Moonshell Beach: A Shelter Bay Novel (12 page)

“There’s someone over here who’s dying to meet you, Mary,” she said. “He’s a state legislator who’s planning a run for the U.S. Congress, and a huge fan.” Taking Mary by the arm, she dragged her away.

Mary heard J.T. curse beneath his breath; then he followed.

Two hours later, they were back in the Whale Song honeymoon suite. “Can I get you anything?” Mary asked with the hostess manners her grandmother had taught her early in life. “Some wine? A beer, perhaps? Apparently people feel the need to drink while on a honeymoon, because the bar’s well stocked with just about anything anyone would want. Including champagne. Which makes sense, given this is supposed to be the honeymoon suite.”

J.T. didn’t need any reminder of that huge bed that had seemed to take up the major part of the bedroom. The bed he had, when he’d taken her luggage in, momentarily fantasized about dragging her down onto.

“I wouldn’t turn down a beer.” He hadn’t drunk anything at the reception, just in case he’d be called to leap into duty. And although he could hear Kara reminding him that he was still technically on duty, it wasn’t as if he were going to chug down a six-pack.

“But you’ve been entertaining everyone for the past three hours,” he said. And, except for that brief
time out on the porch, she’d worked every minute of it, succeeding in charming everyone in the place. “So sit down and I’ll get it. And whatever you’d like.” She had, he’d noticed, stuck to club soda with a twist of lime.

She didn’t argue but, going over to the built-in music system, pushed some buttons, then sank down onto the sofa that overlooked the bay, kicked off the strappy pink heels that were even higher and spikier than the leopard ones, and sighed in what sounded like relief.

“I’d love a glass of chardonnay.”

“You got it.”

Having been living in Bon Temps for the past six weeks, he recognized the haunting Irish tones coming from the ceiling speakers as Enya. His mother had long been a fan, which was one of the reasons why the album was on Bon Temps’ jukebox, and as he remembered that the singer had garnered a number of stalkers, he hoped to hell that Kara was right and he wouldn’t have to worry about that problem with this Irish star.

He could feel her eyes on his back as he got the beer and wine out of the cooler.

“I love your brother’s restaurant.”

“I do, too. My mom first opened Bon Temps shortly after marrying Dad—as a take-out joint in a building about the size of a broom closet, to hear them tell it. Since it was the only Cajun restaurant on the coast, it took off, and by the time Sax was born, it was bringing in enough income our dad was able to quit fishing and they ran the place together. They also provided all the entertainment. We kids grew up there and I still remember falling asleep listening
to Mom singing like a nightingale on the big stage that used to be there.”

“That’s a lovely memory,” she murmured. “Some would consider running a restaurant, as good as your family’s is, a step down from being offered a movie contract.”

“You saw them together.” He poured the wine, opened the bottle of beer, crossed the room, and handed her the stemmed glass. “Did you notice any signs of regret?”

“Not a one.” She took a sip of the wine. “Perfect, thank you.”

“Hey, it’s your wine,” J.T. said with a shrug as he sat down in a blue striped wing chair, putting the white coffee table between them. “Thanks again for not saying anything to my grandmother when she brought up you being naked in those movies.”

“Actually, for the record, I wasn’t naked. In those beach and bedroom scenes when it looked as if I was, I was wearing a flesh-colored bodysuit. But you needn’t worry about me being offended. Your grandmother reminds me a lot of my own. Who can be more than a little outspoken, herself.”

“
Grand-mère
’s always spoken her mind. But after she hit her head in a fall, the doctors diagnosed her with dementia, which seems to have done away with any filters.”

“I’m sorry.”

And didn’t that make two of them? J.T. also decided it wasn’t his place to tell her that it hadn’t actually been him, but Sax, who’d had that high school pregnancy scare.

“The doctors don’t believe she’ll get any worse. But they also can’t guarantee she’ll get better.”

“It’s troubling to have someone you love have health problems,” she said. “I lost my mother when I was very young. And then my father when I was sixteen.”

“That’s rough.” He’d read that family history in her bio, including the fact that her mother had died giving birth to the youngest Joyce sister when Mary had been nine years old. But seeing the statement online wasn’t the same as watching the shadows darken her blue eyes at the memory.

“It wasn’t easy. Fortunately, my sister had returned home from the convent to step into our mother’s shoes. Nora’s always been the Joyce family rock.”

“Mom’s pretty much the Douchett family anchor,” J.T. said. “Though Kara’s one tough cookie, too.”

He told her an abridged version of how Kara’s Marine husband and high school sweetheart had been killed on a domestic call as a cop after surviving multiple tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. How she’d been a detective in California, then come back to take over her dad’s job when he’d been killed. And how Sax, who’d fallen in love with her back in high school—but hadn’t said or done anything about it, since she’d been in love with his friend—had won her over and now they were having a baby and getting married.

She ran a fingernail around the rim of her wineglass. “That’s a very bittersweet story that definitely says a lot about your brother. Not all teenage boys would’ve been that honorable.”

“There was a time, back in the day, when Sax was doing his best to play the town hellion. But he never was, deep down.”

He took a drink of beer, felt the cool slide down his throat, and, being that he was technically on the job, vowed this would be his only one of the day.

“The problem was that Cole, being the straight-arrow oldest brother, was a tough act to live up to. So, Sax pretty much quit trying during middle school and started carving out his own reputation.”

Of the two of his brothers, although he’d looked up to Cole, Sax was the one J.T. had envied. Even if he had spent a lot of time in hot water. Until his senior year, when he’d promised Jared Conway, who’d gone off and joined the Marines, to watch out for Kara and keep her from being lonely.

“What about you?”

He dragged his mind from those days when it was more than obvious to everyone but Kara that Sax had fallen hard. And, as it turned out, his feelings had been strong enough to survive all those years apart.

“Me?”

“Well, if Cole was the straight arrow, and Sax was Shelter Bay’s bad boy, what role did you take on?”

“Why, can’t you tell?” He flashed a grin. “I was the smart, handsome, charming Douchett brother.”

Hell, where had that come from? The past, he realized as he watched her baby blues open wide with surprise. Before he’d gotten so deep in the pit that even this morning he hadn’t been certain he was ever going to be able to climb out.

“I could tell that from the tie.”

He glanced down at the cartoon crawfish. “The suit and shirt belong to Cole, who, as I mentioned, was the respectable brother and insisted tonight’s occasion called for something more than flannel or leather over a T-shirt. I got the tie from Sax.”

“I like it. Though I suspect the leather jacket would’ve made most of the women in Bon Temps tonight happy.” She took a sip of the wine, studying him more deeply. “I feel as if I’m watching that old black-and-white TV quiz show. Would the real J. T. Douchett please stand up?”

He shrugged. Stretched out his legs and realized that since she was going to be in town for the next few days, she’d be bound to hear gossip.

“I liked being a Marine,” he said. “A lot. It felt like home from the first day. But I was living with even more brothers than I had been back here.”

“A band of brothers,” she murmured.

“Yeah. That was a great series, and although our war was different from that generation’s in a lot of ways, whenever you’re out there getting shot at by bad guys, you bond pretty tight. I always figured I’d stay in until they forced me out.”

He smiled, just a bit, at how naive he’d been. While he’d been able to handle the battle stuff, damned if it hadn’t been his last, far tougher stateside assignment that had lit the torch that led to his burnout.

“And although there’s nothing like the adrenaline rush of battle, I sure didn’t intend to do that the rest of my life. My plan was to move on to teaching full-time at the War College or maybe the Academy.”

“The Naval Academy at Annapolis?”

“Yeah. Like I said, I already have my BA and MA. And I just need to finish writing my thesis for my PhD in history.”

“Your thesis?”

“I got started on it while I was deployed, then got sidetracked. It’s on the role of Special Operations in
low-intensity combat, unconventional warfare, and the increasing use of the military, including Special Forces, as on-the-ground diplomats with local populations going forward into the future. “

“I’m impressed.”

She also sounded surprised, making him wonder if she’d stereotyped him the same way he had her. Of course she had.

“I taught some classes at the War College which touched on the topic, and really enjoyed training the next generation of warriors. It’s important to know how to shoot, but the way things are changing, wars are going to be fought more with brains than brawn. And since I don’t see the world holding hands on the mountaintop and singing ‘Kumbaya’ and the Coca-Cola song anytime soon, military men and women are going to have to be prepared for new challenges.”

“Well,” she said again. She crossed her legs, leaned back, and gave him another of those long looks that had him feeling as if he were on a Hollywood casting call and she was trying to decide what role he’d be testing for. “A warrior-scholar. Aren’t you just one surprise after another?” she murmured, as much to herself, J.T. thought, as to him.

Yep. She’d definitely pegged him as just some jarhead with nothing between his ears.

“So, what changed your plans?”

“Let’s just say the idea lost its appeal.”

“Why?”

“What does it matter?” he countered. “It just did.”

“Humor me.”

“Now it’s my turn to ask why.”

“Because it’s obvious that the festival committee wants you to help keep the famous movie star
happy. And because I’m a writer. Digging beneath the surface of characters is what we do.”

“Don’t look now, but I’m not a character.”

She smiled at that. With those luscious full lips and eyes that had gone from sad and suspiciously misty when talking about her mother’s death, to teasing. “Not yet, maybe,” she agreed. “But the night, and the festival, are still young.”

Day segued into evening. Then night, as Phoebe basked in the glory of the day off Zelda had insisted she deserved. Although Ethan had prepared their lunch, after an impromptu trip to the fishmonger’s booth at the bay-side farmers’ market, she insisted on trying out her newly discovered talents in the kitchen, something she’d never been allowed while living with Peter.

At first she was a little nervous, afraid of not getting all the diced potatoes for the clam chowder the same size, or the oil the right temperature for the breaded Dungeness crab cakes, but not only was Ethan not the least bit critical, as Peter would have been under the same circumstances; instead of impatiently waiting to be fed, he pitched in on making the meal with her.

Yet again, unlike her husband, he didn’t brush her aside and insist on doing things his way, but worked easily as he took on the role of her assistant, gathering the ingredients she asked for, setting the table. And, amazingly, after declaring her supper of clam chowder, crab cakes, and grilled asparagus with a
medley of fresh berries for dessert the best he’d ever tasted, he wouldn’t let her even clear the table, and insisted on loading the dishwasher himself.

She’d never—ever!—had a man wait on her. It felt strange. Yet, as relaxed as she was from the day, and the company, it also felt wonderful.

Which was why Phoebe was floating on air as he walked her up the steps to the door of Haven House.

“Thank you,” she said. “For lunch and a lovely day.” They were standing there on the pretty porch, only inches apart, she looking up at Ethan, he looking down at her, emotions swirling in the air between them.

“I had a great time.” Although the night had grown cool, his deep voice wrapped her in a warm velvet embrace. As he ran a hand down her hair, she watched the desire rise in his eyes.

“Me, too.” Over the past weeks, she’d prided herself on becoming strong and independent. So how could such a simple touch have her sounding so breathless?

He leaned closer. “Tell me,” he said, as that hand on her hair moved lower, to caress her collarbone, which until this moment she never would have expected to be an erogenous zone, “if I’m making a mistake.”

“I don’t know.” Having lived a lie for so many years, Phoebe had promised herself never to fall into that trap again. “I can’t always think straight when I’m with you.”

“I know the feeling, all too well.…Okay, how about this?” That work-roughened hand skimmed down her side, and when she didn’t automatically tense up, as she would have when they’d first met in
the shelter’s kitchen, it slipped around to her lower back. “I’ve spent all day—hell, weeks—trying to be patient, but if you don’t tell me to back off now, I’m going to kiss you, Phoebe.”

Phoebe was not at all surprised that Ethan, who had been so understanding and supportive since the day they met, would give her fair warning, rather than take what he wanted. What they both knew, deep down, that she wanted, as well.

But life was so complicated. She was still technically a married woman. Legally separated, true, but from everything she’d read, everything the counselor who came to the shelter for group sessions said, women in her situation should take their time, get to feel comfortable in their own skin, before entering into another relationship.