Moonshell Beach: A Shelter Bay Novel

by JoAnn Ross

  “Are you certain Kara won’t mind?” Mary had met her briefly at the reception last night, before she’d been called away.

  “Like I said, she’s the one who hooked us up in the first place. Why would she mind?”

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude on a family situation.”

  “They like you. You like them. Makes sense.”

  When he put it that way…

  “I’d enjoy sharing your family’s special day. Thank you.”

  Mary’s mind sped into overdrive. She’d have to find a gift, since no way was she going to show up empty-handed. And she’d need something to wear, because she refused to wear Leon’s movie-star clothes, which would look as if she were trying to upstage the bride on her big day. But first there was something even more important she needed to do.

  20

  “About last night,” she said. “I need to apologize.”

  J.T. dragged his gaze from the droplets of water on that little V of fragrant skin revealed by the neckline of the bulky white robe. “For what?”

  “About sounding as if I were prying into your life. As I said, I have this flaw of wanting to know everything about people. I suppose it’s something we writers do instinctively. Gathering little bits and threads to weave into the tapestry of our stories.

  “If it helps, it wasn’t anything personal. I’ve never met a Marine before. Let alone someone who was tasked with as gut-wrenching a mission as death notification must have been. So I apologize if, in my interest to know more, I overlooked any No Trespassing signs.”

  Hell. She appeared honestly chagrined. It wasn’t as if she’d waterboarded him. For some reason, although he’d never discussed his last assignment with anyone, even his brothers, he’d given up the information, including those damn scrapbooks and photo albums, voluntarily. Which, J.T. reminded himself, as he suddenly found himself thinking of sirens and temptation, made this sweet-smelling Irish actress even more dangerous.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s just that I don’t usually talk about those days.” Usually being never.

  “People are always telling me things,” she said mildly. “I’ve no idea why, though Kate, who’s my sister Nora’s best friend, insists it’s because I have a touch of the sight.”

  “So, you’re saying you’re clairvoyant?”

  He damn well hoped she hadn’t been able to read his mind when he’d been thinking about stripping that short tight dress off her, carrying her into that honeymoon suite, and doing what millions of guys probably all fantasized about while watching her movies. Even knowing that she’d been wearing a body stocking in the nude scenes didn’t make her any less desirable.

  Like it or not, they were stuck with each other until the end of the festival. If she knew that at this moment all he could think about was what she was—or wasn’t—wearing beneath that thick white robe, she might be uncomfortable.

  Which, in turn, would upset Kara.

  Which would have Sax throwing him into the bay again.

  “No. I don’t believe so, though I do get a sense of people from time to time.” She frowned into her coffee. “And occasionally have dreams that seem very real.” A bit of color rose in her cheeks, making him wish he could read her mind. “But that’s more women’s intuition than any powers of clairvoyance. I’m nothing like Kate MacKenna, who’s an actual druid witch.”

  She lifted her gaze again and smiled. A smile that he noted didn’t quite reach her eyes. “If I could foretell the future, I wouldn’t be such a nervous wreck whenever I had a film coming out.”

  “I have a hard time believing that.”

  She tilted her head. “And why would that be?”

  Because he doubted if she’d ever had an insecure moment in her life. And why should she? When you looked like Mary Joyce, and were rich, intelligent, and talented to boot, the world was probably pretty much your oyster.

  “You’ve got to know your work is good.”

  “Ah. If it were only that simple.” She sighed, glanced down at her watch, and stood up. “I’d better get ready. Hopefully we’ll be able to run by that boutique I saw yesterday between the parade and the first showing.”

  “We’re going shopping?”

  Just when he was thinking this might not be the mission from hell. Why didn’t they just take him out and keelhaul him?

  She patted his cheek. “Don’t worry, Marine. I’ve been told I shop like a man. We’ll go in, I’ll bag some more suitable clothes, and we’ll be on our way.”

  She was laughing as she left the suite’s living room.

  21

  Although it had taken a herculean effort, Ethan had managed to conceal the anger that had surged through him when Kara had told him and Phoebe about her abusive husband’s escape. He’d seen for himself, that day he’d met her in the kitchen of Haven House, the mark the man’s hand had left on her face.

  And he knew, from the way she’d first behaved, like a nervous, wounded bird, that as bad as the physical abuse must have been, the beating her psyche had taken was much, much worse.

  Although the transformation hadn’t been overnight, she’d begun to rediscover the girl she’d once been. He’d watched her blossoming like a wildflower opens to the sun. And now the bastard was going to try to take that away.

  Over his dead body.

  But Phoebe didn’t need his anger. What she needed, he’d reminded himself, was his support. And, even though she’d argued against it, his protection.

  He’d already lost one woman he’d loved. In that case, there’d been no way to protect Mia against that SUV whose driver had taken a curve on the winding coast road too fast, crossed the center line, and, in that one moment of recklessness, cost him both a wife and a son.

  This time, he vowed, he would do whatever it took to keep Phoebe safe. Which meant making sure he stayed calm and collected enough that she wouldn’t pick up on any vibes that would make her feel uncomfortable staying with him until the cops caught the bastard.

  So, he’d driven her to the farm, made her some chamomile tea from a collection Sofia De Luca had given him last Christmas, shown her the guest bedroom and adjoining bath, and managed to escape without embarrassing either one of them by dragging her down onto that mattress and doing what he’d been fantasizing about for too many weeks.

  He’d waited until he heard her soft breathing and knew she had gone to sleep. Then went outside to the small office he’d built in the barn, and put his fist through the wall.

  After a mostly sleepless night, during which time Ethan was all too aware of Phoebe sleeping in the next room, he pushed himself out of bed at dawn and went out to tend to the milking. Although the dairy operation was fully automated, which was a big change from when he’d been a kid and was expected to milk by hand, he’d always found the early-morning routine a relaxing way to begin the day.

  Not this day.

  He’d reminded himself of those guys who came home from the war and couldn’t stop prowling their yards looking for bad guys. In their cases, the bad guys were in their heads, which was tough enough.

  His bad guy was all too real. And he was coming after Ethan’s woman.

  And she was his woman. Just as he was her man. It was just going to take more time for her to realize that. And possibly longer to feel okay with it.

  Which he could live with.

  After all, any guy willing to work hard could make it through the good times. But any farmer who wasn’t both optimistic and patient wouldn’t last a season when things got tough. As they always did.

  He was on his way back into the house when Kara called.

  “How’s Phoebe doing?” she asked.

  “When I left, she was sleeping.”

  “Good…I called this woman I know. She’s a former FBI agent married to one of Sax’s old teammates. Cait McKade worked with me on helping solve my father’s murder. Anyway, she’s done a lot of profiling work, so I ran our situation by her.”

  “And?”

  “
And she thinks as long as someone’s always with Phoebe, she’ll be okay. Fletcher’s driven by power and gets off by control and seeing her fear. She doubts he’d do anything like get a rifle and take a shot from some hidden location. He’s undoubtedly after her, even more so since she got him arrested. But his intentions are the same as they were the last time he came to town. He wants things up close and personal.”

  “If he makes the mistake of getting too close, it could well be the last mistake the bastard ever makes.”

  “I understand your feelings but—”

  Knowing she was about to repeat the warning she’d given him while they were in that pretty sunroom in Haven House, not wanting to waste time promising to remain reasonable when he felt anything but, Ethan cut off the call.

  Apparently realizing the futility of arguing, she didn’t call back.

  He took off his boots in the mudroom, and, figuring that after last night’s news Phoebe needed rest, he walked as quietly as a guy his size could to the kitchen.

  Where he found her, already dressed, standing at the counter, taking eggs out of the refrigerator.

  She looked up, and offered a tentative smile, revealing she was uncomfortable with their situation.

  “Good morning.” Before he could go over to the Mr. Coffee, she’d poured him a mug and held it out to him. “I realized, since we’ve never eaten breakfast together, I didn’t know how you like your coffee. If you’d like cream, or sugar—”

  “This is great. I usually drink it black.”

  “Good.” When she seemed more relieved than pleased to have guessed right, alarm bells sounded.

  “I also didn’t know what you usually eat, so I thought I’d make a western omelet. I found a ham in the fridge, though if you were saving it for something else, or if you don’t like omelets, and would rather have pancakes, or maybe waffles, or I could fry some eggs with hash browns—”

  “Phoebe.” She was so wound up, he was afraid that if he touched her, she’d jump through the ceiling. But on the other hand, the way she was flying around the kitchen, from the counter, to the stove, to the coffeepot, and back to the counter, once again had him thinking of a skittish bird. This time trapped in a room and trying desperately to escape.

  Risking making things worse, he took hold of her upper arms. Not tightly, just enough to stop her frantic movements. “It’s okay.”

  “I know.” Her smile, after that automatic wariness, was bright, strained, and totally fake. “I’m always up early, so I wanted to pay you back for inviting me to stay here.”

  “You don’t have to pay me back for anything. And like I told you, I’m not him. I don’t need you to rush around waiting on me, and I’m damn sure not going to get angry if you decide that you’d rather make an omelet than waffles. Not that I need you to do anything,” he stressed. “You’re not here to be a housekeeper or cook.”

  “But—”

  He touched a finger to her lips, cutting her off in midsentence. “You’re here as a friend.” He shook his head and realized that if he stood half a chance getting past the barricades she was putting up between them again, he needed to be entirely honest. “More than a friend,” he admitted. “You’re a woman I’ve come to care for. Deeply. A woman I admire.”

  “You admire me?” She seemed surprised by that. Christ, the guy really had done a number on her.

  “Hell, yes. I can’t begin to imagine what your life was with that guy you were married to, but you not only had the guts to escape a dangerous situation—you’re starting a new career. I don’t just want you, when you’re ready, but I respect you for that. I’ve witnessed a lot of courage during my time in the military. But you, sweetheart”—he moved that finger to her chin and lifted her wary gaze up to his—“are every bit as brave as any Marine I fought with.”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t always feel brave.”

  Her vulnerability, even after all she’d managed to achieve, pulled at him.

  “Join the club.”

  After skimming a fingertip against that soft bottom lip her teeth had worried, he coaxed her closer, until her cheek was against his chest. He looped his arms loosely around her, not caging her in, just letting her call the shots as he rested his own cheek on her hair. When her coconut-scented shampoo had him imagining making love to her on a hidden tropical beach, since she was already trembling like a new planting in a coastal wind, he viciously throttled back the sudden burst of hunger that was threatening to make him hard as a rock.

  “I can’t believe you were ever afraid,” she murmured into his shirt as her arms crept around his waist and held on.

  “If you’re not afraid during a battle, you’re not paying attention,” he said. “And after Mia and our son died, there were days I was afraid I was going to die from grief. And even more days I was afraid I wouldn’t.”

  She lifted her eyes, which were bright with tears. “I hate that you had to go through such a terrible thing,” she said, with a flare of the strength that had first attracted him to her. Even when he’d known she was nervous around him, from somewhere deep inside, she’d kept pulling up the strength not to let her fear overwhelm her.

  Because he could not look down into that lovely, sweet face without touching, he cradled the side of her face in his palm. His dark, calloused hand looked the size of that ham she’d been about to take from the fridge against her pale, soft-as-silk skin, and made him feel huge and clumsy, like an oafish giant daring to touch a princess.

  Or, he thought, like the Beast daring to fall in love with Beauty. Which, in that story, had worked out, but it was hardly a model being that it was only a fairy tale.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d felt that way around her, but apparently she didn’t feel threatened because she reached up and put her hand on his.

  “And I hate like hell that you had to go through what you’ve suffered.” Especially since he suspected he didn’t know the half of it. “And someday, maybe you’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me more, but for now, I promise that, together, we can work through this.”

  Because he didn’t think he could fight back the damn erection that was threatening to rise against her belly in another minute, he carefully put a little distance between the two of them.

  “But for now, what do you say we go out for breakfast?”

  “Out?” She glanced around the kitchen at the eggs, and flour, sugar, bowls, and pans she’d gotten out. “Like a date?” A flush like a ripe persimmon rose in her cheeks. “I’m sorry. It just popped into my head. I mean, I know you didn’t mean that—”

  “Actually, that’s exactly what I meant.” He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. The kiss was short, but from the way he felt her tremble, he knew it was potent. “One step at a time,” he promised her. “But we’ll never know where we’re going if we don’t take that first step.”

  “I’ve heard about the Grateful Bread’s waffles. I’ve been wanting to try them.”

  This time her smile was warm and real. And still shy, which he considered could actually be the person she’d been before that coward prick had tried to his damnedest to break her.

  “Terrific. Just let me shower up, and we’ll drive into town. Have some breakfast, then maybe hang around and watch the festival parade. And you don’t have to worry—I just finished talking with Kara, who consulted with some former FBI profiler she knows, and it’s both of their opinion that you’ll be safe as long as I’m with you.” He touched his hand to her cheek. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

  It was only once he was alone, standing under the hot stream of water, that Ethan allowed the full heat of last night’s anger to return. He’d promised Kara that he wouldn’t turn vigilante on her, even though the urge to just get out his sniper rifle, wait at the outskirts of town, and double tap Fletcher right in the forehead was hugely tempting.

  But, while getting rid of a problem, it would only make things worse for Phoebe, and since he’d sworn off violence when he’d taken off his u
niform and taken up farming, he was going to try like hell to stick to his word.

  But if Fletcher actually was stupid enough to dare to return to Shelter Bay, to get to his wife, he’d have to go through Ethan first.

  And there was no way in hell that was going to happen.

  22

  Fortunately, the sun had broken through the early-morning clouds and the temperature had climbed into the mid-seventies, making it a perfect day for a parade.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re wearing red,” the mayor said, taking in Mary’s scarlet jacket with the satin lapels, her white blouse, the same black slacks she’d worn yesterday, and her short red boots. “You’ll match the fire truck.”

  “Fire truck?”

  “Oh, didn’t anyone tell you? Instead of a typical convertible, you’ll be riding atop one of our two Shelter Bay fire trucks.”

  Which, Mary realized, explained the two firemen clad in navy blue SBFD T-shirts standing beside the mayor.

  “You’ve just made my day.” The fire truck in question, parked not far away, had been washed to a brilliance that had the sun glinting off the hood. She shook hands with the men.

  “The feeling’s mutual, ma’am,” the older firefighter said, his ruddy cheeks above his mustache turning a bit darker when she gave him her warmest smile.

  “Oh, please, call me Mary. Will we get to sound the siren?”

  “You want a siren, you’ll get one,” the younger and more outgoing one said with a bold wink. Then backed up a step, which had Mary casting a glance up at J.T., whose steely eyes could’ve blistered the paint off the truck. Intrigued, she studied him more carefully. Surely he couldn’t consider the friendly fireman dangerous. Could he actually be jealous?

  “Are you going to sit up there with me?” she asked him.

  He looked as if he’d rather be back in a war zone at that idea, but shrugged. “I’m supposed to watch out for you. Kinda hard to do that inside the cab.” He moved his shoulders in that gesture she was getting used to. At first she’d thought it was a sign of nonchalance. Now she realized it revealed a discomfort with the situation.