Her father had been rooting for her on the day she graduated.
When she climbed into the cockpit of her first Black Hawk helicopter, no one had been prouder than Kennan Parker.
If only she’d been able to maintain that swell of pride. If only she’d had the opportunity to make it right before his death. That’s what kept her on the straight and narrow now, the idea of trying to get her life back on track. Surely that had to count for something.
She should’ve known, though, her father wouldn’t understand how she’d handled losing the ability to fly. She hadn’t wanted to spend time in the army grounded, her ass parked behind a desk. If she couldn’t fly, what was the point of becoming a desk jockey?
She’d proved over the years she could do just about any job. One good leg and a prosthetic didn’t make her handicapped. The VA felt differently. Every month the government sent her a check. Since she wasn’t considered full disability, the money wasn’t all that much. Whatever she got, she banked, stuck it into a savings account hoping one day she’d have enough for a house, maybe even her own plane.
Yeah right, she thought now. She didn’t even have her pilot’s license.
But one thing Eastlyn Parker didn’t do—she didn’t take handouts.
And as long as she stayed busy, she could keep her mind off the past.
Less than a year earlier, Cooper Richmond had been living in Sausalito making his living as a photographer. He’d traveled all over the U.S. and abroad. No doubt with each move he’d been doing his best to run from his past.
Now, he’d relocated back to the town where it all started. He’d spent his first eighteen years of life here watching his parents verbally battle each other on a daily basis. He’d surprised a few longtime residents with his choice to come back. These days if he felt like it, Coop could have dinner with his brother, Caleb, or his sister, Drea, or his adoptive parents—who were really his aunt and uncle—Shelby and Landon Jennings.
He’d learned early on that family dynamics could be a minefield. Because history had taught him relationships were often mired in crazy, erratic behavior—most notably his mother. Over the years all three siblings had struggled mightily to put their dysfunctional early childhood behind them as much as possible.
But Cooper, by far, had the worst time of it.
Not everyone had a mother as sick or as mean as theirs had been. Not everyone could so easily get past Eleanor Jennings Richmond’s misdeeds, certainly not her children. Not everyone had a mother who’d been arrested for taking two lives so violently—a double murder—one of whom had been his own father.
It might’ve taken twenty years after the fact to put Eleanor behind bars, but Cooper knew that his mother was exactly where she needed to be.
Cooper had lived a lifetime bogged down in the guilt of helping Eleanor dispose of the bodies. As a nine-year-old boy, he’d helped her dig the hole. He’d used a wagon belonging to his siblings to wheel the bodies to his uncle’s landscape nursery. He’d had to make two trips. When the truth of it all had been exposed, Cooper had felt shame.
Even now he was surprised his uncle and siblings had forgiven him.
Since moving back he’d let his chestnut hair drape to his shoulders. His blue eyes didn’t miss much despite his low-key approach to life. He preferred spending quiet times and turned to his books for solace.
He rarely went out. Even when he lived in the big city he hadn’t dated all that much. He preferred spending his evenings repairing his trains, making frames for the photographs he’d taken over the years, or reading a good book—all the while listening to Rachmaninoff, Vivaldi, Tchaikovsky, or Bach.
Inside Layne’s Trains, Cooper Richmond tinkered with the wheels on a Burlington Northern engine attempting to get it to roll again.
During the months his train shop had been opened, business had picked up. The Christmas season had been a boon. One thing about living in Pelican Pointe, residents supported local enterprises.
Thanks to his neighbors—Kinsey Donnelly, Julianne McLachlan, Bree Dayton—he could fall back on his photography skills. Occasionally he did weddings, passport photos, even took school shots. His services had been in such demand he’d dedicated one corner of his shop to taking portraits, much like others did at Sears, he mused.
Drea had talked him into creating a website so people could find his work online and purchase his landscape photographs. Sunsets proved his most popular item, but his pictures of rainforests and mountain ranges sold incredibly well. People even seemed interested in buying photos he’d taken around San Francisco.
He put the finishing touches on the frame he’d been working on and glanced out the window. The newcomer, Eastlyn Parker, caught his eye as she pulled up to his sister’s flower shop across the street. The blonde often dropped off floral deliveries from his uncle’s nursery to Drea’s place, especially when Caleb got stuck somewhere else in the county.
It wasn’t like he kept tabs on the woman. But since Eastlyn had settled into the guest cottage behind the animal clinic, he’d noticed her a time or two.
Like the times he’d seen her walking along the beach near the pier, or spotted her with a basket on her arm picking up a few items at Murphy’s Market. He’d even bumped into her while browsing the literature section at Hidden Moon Bay Books.
As small town scuttlebutt went, he’d been told about Eastlyn’s tour in Iraq, that she’d lost a leg in combat. He’d also heard rumors that she’d worked as a stripper or a drug informant back in Bakersfield depending on which conversation he caught at the drug store.
Cooper didn’t believe half of what he heard. He liked to think when it came to a person’s past very few people could top his. That’s why he was in no position to judge anyone.
He was in the midst of those thoughts when the door to his shop opened and in walked the woman in question. He watched her look around at all the trains before settling her eyes on him.
“Hi. This is a toy store, right? I mean, you sell other stuff besides trains, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Great. Point me to your model airplane kits. You know, the kind that comes in pieces and you put them together with glue.”
Coop finally got his feet to move. He swung around the counter, made his way to the back. “Kits are next to the balsa wood projects that kids use in school. A few in town make their own miniature buildings for their railroad sets. The thing is, I don’t keep a lot of model kits in stock. Most kids these days don’t have the patience to put them together and there aren’t enough adults around anymore who do that kind of thing as a hobby. So it would depend on what you’re looking for whether I’d have it on hand or not. Certain model kits are special order.”
Eastlyn browsed the meager selections. “I don’t see it on the shelf. The Huey AH-1 Cobra attack helicopter.”
“Ah, the workhorse of the Vietnam War, the chopper that provided fire support for ground forces and additional aerial rocket artillery. Now they’re used mostly for fighting forest fires. The army also used it to work in tandem with the light observation helicopter or LOH as hunter teams.”
Eastlyn hooked a finger in the loop of her jeans. “I’m impressed. Most people know very little about the Huey Cobra’s role in Southeast Asia, let alone how they worked in teams with the LOH.”
“I should probably confess I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes to what I sell. For instance, I can tell you which types of trains run where and in what areas of the country, which planes were used in what war. I carry the most popular models. But I don’t get much call for the helicopters. Tell you what. Let’s look up Cobra in the catalogue from the manufacturer.” Cooper reversed direction, turning on his heel to head back to the counter with Eastlyn trailing after him.
He grabbed the fat book, about an inch thick, and flipped it open, turned to the pages dealing with historic aviation. As soon as he found the right one, he pushed the listing toward Eastlyn for her to see. “It’s pricey. And it’ll take a couple da
ys to get here. By the way, I’m Cooper Richmond and you are Eastlyn Parker. Ina Crawford said you used to fly Black Hawks in Iraq.”
Eastlyn winced at the phrase “used to.” But since it was true, she couldn’t very well debunk some woman named Ina’s assessment of her situation.
“Used to fly Black Hawks,” she acknowledged. “My dad’s the one who flew the Cobra.”
“In Vietnam? Wow, that’s amazing.”
Eastlyn studied the photo of the ad in the catalogue, its description and its price. “I guess Kaeden’s worth fifty bucks. Go ahead and order it. I hope you ship internationally because it would be great if you could send it to Germany for me. It’s a birthday present for my brother.”
“How soon does it need to get there?”
“Two weeks.” She grinned. “I didn’t wait til the last minute this year.”
“Let me check shipping prices and how long it takes the manufacturer to ship overseas.” Cooper went to his computer, logged into the website he needed. “By the way, if you like old choppers some of us in town recently uncovered one in a barn south of here.”
He saw her eyes light up with interest and went on, “A junk collector by the name of Cleef Atkins died last year.” He didn’t want to mention the man had been murdered.
“Nick Harris found out that in Cleef’s will he deeded the farmhouse and the land to the town. The property is filled with all kinds of odds and ends, lots of stuff just sitting there for decades collecting dust. So a few of us spent a couple weekends out there taking inventory. Imagine my surprise when I spotted the old movie marquee Thane and Isabella hoped to use to reopen the theater. But what sat behind it was even better, at least in my mind, an old helicopter with the glass bubble.”
Eastlyn moved closer, leaned on the counter for support. “You can’t be talking about the Bell H-13, that’s the military version.”
“I’m not sure. Let’s look it up, too.” Cooper shifted gears, opened up a new window on his computer and went to another website. He scanned through a lot of photos until he found the right one. “It looks similar to this.”
She stepped around the counter to peer over his shoulder to get a better look. “Unbelievable. That’s a Sioux three-seater, a single engine with a bubble canopy. It’s also known as the MASH helicopter. You know, the one they used on the set of the TV show. What kind of shape is it in? Do you think it could be refurbished? Are you certain this is the aircraft you saw and not some replica? Because it could be the commercial version of the same model, the Bell-47.”
Cooper smiled at her enthusiasm. “You could judge for yourself. I could take you out there Sunday. It’s the only day of the week I’m closed.”
Getting a look at an actual Sioux chopper warred with the idea of starting up anything with one of the locals. There would be talk. Even a newcomer understood that in a small town one of the notable pastimes included a certain amount of leeway for gossip.
It wouldn’t be a date, Eastlyn told herself after a few long seconds, more like an excursion to see a part of town she had yet to explore with someone who could show her the sights. “Okay. What about ten o’clock?”
“Works for me. The manufacturer will ship on Friday.” Cooper handed her a sticky note. “Write down your brother’s address for me, and an email address or phone number so I can send you the tracking information when the order ships.”
“What’s the damage?” Eastlyn asked, as she busied herself with writing down the details Cooper had requested.
He tossed out the amount as he keyed the address information into the website’s order form.
Eastlyn dug out her Visa from her jeans pocket, handed it off. While he ran the credit card, she stared at the collection of photographs on the wall. “That’s Redwood National Forest. My dad took my brother and me there the summer I turned ten. Kaeden was twelve. The three of us had such a great time on that trip exploring, camping, fishing.”
Distracted ringing up the sale, Cooper asked, “Where was your mom?”
“My mom had died of breast cancer the previous winter, January eighteenth to be exact.”
Cooper’s head snapped up. He noticed the light had gone out of her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.” Uncomfortable now, she had to think of something else to say while she waited for Cooper to finish the transaction and her receipt to be printed. “Did you go to all these places? I mean, I recognize most of them. That one there is from the Grand Canyon. That one’s fairly obvious. But then there’s the third one from the left. That’s Ireland, Leixlip in County Kildare, Castletown, if I’m not mistaken.”
Cooper gaped. “Not a single person who’s come into this store recognized that spot. Not one.”
“Oh, come on, it has centuries-old Irish castle written all over it. The whole gothic design and rolling green hills in the background wasn’t a dead giveaway?”
“I guess not.” Cooper narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been there. You’ve been to Ireland.”
“I had an Irish granny at one time and lots of cousins who call the place home. I’ve taken the tour around Leixlip a time or two just like thousands of other tourists. Funny though, my pictures never quite turned out the same way yours have, no blurry images.”
Cooper did his best to keep a straight face, but failed. “Now that’s just sad. Robert Capa would probably tell you to stand closer to your subject.”
“Capa, the guy who covered the D-Day landing at Omaha Beach?”
“One and the same. What was your favorite room there, at Castletown?”
“If you’re going for fancy then I’d have to say the red drawing room with all that damask. I mean, who uses damask on their walls anymore? But my favorite has to be the entrance hall with the brass balustrade staircase because it screams classy elegance. Wake up with that every day and you feel like you’ve stepped back into the nineteenth century. Let me guess, I bet your favorite was the little room where they kept all the maps.”
Cooper’s eyes lit with wonder. “How did you guess that? Although I did admit to being a geek, remember? And when it comes to stuff like maps and charts, I have a hard time resisting getting to spend several hours studying all those old atlases.”
“I know the feeling. I felt that way about flying once. Oh, hell. I’m tired of looking at blank walls every night when I get home. How much do you want for the photograph? Knowing there’s an empty place on my wall, how could I possibly leave without buying it?”
“That’s what every store owner likes to hear. In my case, the photographer in me wants to help you fill up your walls.” He named his price then added, “But since you’re buying the model and have to wait for it to ship, I’ll cut you a deal on the artwork.”
“Do I get to keep the fancy frame it’s in?”
He chuckled. “Absolutely. Want me to run the charge on the same credit card?”
“Might as well. I’m splurging.”
She slid her receipt for the first purchase into the pocket of her jeans, rocked back on her heels to study him. “Even if only half of what you’ve told me about that chopper is true, I’m looking forward to seeing it for myself.”
Cooper took down the wall art, began to wrap it in brown paper for her to carry with her. “Why would I exaggerate about the condition of an old helicopter?”
“It’s been my experience that if a man’s lips are moving, I’d say the percentage is sky high that he’s embellishing the highlights.”
He laughed again, shook his head. “You need to find new men.”
“Now see, that’s the tough part,” Eastlyn noted as she tucked the package up under her arm and turned toward the door. Just before reaching for the handle, she tossed her head back and said with a wink, “You be sure to let me know where I can find one of those, will you? You’ve got my email address.”
Two
Haunted, that’s how Eastlyn felt tonight.
For the past few years she sometimes had to fight not to relive the way her father had died.
Sometimes, like tonight, her lower leg hurt. Which was impossible since it wasn’t there anymore. The doctors referred to it as phantom limb syndrome. Didn’t matter what they called it. The tingling and shooting nerve pain felt real to her.
Between the blues and the aches, both gave her cause to crave the pills again.
Lying in bed, Eastlyn twitched and stirred and couldn’t get comfortable. She’d been tossing and turning for an hour. It was time to throw in the towel and give in to defeat.
She rolled over, reached for the lamp on the nightstand. Instead of picking up the novel she’d tried to read before going to bed, she crawled out from under the covers, her one foot hitting the floor. Good thing she’d earned high marks in balancing on one leg during gait training. As a former pilot, she’d embraced stellar equilibrium a long time ago.
She hoped a walk on the beach would fix her insomnia, which meant she’d need her prosthetic. She reached for a sweater first before putting on her jeans. The prosthetic came next. After buckling up the strap top and bottom and clamping it down snug over her limb, she stood up.
Her gait looked normal if one didn’t stare for too long. Since losing her lower limb she hadn’t tried to hide it. She wore dresses if the occasion called for it. Okay, maybe she didn’t go out of her way to put one on because wearing it made her prosthetic clearly visible. Sometimes it made other people uncomfortable or made them feel they needed to pay homage to it.
In warm weather, she even wore shorts like anybody else. She rarely wore high heels, though, but it wasn’t because of her prosthetic foot. She’d never been into Louboutins or Jimmy Choos—too fancy for her taste even before when she had two perfectly good feet.
After tying the laces on her tennis shoes, she headed into the living room. Grabbing her jacket for the chilly April evening outside, she looked forward to the three-block walk to the beach.
Lavender Beach Page 3