

  She’d used the past tense and he remembered what Trey had told him, that their mother had died young. “When did you lose your mom?”

  “Three years ago.” She looked down, digging the toe of her sneaker into the sandy soil. “Cancer. It runs in our family,” she said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head like a dog shaking off water. “Here’s my biker tattoo,” she said, pushing up her sleeve to show him a motorcycle topped by two wings.

  “Pretty,” he said, and tried not to picture her in the arms of some burly biker.

  Maybe she read his mind, because she explained. “By the time the tattoo had healed, I’d figured out the biker was a jerk. But by then it was too late. Already had the tattoo.” She laughed and shook her head. “I made a lot of dumb decisions when I was younger.”

  “What’s your latest tattoo?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You mean my latest on a public part of my body?”

  Paul sucked in a breath, picturing all the private places she might have a tattoo. And she knew it. He opened his mouth to scold her, or to say something, but she put up a hand. “Sorry. My last tattoo was actually this one.” She held out her elbow, and he saw a horse, running free, tattooed over what looked like a scar.

  He touched it, ran his finger along it, and the feel of her skin set a fire that burned its way to his heart. “How’d you get the scar?”

  “Riding horses when I didn’t know how. That was when I dated the cowboy.”

  His eyes narrowed. How many men had she dated? And what exactly did dating mean to her?

  Again, she seemed to read his mind. “It wasn’t serious,” she said. She lifted her hair from her temple and showed him another scar that ran along her hairline. “This was the same accident. I got thrown from a horse. He wasn’t very sympathetic, so I got myself some medical care in the nearest town and got out of there.”

  “Jerk.” Paul traced that scar, too. It gave him the chance to touch her soft, shiny hair. He’d been wanting to do that. “Any ill effects from getting tossed onto your head from a horse?”

  Her breathing seemed to quicken. “Nothing lasting. I’ve had a couple of fainting spells over the years, but it’s no big deal. Believe me, that’s the least of my health worries.”

  “Good.” He let his hand stroke her hair.

  She didn’t pull away from his touch. He wasn’t all that experienced with women, but he could tell from the way she met his eyes and looked away, from the rise and fall of her chest, that she was attracted.

  This close, he could smell her perfume, warm and spicy and alluring. He could feel the heat of her body, and no doubt she could feel the heat of his, because he was burning up.

  He should make a joke, stand up, get them started back toward town. Get them away from this isolated spot where a great blue heron waded, looking for its lunch, where the pines rustled overhead and the waters gently lapped against the shore.

  Normally, Paul did what he knew he should do. As a responsible person, a cop and a dad, he had to. But right now, in this moment, he didn’t want to be responsible. He wanted to look into her eyes, and he did.

  She looked back at him now, steady and serious, her eyes darkening.

  Her gaze flickered to his lips and then back to his eyes. “This is a bad idea for all kinds of reasons,” she said, almost in a whisper.

  “You’re right.” He didn’t pull away.

  Neither did she, and so he moved closer, his eyes steady on hers, looking past their usual mischievous sparkle to the complicated woman revealed in their depths.

  She sucked in a breath, let it out, shakily.

  He hadn’t even touched her, not really, and they were both breathing harder. He let his thumb trace her full lower lip.

  She caught his hand in hers, but she didn’t push it away; she just held it there, staring at him.

  And he was intoxicated. He’d never made any kind of sound like the sound he made as he splayed his fingers through her hair and pulled her close and kissed her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IF SHE’D BEEN ABLE to speak, Amber would have said wow.

  Whatever she’d thought kissing Paul would be like, it hadn’t been this: intense, passionate, one hand tangled in her hair, the other pulling her insistently closer.

  And she didn’t resist, because she wanted to be closer, wanted to be as close as a woman could be to a man, wanted to press against him, taste him, nestle against his strong chest and stay there forever, protected and warm.

  She’d been chilled before, and tired. Now she was hot, full of restless energy that made her kiss him back and pull him closer.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, warning bells were ringing. There was a reason this wasn’t a good idea. They’d both agreed it wasn’t a good idea.

  She shoved those rational thoughts aside and sighed against his mouth, then buried her face in his neck, inhaling the scent of him. Clean and fresh, with just a trace of musk underneath to hint at the passionate man she had just discovered him to be. Yeah. She could stay right here, breathing him in while he held her in his strong arms, forever.

  He stroked her hair, then rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Whoa, Amber. You’re something else.”

  It was probably just as well that the wind kicked up and made her shiver, because it woke her out of the pleasant spell his kiss had put on her. She pulled back a little and looked at him, unable to keep the smile off her face although she knew she must look as shell-shocked as he did.

  “You’re cold.” He tucked his jacket closer around her.

  It was tender, it was sweet, it was... “You’re not treating me like an invalid, are you?”

  He chuckled, low and throaty. “Believe me, you as an invalid is the last thing I’m thinking about right now. Although—” his voice changed “—we should get you inside. I don’t want you to get chilled.”

  “I’m not chilled,” she protested, but another whole-body shiver belied her words.

  “Come on,” he said. “We need to get you inside. Does your friend Bisky have a house down here?”

  “We’re not asking Bisky to take me in like I’m some kind of...” She trailed off.

  “Cancer survivor? Who’s still getting her strength back?” He held out a hand and pulled her to her feet, then held his jacket so she could slide her arms into the sleeves.

  Grrr. He knew too much. “Come on, I know just where we can go to get warm.” She took his hand and tugged him back toward the road.

  Five minutes later, they were walking into the watermen’s bar against Paul’s protests.

  “This is no place for a woman.” Paul was looking around, obviously taking in the dim lighting, the neon beer signs, the smoky haze that served as a reminder that this place didn’t follow the usual nonsmoking laws.

  “Have you ever been here? Because I have. Hi, Steve,” she called to the bartender. She gave a wave to the couple other customers who were in here and they nodded back. Now she was showing off, because she didn’t know those guys well at all. She did know Steve the bartender, but it wasn’t as if she was a regular. She’d been in here once or twice with Bisky, that was all.

  They sat at one of the booths that lined the wall, and th
en Paul went up to the bar. He came back with two mugs of coffee, both black. “Steve said you didn’t need any creamer or sugar.”

  “Steve’s a good bartender. He remembers.”

  “He remembers you drink coffee in a bar.” Paul slid in across from her and pushed one of the cups her way. “I think you talk a better game than you play. I don’t think you’ve spent much time in here, and if you did, I don’t think you were drinking.”

  “Busted. I just don’t enjoy it the way I did when I was younger and wilder.”

  “That’s best with your health issues. You need to take care of yourself.”

  It was sweet, and it was probably because he remembered Wendy’s cancer. That made her feel strange. He’d loved Wendy, been married to her for years, and all of a sudden, Amber felt weirdly jealous. Of a dead woman.

  It also made her think about Wendy and the big secret about Davey. The more Amber knew Paul, the harder Wendy’s actions were to fathom.

  Wendy had seemed so straight and narrow, almost rigid. It was hard to believe she would have cheated on anyone, let alone a man like Paul: kind, a fantastic dad, a great kisser.

  But there it was. Wendy had had an affair, and Davey was the result of it.

  She looked at Paul, at his kind, open face. Knowing he wasn’t Davey’s biological father, knowing Wendy had betrayed him, well, he’d be devastated.

  And Wendy wasn’t around to ask if the secret could be told, anyway.

  She took a big gulp of coffee for courage. Then she looked directly into Paul’s eyes. “That kiss shouldn’t have happened.”

  He tilted his head to one side, studying her as if he wondered where she was coming from.

  “It wouldn’t work between us. I’m not up for a quick hookup, although...” She couldn’t resist grinning at him. “I think we can both see that a quick hookup would be awesome while it was happening.”

  “It would be,” he said. “But it wouldn’t have to be quick.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Okay, so it would probably be a long, slow, sexy hookup.”

  His eyes heated, and for a minute, he looked like he was going to come across the table at her.