Sea Glass Winter

by JoAnn Ross

  There’d been a time, while planning to escape her dangerous marriage alive, that she’d sworn to never, ever, consider getting involved with any other man. Not that Ethan was just any man.

  He sat up as well. “Then what’s standing in our way?”

  “I’m pregnant, for one thing.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first pregnant bride to walk down the aisle. Hell, Kara was pregnant when she and Sax finally tied the knot this past summer. And you won’t be the last.” He ran callused fingers that had both soothed and aroused so wonderfully last night over her bare shoulder.

  “I can’t plan a wedding. I have a new job, a baby on the way, and now Peter’s parents’ custody grab to fight.”

  “There’s no way they have any claim on your child.”

  “Their grandchild,” she pointed out.

  “Whom they don’t deserve and shouldn’t be allowed to be anywhere near because they raised a monster.” He splayed his broad fingers over her sheet-covered stomach. “They’re not going to take anything more away from you. I promise.”

  “I can’t believe they’re claiming I’d be a bad mother.”

  The complaint had accused her of illegally establishing a new identity by buying forged documents. It had gone on to accuse her of abandoning her family, adultery, and living with a man who was not her husband while still married.

  The pages of legalese did not add that the only reason she’d been living in Ethan’s farmhouse was because her husband—their son—had, on more than one occasion, threatened to kill her. And had even attempted to follow through on that threat. Which he would have succeeded in doing had it not been for this man sitting next to her in bed.

  “They’re grasping at straws. You’ll get a lawyer who’ll prove that you’ll be a far better and safer parent than they could ever think of being. Meanwhile, if you’re bringing your baby home to a stable marriage, that’s got to weigh heavily on your side.”

  “That’s why you’re proposing?”

  He shook his head. “No. That’s why I’m suggesting getting married now. In a perfect world, since this is a slow time for farming, I’d wait until the baby’s born and you can fly again, then take you both to some tropical island where I can feed you breadfruit and make slow love to you all night long.”

  “When we’re not feeding the baby,” she said dryly, even as his suggestion sounded like, well, paradise.

  “Time slows down in the islands,” he said. “Even more than here in Shelter Bay. We’ll have plenty of time. Meanwhile, getting married can checkmate your former in-laws, because although we both know you’re going to be a dynamite mom, they won’t be able to play that working-single-mother card against you. Your child would be born into a family with both a mother and a father.”

  It was so tempting to just let Ethan leap in to solve her problem. But she’d worked so hard to regain her independence; she didn’t want to allow herself to crumble just when things got a little tough.

  Okay, a lot tough.

  “I want to marry you, Ethan.” She took both his hands in hers and lifted them to her lips. “I’ve dreamed of it.”

  “That makes two of us. So why do I hear a but?”

  “Because I don’t want to let the Fletchers be the impetus to our getting married. That’s giving them a power they don’t deserve.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it. But did you consider that you’re giving them power by letting them prevent us from having a life together?”

  “I don’t know.” She was so torn.

  “Am I at least allowed to make a suggestion?”

  “Of course.”

  “Call Charity.”

  “How can a veterinarian help? Other than show any investigators who come around to check me out that I’ve already adopted a dog for my child?”

  “Her stepdad’s a hot-shot judge in Washington State. He probably knows someone back in Colorado who can make the Fletchers go away with a single phone call.”

  “Do you think?” Hope fluttered in her heart, which was torn between her very real fear of her former husband’s powerful, wealthy parents, and her joy at being loved by Ethan Concannon.

  “Absolutely.” He kissed her again. “Trust me,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “I do,” she said as his wonderfully clever lips caused her wounded heart to take wing.

  25

  Matt grabbed some utensils and a handful of paper napkins, then pushed his tray down the cafeteria line. Today he had a choice between spaghetti, which looked a lot like white worms drowning in a dark orange sauce, and a gray meat loaf that reminded him of one his mom had tried to make while his grandmother had been in the hospital. That had turned out as dry as Huntington Beach sand and as heavy as a brick. This didn’t look any more promising.

  The side dish was spinach boiled until it looked like the seaweed strung all over the beach below the cottage. And, seriously, orange Jell-O?

  “What is this place?” he asked as he sat down across from Aimee. Although he was starving, he’d skipped the nuclear waste, and since the kid in front of him had snatched the last turkey club sandwich, he’d settled for an apple and milk. “A hospital or a school?”

  “That’s why I try to remember to check out the menu at least the night before. If there’s nothing that looks like it was created by a human for human consumption, I brown-bag it.” She reached into the brown bag in question. “My mom, who has the metabolism of a hummingbird, always packs enough for two people. Want a salmon salad sandwich with capers on whole wheat? Or sushi?”

  “I’ll take whatever you don’t want, thanks.”

  “We’ll split.”

  She took out a plastic container and had just divvied up the food onto one of the paper plates her mother had provided when Brendan Cooper, who’d initially complimented Matt on his shooting the previous day, stopped by the table.

  “Hey, Templeton. What are you doing at this table?”

  Matt looked across at Aimee, who appeared to be waiting for the answer. The other kids, he noticed, had taken a sudden interest in the nutrition information on their milk cartons.

  “I like it here.”

  “Here?” Cooper looked down at the others at the table as if noticing them for the first time. “Seriously? Dude! You’re a Dolphin.” The way he said it had Matt half expecting a flare of trumpets from the band table across the room. “Which means you belong sitting with the rest of the dream team.”

  It was what Matt had wished for yesterday. It was also what he wanted at this moment. But he’d already hurt the first person who’d been nice to him. And not, he was sure, because it had been her job. But because she was a warm, caring person.

  “You should go,” Aimee said. “Didn’t you tell me Coach Slater wants you all to bond as a team?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Go.” She made a little shooing gesture. “I’ll see you later in English.”

  Matt felt bad ditching Aimee, but it wasn’t like he was leaving her all alone. She’d probably been eating at the same table with the same kids all year.

  “Look who I rescued from the geek gang,” Brendan announced. “The Beverly Hills phenom himself.”

  Matt wondered if he’d have been so complimentary if Dirk the jerk were here. For some reason, although the thirty-minute lunch period was half over, his nemesis hadn’t yet shown up to hold court over his minions.

  “Hey, your mom made you sushi?” one of the kids asked, spotting the lunch Matt had brought with him.

  “Aimee’s mom made it. She shared it with me.”

  “Wow. You California guys move fast,” Cooper said as Matt sat down in the space on the bench that Johnny scooted over to make for him.

  “She was my assigned greeter yesterday. That’s all.”

  “Good to hear. Because, like Coach said, we Dolphins need to keep up our image. You having a flat-chested brainiac as a girlfriend just doesn’t cut it, dog. You know what I’m saying?”

  Matt did.
Back when he’d been rolling around on top of his homework beneath the pink-flowered canopy of way-hot Lila Greene’s bed, he’d thought the same way.

  “Aimee’s a nice girl,” he said at the same time Dickhead Dirk strolled in with the blonde, who today was wearing a pair of skintight jeans, a ribbed tank top, and a denim jacket studded with red rhinestone hearts. Today’s UGGs were the color of cranberries.

  Acting as if Matt were invisible, Dirk glanced down at the tray in front of Johnny. “What the hell is that stuff?”

  “The sign said meat loaf.”

  “Well, then, you’d better eat it. Because no Dolphin ever lets his meat loaf.” He basked in the expected laughter from his sycophants, then pulled the blonde against his side and grinned down at her. “Right, babe?”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “You wore me out,” he announced loudly. “I need nourishment.” He pulled a five-dollar bill out of his wallet. “Why don’t you go get me some chips and a drink?”

  “That’s not very a nourishing lunch,” she said.

  His eyes narrowed to slits. Dangerous slits. “Make it Doritos. And a Coke. And regular, not that diet stuff you drink.”

  Obviously pissed at his behavior, she nevertheless sashayed off.

  “What do you think you’re looking at?” Dirk asked Matt.

  Apparently having become visible, Matt shrugged. “Just admiring the scenery,” he said mildly. Along with every other guy at the table.

  “Don’t.” With that warning lingering in the air, Dirk went to the far end of the table, swung his legs over the bench, sat down, and began talking to the French fry kid.

  The buzz of conversation that had stopped when Matt had shown up at the dream team table resumed.

  “So,” Johnny, of the hyphenated name, said, “I hear the coach had dinner at your house last night.”

  “News gets around fast.”

  “It’s a small town.”

  “Yeah, I’ve already figured that out for myself. But it wasn’t like people are probably trying to spin it. He came over to tell my mom about my bad attitude. Then stayed to show my mom how to cook clams.”

  “Bad attitude?” Johnny took a bite of the meat loaf.

  “Yeah. I let him know I didn’t like coming off the bench, which didn’t go over real well. And you must have either a suicide wish or a cast-iron stomach.”

  “You spend enough years in foster care with people who are in it just for the money—which they don’t spend on groceries for the kids living with them—you learn to eat just about anything you’re lucky to get.” He took a long, thirsty slurp of milk, which suggested that the meat loaf was as dry as it looked. “Guess you didn’t do much Dumpster diving for dinner in Beverly Hills.”

  “You’d guess right. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Skinny shoulders shrugged. “Some of the guys don’t like the idea of a rich kid breezing in and winning a spot on the team.”

  “I may have lived in Beverly Hills, but I’m not rich. My grandmother got the house in a divorce. Since it was paid for, we stayed. Both she and my mom had to work. Even though Mom inherited the house and sold it to buy our place here, she’s still not anywhere near rich.”

  “It wouldn’t matter to me if you were. I hit the jackpot when I ended up here in Shelter Bay with my sister and we both finally got adopted. Which is how I got my last name. Since both my mom and dad had names they were already known by for their careers, they kept their own names, and then my sister and I got both.”

  “That’s kind of a cool way of handling it,” Matt said, thinking that the possibility of his taking on his father’s name had been a moot point in his family.

  “Yeah. Mom and Dad are both way cool. They even took us to Hawaii with them when they got married. So no way am I going to begrudge anyone else their good luck.”

  He picked up a forkful of greasy spinach, then put it down again. Apparently even the former sometimes-starved foster kid had his limits. “I’m coming off the bench. But I’m not nearly as good as you. Hell, I was surprised to make varsity.”

  He was pushing the spinach around. “You want to come over and shoot hoops after practice? I heard you have this goal of three hundred shots a day, and since you don’t have a setup at your place yet, maybe we can work out a trade. You can use the hoop my dad set up to keep sharp and maybe give me a few pointers on how to improve my game so I don’t get busted down to JV.”

  Realizing that he had no idea if Aimee was thinking about sticking around like she did yesterday to drive him home—unlikely since he’d manage to insult her twice today—Matt glanced over at her table. And saw her looking at him. Had she been watching him this whole time? Or was it just some weird coincidence that their eyes would, like, meet across the crowded cafeteria?

  She turned pink, the way she had when he’d kissed her, and forced a smile that was obviously fake. Then, giving him the indication that he’d turned invisible again, she picked up her tray and took it over to the recycle bins.

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said.

  26

  Frustrated that spending two hours in her hotshop hadn’t resulted in anything she’d be willing to show, Claire had returned to the task of emptying moving boxes when there was another knock at the door.

  This time four women were standing on her porch. Each carried a covered dish, which made her feel a bit as if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole and landed in the 1950s.

  “Hi,” the woman with gypsy hair falling in wild curls below her red knit cap said with a smile Claire had watched hundreds of times on television. “I’m Maddy Chaffee—”

  “I know exactly who you are,” Claire said. “I’m a huge fan of your show. Although I can’t boil an egg, I cook vicariously through you.”

  The TV chef’s laugh was even warmer in real life than on television. “Thank you. Maybe, once you get settled in, we can remedy that situation.”

  “Doris and Dottie suggested I attend classes at your school.”

  “We could definitely work something out,” Maddy assured her. She turned toward the other women. “This is Kara Conway Douchett. She’s our sheriff and married to Sax Douchett, who owns Bon Temps.”

  “I’ve eaten there many times.” Claire smiled at the very pregnant woman. “How clever of you to have married a man who can cook.”

  “I tell myself that every night,” Kara agreed with a bold, friendly smile.

  “And I’m Charity Tiernan,” the third woman introduced herself. “I’m the town vet and I run a no-kill shelter. Just in case you happen to find yourself in the market for a dog or cat for your son.”

  The other women laughed.

  “Watch out for her,” Kara warned. “Before you know it, you’ll end up adopting a pet you never knew you needed.”

  “Actually, since you mentioned it, I’ve been thinking about getting a dog.” Matt had always wanted one, but her mother had been allergic to animals.

  “You guys can drop by anytime. We live above the clinic. In the yellow Victorian on Harborview?”

  “I’ve seen it. It’s a lovely old house.”

  “Thanks. I fell in love with it on the Internet, and although it took some work, I love living there. Even better now that I’ve filled the rooms with a family… . If you want, you can just talk with your son about what type of dog you think you’d like and I’m sure we can find the perfect match for you. Unfortunately, due to the economy, we’ve no shortage of canine candidates.”

  “She’s a great matchmaker,” said the blond woman, who bore a striking resemblance to Malibu Barbie. “Which is how I ended up living with Butter, a rescued Persian.”

  “It took a while, but I wore her down,” the vet said.

  “I own Take the Cake,” the cat owner said with a friendly smile. “I’m Sedona Sullivan.”

  “Oh, I was just in there yesterday and bought the best pie I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Thanks. I’m sorry I missed you. I was probably in ba
ck with my hands in dough. I keep thinking I should add pies to the sign, but then I’d have to redo the entire logo, and the former CPA in me cringes at the thought of dumping a design I already have so much invested in, so I’ve been procrastinating.”

  Belatedly realizing they were all still holding those dishes and standing on her porch, Claire said, “I’m sorry. Would you please come in?”

  “We’d love to,” Charity said, “if you’re sure we’re not interrupting anything.”

  “We mainly just wanted to welcome you to town,” Kara said.

  “And feed you,” Maddy added. “We all know firsthand how stressful moving can be, so we thought you might like a few meals.”

  “Like is a major understatement,” Claire said, resisting throwing her arms around all of them for a huge group hug. “If you don’t mind a mess, please come in. I still have some pie left, and I do know how to make coffee and tea.” Not that it was difficult to put the little cups in the machine and hit the brew button.

  “Moving’s always a mess,” Kara said. “Fortunately, Sax and I agreed that we’re never moving again. And I, for one, never turn down pie.”

  “But we can’t stay long,” Charity said as they entered the house and put their dishes on a counter cluttered with boxes. “I know you have a show in Portland soon, so you’ll probably want to get back to work. And Kara’s got a doctor’s appointment.”

  “Not for another forty-five minutes,” the sheriff said. “And it doesn’t take more than twenty minutes to get anywhere in town.” She sat at the round table. “The trick will be getting back onto my feet.” She frowned down toward her black boots. “Which I can no longer see.”

  “When are you due?” Claire asked.

  “Although I feel and probably look like one of Shelter Bay’s whales, not for another three weeks.”

  “I remember when I was pregnant with Matt. That last month seemed to take forever.”

  “Doesn’t it? It was the same way with Trey, my son,” Kara agreed. “Of course, at the time my first husband was deployed, and I was eighteen, alone, and scared to death.”