by Debra Kayn
The Sandbar saga
By
Debra Kayn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Sandbar saga
1st release: Copyright© 2019 Debra Kayn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Debra Kayn. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Part One | Katie | Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Part Two | Dr. Conner | Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Part Three | Dr. Conner and Katie | Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Author Bio
Debra Kayn's Backlist
Available Now | Book 1 of the Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series | Every Little Piece of Him | Prologue
Chapter 1
Dedication
To the Milwaukie Book Club — Thank you for every late-night Q&A, the laughs, the lectures, the debates, and most of all, the friendships. A beautiful thing happened when you took a chance with one of "those" romance books. Your support is invaluable and more appreciated than you realize. And yes, I'll bring the snacks as long as you don't bother me about not drinking coffee.
Prologue
The lights flickered from the storm. Katie hugged her stomach as another round of thunder shook the house.
"You deal with her."
"Keep your voice down."
"It's your fault Katie is here. I'm sick of being her mother. The little bitch needs her face slapped for going behind my back and calling you at work."
"For Christ's sake, she's eight years old."
The voices grew louder. Sitting at the top of the stairs out of sight, Katie covered her ears. The fight between her parents had been going on since her dad arrived home from work.
A fight like all the others, except tonight it was her fault. Her dad was late to pick her up for her piano lesson at four o'clock. She'd tried to call him at work, and her mom got mad at her for using the phone.
"I don't want to hear you speak about my daughter that way again," shouted her father.
"My daughter, my daughter, my daughter. That's all I hear around here. I can't stand it."
Glass shattered downstairs. Wetness trickled between Katie's legs, making her cry harder.
Picking up her stuffed animal, she hugged the dog at the same time the lights went out. She wished her dad would leave the house. Katie rocked back and forth. He needed to go away for a while. It was the only way to make her mother stop yelling.
If he left, her mom would eventually go to the bedroom and lock the door. That's what always happened when her parents fought.
A door slammed. She hiccupped. Her dad had left.
Katie stood and quietly walked to her bedroom.
Part One
Katie
Chapter 1
DISTANT THUNDER RUMBLED over the house. Katie jerked her hand away from the window without taking her gaze off the sandbar under the Megler Bridge. Little by little, the sand disappeared with the incoming tide.
Putting her hand on the glass again, she waited for the next vibration. The boom. The anger.
Living on the hill in Astoria, Oregon, storms were nothing new to her. The Chinook winds often blew in from the Pacific Ocean—rattling the windows and bringing big, wet raindrops that soaked her clothes as she waited for the school bus in the mornings and when she walked up the hill to the house in the afternoons.
She focused on the disappearing sandbar again in anticipation. Just once, she'd like to see someone get caught out there on the sand when the tide came in.
Her teacher, Mrs. Bernhardt, had warned the class about the dangers of the sandbar near the bridge. The tide could sweep her away and pull her out to sea.
While her teacher had lectured the class on the safety rules, Katie had raised her hand in class. It was the first time she'd volunteered to ask a question all year. Usually, she sat quietly because Alden and his group near the back of the room made fun of everyone if they were smart. She hated the attention and preferred if nobody noticed her.
The day she'd asked the question, she stopped liking Mrs. Bernhardt.
She looked up at the dark sky. Her teacher had lied to her when she'd asked if someone could die if they went out on the sandbar. Mrs. Bernhardt told her people could get hurt if they got caught under the bridge when the tide came in.
That wasn't the right answer. People had died. She knew the difference between hurt and dead.
Her dad was dead. He'd died on the sandbar when she was eight years old.
She stared at the cars traveling the bridge from Oregon to Washington, unaware of the danger coming their way.
"Katie, get away from the window. The storm is getting closer," said Ms. Gray.
She ignored her nanny. There was nothing Ms. Gray could do to her, except tell her mother she hadn't obeyed.
The older woman would soon quit, anyway. All the nannies quit. None of them would deal with her mother for long before they up and left.
Besides, she was too old for a nanny. At twelve years old, it was legally possible for her to stay home by herself. That was her wish.
She stared at the sandbar, getting swallowed by the churning water.
No one remembered her dad. The nannies never mentioned him. Her mom wouldn't speak about him since finding out Miss Cynthia, Katie's piano teacher, died with him that night when they got out of the car and walked out onto the sand under the bridge.
She wasn't sure if her mom was more disappointed in losing her husband or the fact that Katie couldn't take piano lessons anymore, and that meant she came home after school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and interrupted her mother's time with her man friends.
A hand circled her arm, yanking her backward. "You must listen to me."
She wandered over to her bed, rubbing her arm. If she could stay home by herself, she could look out the window all day if she wanted.
Climbing up on the mattress, she sat down and grabbed her stuffed dog. She was too o
ld for stuffed animals.
The only reason she kept it on her bed was that every time her mom seen Mikey—named after her dead father—she left the room.
Not that her mom came in the bedroom often.
Most of the time, her mom stayed with her man friends, traveling to different parts of the world, and going to restaurants.
"You need to wash your face and put on the dress I set out for you." Ms. Gray put a pair of shoes in front of her on the floor. "Your mother expects you to look nice. There will be company at dinner tonight, and she wants you to be on your best behavior."
She tossed the stuffed dog to the floor and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door to Ms. Gray exhaling loudly when she was forced to pick up the animal.
Something special must be going on at dinner. Maybe her mom was finally going to let her watch herself after school and on the weekends. She brushed her hair. Or, maybe her mother was going to leave on an extended vacation with the current man in her life.
There were only four more days of school and then summer break. It would be perfect if she were left at home without a nanny and without her mom.
The thought of having the whole summer to herself made her hurry. She took off her clothes. The fancy white dress she pulled over her head scratched her skin.
She tugged at the stretchy material clinging to her upper body, pulling the offending roughness away from her chest. A shiver came over her that started from her nipples. She cupped her hands over the small mounds and pressed. A fluttering happened in her underwear, and she pulled her hands away, her heart beating heavily.
Staring down, she touched her chest again. Her boobs were not as big as Demi's, who was twelve years old, too, and wearing a bra. Even the girls in her class who had no boobs wore a bra to school and talked about what size they bought at recess.
She wished her mom would buy her one. Her chest jiggled when she had to do jumping jacks in P.E. class. She wasn't going to ask her mom for anything, especially a bra.
She waited to see if the weird feeling in her body would come back and when nothing else happened, she walked out of the bathroom only to be met by Ms. Gray handing her the pair of flats. She slipped her bare feet into the black shoes.
"Turn around." Ms. Gray twirled her finger in the air.
She rolled her eyes and turned in a circle, completing the inspection with bugged eyes as if she wasn't old enough to dress without someone telling her what to wear. "You can go now."
"Mrs. Meihoff wants me to escort you to the table, and only then will I be excused." Ms. Gray's thin lips pursed. "Let's not be late."
A clap of thunder rocked the room. Katie looked toward the window, wishing she could go look outside.
"Come now." Ms. Gray walked toward the door.
Exhaling loudly, she followed her nanny through the house. It was better to get dinner over with. Hopefully, it wouldn’t end with her mother upset at her.
The grand banister lined the extra wide stairs to the first floor of the house. Red and black runners lined her path. She slid her hand along the smooth, shiny wood, knowing her mom hated fingerprints. The heel of her left shoe clicked against the floor as she kept one foot on the carpet, one on the wood.
"Hands off the rail and walk in the middle of the stairs, Katie," reminded Ms. Gray from behind her.
For a fleeting moment, she wished Ms. Gray walked in front of her. She could imagine the middle-aged woman tripping on the runner she thought was so important to walk on, and toppling down the thirty-two steps.
A flash of bright light came through the high windows above the entryway. She gasped, stopping midway down.
"It's only lightning." Ms. Gray touched her back, pushing her to keep going. "Don't dawdle."
Her father died during a storm, much like the one tonight. She walked slower. Was her mother home or on the road up the hill to the gated community? Or was she crossing the Megler Bridge?
"At the rate of speed you're moving, you'll be late," said Ms. Gray.
She stepped off the stairs and turned to face her nanny. "She'll fire you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Mother." She shrugged. "She gets rid of all my nannies. You have to find it strange that she hired you to watch me. How many twelve-year-old girls have you babysat before?"
"Go on with you." Ms. Gray planted her hands on Katie's shoulders and turned her. "If you have questions about my employment, ask your mother."
Like that was going to happen. The less Katie talked to her mom, the easier her life was.
She walked down the hallway, turned the corner past the kitchen, and stepped inside of the formal dining room at the back of the house.
Believing her mother would be late, she stopped in surprise at the sight of her mom sitting at the head of the table.
Her mother's gigantic smile landed on her, though the joy at seeing her daughter never reached her mom's eyes. Her mom's arched brows raised even higher as Katie remained standing in the archway. Obviously, she was expected to do something she forgot, and already her mom was upset at her.
"Darling." Her mom came at her with her arms spread out wide to her sides, taking small steps on high heels as if she walked across hot coals.
Her mom's brown hair, dyed even lighter than the last time she'd seen her, flowed around her shoulders. Was that a new dress?
Her mom hugged her. Not a normal hug like she'd receive from her teacher on her birthday, but one of those hugs where her mom squeezed her upper arms with her hands, forcing her to lean backward and always left red marks on her arms.
"Behave, or you'll regret it," whispered her mom.
Flowery perfume filled her nostrils. Through her mother's heavily sprayed hair, she noticed a man standing at the side of the table.
She stiffened, and her mom let go of her, but not before grabbing her hand and dragging her forward to the table.
"Katie, this is Dr. Race Conner. Please, say hello to him." Her mother rushed to sit down.
Left alone at the side of the table, opposite the man, she eyed him carefully. He was quieter than the men her mother usually brought to dinner at the house. His dark, brown hair touched his shoulders. He was more unkempt than the other men her mom hung around, too. Though he wore a cream-colored dress shirt and black trousers, he skipped wearing a tie and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt past his elbows.
He had whiskers, darkening his jaw. Katie tilted her head, studying the shadow on his face. Her father had shaved every morning. When she was little, she would often hear the buzz from his shaver through the wall to her bathroom.
"Hello, Katie," said Dr. Conner in a low voice that was almost too quiet.
"Hello." She pulled out her chair and slipped onto the seat, putting her hands on her lap under the table.
Her mom pointed to her napkin, then put the cloth on her lap. "Betsy, please serve dinner."
Copying her mother's manners, she sat still. Adults hated hearing children talk, especially at dinner, she was used to sitting quietly.
Betsy, one of the three women who worked in the kitchen, brought in the plates, already fixed. The guest must be important, because her mother ordered steak and lobster to be served. On nights when her mother wasn't home, Katie ate in the kitchen. Usually, some form of chicken dinner. A lot of rice and chicken, noodles and chicken, vegetable medley and chicken.
She hated chicken.
The different offering made her stomach to growl. She picked up her fork.
"Do you go to Langly, Katie?" asked Dr. Conner.
She nodded, picking up the sharp knife at the side of her plate. Her hunger overrode the need to look to her mother to see if she was supposed to reply. It was a yes or no kind of question.
"Katie, answer Dr. Conner," said her mother.
Dr. Conner cleared his throat. "She did."
She glanced up, surprised that he would stand up for her. The doctor continued to cut his steak, giving her a chance to look at him without him seeing.
/> He hadn't picked up his wine glass. The amber fluid went halfway up the glass where she knew Ann, the cook's helper, always filled to a pretend line. While Dr. Conner concentrated on eating, it took his attention away from her mother.
She glanced at the head of the table. Her mother pouted, barely touching her food. She twirled the stem of her wine glass in her hand and pressed her back against the chair.
Katie lifted a piece of steak to her mouth. She knew to hurry, or her mom would order her away from the table before she finished.
Several minutes later, the internal warning making her stomach hurt signaled that the mood had shifted when she picked up her fork to tear apart the lobster tail. She looked up, glancing from her mother to the doctor. The hair on her arms cautioned her not to make a move.
Instead of waiting for her mom to drop a bomb of an announcement, she looked at Dr. Conner, curious to know how he would react when her mom finally broke her silence. Would he put a stop to her mother if she got yelled at or sit there and let her mom send her to her room?
"Once school is out, Dr. Conner is going to come to the house on Tuesdays and Fridays at three o'clock. You must spend an hour with him." Her mother paused, narrowing her eyes. "I will be gone for the next month, and it'll be your responsibility to make sure you see him on those days. Ms. Gray will be here to remind you."
She sat up straighter. A month? "Where are you going?"
"I'm going on a much-needed vacation to a small island called Anegada. There's a lovely area there called Loblolly Bay, where I will get much rest and sunshine." Her mother sat forward and raised her brows. "Ms. Gray will—"
"No, mom. Please, let me watch myself this summer. You promised when I turned twelve years old, and...and I'm big enough to take care of myself. Betsy will be here, and I'll stay in the house. I won't go anywhere. Please—"
"You're too young." Her mother waved her hand in front of her as if shooing a fly. "You need supervision."
"But, Mother—"
"Do you want me to cancel my vacation?" Her mother's voice warned her the discussion was over.
Her eyes burned. She ducked her head and stared at her plate, no longer hungry. Just once, she wished her mom would pay attention to her and realize she was growing up.