SHELTER ME
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LOST COAST LOVE: BOOK 1
Allyson Charles
Copyright © 2020
All rights reserved.
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. It will also result in the author not being able to afford the important things in life, like snacks and my mortgage. Thank you for your support of this author’s rights.
Cover design by Dar Albert.
Shelter Me is the first in a new series, set on the northern California coast. The Lost Coast Love series revolves around the boisterous Martineau family, and the men and women who love them. The town of Shelter Bay is loosely based on Mendocino, one of my favorite small-towns. You might recognize it. The TV show Murder, She Wrote was shot there.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it. If you want to see other small-town romances written by me, check out my book list HERE.
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Chapter One
Eyes beady, attitude bad, he stared at Sarah like he wouldn’t mind swallowing her whole. Snakeskin stretched tight over his body, emphasizing the obscene bulge that she couldn’t take her eyes from.
Sarah Martineau shuddered. She shouldn’t judge people. Everyone had different lifestyles, different preferences.
But why anyone would want a snake for a pet instead of a cute, fluffy puppy or kitten was beyond her comprehension.
“Is he gonna die?”
Sarah looked from the rosy boa constrictor coiled on her exam table to the little boy who’d brought him in.
“What did Draco eat?” She tried hard to keep her veneer of professionalism intact. She was a veterinarian with her own successful practice. Vets didn’t shudder and say ‘eew’ when confronted with a nine-year-old child’s pet. His creepy, creepy pet.
“It was a candle we keep on our living room table,” the boy’s mother said. “It was bacon-scented.”
Of course it was. Sighing, Sarah returned her attention to the boa, just barely stopping her urge to jump back when the thing wriggled to her side of the table. Corey loved his snake, so she’d do her best to help the thing, but all animals were not created equal.
And this particular animal had been absent when the little snake brains were passed out. This was his third time on her table, all for eating something that wasn’t digestible. Most animals were born with the instinct to know what was food and what wasn’t. This snake was born with an eating disorder.
She gave Corey a weak smile. “He should be fine. I’ll have to extract it, and he won’t be happy, but he’ll live.”
She got her tools, swallowed down her natural revulsion to all things slithering, and got to work.
Wrestling the beast’s jaws open, she asked, “Why was Draco on your table? Did he escape his terrarium?”
Corey held onto his pet just below where the candle bulge ended. “I let him out. He’s free-range.”
Sarah darted a glance at his mother. The woman shrugged, her expression sheepish. “It does seem cruel to keep the animal cooped up all the time.”
Sarah turned back to her patient, using calipers to keep his jaw open. Only in Northern California would someone have a free-range boa constrictor. Or a bacon-scented candle for that matter. She’d lived in Shelter Bay since she was a child. It was at the southern end of California’s Lost Coast, an area all-but-forgotten since Highway One bypassed this stretch of beach. The laid-back manners of this small-town suited Sarah, but sometimes the eccentricities of its residents threw her for a loop.
She was only half a day’s drive to San Francisco or the Sierras, however, and lived with magnificent views of the Pacific around every turn. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Melanie, her vet technician/office manager, knocked on the door and poked her head in. “Sarah, your brother’s here. And he seems very eager to talk to you.”
The candle was halfway out. Sarah tightened her grip on the pliers, and corkscrewed the wax tube another inch. “Which one?”
“Bradley.”
Sarah paused. Crap. The one brother she’d been avoiding. She blew out a breath and nodded. “Tell him I’ll be right out.” She focused on the snake, not quite as eager to be finished with him. Because once she was done, she’d have to face Brad. If her oldest brother was seeking her out for a face-to-face conversation, it couldn’t be good.
But the boa rippled its body, and the candle popped out, strings of drool streaming from the wax lump to the snake’s small, hooked teeth.
“Awesome,” Corey said.
Sarah snapped off her exam gloves. “Let Draco get a lot of rest for the next couple days, but he should be fine.”
Corey picked the boa up. “Thanks Dr. Martineau.”
She led the boy and his mother out to the waiting room. “I know you want Draco to have his freedom, but smaller snakes like him get anxious if their home is too big. Your terrarium suits him fine. If you do let him out, don’t leave him unattended. He might eat something that will permanently harm him. Do you understand?”
Both mother and son nodded. “We’ll keep a better eye on him,” Corey’s mom promised.
Six feet of angry male stalked up to her. “We have to talk. Now.”
Forcing a smile, Sarah pointed a hand behind her. “Let’s go to my office.” Her brother stomped past her into the back room, his stride hitching. Usually Brad hid his limp. He must really be mad if he wasn’t thinking about correcting it. Sarah said goodbye to her clients and turned to Melanie. “I need ten minutes with Brad.”
“You got it.”
Sarah took a deep breath, telling the nausea swirling in her stomach to settle down, before pushing into her office and closing the door. “Hi, Brad. What’s up?”
He turned, knocking his elbow into a file cabinet. The cramped space was a challenge, even for her own 5’3” frame, but add in a ticked off ex-Navy captain, and it felt like a shoebox.
Brad narrowed his eyes. “‘What’s up?’ Is that the way you want to go with this?”
He had the paternal, I-know-what-you-did-last-summer look down pat.
She squirmed. “It’s really not that big a deal.”
Her brother punched the filing cabinet, and Sarah flinched. She’d known he’d be mad but hoped he’d see reason. Wishful thinking on her part.
He looked at her with eyes as cold as whiskey on the rocks. Her eyes. They were the only two Martineaus with eyes that amber color. His voice was just as icy. “I think it is a big fucking deal when my sister goes behind my back and contacts our shit-bag sperm donor. When I specifically told you not to.”
She swallowed. “He wants a relationship. I don’t understand why—”
Brad bent down and put his face in hers. “No, you don’t understand. You don’t seem to understand that he abandoned us. He didn’t want us. He left mom with two kids and no child support. I don’t care if he wants a relationship now. He lost his chance, and I won’t have you bringing him into our family.”
Her pulse raced. She hated when Brad was mad at her. Hated that on top of his own problems, he now had to deal with this.
But she hated the idea of ignoring family more. And their “sperm-donor” as Brad put it was just that: family. He was a part of her and Brad whether they liked it or not.
And people could change. Brad was proof of that. One accident had transformed him from a fun-loving guy who had a strange fondness for corny jokes to this angry, sullen man who stood before her.
An angry, red flush crawled up his neck. “You’re going to meet him?”
“I don’t know yet.” She straightened some files on her desk, avoiding his gaze. “I gave him my phone number and told him to call me. I’ll see how it goes from there.”
“Jesus.” He ground his palms into his eye sockets. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Maybe. I’ve made them before.” She sucked in a deep breath. “But what if—”
“No.” His voice was flat. Resigned. “I know you’re thinking we can have some friggin’ kumbaya moment, but it’s not going to happen. He’s going to hurt you. All he’s ever done is hurt us. I’m not going to watch it happen.”
She pushed to her feet. “What are you saying?”
“I want nothing to do with this. With him.” He took one step back and yanked the door open. “Frankly, if you’re so stupid as to engage with him, I don’t want anything to do with you right now, either.”
Sarah stared at the empty doorway, trying to breathe around the knot in her chest. In her over three decades on earth, she and her brother had been in more than a fight or two. But he’d never looked at her with disgust.
She darted around her desk and down the short hall. She flew into the waiting room. She needed to catch him, make him understand.
A ball of fur shot between her legs. Sarah tried to catch her footing but stepped on something soft. She heard a yelp seconds before she hit the ground. Hard.
She lay on her back and blinked. It was a different view of her waiting room than she’d ever had before, lying on the floor looking up. One of the ceiling tiles had an ugly water stain. She should probably call the landlord. Check if there was a leak. And as long as she focused on that stain, maybe she could ignore the pain arcing across her back.
And the pain stabbing into her heart. Her brother hated her.
She noticed the sweater first. The man leaning over her was wearing what looked like a cashmere Henley, gray, and so soft-looking her fingers itched to pet it. It stretched across the man’s wide chest and nipped down to a narrow waist.
He’d paired the sweater with charcoal slacks that screamed out-of-towner. Even professionals in this town wore jeans, and, as long as their shirts were clean, were good to meet clients.
Dark blue eyes stared down at her, narrowed in concern. Thick, chestnut hair curled across his temple. All in all, a tasty package, and not one usually seen around these parts.
Maybe her day could be salvaged.
And then he opened his mouth.
“Your office manager said we could let Ginger off-leash. You don’t have grounds for a lawsuit.”
She gritted her teeth. A lawsuit had been the farthest thing from her mind, but it was good to know right where his thoughts went. To CYA.
“I wasn’t thinking about suing.” She pushed up to sitting, pleased at the lack of dizziness. At least she didn’t have a concussion to add to her list of complaints for the day. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. It was my fault.”
A beautiful border collie whined and nudged Sarah with her snout. She pet the dog, one of her patients and a very good girl.
“Don’t be an ass,” a crochety voice called out from one of the seats that lined the lobby’s walls. Oswald Marshall, Ginger’s owner, leaned forward, his head appearing around the man’s shoulders. “Hi, Doc.”
The man before her blew out a breath. His cheeks darkened. “Are you all right?” he finally asked.
Sitting still for a moment, she assessed her body. Sore tailbone. Check. A wrench in her neck. Check check. Bruised ego. A triple win for the trifecta. She sighed. But no serious injuries.
She opened her mouth to tell him she was fine, and a moist tongue swiped across her cheek and slid between her lips.
And now she’d gone to first base with a dog.
She stared up at the stained ceiling tile again. Time for this day to end.
It couldn’t get any worse.
Chapter Two
The woman getting tongued by his dad’s dog couldn’t have looked more miserable. She turned her head from Ginger’s attentions, but didn’t push the border collie away. She looked resigned. Like falling on her ass and being subject to canine assault were what she had to expect from life.
Since she ignored his outstretched hand, he bent over and grasped her shoulders, lifting her to her feet.
She was short, her head not quite reaching his chin. She wore no make-up to hide the dusting of freckles that ran across her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. She looked young, too young to have gone through college and veterinarian school. But what did James know? He was crap at guessing women’s ages, and he’d learned it was best never to do so, at least not out loud.
“So, you’re fine, right?” It would be just the icing on his cake, his dad getting sued because of his damn dog. “But like I said, since we were the only ones waiting, the woman behind the counter said it was okay to let her off-leash.”
“And I stand by that.” The employee behind the desk leaned over the front counter. She wore a blue scrub top decorated with tiny pink dogs. A nametag with the word ‘Melanie’ clung to the fabric above her left breast. “I didn’t expect Brad to nearly trample the poor dog.”
The vet looked down at the border collie. The dog lifted her paw, pressed it against the vet’s knee. She winced.
“Here, take a seat.” He took her arm, and herded her toward a chair.
She pulled back. “I’m fine. I need to catch my brother.”
“Too late,” Melanie said. She pointed out the window to where a white SUV pulled away. “He sure can move fast for a man with a limp.”
James risked a glance at his watch. He didn’t have time for vets with personal dramas. Wait, that was his old life. His gut churned. Now, he had all the time in the world.
That didn’t mean he wanted to waste his time, though. Hoping to speed things along, he asked once more, “Are you sure you’re all right? Didn’t break or sprain anything, Dr…?”
“Martineau. Sarah. And I’m fine.” She bent her leg a couple times. “My knee is a little sore and my…” She yanked her hand off her butt. Red stained her cheeks. “I’m fine.”
“You bounced real good off your patootie.” A chuckle came from behind James.
“Dad.” James kept his voice low. “Enough.”
His father creaked to his feet. “What? Nothing to be embarrassed about. She fell. She bounced.” Bending, he caressed his dog’s head. “The doc must have a lot of padding down there in order to catch—”
“Dad!” And people thought James was blunt. Which he was, but he liked to think of it as just being honest. Besides—he cocked an eye lower—the vet didn’t have an abundance of padding as his dad claimed. I mean, it was hard to tell under her lab coat, but if her body was proportional…
And now he was eyeballing her butt. He raked a hand through his hair. Adding sexual harassment to dog assault wasn’t a great way to convince her not to sue. He wasn’t going to stick around to help his dad through a lawsuit, too.
“Is this our last client of the day?” the vet asked Melanie.
“Yep. Ginger and her owner, Mr. Oswald Marshall.” Melanie winked at his father. “And his son, James.”
James gave the woman a tight smile.
She leaned forward on the counter, the movement exposing her cleavage over the vee neck of her top. The smile she shot back at him was anything but tight.
James forced his gaze to remain above her neckline. Melanie seemed like a good time, and maybe if he wasn’t being pulled in ten different directions he’d explore all that she might offer. There wasn’t much that went as entertainment in this hick-town.
He’d never understood why his dad had moved to the middl
e of nowhere. This part of California was full of hippies growing pot or searching for their second careers as artisanal cheese-makers or mindful yoga instructors.
At least the receptionist was the fun kind of hippy. She was all bright color. Cotton-candy pink hair and lips, big green eyes that had to be color contacts. Purple harem pants that tapered down at the ankle.
The small animal doctor, in her bulky white lab coat, and make-up free face, looked pale beside her. She definitely gave off the granola and quinoa type of hippie vibe.
The vet finished scribbling something on a notepad. “Okay, Mr. Marshall, you and your dog can follow me.”
They trooped into an exam room. She turned to close the door and started when she came up against James. “Oh. You’re not waiting out front?”
“I don’t like waiting.” Plus, he didn’t trust his dad not to insult her further. James was an accountant not a lawyer, but he knew how to avoid liability with the best of them.
Nodding, she turned to the exam table. Dropping into a squat, she wrapped her arms around Ginger’s legs, and efficiently lifted her onto the table.
“What seems to be the problem?” She ran her fingers through the dog’s long hair.
“She’s shaking her head a lot.” His father laid a gnarled hand on Ginger’s back. “And scratching her ear. We checked for fleas, but that doesn’t seem to be the problem.”
Dr. Martineau ran her fingers along Ginger’s ears, earning a whimper when she stroked the left one. “You’re right, it’s not fleas.” Pulling a small flashlight from her coat pocket, she looked in Ginger’s ears. She bent closer and took a sniff before taking a sample from the dog’s ear. She popped the cotton swab in a plastic tube, snapping the top shut.
“Is she going to be all right?” James asked. His dad doted on the animal. He was hard enough to get along with when he had his beloved dog by his side. Without her…
James rubbed his knuckle into his chest. His father had been losing so much lately, it would be hard for him to lose the damn dog, too. Although, they might not have a choice about that, not if his dad—
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