Law of Attraction

by Charlotte Hubbard

  You felt safe with Gregg at first, too, she reminded herself. If you had wised up, you wouldn’t have gone through the divorce from hell. Wouldn’t be walking into this sunset now. Right?

  The guy looked like he had all day to wait for her answer. She sighed. “You must think I’m a real loser, to be—”

  “I’ve never seen a sweeter face. Or more soulful eyes. Or strawberry blonde hair that catches fire in the sunlight. Or…sorry,” he murmured. “I’m Ross Costello, by the way. Damn glad I was out for a run with my dogs.”

  The border collie and its curly-coated friend tussled with the Frisbee a few feet away, but Angie was too engrossed in watching the man talk to pay much attention to them. Did his close-cropped Vandyke feel as feathery as it looked? “Angie Cavanaugh,” she rasped. “And honestly, I’m not usually the end-it-all type. But today—”

  “Today your man pushed your buttons too hard.” Ross sighed. “You’re quivering like a tuning fork, sweetheart, because you almost went off the deep end for a bastard who isn’t fit to lick your sandals.”

  Angie’s jaw dropped. How could this total stranger know what she’d suffered or why she’d come here?

  And if he realizes you were Gregg’s doormat, he’ll assume you’re too high maintenance and too low esteem. Guys rich enough to live on the coast have women coming at them from every direction.

  Even so, he looked deeply into her eyes until the border collie nudged him with the Frisbee. Effortlessly the man sent the pink disk spinning through the air, and the two dogs dashed after it. The larger one soared up, snatched it, and then landed with enviable grace before wiggling all over, happy.

  So happy, the voice in her head echoed. See how that looks?

  Angie swiped at her eyes and her fingers came back black with mascara. Damn. A cute guy had just kept her from stepping over the edge and she looked like a drowned raccoon. She turned away but felt Ross’s subtle strength as he took the Frisbee from the dog’s mouth to toss it again. His laughter rose above the whisper of the waves as the dogs rushed off in hot pursuit. His body quivered with a mirth she’d forgotten how to feel.

  When the Frisbee landed with a thunk between the border collie’s teeth, the little mutt grabbed the other edge of it. Ross said softly, “Elvis and Celine are crazy for this game, so we play twice a day. Good thing we came when we did, eh? We’re firm believers in perfect timing. Call it divine order or synchronicity, if you want, but I think of it as destiny.”

  Destiny, is it? Good-looking users love that word. Angie blinked at this bitter thought, hoping it only applied to Gregg. She couldn’t help laughing then: the smaller dog had clamped on to the Frisbee, and the border collie was swinging so its paws left the ground.

  “Elvis and Celine?” she asked.

  “Presley and Dion. They sing with the radio—yet give me dirty looks when I sing.” Ross shrugged, stretching his chambray jacket over broad shoulders. “They don’t like it so much when I play my trumpet, either, but they stick around. For the chow, I guess.”

  Dimples winked on either side of his beard. Angie nipped her lip to keep from saying something stupid, yet Ross gazed patiently into her face, allowing her to process his look and his warmth and his words. He seemed unfazed by the cold waves that soaked their shoes and jeans.

  Angie resisted the urge to blurt out her woes to this total stranger, a guy whose blue eyes looked so ethereal, so compelling, that she could surely trust him with anything. “Not one of my better days, you know?” she remarked. “So…how’d you figure out my ex?”

  He focused purposefully on her eyes. “The handprint around your neck’s pretty hard to miss, sweetheart.”

  Angie’s fingers flew to her throat. She’d only seen herself from the cheeks up in her rearview mirror. Was her life an open book for this guy? Maybe he was sincerely trying to help her. But it was scary, how much this total stranger seemed to know about her life.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve embarrassed you. Scared you. Maybe because I remind you of your ex? And because you fall too easily for guys’ lines?”

  Angie’s face flared. Her neck got hot where Gregg had grabbed her, as if Ross were branding her with his insightful words. What she didn’t need was another guy holding her hostage with her own bad habits.

  “I’m messing this up.” He stepped away yet held tightly to her hand. “I live just around the bend, in Harmony Falls. I’ll take you to the lodge, if you want,” he added quickly. “Lenore’ll help you with whatever you need, Angie. Her housekeeper makes to-die-for cinnamon rolls, and she was pulling some out of the oven a few minutes ago. They’re the softest, sweetest, ooey-gooeyest—”

  Angie’s stomach rumbled, and they both laughed.

  Ross widened his baby blues at her. “You haven’t eaten today, have you? No matter what you’ve come from or where you’re going, you cannot pass up this chance at heaven: tasting Elena’s cinnamon rolls. Beats drowning all to hell and back.” He cocked his head slightly, imploring her with those sexy eyes and dimples. “Please? I’d feel horrible if Elvis and Celine found your body washed up on the beach this evening.”

  Her shoulders dropped, and her tension and fear drained through her body to be washed away by the waves. This guy sounded so nice. He impressed her as a man whose compassion was sincere, while his dark, blue-eyed beauty was more than skin deep.

  What do you have to lose? You left Seattle so fast, all you have is your car and your cell and the clothes you wore to work.

  There it was again, that still-small voice. It had guided her here, away from Gregg and to this secluded strip of beach where a kindhearted man felt she was worth saving. It seemed some kind of strange, scary magic, but she was willing to go with it.

  You’re right where you’re supposed to be, Angie. Why stop now?

  “A cinnamon roll sounds really good,” she murmured. “And…well, I don’t know how to thank you for—”

  “That doesn’t matter.” He grinned and stepped toward dry land. “Come on, Angie. Let’s get you to the lodge.”

  Ross told himself to slow down, to stop grinning like a lovesick idiot. But, damn! Beneath her flawless peaches-and-cream skin and that lopsided little-girl smile beat the heart of a goddess, a tigress out of her element. When he gripped her hand, he felt…Well, he had to make Angie see her innate personal power for what it was, which was awesome. First things first, though.

  “That your Grand Prix parked up in the lot? We could walk to the lodge, but you might not want to leave your car here overnight.” He stopped when they reached the large, rounded rocks that formed a rugged ramp to the concrete path. With her red-blonde hair blowing in the breeze, highlighting her huge hazel eyes, Angie looked about sixteen. Except for that handprint.

  “The keys are under the mat. I, uh, hadn’t planned to come back.”

  His breath escaped him. What if he’d arrived a few minutes later? “Chances are you wouldn’t have drowned, Angie. The cold water forces people to breathe, and the waves would’ve washed you back to the beach.” He said this to settle his own nerves as much as to reassure her. “Want me to drive?”

  She nodded. Her hand trembled in his as he steadied her, up over the rocks and toward the parking lot. The late-afternoon sun shimmered between the trees, and he was glad no one else had come to this stretch of beach. Not that he wanted to hold Angie again or kiss away her fears or anything. Hah—not much.

  “It’s so pretty here,” she said wistfully. “I was on such a pity mission I didn’t pay attention to the forests or the rugged coastline as I drove down from Seattle today, but it’s just like I remember from coming here on family vacations when I was a kid.”

  “Great place to visit. Better place to live,” Ross murmured, inching closer. There was so much he wanted to tell her about the people who lived here now, but information overload wasn’t a good idea. She was beginning to relax with him, to trust him.

  A loud whir made her grab the cell phone at her belt. When she saw the nu
mber on its screen, she grimaced. Then her face tightened with a resolve Ross hoped to see often in the coming months. She answered, growling, “Gregg, I have nothing more to say to you, so—”

  “Well, it’s about frickin’ time you answered your damn phone, Angie!” her ex blurted. “You can play cat and mouse all you want, but don’t for one minute forget who’s the cat and who’s the—”

  Angie closed her eyes in an agony that Ross shared. It tore through his insides as she clapped the phone shut. “I’m sorry, Ross. I—”

  The phone purred again. Of course. Bastards like Gregg never had a clue until somebody hammered one into them. Ross gazed into Angie’s terrified eyes. He reached for her phone to talk some sense into her ex, and to assure her she was safe now. Instead, Angie hurled the metallic pink cell phone at the ocean with a decisive grunt.

  “I don’t need this,” she rasped. Her slender shoulders shook with sobs, and she trotted toward her car.

  Ross watched her, feeling her acute humiliation and all the crap that other guy had heaped on her over the years. He did not figure on Elvis bounding across the beach to retrieve her phone, which shone like a piece of hot-pink candy on the wet sand, but just before the next wave caught it, the border collie snatched it up and came running back, curly-coated Celine trotting proudly at his side.

  “Good boy, Elvis,” Ross murmured. It was a sure bet Gregg would bother Angie no more, not after this cell had landed on the beach. Yet it whirred in his palm.

  He wiped the sand and slobber off and answered. “You’re talking to me now, get it?”

  A pause. “Who the hell’re you?”

  “That’s not your concern, and neither is Angie anymore. Hang it up, jerk,” Ross commanded in a deadly serious tone. “My attorney and the police will hear about it if you don’t.” Then he shut the phone, surging with satisfaction.

  A moment’s conversation had taught him more than he cared to know. The scumbag on the other end had pestered this poor woman beyond reason. The phone felt hot in his hand. Angie’s residual energy told him of a desperation so deep she’d fled Seattle in a rush of adrenaline this morning. She’d run for her life. This man had taken her by surprise and damn near broken her neck.

  When the phone vibrated again, Ross glanced across the small lot at Angie. She stood in the lot atop the stairs, against the back of her Grand Prix, her face lifted to the sun as the ocean breeze sifted her hair. Her eyes were closed and she seemed more at peace. Time to fix this Gregg guy for good, because she’d made the ultimate sacrifice to be free of him. Not many women would throw away their cell phone.

  “Now what?” Ross turned so Angie wouldn’t hear this stuff a third time. “You’re out of her life, Gregg. Get it? If you call again, the cops’ll haul your tail to jail for what you’ve done to her.”

  “Hey! I didn’t mean to grab her so hard!” her ex wheezed. “She…well, you know how women get! She panicked. Wouldn’t listen when I tried to—”

  Ross clapped the phone shut. His heart thudded. Angie had done nothing to deserve how this sleazebag had treated her, and he vowed she’d never again endure such abuse. He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and walked slowly up toward her and her car, a dragon slayer of old, avenging the honor of a fair maiden.

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire, pal. She’s got a ton of baggage you don’t want to unpack.

  Yet he knew he’d be seeing Angie Cavanaugh every chance he got. He wanted to watch her laugh, wanted her to get giddy when she was with him. It was insane to feel this attached to her already, but he was wired that way, born to love women, to adore them and please them and want them. This woman gave off a whole new vibration, however: so damn sexy, yet seriously different from those who thronged his booth at psychic fairs and called his weekly radio show.

  Ross raked his fingers through his hair. He’d be damned if he fell for her and damned if he didn’t, because she was already igniting something primal inside him. Her snug jeans, wet from the water, accentuated how long her slender legs were, legs that would wrap around him in passion when—

  Down boy! Get your act together! His fantasy grew quickly, effortlessly…along with something else.

  Elvis bounded up the stairs from the beach, grinning around the Frisbee, and Celine shook herself nearby. Water droplets flew all over Ross, a cold shower that made him re-focus. The little mutt looked at him, and then at Angie standing beside her car, before launching herself up into his arms.

  As he approached with his pets, Angie laughed. The sun came out again. God, how he hoped he could keep it shining for her. “Okay if the dogs ride along?” he asked. “They’re pretty wet, so if you don’t want your car smelling like—”

  “It’s all right. Really.” She fetched the keys from beneath the floor mat, giving him a view of her tight backside. When she offered him the fob, Ross’s heart flip-flopped. He felt like a kid ready to go parking, to see how many bases he could steal, even though in her present mind-set she wanted nothing to do with men. She opened the back door, and his dogs hopped inside easily, naturally, as though they, too, sensed she was already a part of their lives.

  He drove south along the highway, through the deep shade of dense pines growing on the east side of the road. The first glimpse of Harmony Falls never failed to amaze him: the rows of bungalows built on its hillsides, facing the Pacific; a main street lined with imposing Victorian mansions; the waterfall that cascaded from natural springs near Harmony Lodge, Lenore St. Claire’s grand old hotel, the rugged timbers and gables of which bespoke a bygone era, a serenity only attained by stopping to fully inhale the sea breeze. The inn perched on the hill like a stalwart old queen surveying her subjects, aging well and only bowing to change when it suited her. Much like Lenore herself.

  Angie gazed at the panorama before them. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “It’s exactly as I remember it. Like something out of a fairy tale, or a wonderful dream.”

  Ross steered her car down the narrow road leading to the lodge. Why did he feel so insanely happy because she loved his town? Angie sat strong and confident now: whether she knew it or not, she gravitated toward the sea, the same as he did. She flowed in its ancient currents and rhythms, and it felt so damned providential that he’d been the one to save her from a watery grave.

  Lenore stood on the main veranda, facing the ocean. With white hair that glowed like a halo in the rays of the late-afternoon sun, she resembled a saint or an angel. She smiled knowingly as Ross pulled into a parking slot beside his own car and emerged from the red Grand Prix.

  “Lenore, this is Angie Cavanaugh,” he announced. “I’ve told her about Elena’s cinnamon rolls, so I hope you’ve got some left.”

  The inn’s proprietor turned with a stately grace to assess the new guest—and Ross’s lopsided grin. “That can be arranged,” she teased. Then she smiled warmly at the windswept woman who was climbing out of the car. “It’s so good to see you, Angela! Come in through the kitchen. Dinner’s ready.”

  Three

  ANGIE inhaled deeply as she stepped into a kitchen where apple green curtains filtered the last rays of sunlight. The heavenly aromas of chicken and vegetables and sweet cinnamon enveloped her. A dark-haired woman lifted a blue enamel roaster from the oven, while Lenore held a lid to the pan she was draining over the sink. The innkeeper smiled warmly, as though it was nothing unusual to welcome a total stranger into her personal quarters.

  “Come in, come in!” she encouraged. “We eat early on nights when the crochet club meets in the parlor. Angela, this is my housekeeper, Elena Velez.”

  The Latina at the stove gave a grin, brown eyes flashing. “Happy to meet you!”

  “And Ross, I’ll ask you to do the honors.” Lenore nodded toward a bottle of wine on the counter. “It’s about time you brought a woman to dinner!”

  Ross turned pink. But he reached for the corkscrew with a playful roll of his eyes. “Lenore feels my choice in dinner companions—”

  “Companions, in g
eneral,” the older woman interjected.

  “—leaves a lot to be desired. Seems I attract barracudas or clinging vines or…” He smiled ruefully as he popped the bottle’s cork. “So now my secrets are out. But don’t let Le-nore’s matchmaking tendencies scare you, Angie. She calls them as she sees them. And usually she knows best.”

  Angie clasped her hands. She felt as though she’d walked in on a long-running conversation, yet these people seemed perfectly comfortable with her participation. “Most men could use some guidance when it comes to women,” she agreed. “We girls are so far ahead of you, we have to pause so you can…catch up and see us for something other than our backsides.”

  Now what kind of a thing was that to say to a man she’d just met? A man who’d yanked her back from the waves and brought her to this homey old inn for dinner.

  “Sí, chica! So true!” Elena piped up with a melodic laugh. She positioned a golden-brown chicken on her cutting board, flashing two deep dimples. “Ross, he isn’t as clueless as most men, but then, he didn’t latch onto me, either, did he? Good luck, Angie!”

  The whirrrr of the housekeeper’s electric knife filled the kitchen, along with steam from the potatoes Lenore mashed with a hand mixer. The two women of the inn, one pale and sleek and silvery and the other dark and lush and mysterious, stood close together as though they’d cooked that way for years.

  Who had time to roast a chicken? Or boil real potatoes? Angie immersed herself in the cherry-patterned wallpaper and shiny white appliances, the small table set for four with a green plaid cloth, folded white napkins on bright red Fiesta plates, embroidered dish towels drying over the stove handle, a fat red teapot with tags hanging from its lid, a whatnot shelf crammed with vintage salt-and-pepper sets…

  This felt like Grandma’s kitchen! A platter of cinnamon rolls oozed their buttery brown sugar syrup and exuded a yeasty sweetness she hadn’t inhaled since her mom’s mother died. Ross was right. This was a scene straight out of heaven, a page clipped from a Ladies’ Home Journal of yesteryear.