by JoAnn Ross
“You did, but—”
“Lucas.” She sighed. “I realize that making the transition to civilian life must be difficult—”
“Actually that part’s not proving so hard. It’s my father dying that sucks.”
“Well, of course it does.” She took another, longer drink of wine. “My parents and I aren’t nearly as close as you and Duncan seemed to be, but I’ll be very sad when I lose them.…But if you were looking for anything permanent—”
“I wasn’t.” It was the absolute truth.
“Well, then.” He watched as cooling relief flooded into her Nordic blue eyes. “It sounds as if we’re in total agreement.” Putting her black linen napkin on the table, she reached across the glass table and touched his hand. “We’ve had fun,” she said. “But you were my rebound lover, Lucas. The way I was your transitioning-back-to-civilian-life lover.”
The relief he’d seen earlier in her eyes flooded through him. “Well, sounds as if we were on the same page.”
“Totally,” she agreed. Then licked her bottom lip in a way he’d come to know well. “We do have that khao neow dam piag,” she reminded him of the black sticky-rice desert she’d ordered along with their entrees. “Unless you’d like something else for dessert?”
Her throaty tone offered a gilt-edged invitation.
“You know,” he said. “As great as that sounds, I really do need to get back. I promised Sofia I’d show her some initial sketches.”
“All right.” She tilted her head. “You’re sure you’re not annoyed with me for going to Paris?”
“Not at all. It’s a super opportunity and you deserve it.” Deciding that saying that she’d just solved what he’d feared could be a problem might not be what she wanted to hear, Lucas instead said, “Paris in the spring is also a huge plus.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” From her smile and the anticipation on her face, he realized that mentally she’d already moved on.
Feeling uncomfortable just eating and running, he offered to stay and help her clean up, but she’d assured him that the maid would take care of everything in the morning.
Then walked him to the door and gave him a quick, final kiss good-bye.
As he took the elevator down to the lobby, Lucas’ mind turned, as it so often had over the years, to Maddy.
And for the first time in a very long while, he felt as if he was getting his life back on track.
17
The trip had gone like clockwork, leading Phoebe to believe that the volunteers who’d shepherded her from Colorado to this small, quaint town on the Oregon coast had a great deal of experience.
Even as organized as they’d been, even as much as all the women at the various stations along the way had reassured her, she’d felt as if she hadn’t let out a full breath until she entered the stained-glass door of Haven House.
The Queen Anne Victorian was high on a hill, overlooking the town of Shelter Bay and the harbor. The door was answered by a willowy woman who appeared to be in her seventies. She wore skinny jeans, a red sweatshirt that read You don’t stop dancing because you grow old.…You grow old because you stop dancing, and gold sequined sneakers.
“Welcome to Haven House,” she said, holding out a slender hand tipped in a French manicure. “I’m Zelda Chmerkovskiy. But since that’s admittedly a mouthful, everyone just calls me Zelda.”
“I’m Phoebe.”
“I know. I’ve been expecting you.” Her smile was warm, her accent tinged with what sounded like a trace of Russian. “We have your room all ready.”
“It’s a beautiful house,” Phoebe said.
“Isn’t it?” Zelda said. “Let me give you a quick tour on the way to your room. The original owners were the Stuarts, and Mrs. Stuart had grown up in Boston and was accustomed to a full Victorian household staff. So when they moved west for her husband to establish a timber business, Angus, her husband, built this home to accommodate their family, which grew to eight children, along with their servants.
“Unlike many homes, where servants were stuck up in some tiny garret, the Stuart servants were fortunate to live on the first floor. There were originally four bedrooms on this floor, along with a bathroom, a kitchen, and a work area. But a more recent owner established it as a bed-and-breakfast and altered the floor plan, so now there are two bedrooms and two baths. They also turned the work area into this lovely sunroom.”
She paused in the doorway of a room that featured a tile floor, floor-to-ceiling windows, white wicker furniture, and a lush jungle of green plants and vases of cut flowers.
“It’s lovely,” Phoebe said.
“Isn’t it? Do you enjoy gardening?”
“I’m afraid I have a black thumb.” Concerned that she was being asked about any skills she could bring to this community of women, she said, “But I am comfortable in the kitchen.” Restaurant work had been her favorite of her hospitality training.
“Oh, good. We lost the only one of us who can really cook last month, and—”
“Lost?” Phoebe’s blood chilled at the possibilities that flooded into her mind. Each more unappealing than the last.
“Oh, not really lost,” Zelda assured her quickly. “She got a job making pies at a local bakery and moved into an apartment. While we were all happy for her, I have to admit that we’ve also been getting a bit tired of scrambled eggs, cereal, and sandwiches.”
“I’m not a professional,” Phoebe said quickly, on what even she realized was a knee-jerk lack of confidence. “But at least I could grill the sandwiches.”
“Oh, that would be a wonderful start. Our security system is set to notify the fire department if the smoke detector goes off. I’ve burned so many things, including last night’s grilled cheese, the department has begun calling before they leave the station to make sure it’s not another false alarm.”
Phoebe smiled, as she knew she was supposed to, even as she felt another knot untie in her stomach at the mention of the house’s security alarm. Then again, given its residents, she supposed that was to be expected.
“Mr. and Mrs. Stuart lived on the second floor.” Zelda continued up the staircase lined with oil and watercolor paintings of what Phoebe took to be local scenery, including a lighthouse perched on a cliff. The mahogany newel post and banister had been polished to a satin sheen. This was obviously a house well loved by it residents. “We have a total of fifteen rooms, each with its own bath. Many have a private deck.”
“This isn’t anything like what I was expecting,” Phoebe admitted. She’d been picturing, at best, dorm living. At worst, something like what she’d seen in documentaries about women’s prisons. But even that would have been welcome after the gilded prison she’d been living in. “It’s like a resort.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Zelda smiled. “I love watching our new residents’ faces when they first see it. The gardens aren’t quite up to snuff yet—spring came a bit late this year—but they’re glorious when they’re in full bloom. Which is why I asked if you were a gardener.”
“I’d probably kill the plants. But I can weed.”
“Great. We all take turns here. It’s more like a commune than a shelter.” She put an arm around Phoebe as she led her down a long hallway on the third floor. “I have a feeling you’ll fit right in.”
Two days later, assuring her that she was now safe, Zelda sent Phoebe off to explore the town and bring back an order of cupcakes from the local bakery, where the shelter’s previous cook now worked.
Although she hadn’t wanted to admit it, once she’d found sanctuary, Phoebe would have been more than willing to stay in the house forever.
Which would have been a mistake.
The air was tinged with the scent of salt as light mist fell from a quilted pewter sky. She walked along the harbor, where boats carrying whale-watching tourists chugged away from the dock. Sailboats, their stiff white sails billowing in the wind, skimmed across the blue-gray water, while huge sea lions lounged lazily
on docks, barking to one another.
Forsythias were shedding the last of the yellow bell blossoms, which were strewn on the cobblestone sidewalk like gold coins. After passing the tidy shops with their colorful wind socks blowing in the sea breeze, and homes with well-kept yards that smelled of flowers and freshly cut grass, she climbed a hill where a bronze statue of a young woman, looking out to sea, supposedly waiting for her fisherman husband’s return, stood in the center of a spring green expanse of grass surrounded by late-blooming daffodils and crayon-bright tulips.
In the distance, a white lighthouse speared upward from a cliff at the edge of the ocean.
Not far from the waiting-woman statue was a playground, where a woman, clad in a turquoise parka, pushed a small child on a swing. Watching them laugh together, although she knew intellectually that it was too early, Phoebe imagined she felt her baby stir. And knew that she’d done exactly the right thing.
She also thought, as she headed back down the hill, following Zelda’s hand-drawn map to the bakery, that although everything she’d read about running away from an abusive situation advised never staying in one place for very long, she could easily picture herself being happy here, in this small town where everyone seemed to know everyone and people waved to one another and stopped to chat.
Of course, the downside was that it would be difficult keeping a secret in such a place. And she definitely had more than her share of secrets.
The amazing aromas drifting out onto the sidewalk from Take the Cake helped unclench her stomach, which had tightened in its too-familiar way. Having planned her escape for months, Phoebe decided that she owed herself some time to relax. She’d escaped Peter physically. Now, the trick, as Zelda had told her over a pot of freshly brewed Earl Grey tea in the pretty sunroom, was to put him out of her mind.
Although the older woman didn’t know all the facts that had brought Phoebe to Shelter Bay, obviously women didn’t arrive there at all times of the day or night, from all over the country, to enjoy a spa day.
She wove her way through the white wrought iron chairs on the front patio and into the store, where the pretty blonde wearing a pink apron and standing behind the counter greeted her with a smile.
“Hi. You must be Phoebe.”
Her nerves balled up and frayed at the recognition. Then, reminding herself that Zelda had called ahead, Phoebe forced herself to relax.
“That’s me.” Did her smile feel as forced as it felt?
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sedona Sullivan.”
“The owner.” Zelda had mentioned her.
“Again, that would be me. So, what can I get you?”
“Didn’t Zelda tell you when she called her order in?” As her hands grew wet, Phoebe had to resist rubbing them on her linen slacks.
“She said you were coming, but didn’t mention anything specific, which makes sense, because I tend to bake whatever I feel like when I get up in the morning.” The easy smile lit up the baker’s blue eyes. “Which, as a recovering CPA, I know isn’t exactly the best way to run a business. But hey”—she shrugged shoulders clad in a T-shirt the same color as the apron—“if I’d wanted to worry about numbers all day, I’d have stayed behind a desk.”
The little bell on the door jingled as someone else entered the bakery. “Hi, Kara,” Sedona Sullivan looked past Phoebe to greet the new customer. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.”
“Some cops need a doughnut fix. I prefer cupcakes,” the female voice behind Phoebe said.
Cop? Dizzy with panic, she struggled not to give in to the fear that had her knees threatening to buckle as the woman wearing a starched khaki uniform came to stand in front of the display case beside her.
“Hi,” she said. Her tone was friendly, but her quick, sweeping look made Phoebe feel as if she were cataloging her vital statistics in order to check them out on some police Most Wanted list. “Are you visiting?”
“In a way.” Phoebe had to push the words past the lump in her throat. “I’m between places and was considering settling down here.”
“It’s a great town,” the sheriff said. “Of course, I’m admittedly prejudiced, having grown up here, but I can tell you that our crime rate definitely is lower than most places.” Her smile was quick and warm. But her eyes, while friendly enough, also asked questions Phoebe was not prepared to answer.
“That’s good to know.” She turned her attention toward the glass case. “What would you recommend?” she asked the other woman.
“Oh, gee, that’s like asking a mom which child she likes best. But I do know that Zelda’s personal favorite is lemon coconut.” She glanced out the door where a couple clad in baseball caps and matching blue rain parkas had settled down at a table. “Why don’t you decide what looks good while I run out and get their order?” she suggested.
And didn’t that sound so easy? But just looking at the vast choices of pretty, decorated cakes was enough to make Phoebe’s head spin. Other than the decision to call that underground-railroad hotline she’d found on the Internet, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d made any of her own decisions.
Peter had chosen their wedding venue. Their honeymoon location. Their home. Their decorator. Her clothes. He’d hired the maid, the pool boy (though, in his case, it was a pool girl, which Phoebe had figured out was because he didn’t want to risk her being alone with any other male), and the landscaper, who was seventy, if a day. And therefore safe.
He chose where they’d eat when they went out, which had happened less and less frequently, and all their friends from the beginning of their marriage had been his.
His behavior, she’d been assured by her rescuers, had been classic abuser. But even knowing that didn’t help her when it came to choosing a damn cupcake.
“The red velvet’s delicious,” the sheriff volunteered as Phoebe stood frozen, staring blindly into the case. “My son, Trey, is crazy about the banana.” She pointed toward a cupcake in yellow fluted paper, topped with what the calligraphied sign in front described as a caramel buttercream frosting. “My fiancé usually goes for the carrot cake.” That one was easy to spot because of the small marzipan carrot on top of the cream cheese frosting. “He claims it counts as health food since Sedona also puts apples in it. It’s both a vegetable and a fruit serving.”
Her laugh was warm and rich and had Phoebe thinking that were it not for that badge she was wearing, they might even someday become friends if she stayed in Shelter Bay.
As it was, she couldn’t risk the friendly sheriff with the strawberry-blond hair getting suspicious.
“Thanks,” she said. “They all look delicious.”
“They’re to die for. You can’t go wrong whichever you choose.”
The baker was back. “I’ll just be another minute,” she assured both women as she poured two mugs of coffee that smelled a bit of cinnamon, and plated two devil’s food cupcakes, which she delivered to the couple at the table.
“Sorry about that,” she said when she returned behind the counter. “But they only had a few minutes before they have to get back on their tour bus for the trip up to Cannon Beach.” She input the credit card information in the computerized register. “So, can I help you with any explanations?”
“The sheriff assures me they’re all great,” Phoebe said.
“I like to think so,” Sedona replied mildly.
Realizing they were both watching her and wanting to escape as quickly as she could, after ordering two lemon coconuts, two carrot cakes, a red velvet, and a banana, Phoebe just randomly named assorted others until she had the dozen Zelda had sent her for.
“And one extra makes a baker’s dozen,” Sedona said, as she added a chocolate cupcake with buttercream frosting, topped with perky sugar pansies to the others in the pink box.
“Thanks.” Phoebe reached into her purse and pulled out the bills Zelda had given her.
“Thank you,” Sedona said as she rang up the order and made change. “Come again.”<
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“I will.”
Oh, God. She was on the verge of hyperventilating. Desperate to get out into the fresh air before she humiliated herself with a full-blown anxiety attack, Phoebe hugged the box tight and made her escape.
“Wow,” Kara said as both women watched her practically run out of the store. “If she’d been wound any tighter, we would’ve been picking up pieces of her all over this bakery.”
“She’s staying at Haven House.”
“Yeah, I got that. But I would’ve figured it out, anyway, from that deer-in-the-headlights look. When she actually dared to look at anything but the floor.”
“It must be terrifying,” Sedona said. “Having to run away to be safe.”
“Probably less terrifying than living with a fucking wife abuser.”
Kara’s sharp tone and the fact that she’d dropped the F bomb, which Sedona had never heard her do, had realization dawning.
“Oh, hell.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about Jared.”
“That’s okay.” Kara exhaled a long breath and shook her head. “I overreacted.”
“I don’t believe that’s possible. Given that your police officer husband was killed by a batterer.”
“Still, I’m a cop.” Kara squared her shoulders. Lifted her chin. “Professionally, I should be able to deal with it.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you can be too hard on yourself? You may be a cop, but you’re also a widow who lost her husband to a senseless act of violence.”
“True. But you know what they say about what doesn’t kill you. And I did end up with a happily-ever-after.”
Kara’s gaze drifted out the window again. “I hope she’s as fortunate. Meanwhile, I think I’ll do a check on her. Just in case whoever it is she’s running from finds her and decides to show up in town to drag her back home.”
18
Since he wasn’t due at Sofia’s until afternoon, Lucas took advantage of the free morning to go surf fishing.
Scout raced ahead of him, down the zigzag wooden steps from the cottage to the beach, where lacy white surf rolled across the sand, then ebbed back again.