Dancing Tides

by Vickie McKeehan

  “But she did.”

  “Yeah, she did. Anyway, they sent me to this hospital and later determined since I’d already served three tours, I could either re-up and go back to Iraq for my fourth, or I could end my time in the Guard and opt out.”

  “How bad was your leg?”

  “I didn’t lose it. That’s what I was worried the most about as they flew me out of there that day. I’ve got some nasty scars though.”

  “Okay, so instead of coming back to San Diego you went to Leesburg to be with Cassie.”

  “After my third tour, yeah. And after I went to plenty of PT, physical therapy, my leg began to get better. That’s when I asked Cassie to marry me. About two weeks later we moved in together. I still didn’t know anything about Robby Mack Stevens though.”

  “Is that who shot everyone?”

  “Yeah. Rob Stevens. Robby. I had no idea the ex was capable of violence of that magnitude.”

  “If you didn’t know he existed, how would anyone know that?”

  “Cassie knew. Turns out, he had been arrested a bunch of times for domestic violence in the past. The son of a bitch hit Cassie on more than six different occasions where the neighbors had to call the cops. Each time she apparently backed down and refused to press charges. That’s something she never bothered to mention to me. If I’d known—”

  “Ah, and that’s why you’ve been beating yourself up all this time. It isn’t just about grief. You’re angry with yourself thinking you should have somehow read the guy’s mind, knew he planned to pick up a gun, come to the church that day and kill all those people. How long have you been psychic?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I should’ve done more.”

  “Like what? How? Find him and go beat him up ahead of time? Before the shooting ever took place? Right. That makes no sense.”

  When he frowned at her, she added, “Cord, that’s unrealistic. You can’t beat up everyone you think might be planning something. And how would you know to beat him up if you had no idea he existed, let alone had an abusive past. Let’s say you had done something, you’re the one the cops would mostly likely have prosecuted.”

  He whooshed out a breath and raked a hand through his hair. “I hate to admit it, but there’s logic in there somewhere.”

  Her lips curved up. “Glad to hear you haven’t lost total reasoning powers.”

  “They’d been dating on and off for several years before I met her. Their relationship was rocky. Turns out he had a bad temper. Talk about Ted Bundy, he was kind of narcissistic; at least that’s what Cassie’s friends told me after the fact. It seems Robby felt the world revolved around him.”

  “That’s always a bad sign.”

  “How she could put up with a guy like that—?” He stopped talking, put his hand up. “Enough about this, enough about Cassie, about me. Tell me one thing about you no one else knows.”

  “Hmm, I’m pretty much an open book.”

  “One thing. That shouldn’t be so hard…for a woman with three degrees.”

  “Okay. I never wanted to find my mother. Ever. I figure she dumped me, what do I care where she is or what she’s doing.”

  “Wow! Same here. I never tried to get in touch with mine. I thought the same thing; if she dumped me at such an early age, she must not have wanted me.”

  “Some women just aren’t mother material.”

  “You ever want kids?”

  “I suppose if I ever found the right guy. Kids are the next step, right? You?”

  “Cassie and I talked about having three.”

  “I’m sorry, Cord. But you really should get past the guilt. The shrink sounds like it might be your best bet.”

  “Telling my woes to a stranger—”

  “Might possibly prevent you from taking another dive off a short pier.”

  “The judge says I go, I go. Otherwise, she might lock me up.”

  “You don’t want that to happen.”

  “Twelve hours in a cell was enough for me. Have you ever gone to one, been evaluated?”

  “I took a psych course in college. Does that count? Look, go in there with the attitude you just want to talk. Ever told a story to a bartender? Think of it like that.”

  “Actually that isn’t a bad strategy.” He tucked a couple of strands of hair behind her ear and heard her intake of breath in anticipation.

  “Now that you know more about me I’ll understand if you want to remain just friends. But I have to say—I don’t mind moving slow because I want something—more. I know I’m messed up—”

  “You’re hurting, Cord. You’re also not over Cassie.”

  He ran his finger down the side of her jaw. “I know. Then I guess it’s time I head inside.”

  She touched his hand. “Taking it slow isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

  And with those words, he took her mouth again.

  It was almost three-thirty when Keegan drove Cord’s truck through the gates of the compound. They’d necked in the truck like a couple of hormone-raging teenagers. Her lips were still puffy from his kisses.

  She felt almost euphoric.

  She needed her head examined.

  Because even though Cord Bennett was a sexy, good-looking hunk, his list of problems was as long as her leg.

  But wow, did the man ever know how to work that mouth.

  Chapter Nine

  Sunday found Cord in the barn, as the melodious vocals of Russell Hitchcock singing Making Love Out of Nothing at All pumped through the speakers, Cord busied himself with the morning milking.

  According to Will Foley, the previous manager, the cows had a fondness for ’80s music, especially the bands Air Supply and Journey.

  In gratitude, the bovines usually managed to produce double the milk as long as they could listen to their favorite pop bands.

  Patting the rump of the one he called Eloise, he gave her head a long rub and said, “Yeah, I know you love his voice, don’t you, girl? Well, we aim to please around here, anything to keep you happy, sweetheart.”

  With the milking done, he moved into the executive offices, a separate building located between the modern barn and the packing facility. The four rooms here had been remodeled to include a break area with the obligatory space for fax and copier machines and up-to-date, high speed Internet connection.

  In the administrative offices, the music changed to the Foo Fighters and their blood-pumping song, The Pretender. All the while he worked on the books and cut checks for payroll, Cord kept up a steady toe-tapping beat to the song.

  There were a dozen other chores he needed to get done before he headed into town though. He’d arranged to have the Miller boy tend to the cows that evening so he wouldn’t be forced to come back to the farm before going over to Keegan’s for dinner.

  Plus the crew, Silas and Sammy and Ben and Marty, were all due back sometime after seven tonight.

  And because of that, he knew Taggert Farms would survive in his absence for a few brief hours.

  But for now, going on two hours of sleep didn’t seem to be a problem.

  Because he’d spent four of the best hours in a very long time in the company of a beautiful woman, he whistled while he went about his tasks.

  While in the refrigerated warehouse, he checked and cleaned the packaging machines, inventoried the containers, and then headed back to the office and his laptop to place an order for more.

  All the while he worked he couldn’t get his mind off the redhead. His brain skittered on overload with images of her face, her body, even her witty comebacks. She might be light years out of his league, but…

  “She is an amazing individual.”

  Cord turned his head to look at Scott. “Jesus. Do you have to sneak up on people like that? Couldn’t you shout out a warning first, announce yourself in some way? Maybe something like, ghost on deck about to materialize out of thin air, or something.”

  “Do you realize you’re whistling today? You haven’t done that since you got here.”r />
  “What, now you’re keeping track of—? Oh hell, never mind. What’s the point in asking you anything? I never get any answers.”

  “I have no idea. You’re the one ranting. I used to come over here as a kid.”

  “Let me guess, you pestered the hell out of old man Taggert even then. Figures. You’re a pain in the ass, you know that, Captain? Go haunt Nick and Jordan. Isn’t there someone over at Promise Cove you could scare the hell out of, maybe a not-so-very-nice guest that needs an early Halloween jolt?”

  “Nah, you’re more of a challenge. Besides, I like pissing you off.”

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  “Why are you so bitchy? Man up. It’s an AA meeting not a firing squad.”

  “I’m nervous. I’ve never been good at speaking in front of a crowd.”

  Scott guffawed with laughter. “So that’s it? Wait till you see this crowd. Relax, Cord. They aren’t going to judge you. Remember, they’ve been where you are now. Most had to hit rock bottom before they sought help.”

  “Do you ever get tired of being right all the time?

  “Not really. I rather enjoy it. And by the way, wear something casual for your dinner date. Keegan’s pretty laid back. And like here at the farm, you’ll be around a lot of animals.”

  “Gee, thanks for the fashion advice. Any other tips?”

  “I’d suggest you get a haircut, but since it’s Sunday and the Snip ’N Curl is closed that’s not gonna happen.”

  In reply, Cord raised his middle finger.

  “Now, now, there’s no need to get nasty, no need at all. Your hair is too long.”

  “Says you. I wore my hair military-style since I was eighteen. I’m tired of the look, if I want to wear it down to my ass, what’s it to you?”

  Scott howled with laughter again. “I’m sensing angst about your trip into town. What’s really bothering you, Cord? You can’t be this upset over going to one little meeting.”

  “I like Keegan. I’m attracted to her.”

  “So? What’s the problem? Give yourself some time, don’t try to—”

  “She’s nothing like Cassie.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Cassie had a high school education, a couple of years of beauty school, blue collar, like me. She worked in a beauty shop, cut and styled hair for a living.”

  “Ah. Cassie didn’t have three degrees.”

  “Exactly. I mean Cassie was smart in her own way. She knew how to do just about anything with fashion and clothes and hair and nails, but Keegan’s—different. She’s smarter than anyone I’ve ever known.”

  Scott shook his head. “Cord, you really are messed up, you know that? Are you that shallow? Do you think Keegan’s that shallow?”

  “It’s a fact. Doesn’t matter what I think.”

  “Give it a chance, Cord. Give her a chance. If you do, you’ll find her number of degrees don’t have anything to do with attraction. Besides, you’d be surprised what the two of you have in common.”

  “Like what?”

  “Geez, Cord, you are out of practice. Finding that out on your own is half the fun.”

  From the moment the alarm clock went off at seven, Keegan didn’t have time to replay her make-out session with Cord Bennett. The minute she rolled out of bed, she got pulled into a problem with Jack, the sea otter, still recovering in ICU. The early morning call from Bran had her going over Jack’s blood screening results. Bran had tested the otter for a variety of pollutants, bacteria, metals and parasites because sea otters had a tendency to suffer from the elements. Toxoplasma gondii, a dangerous protozoan known to cause convulsions, was only one of the many threats that could result in death.

  But there was good news. Jack suffered from nothing more than a mild infection. With a generous dose of antibiotics, a steady diet, and some TLC, he should be as good as new. His eye was a different matter entirely. Only time would tell how well he would be able to see.

  Keegan donned latex gloves before filling a syringe with medicine and changed Jack’s bandage. She then moved on down the line to Dodger.

  Pointing a finger at the sea lion, she said, “You, little guy, are doing remarkably well under the circumstances. You get rewarded by getting moved outside today where you can splash around in the water for awhile. How’s that sound?”

  As Dodger lazed on the concrete floor, with what was turning out to be his favorite blanket, a purple towel, she mixed up a bottle with formula, added a good measure of ground fish to it, and watched as he nursed like he was getting his appetite back.

  Rubbing his head, she gushed, “Aw, you’re just hungry aren’t you, baby? Hmm, and love to be bottle fed. Well, it’s a good thing we can lavish you with plenty of attention.”

  At two-forty-five Cord roared up in the parking lot at the Community Church riding the Harley. Fifteen minutes early, his stomach flip-flopped with nerves. Because he wasn’t sure what to expect from an AA meeting, his hands were clammy. Sweat seemed to pop out on his brow like bullets flying around him.

  When he spotted Murphy ambling across the pavement coming from the store across the street, he stuck his hand up in a wave.

  “How do you like the motorcycle? Is Nick missing it much?”

  Grateful for something else to talk about other than what was about to happen, Cord unsnapped his helmet. “Nah, Nick’s got his hands too full at the B & B to miss riding. Today, he’s busy slapping blue paint on the walls of his son’s nursery.”

  Murphy shook his head. “Guess it’s nice when you already know it’s a boy. I remember when that guy first rode into town riding this thing. He was almost as messed up as you are.”

  “Gee thanks. But I guess I understand the sentiment.” Cord changed the subject. “Nick and Jordan are both walking around out there like they were the only two people ever expecting a baby. For awhile there, I swear Nick was having the same symptoms as Jordan.”

  The chatter made Murphy realize something. “Nervous?”

  Cord nodded.

  “Don’t be. Remember everyone in this group has been in a dark place a time or two, me included.” He slapped Cord on the back. “Let’s get it started. It won’t be nearly as bad as you think.”

  With that, Cord followed Murphy into the church, palms still sweaty, stomach still uneasy.

  They walked down a small, narrow corridor of Sunday school classrooms. Inside one sat three other men and a woman.

  Cord recognized Margie Rosterman and Max Bingham from the Hilltop Diner and the veterinarian, Bran Sullivan. Pete Alden, who had already come to the farm the night before to introduce himself, stood up to shake his hand. “Come on in, take a seat. I think you know everyone here. Whaddya say we get started?” “Shouldn’t we wait for everyone else?”

  Pete chuckled. “This is it. You make an even six.”

  “I thought…”

  “It’s just us. Why don’t I get things started? You all know me. Pete Alden. Drinking problem. Been sober twenty-two years now. But there isn’t a day goes by that I don’t walk past McCready’s and wish I could go inside for a drink. Trouble is I couldn’t stop at one. If Flynn would let me, I’d drink enough for three people.”

  Cord listened as each person took turns telling their stories. Scott had been right.

  According to their own words, each of them had hit rock bottom at one time or another. They all had painful pasts.

  Max had a daughter he’d neglected because of alcohol and was just now getting to know her again after an extended absence in her life. Margie, at one time, fought a major addiction to drugs. Pete admitted to losing his fishing business, not because of a lousy economy, but rather his love for booze. Bran had turned to painkillers during the ’90s after he’d hurt his back. Murphy took his turn, explained how his drinking had led to the end of his marriage.

  By the time it was Cord’s turn, he felt a lot better about his situation.

  “Um.” Cord scratched his chin. “I guess I won’t go into my history because
most of you already know it. I have to say this fast. I’ve recently discovered I’m a different person when I drink. It seems I’ve been using whiskey for the past year and a half as a crutch. Friday night I got drunk at McCready’s. I started feeling sorry for myself. Big time. I was missing Cassie. Real bad. I was in pain. All I wanted to do at the time was make it go away. I decided to end it the only way I knew how—with a gun. It wasn’t the first time. I tried back in January, too. The gun jammed. That’s why Friday night I got this idea that if I just walked out into the water, let it take me under, I’d be gone. End of pain. End of me. But…”

  Cord took the time to swallow hard, nervously ran a hand through his hair and shifted his feet.

  “I have a problem. I know that now. I don’t want to die. In fact, it’s remarkable what can change in two short days. I met someone I like…a lot. She’s incredible.” He looked at the five pairs of eyes staring back at him. “I guess that’s it.”

  Pete Alden stood up, shook Cord’s hand. “Son, that’s a mighty fine first step. As your sponsor, you call me anytime you’re having a problem, anytime you need to talk.”

  With his hand still grasping Cord’s, Pete leaned in and whispered, “But you hurt Keegan Fanning in any way—’cause I know that’s the someone you’re talking about—I’ll personally string you up by your balls right on Main Street for the whole town to see. You understand?”

  Cord looked down at the older man he had by a good six inches in height and said, “Uh, yes, yes I do.”

  “Good.” He slapped Cord on the back and added, “Now, you go have yourself a nice dinner tonight with my girl, minus the booze, of course.”

  Fifteen minutes later Cord stood outside the gate at FMRC. He’d already pushed a buzzer and waited for someone to let him in. Instead of Keegan though, a perky blonde strolled up, hit a button and the gate started sliding on its track.