Sandpiper Cove

by Irene Hannon

  “Don’t you think you’re giving too much importance to a name?”

  “Am I? As I recall, you didn’t like your nickname as a child. What was it again?”

  “Metal Mouth.” After almost two decades, it still made her cringe. Those braces had been the bane of her existence for two agonizing years as a freshman and sophomore in high school.

  “Ah yes. I remember. You kept up a brave front and tried to laugh off the teasing when you and your friends came by for tacos, but in your eyes there was hurt. A name is a mighty thing. One that has the power to mold and shape.”

  “I suppose that could be true.” The Metal Mouth moniker had definitely undermined her self-confidence, despite her popularity and healthy self-esteem. “Did he ask you to call him Adam?”

  “No—but a wounded man doesn’t always know to ask for the things he needs most.”

  As she mulled that over, her phone began to vibrate. After retrieving it from her shoulder bag, she scanned the screen.

  Stone.

  The man was cutting it close, but he’d kept his promise to call this morning—barely.

  “I need to take this.”

  “And I need to open the stand. I’ll get your tacos going.”

  “Three orders. I’m taking some home for Mom.”

  “Got it.” Charley stood and wandered toward his truck, pausing for a brief exchange with Matt as he passed.

  Lexie put the cell to her ear. “Morning.”

  “With two minutes to spare.” His resonant baritone came over the line, creating an entirely different image than the Hell’s Angels face he presented to the world. The name Stone did not fit that deep, smooth voice. “Sorry I’m so late. It’s been a difficult decision.”

  “I had a feeling you might be struggling with it.” Fingers tightening on the phone, she fought the temptation to push. If Stone . . . Adam . . . chose to tackle this project, she wanted him on board because of commitment, not coercion.

  “As long as there’s an escape hatch if the situation goes south, I’ll give it a shot.”

  Thank you, God!

  “That’s great news.”

  “I hope you don’t change your mind once we get rolling.”

  “I’m not expecting to. How’s Clyde this morning?”

  “Acting as if nothing ever happened.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Matt had a great time with him yesterday. He couldn’t stop talking about—”

  “Mom!”

  “Hang on a sec.” She shifted toward her son. He was clutching the empty bag of bread scraps and flanked by the two seagulls. “What?”

  “Is that Mr. Stone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  She put the phone back to her ear. “The youngest member of my household would like to speak with you, if you have a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  She passed the phone over.

  “Hi, Mr. Stone. How’s Clyde?” He shook out the bag while he listened, watching as the gulls pecked up the crumbs. “I miss him too. What’s he doing? . . . Yeah. I take naps too . . . We’re down by Charley’s. I’ve been feeding Floyd and Gladys . . . No, they’re seagulls . . . Uh-uh. Charley told me their names . . . I don’t know. I guess he asked them.”

  Lexie stood and motioned for him to hand the phone back.

  “Mom says I need to go. Will you be at church tomorrow? . . . Yeah . . .” He aimed a look her direction. “I don’t think so . . . Okay, that would be cool. Here’s Mom.”

  She took the phone while Matt wandered off, the seagulls waddling along behind him.

  “Thanks again for your help with Brian. I’ll be back in touch as soon as the counselor gives us the green light.”

  “No hurry on my end.”

  “Thanks for being patient with Matt too. A lot of people don’t bother with children.”

  “He’s a great kid. Also quite a conversationalist for his age.”

  “He does have strong language skills. Some days that’s a blessing . . . other days not so much.”

  “I can imagine.” A rich, husky chuckle came over the line—along with a surge of electricity.

  She groped for the edge of the bench and sank back down.

  “Chief Graham? Are you still there?”

  “Uh . . . yes.” Get your brain in gear, Lexie! “Listen . . . since we’re going to be working together on the project with Brian, let’s . . . uh . . . skip the formalities. Just call me Lexie.”

  Now there was silence on his end.

  She waited.

  “Okay. I think I can do that—but I’m not used to being on a first-name basis with law enforcement.”

  “Things can change.”

  “Most of the changes in my life haven’t been for the better until the past couple of years.” All humor vanished from his inflection.

  “There’s no reason that positive trend won’t continue. Not all change is bad.”

  She frowned as the words of encouragement spilled out. Hadn’t Charley said the same thing to her not ten minutes ago? And hadn’t she blown off that notion?

  “I hope you’re right. I’ll wait to hear from you about next steps with Brian. Enjoy your weekend.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  Lowering the phone from her ear, Lexie inhaled a lungful of the fresh, salt air. Released it.

  Her fingertips continued to tingle.

  This was crazy.

  She’d seen Stone . . . Adam . . . around town for months. Not once had she given him more than a passing glance. Not once had she harbored any secret fantasies about him. Not once had she thought of the two of them together in any context other than police chief and ex-con.

  Now she couldn’t get the man out of her mind.

  It was bizarre.

  Pocketing her cell, she leaned back on the bench to watch as a boat left the protected harbor, heading for open sea—and unknown perils.

  What was that old saying? Something about ships in the harbor being safe . . . but that’s not what ships were built for.

  Once upon a time she’d believed that. Adventure had been her middle name.

  Not anymore.

  These days, the very notion of leaving safety behind and striking out on a new voyage was—

  “Hey, Mom!” Matt raced over. “Charley’s cooking. Are we eating?”

  The perfect diversion.

  “Yes.” She stood and took his hand.

  “Mr. Stone said he’d bring Clyde to church tomorrow and I could pet him afterward.”

  “Reverend Baker lets dogs into church?”

  “No.” Matt giggled, skipping along beside her. “Clyde’s going to wait in the car. Hey, Mom?”

  She braced at the familiar, quizzical tone that told her a thorny question was coming. “What?”

  “How come you don’t go to church with me and Mamaw?”

  An old and sore subject.

  “We’ve talked about this before. I work on Sunday morning.”

  “How come you have to work every Sunday?”

  Because it gives me an excuse to skip church.

  Not an acceptable answer.

  “This is a small town. We don’t have a lot of police officers. Someone has to work.”

  “How come you don’t take turns, like we do at preschool?”

  Not only did her son have superior language skills, his analytical ability was improving every day. Soon, he and her mom would be tag-teaming the campaign to get her back to church.

  “For a lot of reasons.”

  “Like what?”

  “Here we are, Charley.” She picked up her pace, tugging Matt along with her to the window of the truck. “Is our order ready?”

  “Yep.” He slid the white butcher-paper packets into a brown bag.

  “Hey, Charley, if I draw you a picture of Floyd and Gladys, would you put it up back there?” Matt pointed to the rear wall, which was covered with layers of children’s artwork.

  “I’d be honored.” Char
ley winked at her son as Lexie counted out the money.

  “Drat. I’m low on cash. I need to run to the ATM.”

  “Don’t bother. Pay the rest next visit.”

  “You know . . . it would help if you took credit cards.”

  He tucked the bills into a box below the counter. “I like doing business the old-fashioned way.”

  “Aren’t you the one who told me to be open to change?” She picked up their order.

  “I was talking about constructive change. Credit cards don’t qualify.” Grinning, Charley lifted his hand in farewell and moved on to the next customer in the rapidly forming line.

  “Grandma will enjoy these, won’t she?” Lexie took Matt’s hand again as they walked toward the car.

  “Yeah. Do you think Mr. Stone likes tacos?”

  “Adam came by for tacos after church yesterday. I think it’s his weekly splurge.”

  As Charley’s comment from a few days ago echoed in her mind, she picked up her pace. “I think so.”

  “Why don’t you call him back and ask him to have lunch with us?”

  “Not today. I only bought enough tacos for you and me and Grandma.”

  “We could share.”

  Another concept he was beginning to understand—and embrace.

  “Not today.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mr. Stone might be busy.”

  “We could ask, couldn’t we?”

  She popped the locks on the car as they approached. “Tomorrow isn’t very far away. You can wait that long to see him and Clyde.”

  “But dinner was fun last night with Mr. Stone there. It felt kind of like I had a dad.” Matt gave a wistful sigh. “All the other kids at Sunday school have dads. I wish I had one too.”

  “It’s always best to have a father in the home.”

  As another Charley quote replayed in her mind, she exhaled. The man was right. And maybe if she’d stayed in San Francisco after returning from overseas, she’d have met someone who could banish the sadness from her heart and convince her to take a second chance on love. The pool of eligible men was certainly much larger there than in Hope Harbor.

  But she’d never regretted her decision to come home, even if the meager supply of bachelors limited her options in the romance department.

  The sole downside was the one Charley—and Matt—had highlighted.

  Her son would grow up without a father in their home.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?” She pulled open the car door, deposited the sack of tacos, and helped him into the car seat.

  “Does Mr. Stone have any kids?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Why not?”

  “He isn’t married.” That didn’t stop a lot of people these days from having a family—but at least Matt wasn’t old enough to question her answer.

  “You aren’t married, either.”

  “Not anymore. But I was.” She adjusted the strap on his restraints.

  “Would my dad up in heaven be mad if you got married again?”

  A melancholy smile whispered at her lips. Joe, with his go-for-the-gusto, live-every-day-to-the-hilt mentality, mad? No way. He’d loved her too much to want her to spend the rest of her life alone. There hadn’t been a selfish bone in his body.

  As he’d proven the day he died.

  Her mouth flattened.

  “No. He wouldn’t be mad.”

  “Are you sure?” He studied her, forehead knotted. “’Cause you got real sad.”

  She finished securing his belt and forced herself to lighten up. “How could I be sad? I’m with my best buddy.” She kissed the top of his head and stood. “Let’s go eat those tacos before they get cold.”

  He didn’t mention Adam or remarriage again during the short drive home. Thank you, Lord! Instead, he chattered about the fun he’d had with Clyde yesterday, his new friends Floyd and Gladys, and the picture he was going to draw for Charley’s collection.

  But as she guided the car through the small town, listening with half her brain to his enthusiastic monologue, the other half was occupied with thoughts of a tall, lean ex-con who’d taken up residence in Hope Harbor—and was beginning to make inroads on her heart.

  And that was not good. Even in laid-back small towns, police chiefs didn’t get involved with felons. There were proprieties to consider.

  So she needed to be logical about this. Maintain a professional distance and wait for the electricity to run its course and fizzle out. As it would. A guy who wore a bandana and sported a bad-boy look wasn’t her type. Until five days ago, she hadn’t had the least interest in him. It was some wacky aberration—and it would go away.

  It had to.

  Because in a life already filled with challenges, she didn’t need the complications a man like Adam Stone would add.

  “Adam!”

  Clutching his bag of purchases from the Coos Bay resale shop, Adam turned away from the window of the hair salon as Charley closed the distance between them.

  “What are you doing up here?” Adam fished his car keys out. “There must be a lot of disappointed taco lovers in Hope Harbor on a beautiful Saturday afternoon like this.”

  “I was open for a while, but I had a few errands to run. Been doing some shopping?”

  “Yeah. I decided at the last minute to go to BJ’s wedding and I didn’t want to show up in jeans. Luis told me about a resale place here.”

  “It must have worked out well for you.” Charley inspected the bulging bag.

  “I kind of had to start from scratch on formal stuff. You’re going to the wedding, aren’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. BJ’s a wonderful woman, and I’ve known Eric since he was younger than Lexie’s boy. In fact, Matt kind of reminds me of him at that age. You’ve met Matt, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. He and his grandmother watched Clyde for me yesterday while I was at work. The vet wanted someone to monitor him for twenty-four hours.”

  “That sounds like them. Where’s Clyde today?”

  “Waiting for me in the car.” He motioned down the block.

  “Ah. Then you won’t want to linger here.” He inspected the hair salon.

  Adam gave an indifferent shrug. “I wasn’t planning to, anyway.”

  “No? I thought you might be thinking about changing your look for the wedding, now that you have all those fancy new clothes.”

  “New clothes and a new hairstyle won’t change what’s inside.”

  “True . . . but they might better reflect it.”

  He squinted at the man. “What does that mean?”

  “Well, take lawyers, for instance. When one of them is hoping to impress new clients or a judge, you can bet he or she will be well-groomed and well-dressed. They want to convey self-respect and self-confidence—because if they don’t believe in themselves, how can they expect anyone else to?”

  That made sense. He might not have had the best upbringing, but he understood image stuff. Understood why people in town assumed he was a biker dude. Understood what that implied.

  Until the past few days, however, he hadn’t cared a lick what people thought.

  Then he’d met Lexie . . . and everything had changed. It had been like a window opening, letting a fresh breeze into a long-shuttered room filled with stale air.

  As for what that meant for his future . . . he had no idea.

  “Are you suggesting I need a haircut?” He tried for a light, teasing tone.

  “Nope.” Good-natured creases fanned out from the corners of Charley’s eyes. “You can tell from my ponytail I don’t frequent salons. The trick is to make certain the image you present to the world reflects what’s in here.” He tapped the left side of his chest. “If there’s a disconnect, it confuses people. I’m not saying people can’t overcome that . . . but it takes a lot more work.”

  “You don’t like my image?” Adam swept a hand down his body, forcing up the corners of his lips.

  “Do you?”

/>   “This is how I’ve looked for almost twenty years. It’s what I’m used to.”

  “Habits are comfortable—and often hard to break. But you’ve done a fine job creating a new life since you came to town. I don’t think the Adam Stone who moved here eighteen months ago is the same man who went to prison for second-degree robbery . . . do you?”

  “No.”

  “But he looks the same on the outside.” Charley let a few beats pass as he perused the sky. “Couldn’t ask for a finer day on the Oregon coast. What are your plans for the afternoon?”

  “I was going to inspect the planters on the wharf, get a feel for how much repair work needs to be done.”

  “A worthwhile endeavor. Stop by for a taco after church tomorrow, if I’m cooking—and enjoy the rest of your day.”

  Lifting his hand, he wandered down the street.

  Adam watched him for a few moments . . . gave the salon one last survey . . . and continued toward his car. If he hadn’t happened to pass a styling shop, a haircut wouldn’t have crossed his mind.

  Yet now that Charley had brought it up, he had to admit the idea had some merit. Shaggy locks and a bandana didn’t exactly go with a suit and tie—or his post-prison life. And his dozen amateurish attempts to prune his own hair these past few months had left it pretty hacked up.

  Today, however, he had other priorities.

  After depositing his purchases in the trunk, he took his place behind the wheel and patted Clyde, who was curled up on the seat beside him.

  “Hey, boy. Miss me?”

  The pooch gave a little yip and licked his fingers.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He twisted the key in the ignition and pulled into traffic.

  Clyde edged closer, watching him with bright, happy eyes. Judging him not by his appearance or his history, but by his behavior now. Today.

  Too bad people weren’t always as open and accepting.

  Of course, he hadn’t helped matters by reinforcing certain stereotypes with his appearance. If he believed he was a different man than the one who’d gone to prison, as Charley had implied, shouldn’t he look like a different man too?

  It was definitely a question to ponder during the drive back to Hope Harbor . . . and in the days ahead.

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