Coffeeshop Coven 2
Lost Bird
Sachi Wolowitz overcame horrific tragedy as a teen and has rebuilt her life, alone. She’s happy working at Many Blessings and teaching her first love, skeet shooting. She’s not looking for love. Especially not with the handsome plumber or the nameless cutie she bumps into at the grocery store, who both have unusual auras that speak to her soul.
John Evans and Oscar Weinstein have been friends since childhood. Each survived having their heart shredded and they are now roommates simply existing. John feels an attraction to Sachi when he replaces her water heater. Oscar recognizes her from the news, but is too nervous to make the first move.
When John’s elderly aunt thinks she’s seeing ghosts, Sachi and her team must investigate to discover if there’s really paranormal activity, or if his beloved aunt is going senile. Will Sachi find the proof she seeks, or get more than she bargained for and take a risk on love with the two hunks?
Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal
Length: 68,003 words
LOST BIRD
Coffeeshop Coven 2
Tymber Dalton
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
LOST BIRD
Copyright © 2014 by Tymber Dalton
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-677-1
First E-book Publication: May 2014
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
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DEDICATION
To Hubby, for giving me the freedom to go do what I love even though he has no interest in skeet. To Sir, Uncle Ron, and Uncle Dean for all the great times at skeet and dinner. I wish Uncle Jamie was still here to enjoy them with us. Somewhere, I hope he’s shooting twenty-five every day.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book picks up a few days after the events of Many Blessings (Coffeeshop Coven 1) and overlaps a little with some of the events of It’s a Sweet Life (Coffeeshop Coven prequel). While all the books in this series are standalone and can be read independently of each other and in any order, here is the suggested reading order to avoid spoilers.
All of the titles are available from Siren-BookStrand.
1.Out of the Darkness (Coffeeshop Coven Prequel)
2.It’s a Sweet Life (Coffeeshop Coven Prequel)
3.Many Blessings (Coffeeshop Coven 1)
4.Lost Bird (Coffeeshop Coven 2)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Author's Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
About the Author
LOST BIRD
Coffeeshop Coven 2
TYMBER DALTON
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
Despite the sweat trickling down her back from the muggy Florida late June heat, Sachi Wolowitz tried to keep her expression neutral as she lifted her Browning 12-gauge over-under shotgun, mounted it against her right shoulder, and locked her right elbow into the correct position. She pressed her cheek against the stock and sighted down the barrel before swinging to her hold point.
“Ha.”
Her father hit the button on the remote control that sent a high house clay sailing out through the window and across the field. She pulled the trigger, clamping down on the groan that wanted to claw its way out of her throat from the feel of the shotgun’s recoil hitting the still-healing wound in her shoulder.
Unscathed, the clay landed on the far side of the field, where it shattered as it hit the ground.
“Lost bird,” he said.
She broke the gun open, removed the spent shell, and put a fresh shell in the lower barrel. “Option,” she muttered, her mood dark. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d missed high house one.
He nodded, waiting.
She took her stance again, trying to calm her mind. “Ha.”
The high house machine cycled above them, launching the bird across the field.
She clenched her teeth and fired, squarely nailing the clay, pieces of it falling to earth and some of them landing on the center bunker.
“You’re still in pain,” he said.
She lowered the gun. “Low house,” she said.
When she broke the Browning open to reload for the low house shot, her father reached out and wrapped his fingers around the forestock. “No. You’re done.”
“I only broke one bird.”
“We had a deal. My call,” he said, his jaw firmly set in a look sh
e knew all too well. “You’re done for today, Miki.”
Only her father still called her Miki, even this many years later after she’d legally stopped being Miki.
She suspected she’d always be Miki to him.
“Dad, I need to shoot.”
“You need to heal. You got shot.”
“I’m fine. Fucker only hit me with a goddamned .22.” She tried to pull the gun free from his hand, wincing as she did, but his fingers only clamped more firmly around it.
“No. Doctor told you it was probably too soon. Give it a rest. Let it heal a little longer.”
She stared across the field toward the low house, at the window where the clay would fly from if he would just.
Push.
The fucking.
Button.
“Dad, I haven’t shot in weeks. I’m going crazy.”
“You’re already crazy,” he playfully said. “You got that from my side of the family.” He finally won the gentle tug-of-war and tucked the shotgun under his arm. “You’re done for today. That was our deal. I let you take a test shot, and you’re obviously still in pain. I gave you the second one because I knew if I didn’t so you could break that bird, you’d be impossible to live with.”
He turned, dragging the controller and its cord with him as he walked back to the table under the shelter near station four at the top of the field.
Discussion over.
I’m twenty-seven, and he can still use that tone on me.
And I still give in.
She stood there watching him walk away with her shotgun.
Goddammit.
“We had a deal,” he called out without looking back. “Home. Now.”
He pointed as he walked. She looked to where he was pointing and spotted a bright red male cardinal swooping across the field, stilling any argument she might have tried against her father.
Muttering under her breath, Sachi followed her dad back to the shelter.
* * * *
Sachi didn’t protest when her dad simply pointed to the car without letting her get her gun or shooting bag. Since his arrival from Idaho a couple of weeks earlier, she’d secretly thrived on his doting attention, his stern care, his protectiveness.
For once in her life, even though she’d have to get shot again first before she’d ever admit it out loud, she wasn’t too proud or stubborn to let him take care of her.
After what she’d been through, she’d gladly accept it.
He finished loading everything in the trunk. After he slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine so the air conditioner could cool the car, he looked at her.
“I called a real estate agent today. While you were at work at the shop.”
Her jaw tensed. “Yeah?”
“He said he thinks he could sell the house pretty quickly. Lots of hunters and winter sportsmen are looking for places in the area. Said I could easily get what I want for it. Maybe more.” He shrugged. “Maybe even a lot more.”
She didn’t dare nod. “Yeah?”
“I also called around to a few airports in this area. I could probably have my pick of jobs. Several places are hiring. Three asked if I could come in for interviews today.”
“Yeah?”
“How would you feel about that?”
“About what?”
He let out that sigh. “Miiikiii…”
Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her fingers aimlessly picked at each other. She hadn’t worn the sling the past three days, ever since officiating Mandaline, Ellis, and Brad’s handfasting ceremony on Saturday, even though it hurt more when she didn’t wear it.
Finally, she nodded, struggling and praying the tears wouldn’t come this time, the way they had so many times since her dad had flown to Florida from Idaho after the attack on her and Mandaline two weeks ago.
She was sick of crying. She’d cried for Julie when she’d died, because she’d loved her as more than a friend and employer, but as a mentor and, in a way, a sister.
She hadn’t cried that hard since the attack that had killed her mom and nearly killed her, too, when she was a teenager.
She’d cried her fair share in her life already. More than, it felt like. She was sick and tired of it.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She nodded, a little harder and faster that time.
He reached over and gently patted her thigh. Before he could pull his hand away, she slipped her fingers around his and briefly squeezed before letting go.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she whispered.
* * * *
Predictably, Sachi’s dad ordered her inside when they returned to the house. He wouldn’t let her help unload at all. Knowing it was useless to argue with him, Sachi went and unlocked the front door and got the alarm turned off.
The place smelled delicious, the brisket her father had put in the slow cooker earlier that day spreading its delicious aroma throughout the house.
Yeah, definitely could get used to having Dad around all the time.
She rarely cooked for herself. If she ate good cooking, it was from eating with Libbie, or with Mandaline and her guys, or going out to eat.
Or, in the past, with Julie.
Upon his arrival, Sachi’s dad had been shocked to find out her practically empty fridge, except for bagels, yogurt, fruit, and cheese sticks, was the norm, not the exception.
Over the years, she’d kind of gotten used to being the fifth wheel. She tried not to impose on her friends, but when they insisted she join them, it was easier to accept than to keep fending off invites.
Not like she wasn’t used to being alone. It wasn’t like she had any kind of a social life other than working and doing readings and teaching classes at Many Blessings, or teaching skeet.
And she certainly wasn’t looking to change that status quo, either. She didn’t envy Mandaline’s luck in finding not one, but two men to help heal and uplift her, but a relationship wasn’t in her cards or her desires. She felt nothing but gratitude to the Universe and the Goddess that her friend had love and light in her personal life. Brad and Ellis were both good men with good hearts.
The fact that she herself owed them her life notwithstanding, she considered them adopted family, the way she considered Mandaline adopted family as well.
But that kind of blessing, of a relationship, wasn’t what she asked the Goddess for. All she wanted now was peace, freedom from the renewed nightmares the recent attack had dredged up…and for her dad to really move to Florida and live with her. Or at least live close enough she could spend time with him.
With the last remnant of her past ordeals now dead and in his grave, she could focus on finally healing for good and rebuilding a relationship with her father without worrying about putting him in danger.
I guess I’m not too old to admit I want my daddy.
* * * *
John Evans stood at the kitchen sink Wednesday morning and stared out the window at the courtyard. The sun had risen high enough that the two security lights had already shut off despite it not being seven o’clock yet. Six duplexes shared the small swath of raggedy grass struggling to win a losing battle against patches of Spanish needles and fire ant hills.
This sucks.
It was a far cry from the house his ex-wife now lived in with her boyfriend, the house he’d built with and for her before she turned out to be the bane of his existence.
I should have listened to Aunt Tammy.
His grandaunt had hated Sabrina on first sight, and had made sure to tell him exactly that when he’d introduced her a few years earlier. It had actually shocked him that his normally gentle and genteel aunt had so vocally and forcefully expressed a negative opinion about anyone. At the time, he’d attributed it to her grief over losing her husband a few weeks before that.
He’d also wondered if it wasn’t a little bit of Alzheimer’s or dementia starting. Yet, in every other way, Tammy Evans had seemed all right. Now seventy-eight, her opinion had been vindicated, although
she’d never once said see, I told you so to him.
Although he wouldn’t have blamed her if she had.
He heard Oscar’s bedroom door open and his friend head to the bathroom they shared. The two-one duplex had been all John could afford at the time when Sabrina had filed for divorce and kicked him out of their house. Now with Oscar as his roommate, and the divorce settled, he finally had some breathing space financially and could start rebuilding his savings.
Sabrina had been willing to nuke her own credit rating to take his down with her by not making payments on any of their joint credit cards, or on the house. So he’d had to maintain all of that, in addition to his own living expenses, until he finally got the judge to rule in his favor. She’d had to pony up some money of her own to pay John back for his chunk of the house.
Still, it left a bad taste in his mouth.
Oscar hadn’t fared much better with his ex, but at least his friend hadn’t been married to the woman. She’d simply drained their joint bank account and changed the locks on their rental house while he was at work one day.
And there hadn’t been a damn thing he could do about it since it was her name on the lease.
So here they were, two emotionally scorched bachelors rebuilding their lives from the ground up.
There’d been plenty of nights they sat in front of the TV and toasted with beers to never getting involved with a woman ever again.
Oscar made his way into the kitchen and headed for the coffeemaker. “Morning,” he mumbled as he reached for his mug.
“Morning.” John took a sip of his own coffee. He’d already showered and dressed and would be leaving for work in a few minutes. Fortunately, he only had a five-minute drive to the warehouse complex housing his plumbing business.
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