Sea Glass Cottage

by Vickie McKeehan

  And the next words out of Jonah’s mouth had him sweating bullets.

  “Since you don’t have a little boy of your own, I could be your little boy.”

  Thane saw Isabella get tears in her eyes before she could muster up something to say. “Are you kidding? I’d love that. I’d be crazy not to love you or want you for my son. And we know I’m not crazy, remember?” she said with a wink.

  Thane could see it was all she could do to fight back the water that wanted to fall out of her eyes. He understood that it wouldn’t do to have Jonah see her start bawling.

  “You think you can sleep in here tonight, buddy?”

  “Sure. I like it here. I brought my Legos and four of my stuffed animals.”

  “Okay, then get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Can Jax and Jazz stay in here tonight?” Jonah asked.

  “Absolutely, they could use the company.”

  Thane closed Jonah’s door and took Isabella by the hand leading her into the bedroom. They sat down on the bed so they could talk. “Did that freak you out in there?”

  “Not at all. But I can tell by the way you’re acting, it certainly freaked you out.”

  “A little. It’s just that he’s so young. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

  “I don’t want to see him hurt either.”

  “Jonah never knew his mother, lost his grandfather early on, lost his grandmother who was basically his primary caregiver. I’m still not convinced that he’s completely over losing her either. That’s a lot of disappointment and loss for a little kid to handle at such a young age.”

  “I agree. So you’re afraid that things won’t work out between us and he’ll be left confused and wondering what happened?”

  “That’s part of it. This whole thing is moving so fast for him. I think he desperately wants a mother or at least a mother-figure in his life. This is hard for him. Me? I’m not a divorced parent. I’m the only parent. I can’t call up his mother, my ex, and say, ‘what about taking him for the weekend?’ It doesn’t work that way. I’m a single parent where every decision I make lands on my shoulders, my responsibility, my mistakes.”

  “Parents make mistakes, Thane. It’s inevitable. They aren’t perfect. You do the best you can and hope that it’s enough. Are you trying to end this between us because you’re afraid…?”

  He didn’t let her finish. “No, not that. I’m hoping with Jonah you meant what you said back there and that you weren’t just being kind to him because he put you on the spot.”

  She narrowed her eyes and stared at him. “I admit I wasn’t sure exactly how to handle it. But Jonah had obviously given it a great deal of thought. Couldn’t you tell that? I would never hurt him, Thane, never. My feelings for him are as genuine as my feelings are for you.”

  Thane blew out a heavy, pent-up puff of air in relief. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that. It’s a load off my heart and mind.”

  She ran a hand up his chest. “Then let’s go to bed.”

  The rain had eased up by the time she took the dogs for a walk down the hill and back before breakfast. When she returned to the cottage, she found Thane in the kitchen starting a pot of coffee and Jonah sitting at the table holding a box of Count Chocula.

  She took one look at the two stubborn faces and decided a disagreement hung in the air.

  “That’s way too much sugar, especially after all the candy you’ve had lately,” Thane reasoned.

  “But I want it for breakfast.”

  Thane sent Isabella a smoldering look. “Who buys Count Chocula anyway?”

  She lifted a shoulder in defense as she reached down to unsnap the leash on each dog’s collar. “It’s a seasonal Halloween thing. I sometimes eat it at night after supper for dessert.”

  “See, Dad. Izzy eats it.”

  Jax and Jazz bolted toward the boy and slid across the tile floor. Using that as an opportunity to get between the two willful corners over breakfast food, Izzy spread her fingers through Jonah’s hair. “Why don’t you feed the dogs? You know where I keep the puppy chow, remember?”

  Over the past few days Jonah had gotten into a routine. She watched as he dutifully went into the pantry, used the scoop to grab enough dog food to pour into the stainless steel feeding bowls. What spilled over on the floor, the dogs quickly inhaled.

  It didn’t escape Thane’s notice, the way she’d handled the situation. She’d managed to get Jonah’s attention refocused on something else while he eased off his stance. That’s why he relented and took down a bowl from the cabinet. “Count Chocula today but I don’t want to catch any flak when Jonah’s swinging from the light fixture above the dining room table because of a sugar rush.”

  Jonah hooted with laughter. “I’m not gonna swing like a monkey in the zoo.”

  “You’re not? Hmm, sometimes I think you are when I see you jumping up and down on the sofa.”

  Isabella threw together eggs for breakfast while the banter ramped up. By the time the doorbell rang and Fischer strolled in, the announcers on TV were playing up the pregame between the Detroit Lions and the Bears. The guys huddled over the screen to see kickoff while Jonah alternated his time playing with his iPad or building stuff out of his Legos.

  As Thane had promised, Fischer left her alone in the kitchen to prep Thanksgiving dinner by herself. That is, until Isabella begged for help making the gravy. “If I ruin it by using all the turkey stock we end up eating dry mashed potatoes. That’s the truth of it. Help. SOS. I’m sending up a red flare here. I’m not afraid to admit gravy scares me.”

  The chef flashed a grin. “Gravy’s tricky.” Fischer moved beside her at the stove and added, “But it’s the easiest thing to make once you get the hang of it. You have any cognac?”

  “For gravy?”

  “No, for me,” Fisch said with a laugh. “White wine will do in a pinch though.”

  She tapped him playfully on the arm before handing him a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc she’d picked up at Murphy’s. “How’s this?”

  He took a swig straight from the bottle. “Not bad. This will do fine. I need flour, onion, and all the fresh herbs you have on hand.”

  She disappeared into the pantry, came back with an armful of stuff. “Don’t beat me with a stick but all I have fresh is rosemary. Sage and thyme are in a bottle.” She laughed at her own joke. “Thyme in a bottle, get it?”

  Fischer’s lips curved up. “I may like you yet.”

  “My other fresh herbs took a nosedive once I went to work. I forgot to water them a couple times. And I had to toss the fresh oregano when Jazz peed on the plant I had growing on the patio. She squatted down and hit that sucker dead-on, which shows you she has a purpose.”

  “And perfect aim,” Fisch added.

  “That too,” she said with a snicker. “It’s one reason I can’t wait to get started on making that plot of land a garden.”

  “It’s a huge undertaking. Are you sure you want to make that kind of commitment? To the town?”

  She was no longer certain the two were talking about growing vegetables. Before she could answer though, Fisch went on, “So you wanted to be a farmer, did you?”

  “Most of all I just wanted to be free, free to be able to do what I wanted, when I wanted. For people who take that for granted, they’ve never walked in my shoes.”

  Thane came through the door just in time to hear that last declaration. Skimming his hands up her arms, he nuzzled her neck. “Will he find you and take it away again? Is that what you’re afraid of? Is that the reason for all the weapons?”

  Fischer turned to gape at them. “Weapons?”

  She leaned her head back on Thane’s shoulder, relaxed somewhat. She noted Fischer gawking and met his eyes. “He’s referring to the arsenal I keep for protection. A girl can never be too careful.”

  But she saw the men exchange cautious glances at the statement and wasn’t surprised when an awkward silence set in. Though it lifted once they grouped toget
her around the dining room table to eat, she remained uneasy. That is, until her guests dug into the food. She watched in fascination as two grown men and one little boy devoured what had been a twenty-two-pound turkey. She’d never seen a bunch go after a meal with such zest. The wine flowed. Thane kept filling her glass until she finally covered the rim with her hand. “No more for me. I hope you guys saved room for pumpkin pie.”

  “If it’s with whipped cream on top, I have some more room,” Jonah said with confidence.

  “Of course. No one should ever serve pumpkin pie without whipped cream.”

  The four of them had no problems polishing off a nine-inch pie.

  Afterward, there was a flurry of dish cleanup, as the kitchen grew crowded around the sink. Everyone helped with the chore even when it meant stepping over the dogs that were underfoot most of the time to do it.

  When Jonah conked out, she watched as Thane gently picked him up and carried him to bed. For the second time in as many weeks, her heart felt like it turned over in her chest. She turned to Fischer. “He’s an amazing man.”

  Fischer nodded. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I watched him go through hell after Jonah was born. He’s a special father in ways that no one seems to get.”

  “You mean the way he won’t hire help when he absolutely could afford to? I get that he wants to be hands-on. It’s one of the things I love about him.”

  “Did you hear what you just said?”

  She smiled. “I’ve known it for some time now. I’m hoping you’ll keep that to yourself since I’d like to be the one who tells him.”

  Henry Navarro hadn’t counted on bad weather when he’d rented a car at the San Francisco Airport and headed south to the bumpkin town of Pelican Pointe. He had all the maps he needed to show him the way down the California coast to the place where Isabella had found a refuge, or so she’d thought.

  His associates had cautioned him that it wouldn’t be easy to go unnoticed in a town this size with one hick cop and a stoplight on Main Street. And yet, he had other concerns. Even though no one knew him in the tiny hamlet, a stranger would no doubt stick out like a hooker during Carnival in Rio. Because of that, he’d have to find a place to keep out of sight for a few days away from prying eyes. He’d done his research of the area beforehand and knew there was only one option for accommodations, a third-rate B&B that offered just six rooms. Even with a disguise he didn’t think he could pull off the ruse with the local yokels. So he’d improvise as he so often had in the past and come up with an alternate plan.

  As soon as Henry reached the heart of town, he slowed his speed and was tempted to continue on toward the lighthouse. Instead though, his foot hit the gas sending him through the darkness of Main Street, his GPS heading southward.

  Henry drove until he spotted the isolated farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere. He pulled the rental into the rutted lane, swearing at its bumpy potholes the entire length of the drive. The beam from his headlights landed on a junk heap—old cars and tractors, rusted out bed springs and plows. He cut the ignition and sat back wondering if perhaps Isabella had gone mad to end up in such a backwoods part of the world. Shaking his head at her obvious ignorance, he rummaged in his bag for the small flashlight he’d brought.

  Once he opened the door and unfurled himself from behind the wheel, he took in the surroundings. Rustic didn’t come close to describing this dump. But maybe he’d found the perfect out-of-the-way place to crash for the night. If it worked out the way he hoped, he’d hide here indefinitely until his plan came together.

  There was a light coming from one of the first floor windows so he headed that way. When he reached the house he stepped through a line of hedges and peered into the main room. From the flower bed, he spotted an old man sitting in front of his TV, the sound so loud he could make out the dialogue coming from the old-fashioned set.

  Henry took out the knife he’d stopped to buy at a box store on his way from the airport. Circling around to the back, he took out his pick lock, deciding, once again, that opportunity somehow always worked in his favor.

  Inside his living room Cleef Atkins huddled around his own fire in the den waiting for his turkey dinner to get done in the microwave. The drizzle outside made him long for company. On nights like tonight, he remembered his boys. He’d had two once—lost one when his helicopter had been shot down in Vietnam during the Easter Uprising in 1972, the other had succumbed to leukemia when he’d been just twenty-six.

  Since Cleef didn’t have anyone left, he’d already decided to spend his evening in front of the tube watching the classic John Wayne movie, The Searchers while he ate his supper.

  When he heard the timer ding on the microwave, he shuffled past the family photographs lining the wall and into the kitchen. That’s when he saw the back door standing wide open. Cleef never saw the man slip up behind him to slit his throat.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Twenty-one years earlier

  Long Island, New York

  Since birth, Isabella Rialto and Henry Navarro had spent the long, lazy days of summers basking in the sun along the shores of Oyster Bay. Their families had known each other for years and owned adjoining summer homes along the waterfront complete with private docks and boats.

  As babies the two kids had bathed in the same bath water, went swimming side by side in the bay, waded into boggy tide pools to catch slippery fish, and tried their hand at digging for clams.

  They’d played tag among the red pines and oaks, romped over the lush grounds, hid from each other along the sand dunes and grassy marshes, and roasted hot dogs over bonfires.

  When Isabella wasn’t tromping behind Henry exploring the wooded hillsides, she tried her best to talk her friend into playing dress up. She’d discovered that if she played five innings of baseball with him, which was his favorite sport, it equaled to getting him outfitted in costume—or whatever fancy clothes she could scrounge around the house—for thirty whole minutes. It was all part of passing the time whenever the two kids grew bored with everything else.

  Henry generally went along with Isabella’s pretend scenarios as long as he got his way later during rounds of Candy Land or some other game he liked to play—and win. Izzy had grown used to his bossiness.

  Today, they stood inside Izzy’s playhouse at the back of the sprawling coastal estate, trying to pretend they weren’t sweating like pigs or standing in the middle of four walls that seemed more like an oven in ninety-plus degree heat.

  Dressed as bride and groom, Izzy wore her princess gown, a deep purple frock, leftover from last Halloween. She knew brides were supposed to wear white but today the groom, a stubborn Henry, had insisted they wear matching outfits. Ever the obstinate male, Henry had thrown on his purple jacket—another by-product of a costume party the children had gone to the previous month—over much protesting. Izzy decided the oversized coat made the six-year-old boy look like a miniature version of Willie Wonka.

  Henry had the Navarro good looks that ran in the family—an olive complexion with warm brown eyes that danced with an equal measure of mischief and merriment. But today, the boy’s mass of rich black hair had all but disappeared under the formal stovepipe hat that made him two inches taller than his bride. The height difference was uncommon since Izzy, as he so often called her, was older by a whopping seven days. Besides, in matters of temperament, Izzy usually had no problem sticking up for herself.

  This August day so full of prospects for two rambunctious six-year-olds had them pledging to each other for all eternity in front of the “minister,” the Rialto’s faithful, huge, black Labrador retriever, named Sully. Even though Sully rarely stayed on script and wasn’t too much on ceremony, he did bark a couple of times after the bride and groom repeated their vows, vows that were by this time so familiar to both because they’d gone through this same routine at least fifteen times since June.

  On this afternoon, they used the same rings they always used. Izzy gave Henry a gold plastic band sh
e’d found buried on the beach and dug out of the sand. Henry gave her a replica cameo ring he’d stuck in his pocket at the variety store in town when no one was looking.

  “Are we done yet?” he asked in pent-up frustration. “I’m ready to get back to tossing the ball around. This is stupid.”

  “Not yet. You promised. Five more minutes because I already spent the whole morning playing baseball with you.”

  He ripped off the hat and threw it at her face. “I told you I’m done playing this stupid dress-up game. Every time you make me do it, I hate it. In fact, I hate you. It isn’t fun for me.”

  Because she’d seen him go off the deep end over less, Izzy braced herself for the blow. She wasn’t expecting it when he knocked her to the wooden floor. As usual, that wasn’t enough for Henry. The little boy straddled her and wrapped his hands around her throat.

  Izzy thrashed her body up and down, trying to buck him off. But Henry wouldn’t budge. The pressure of his fingers increased around her neck.

  “Get off her this minute, Henr!. Do you hear me?” Jenna Rialto shouted from the doorway. She dashed over and grabbed the boy’s arm right before his fist smashed into Isabella’s cheek. “You go home this minute and cool off. And don’t come back to my house until you can control that ugly temper of yours.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” Henry yelled out, standing firm, fists clenched at his sides. “You’re not my mother!”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Jenna tossed back. “Get out of here now and go home before I tell Isabella’s father what I just saw you do to his daughter.”

  Izzy watched as Henry disappeared out the doorway in a huff of temper and rage.

  Jenna stared at the red marks on her daughter’s throat, the bruises forming on her cheek. Taking her daughter’s chin in hand, Jenna wanted to know, “Does he do that to you often when you’re out playing with him? I’ve seen bumps and bruises before on your arms and legs. I thought they came from the usual scrapes kids get running around the island. But now…”