by Irene Hannon
At the foot of the steps, the juvenile counselor paused. “Those were some seriously negative vibes in there—and not just toward us.”
“I’ll say. Does the term dysfunctional come to mind?”
“And how.” He examined the pristine lawn and perfect flower garden that rimmed the sweeping drive. “Who’d ever guess, standing on the outside, that there was such discord inside?”
“More proof you should never judge a book by its cover. I’m assuming their attorney will be in touch.”
“You don’t have a prosecutable case, do you?”
“A judge might be sympathetic to our cause, but I’d rather have some hard evidence.” She huffed out a breath. “Without that, it’s Brian’s word against Lucas’s—unless Lucas admits he was the perpetrator.”
“I don’t think his lawyer is going to let him do that.”
“Me neither. But after those two incriminating slips, everyone who was in that room knows he’s guilty.”
“He won’t make that mistake again.”
“No kidding.”
“He could get away with this, you know.”
“I’m very aware of that.” Watching guilty parties walk away free was one of the toughest parts of police work. “But I’m not done working this case. We’re still searching for evidence.”
“I hope you find some.”
“Me too. I’ll be in touch if there are any more developments.”
The man lifted his hand in farewell and returned to his car.
She did the same.
Once behind the wheel, though, she lowered her windows to let in the fresh sea breeze and gave the house another perusal. Even through the thick walls, she could hear the faint echoes of a male voice raised in anger.
A shudder rippled through her as she inserted the key in the ignition . . . and for a moment she felt sorry for the boy who was facing his father’s wrath.
Yes, the Fishers had wealth.
Yes, they had prestige in town.
Yes, they lived in a mansion and took exotic trips . . . or at least mother and son did.
But there was a serious fracture in that family.
She put the car in gear and followed the curving drive back to the road, away from the nastiness in that house, toward the dinner waiting for her in the small bungalow where money might not always have been plentiful but love had never been in short supply.
That was what made a home.
And while Martin might have denigrated Adam for his previous appearance and prison record, he could learn a thing or two about compassion and caring from the ex-con.
Accelerating toward Hope Harbor, Lexie put thoughts of the troubled family behind her and indulged in a little daydreaming about her coming dates with that very man. She had another day and a half of work to get through, but once she left the office at noon on Saturday, she was going to forget about law enforcement and focus on being a woman. She might even get her hair done.
And she wasn’t going to let anything interfere with what she hoped would be a weekend to remember.
19
She might have dragged her feet about coming.
She might not belong here.
She might feel conspicuous.
But as Brenda rose to join in the final hymn at Grace Christian on Sunday morning, the sense of homecoming . . . of welcome . . . of acceptance . . . tightened her throat.
Worthy or not, it felt good to be back in a house of God.
Beside her, Brian joined in the hymn, an old favorite he must remember from his younger days—before Jerry banned church attendance.
She remembered it too . . . though it had been a while since she’d felt the Almighty’s amazing grace.
The instant the last note of the song faded away, she slid her hymnal back into the pocket on the pew in front of her and nudged Brian. “Let’s go.”
“But Mom . . . the minister invited everyone to stay for doughnuts.”
“We can get doughnuts somewhere else.” She took his arm and drew him from the pew. Sitting through the service had been a positive first step, but she wasn’t yet ready to meet the minister or socialize with the congregation. That’s why she’d chosen a pew near the back. It should be easy to get out fast.
But it wasn’t.
As they hustled toward the door, Adam Stone slipped out of the last pew, blocking their escape.
“Good morning.” He smiled. “Welcome to Grace Christian.”
“Hey, Mr. Stone.” Brian’s return smile was wide and genuine. Since the police chief’s call to let them know the carpenter had verified Brian’s alibi, her son had been a lot more upbeat.
“I’m glad you came to services. Are you staying for doughnuts?”
The crowd began to surge toward the exit, and Brenda edged to the side of the aisle. “Not today.”
“Aw, Mom . . .” Brian sent her a disappointed look.
“Maybe next week.”
“Does that mean we’re coming back?”
She’d walked right into that one.
“We might.”
“You won’t be sorry.” Adam shifted away from the crowd and gave her his full attention. “When I came to Hope Harbor, I didn’t know a soul except Reverend Baker. And given my background, I wasn’t certain what kind of reception I’d get. But everyone here”—he swept a hand around the church—“and in town was welcoming. I’m beginning to respond to their overtures, but I wish I’d done it sooner. A church family can help fill the gaps if you don’t have a lot of relatives.”
She glanced around. A few of the people passing by smiled at her, seeming to confirm what Adam had said—and a friend or two would be a blessing. Brian wasn’t the only member of their family who was lonely.
“I’ll give that some thought this week.”
“I hope you do.”
In the meantime, though . . . they did have one friend. If Adam hadn’t gone along with the police chief’s suggestion, her son might have continued down the wrong path and ended up in front of a judge—and perhaps on the road to a life of crime.
She owed the man more than a simple thank-you for his kindness.
Clenching her fingers around her purse, she summoned up the courage to issue the invitation that had been on her mind for the past few days. “I’m glad we ran into you. I was wondering if . . . would you want to come to dinner tomorrow night? I’d like to thank you in a more concrete way for all you’ve done for Brian.”
A glint of surprise darted through his eyes. “That’s very kind—but no thanks are necessary. I was happy to have a helper with the planter project.” He gave her son a one-sided grin.
“Are you sure you can’t come, Mr. Stone? Mom’s a great cook. And we don’t have company very often. Like never.”
“It won’t be fancy.” Better be clear she didn’t have a gourmet spread planned. “Just meatloaf—but it’s my mother’s recipe, and it won some prizes in its day. You wouldn’t have to stay long. I know you’re busy.”
“Yeah. We won’t mind if you eat and run,” Brian seconded.
He looked back and forth between them . . . hesitated . . . and nodded. “I’d be happy to come. Thank you. A home-cooked meal will be a treat.”
“Six o’clock?”
“Fine.”
“We’ll see you then. Come on, Brian.” She took his arm and hurried him out the door, toward their car.
“That was a great idea about inviting Mr. Stone, Mom.” Brian half jogged to keep up with her. “I bet he’ll appreciate your cooking a lot more than Dad did.”
That wouldn’t be hard. Jerry had rarely had a kind word to say about anything she did. Less and less so as the years went by.
“Your father has issues.”
Brian yanked free and stopped, anger chasing away his enthusiasm of moments before. “I can’t believe you’re still making excuses for him!”
A few people milling about on the church lawn glanced toward them, and she took Brian’s arm again, urging him forward. “I don’
t want to discuss family business in public.”
“Fine. We can wait until we get to the car.” He pulled free again and stomped ahead.
Bracing, she followed more slowly. This wasn’t a discussion she’d planned to have today—but the juvenile counselor had said it was important to air issues rather than let them fester. If Brian wanted to talk about Jerry, it was healthier for him to vent than to keep it bottled up inside.
And he might be surprised at a few of the things she had to say.
Once behind the wheel, she took the lead. “When I said your father has issues, I wasn’t making excuses for him.”
“That’s what you always say.” He folded his arms, his expression sullen.
“Brian . . . look at me.” She waited until he did. “Your father does have issues. Big ones. For years, I thought they were my fault—because he made me feel like they were. But now that we’ve been apart a while, I’m beginning to see the situation more clearly. I’m not perfect, but I wasn’t as bad as he made me out to be. His shortcomings are a lot worse than mine.”
“Yeah?” Skepticism scored his features. “When did you figure all this out?”
“After the vandalism incident, I did a lot of thinking. I have made mistakes—and one of them was staying with your dad as long as I did. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry you had to pay the price for my cowardice. If I’d left sooner, maybe you . . .” Her voice choked, and she tried again. “Maybe we wouldn’t have had this latest crisis.”
Some of the fury in Brian’s face faded. “It’s not fair for you to take all the blame. I made bad choices too.” He looked out the window, toward the blue sky beginning to peek through the morning fog. When he continued, his tone was subdued. “You know how you used to think the issues Dad has were your fault? Well, I wondered sometimes if they were mine. I mean, maybe if he hadn’t had to worry about a kid, you guys would have done better. Maybe I was the reason Dad was always mad and treated you bad.”
“Oh, baby.” Pressure built in Brenda’s throat, and she squeezed his hand. He didn’t need all those undeserved maybes preying on his mind. “You had nothing to do with any of that. Your dad always had a mean streak. He knew how to manipulate, how to turn on the charm if it suited him, but the badness was always there. Our marriage didn’t deteriorate because you came along. It deteriorated because he got tired of me. I was useful to him as long as the money kept flowing, but once he met someone younger, with more cash, that was it.”
“I bet he never wanted to be a father, though.”
True—but no need to phrase it that harshly.
“Your dad didn’t want any part of anything that required him to be unselfish or put someone else first. But I can tell you this—whatever your dad thought about being a father, having you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
A sheen filmed his eyes, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m sorry I caused you all this trouble with the vandalism.”
“I know you are. And we’re going to put that behind us and start fresh. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
After one final squeeze of his hand, she inserted the key in the ignition, pulled out of the parking spot, and drove away from the church.
But as the steeple disappeared in her rearview mirror, she sent one last prayer heavenward.
Thank you for the blessings and second chances you’ve given both of us since we arrived in this town. Guide us as we try to establish a new life here that’s better than the one we left behind—and please help us persevere if we run into setbacks.
This was what it felt like to lead a normal, happy life.
As Lexie took Matt’s hand and bent to study a tulip in the Shore Acres garden, Adam drew in a long, deep breath. Slowly let it out.
It had been a perfect weekend.
A bonding session with Brian while repairing planters yesterday.
An evening of dining and dancing with Lexie last night, worth every penny of the exorbitant bill.
Seeing her again at church this morning—a double blessing. Not only had they stolen a few minutes together after his chat with the Huttons, she appeared to be reopening the lines of communication with God.
Now, a Sunday afternoon with the same lovely woman and her charming son.
Life didn’t get much better than this.
“How come they don’t smell, Mom?” Matt stuck his nose into the heart of a sunny yellow bloom.
“Not all flowers smell, honey. Some are just pretty to look at.”
“Mamaw’s roses look pretty and they smell good.”
“They also have thorns.”
“Oh yeah.” Matt straightened up with a grimace. “I don’t like thorns. They hurt. Did you ever get stuck with a thorn, Mr. Stone?”
“I’ve been in plenty of thorny situations.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Now I avoid them.”
“Yeah. Me too. Can we go see the seals now, Mom?”
“Sure—unless Mr. Stone has another idea.”
“Seals sound fine to me.”
“Yay!” The little boy jumped up and down. “They’re the best part—after the chocolate chip cookies you made for our picnic, Mom. Come on . . . let’s go!” He tugged on her hand.
“I take it he’s a veteran seal watcher.” Adam fell in beside Lexie.
“Yep. He’s very familiar with the routine.”
“Let’s go down to the beach instead of watching from on top.” Matt pulled harder.
“See what I mean?” She grinned.
“I like a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.” Adam increased his stride to keep up with the duo.
“Are we still talking about Matt?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“I’ll take the Fifth.”
“Playing coy, are we?” She waggled her eyebrows.
The corners of his mouth twitched. This flirty behavior was new—and he was liking it.
A lot.
“Come on, Mom!” Matt kept towing her along as the path narrowed, descending from the garden through the majestic fir trees.
Instead of answering her question, he let them get a few feet ahead so he could enjoy the view—of Lexie. Her worn jeans and soft, fuzzy sweater were a 180 from her no-nonsense official uniform—and 180 the other direction from that silky, form-fitting dress she’d worn last night. Yet this look suited her too. And he’d never seen her more relaxed.
Maybe bringing Matt along had been a smart idea. It relieved the man/woman pressure that came with a dating situation.
“You with us, Adam?” She tossed the question over her shoulder while navigating a rocky section of the path.
“Right behind you.”
Less than a minute later, they emerged onto a deserted crescent of sand with sheer rock walls on two sides, waves lapping gently on the shore.
“This is incredible. Why isn’t anyone else here?” Adam joined Lexie as she dug a pair of binoculars out of her tote bag and handed them to Matt.
“Most people don’t want to make the effort to hike down—and back up again.”
“Their loss.”
A loud barking intruded on the peace, coming from the direction Matt had aimed his binoculars. A quick survey of the offshore sea stacks confirmed the source. Seals were arrayed on the jagged rocks, some sunning, some waddling along, others frolicking in the aquamarine water.
“That’s another reason a lot of people don’t come down. It can get noisy.” Lexie surveyed the seals. “They’re well-behaved today, though. We got lucky.”
“In more ways than one.” He reached over and stroked a finger down the back of her hand.
Her breath hitched, and she lifted her gaze to his. “That’s not fair.”
“What?”
“Teasing.”
He stopped stroking but left his fingers resting against her soft skin. “What do you mean, teasing?”
“Making me want more than you’re offering.”
“What do you want?”
&n
bsp; “What you’re doing is nice—but holding hands would be better.”
“I agree . . . but I’m trying to play by your slow-and-easy rule.”
“I think holding hands falls within that parameter on a second date.”
“See? I told you I’ve been away from this too long.” He laced his fingers with hers. “But I’m a fast learner. Better?”
“Much.”
“How do you feel about kisses on the second date?” If she could flirt, he could too.
“The forehead kind, like you gave me last night?”
“Uh-uh.” He played with a strand of her wind-tossed hair.
“It might be . . .” She swallowed. “Be hard with Matt underfoot.”
“He’s busy.”
She checked on her son. He’d abandoned the binoculars and was picking through the flotsam on the beach.
“I don’t know . . .”
Yes, she did.
He could see the longing in her eyes.
“Come with me.” He led her to a large boulder that partially blocked the view of the beach and turned her toward him. “Matt will be fine. I’ll keep him in sight.”
“Do you think . . .”
He pressed his fingers against her soft lips. Now that it was clear her interpretation of the slow-and-easy rule was more liberal than his, he wasn’t about to let a sudden, unwarranted case of cold feet delay this inevitable moment.
“All I have in mind is a simple kiss, Lexie. We’re on a public beach and your son is thirty feet away. This is about as safe an environment as you can get. Let’s relax and enjoy this. If I’m a lousy kisser, wouldn’t you rather find out sooner than later?”
“Why do I think that’s not going to be the c-case?” She groped for a ridge in the rock and wrapped her fingers around it.
“Let’s test that theory.”
Cradling her face in his hands, he stroked his thumbs over her jaw. The warmth of her skin seeped into his fingertips and soaked deep inside, straight to his heart. For several seconds, he savored the feeling of rightness . . . of belonging . . . of connection. Then he slowly lowered his head until everything around them faded away.
At his first, gentle touch, a shudder rippled through her. The kind he might expect from a woman who’d never been kissed. Who was experiencing a bunch of sensations for the very first time. Who was madly attracted to the man doing the kissing.