Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book

by Tracey Alvarez

  Piper spotted a duo of strangers walking amongst the crowd. The male had a monstrous camcorder on his shoulder, the blonde woman at his side held her flippy skirt down with one hand and clutched a microphone in the other. A national TV crew—just what they needed underfoot. She rolled her eyes when the woman squealed, drawing her knee up as a whale splashed a flipper in the trench dug around its body. Squatting by her whale, Piper smoothed her hand over its rounded head and murmured encouragement.

  “Whale-whispering now, Pipe?” Ben hefted another bucket and poured the contents along the animal’s back.

  “The whale’s still a better conversationalist than you.”

  She stood and the TV duo was directly opposite, camcorder trained on her no doubt sweaty and sunburnt face. Super. Then she looked closer at the woman, whose make-up-gunked lashes popped wide open.

  Oh, hell, no. Not her!

  The woman elbowed her companion in the ribs and thrust a microphone in Piper’s face. “Constable Harland, isn’t it? Are you here in an official capacity?”

  Since when did a police diver—and Ms. Charlotte Cooper knew her occupation since she interviewed Piper after she joined the squad—officiate at a whale stranding? Piper sensed, rather than saw, her family tracking their exchange, so she kept her reply polite. “No, I’m off duty. Just helping, with everyone else.”

  “How fortunate you were here.” Charlotte offered a piranha-like smile and with a quick hand-signal to her partner, turned to face the camera.

  “Along with the many locals who have turned out to save these majestic creatures of the deep is Piper Harland,” the woman’s voice projected magnificently in the sudden silence. “Constable Harland is a member of the New Zealand Police National Dive Squad and the first woman to join this male-dominated and highly exclusive team of professionals—”

  Piper zoned out from the rest of Charlotte’s monologue, blood surfing past her eardrums in a deafening roar.

  Oh, crap.

  Her neck twisted in stiff increments. Shaye and her mother stood side by side, gripping each other’s hands, their eyes unblinking with shock. Next to her, Ben’s curled lip and furrowed brow was what she’d expect if she switched allegiance from the New Zealand All Blacks to the Australian Wallabies. Baffled disgust summed it up.

  “What’s she on about, Piper?” he hissed in her ear. “You’re just a cop.”

  She lurched backward and her shoulders bumped into warm solidness, rough hands wrapping around her upper arms and squeezing. West. Right there to assume the role of her backbone since hers liquefied to jelly.

  Piper never wanted her family to find out this way—had never intended them to find out at all. After Charlotte Cooper shoved a camera in her face the first time, she’d been prepared to spill her secret. But the reporter’s interview was edited to a ten-second slot and overshadowed by the victim the squad had searched for at the time. When no one mentioned it, Piper decided to keep that part of her career under wraps. The likelihood of her appearing on camera again seemed small—police divers weren’t a glamorous bunch like homicide cops—and really, who wanted to hear about people who rooted around underwater for corpses?

  Now that omission came back to bite her on the ass.

  “Ms. Harland, does it faze you working with all these dead things—” Charlotte startled when the whale between them blew air out its spout “—or are you so hardened by facing death every day you feel nothing?”

  Piper’s breath hitched in her chest, her lungs compressing into two hard pebbles. She stared at the reporter, at the man with the camcorder’s indifferent black eye trained on her, and thoughts emptied from her head.

  “As you mentioned earlier, Constable Harland is a professional,” West’s voice, steady and calm, spoke from behind her. “But if you’re implying police divers don’t have hearts or feel compassion, then you’re not doing your job professionally.”

  Charlotte’s mouth clamped shut and she made a cutting motion to her cameraman. When he hoisted the camcorder off his shoulder, her eyes pinched into slits and she slapped her hands on her hips. “I only suggested that for you, Constable Harland, death doesn’t hold the same meaning as it does to the general public.”

  Piper’s mind returned to the morning her father drowned. The rush of emotions thundering through her brain, clawing out her heart, after she’d finned through the depths and glimpsed her father’s face. When she’d seen his open mouth and the lack of bubbles, she’d known—intimately known—death.

  “You’re wrong,” Piper croaked through salt-encrusted lips. “Death holds the same meaning for everyone. It’s grief, and loss, and devastation. It’s no less meaningful for those of us who face it every day. We’re not hardened by death, we’re strengthened by it—because in order to do what we do over and over again, it’s only knowing we help the deceased’s friends and family that makes our job bearable.” She cleared her throat, suddenly aware of the murmurs growing louder around her.

  “Somebody give this chick a soapbox.” Charlotte nudged her cameraman again, but he moved aside, shaking his head.

  “Watch what you say about my sister, lady,” Ben growled.

  “Yeah, back off, blondie.” Ford’s voice sounded nothing like his usual laid-back self.

  “We don’t like outsiders insulting one of our own.” Erin stepped closer to Piper, looking like she wanted to crack something together and not a pair of eggs.

  Her mother and Shaye stood beside Ben, Glenna shooting the infamous Harland death-glare at the reporter. On her other side and gathered around her and West were Ford and Erin, plus more she couldn’t quite see.

  Standing with her. Standing for her.

  “I’m just doing my job.” Charlotte’s gaze slid sideways searching for backup from her cameraman, but her co-worker had abandoned her, trotting along the beach toward another group of whales. She hugged the microphone close to her chest and edged away.

  Glenna strode forward, a warrior queen resplendent in sand-covered shorts and a jaunty bandana tied around her forehead. “Young lady, I’m proud of my daughter and your mean-spiritedness isn’t welcome.”

  Her mother’s voice was regal, but Piper didn’t miss the cutting edge below the polite.

  Glenna clicked her fingers in dismissal as Charlotte turned to flee. “Run along now dear. I think you’re better suited to covering flower shows and squabbling politicians.”

  “Now that snooty cow’s been put in her place, back to work people,” Erin said as Charlotte speed-walked to her cameraman, her floaty and ridiculous skirt whipping around her legs.

  West dropped his hands from her arms and her whole body felt bereft and cold without his quiet strength keeping her upright.

  Eyes sad below the cheery red bandana, Glenna said, “Family meeting later—you too, West, since your guilty expression tells me Piper’s little bombshell was no surprise.”

  “Police diver. Bloody hell.” Ben tapped her arm with his fist and limped away.

  “Mum…” Piper reached out a hand.

  Glenna grabbed it and squeezed. “I meant what I said. I am proud of you, though I expect an explanation once we get these beasties back in the water.”

  West handed her an empty bucket after her mother bustled off. “You okay?”

  She nodded without making eye contact and headed down to the water. Small waves bubbled over her toes, doing little to cool the heat scorching her face. A heat not caused by the sting of sunburn. Piper blinked to keep the tears at bay.

  They stuck up for her—Ford and Erin, West and her mother, and even Ben. She’d somehow become one of their own again and her sense of alienation remained only as a reflection of her insecurities.

  It touched her unbearably.

  Piper filled the bucket. But what should she do about it? She’d carved out a life for herself in Wellington, earning the respect of her colleagues and considering herself settled. Settled, huh? Then how come a short time on the island had undermined everything?

 
It wasn’t just coming home that rocked her foundations. Oh, no.

  It was West. West had revealed the unpalatable truth.

  He’d gotten to her again. Big time.

  Piper started back up the beach. He wielded a spade, sand flying as he dug around the whale’s body, calling orders to the other volunteers with humor and an easy tone. Taking charge of his little corner of the world, but in a way each person felt part of his team and strove to give their best. West stopped digging long enough to tug the hem of his shirt up to wipe his brow, exposing the hard planes of his stomach. He winked when he turned his head and caught her staring.

  She’d never been shot on duty—never stabbed while wearing her protective vest—yet one glimpse of West’s smile as he continued watching her punched with brutal force into her chest. Much like she imagined the slam of bullets would feel. Her heart kicked into a harsh, uneven rhythm and her shaking fingers slipped on the bucket’s handle.

  Oh, dear God. Dead woman walking.

  Could she really be strong enough to leave him a second time?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Somewhere in the blue-green ocean heading away from Stewart Island swam five lucky-to-be-alive pilot whales, refloated on the tide by weary, yet jubilant, volunteers.

  The joy of saving five of the twenty-six whales had drained away to sheer exhaustion and Piper slumped at her mother’s kitchen table, her forehead pressed to the cool wood. Shaye and Ben encircled her, while West helped Glenna carry over cans of soda from the fridge.

  “West, there’s some aloe gel in the top cabinet. Could you fetch it for Piper—the back of her neck’s awfully pink,” her mother said.

  A cabinet door opened and clicked closed again. Piper kept her eyes shut. “Touch my lobster-fried body and I’ll rip your face off.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” West replied.

  A cap unscrewed and a squirt of cool gel splattered onto the back of her neck. Piper yelped, but as his fingertips spread the aloe across her skin she sighed in relief. His fingers were blissful, even if the skin he touched sizzled like it’d lost a round with a blowtorch.

  “I expect you can reach any other bits without my help.” West pulled his hand away and Ben snorted.

  Piper lifted her forehead from the table and sat upright. Glenna pushed a Coke into her hand and its icy touch centered her. She popped the tab and drank. Best get this drama out of the way and break the simmering tension in the room.

  But before she could launch into her hastily prepared explanation, Shaye said, “How can you do it? How can you look for dead people—dead bodies—after what happened to Dad?” Tears clogged her sister’s throat.

  “It’s my job. It’s what I’m trained to do.” She looked at Shaye, begging her to understand. “They’re not just bodies. They’re somebody’s son or sister or—” a deep breath forced air into her lungs, allowing her voice to appear firm and calm “—or father.”

  “Why you didn’t tell us, darling?” her mother said.

  Ben folded his arms, nailing her to the chair with a raised eyebrow.

  “The last thing I wanted was to upset you all, to bring up painful memories, so I decided to keep that part of my life separate.” Piper slanted a look at West.

  He, too, sat in identical fashion to her brother, his only outward sign of tension the flicker of his fingers tapping a backbeat on his upper arm.

  “You keep all the important parts of your life separate,” Ben said. “It’s no surprise you didn’t give Mum and Shaye the full picture.”

  “I was trying to protect them.”

  “You were protecting yourself. You didn’t want to defend your job choice.”

  “I don’t have to defend my job—not to Mum and Shaye, and definitely not to you.” Her core body temperature amped up. “My life, my decisions, and my choice whether to share them with people I knew wouldn’t understand.”

  “Oh, I understand, all right.” Ben’s eyes sparked cold fire.

  “Ben!” Glenna rapped her knuckles on the table and glared at her son. “Let your sister speak.” She turned to Piper. “I’d like to hear from the beginning about the process you went through.”

  So, in hesitant steps, Piper described the years of intensive training put in to try and make the squad. Bit by bit, her sister and mother’s stiff posture softened as she told them of the overwhelming reaction of the families when they brought a loved one home. She explained how body recovery made up only one part of her work and how she enjoyed the challenge and camaraderie of a tight-knit team. Throughout all the questions Piper fielded from Shaye and her mother, Ben and West remained silent.

  “And being a police diver makes you happy?” her mother asked.

  West leaned forward. A lock of hair tumbled onto his forehead and she remembered that morning—the lightness in her chest as they listened to the sigh of the ocean, the breeze ruffling their hair, the simple joy of it all.

  Did being a police diver make her happy? Piper swallowed the automatic response of, “Yes, of course it does,” because it didn’t make her happy anymore. Now it was what she did, and what she had to do, in order to live with who she’d been nine years ago. But telling that to her family and West wasn’t an option.

  So she gave the same half truthful answer she’d given West.

  “I’m good at what I do. There’s a lot of personal satisfaction in being a squad member.” Like knowing that even though she was a “girl” she could make it in a man’s world. “That makes me happy.”

  “Hmmmph.” Ben crushed his soda can.

  “Yoo-hoo, anybody home?” A warbly voice from outside the back door interrupted any further comments.

  Without waiting for an invitation, the back door swung open and Mrs. Taylor swept inside, her pale lavender hair-do matching the large flowers on her dress and the ribbon tied around her walking stick.

  “Do come in, Betsy,” Glenna said as the older woman clumped over in her orthopaedic shoes to the table, batting her powdery lavender eyelids at West.

  “West, how delightful to see you, dear,” she said, the sarcasm in Glenna’s voice apparently flowing over her pristinely curled head.

  Ben stumbled off his chair and hopped aside. “Have a seat, Mrs. Taylor.”

  “Oh, aren’t you a gentleman! Glenna, such charming boys.” She sat, edging the chair a little closer to West.

  “Cold drink, Mrs. Taylor?” said Ben.

  “Yes please, it’s been a busy day, hasn’t it?” She patted West’s knee with a gnarled hand resplendent with rings.

  Piper sipped her Coke. Heaven forbid the old dear fall off Oban’s wharf—she’d sink like a proverbial stone.

  “I’ll get you one.” West tried to slither off his chair, but Ben blocked him in.

  “Wouldn’t hear of it.” He grinned at West, no doubt noticing that Mrs. Taylor’s hand still rested on West’s bare knee. “I’ll fetch it. Lemonade in a glass?”

  “That’d be grand, dear.” Mrs. Taylor smiled, revealing a scary set of false teeth. “Now, Glenna. I have something exciting to tell you.”

  Piper and Shaye exchanged glances, Shaye’s dimples appearing in the effort to keep a straight face. Unless you were part of Mrs. Taylor’s church ladies, or walked around with a dangly appendage between your legs, you didn’t warrant much attention in Betsy-Taylor-world.

  Piper leaned back in her chair, crossing an ankle over her knee. Mrs. Taylor’s arrival got her off the hook and she’d enjoy watching Ben and West squirm under her attention. Speaking of her attention—Piper nearly sucked soda into her lungs as Mrs. Taylor’s fingernails shifted higher up West’s thigh. West’s bulging eyes and I have a branch up my butt clench of his teeth could be mistaken for that of a man suffering from lockjaw, but he refrained from shoving the woman’s hand from his leg and shuddering.

  Glenna made a polite noise in the back of her throat.

  “Right as we speak, the ladies and I are organizing a ball and charity auction, and your Ben will be the recipient of all t
he funds we raise.” Mrs. Taylor removed her hand from West’s leg and rested it on the curved handle of her walking stick, bracing herself for the outburst of expected praise.

  “Oh.” Her mother looked stunned. “That’s very kind of you, Betsy. But I think that’s a little extravagant.”

  “I can’t accept that kind of help, Mrs. Taylor, but thanks,” said Ben from the kitchen.

  Mrs. Taylor’s penciled-on eyebrows twitched inward. “Nonsense. We don’t want you losing your home because you’re in a bit of a fix, do we, dear?” She wagged a finger at Ben.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “It’s a great idea,” Shaye interrupted, as Ben placed a glass of lemonade in front of Mrs. Taylor. “You need all the help you can get.”

  “Mum—” said Ben, placing a hand on their mother’s shoulder.

  She shook her head. “Darling, you’re running out of time and even though you’ve got more bookings, you’re not out of hot water yet. Think of all the years you’ve helped other people with fundraising. Consider it a community loan.”

  “Hell.” Ben’s shoulders slumped and he moved over to the hutch dresser to snatch up a coaster.

  “Oh, it’ll be such fun. We’ll have a band, and a buffet, and we’ll tart the community center up till it sparkles.” Mrs. Taylor thumped her cane on the floor. “And wait till you see how much money your boy here will bring in at the bachelor auction.”

  “Bachelor auction?” Every gaze in the room leaped to Ben, who froze halfway back from the dresser with the coaster in his hand.

  Forget about the cat that caught the canary—Mrs. Taylor was the cat that brought down an albatross. “Ooh, we’ve had lots of local women tell my ladies it’ll be a popular and financially worthwhile event.”

  “I bet they did.” Shaye nudged Piper’s ankle under the table.

  “Auctioned for what?” Ben spluttered.