Sea Glass Winter (13 page)

23

Claire was in the
midst of tackling moving boxes when there was a knock on the door. She opened it to find a wide-shouldered man in a Gor-Tex jacket, jeans, and lumberjack boots standing on her front porch.

“Hi.” Little lines fanned out from brown eyes as he smiled. “I’ve brought your basketball setup.”

“I didn’t order that.” Though it was on her to-do list. Hopefully for this week. Okay, maybe next, given all the work she still had to do for her upcoming exhibition.

“Sorry. Dillon Slater sent me over with it. I guess he forgot to mention it.”

“Yes. He did.”

“Well, then.” He held out a hand that had more than its share of nicks and scars. “I’m Lucas Chaffee.”

“The contractor, right?”

“That’s me. Dillon knew I had an old portable setup from before I installed a permanent one at my wife’s and my place—”

“Your wife being Maddy Durand.”

“Maddy Chaffee now,” he corrected easily. “I see you’re getting caught up on all the Shelter Bay stories.”

“Dottie and Doris mentioned your marriage when I was in their shop yesterday and said I needed a contractor.” And here he was. Could this be a portent that life was finally turning around?

“This is a way cool cottage, but it could use a little TLC. Not just for appearances, but for structure.” He pulled a pocketknife out of the front pocket of his jeans and stuck it into one of the pillars holding up her moss-covered porch roof. “You’ve got dry rot.”

“I read that on the inspection report.” But she’d decided that even if she and Matt had to live in the Whale Song Inn while she had the cottage torn down and a new house built in its place, the land, which she’d bought at what would be seen as fire-sale prices in California, was worth it. “Which is ironic considering how wet it is here.”

His answering grin was as charming as Dillon Slater’s. But even if she hadn’t known he was married, it wouldn’t have strummed those chords the way Matt’s coach’s smile had.
Don’t go there!
she instructed her rebellious mind, which had dreamed about the man last night. A hot, X-rated dream involving sex on the beach in the rain.

So not only was she subconsciously lusting after her child’s teacher, whom she’d just met, but she was also on the verge of becoming a cliché—a sexually frustrated cougar. She’d bet her entire stash of beach glass that Dillon Slater was younger than her own thirty-three.

“The term’s misleading.” She was relieved when Lucas Chaffee’s voice dragged her thoughts back to her rotting porch. Which wasn’t the least bit sexy.

“It’s actually caused by the brown rot fungus, but it does need moisture to get started. After that, it can take off and spread like, well, fungi. I’m really not here trolling for business. As I said, Dillon just wanted your son to have the basketball setup, but you’ll want to get it taken care of as soon as possible.”

“You come very well recommended, so yes, I’d like to discuss some options with you. But I’ve got a gallery showing shortly after Thanksgiving, so I’d rather not even think about doing any work until after that.”

“The cottage has stood here since the thirties. I imagine it’ll stand for another few weeks. What did the report say about the electrical?”

“That, fortunately, had been updated. And I had additional circuits installed in the garage for my equipment.”

“Super.” This time, while she still wasn’t attracted to him in
that
way, his easy grin had her wondering if all the men in Shelter Bay were so sexy. She’d met Sax Douchett a few times while eating at Bon Temps, and he certainly fit in the hot category.

“I’ll get started on the basketball rig. It’s portable, with wheels, so Dillon figured you could set it up at the end of the driveway so your son can keep up with his practice shots. Then, once you get the house restored, you can get something more permanent.”

“Coach Slater certainly seems to take a personal interest in his players.”

“He’s hands-on—that’s for sure. But if you’re worried that your son’s getting special treatment because he’s the Beverly Hills phenom who rode into town on a white horse to take the team to state, you needn’t worry. I’ve watched Dillon with some of the other players whose families have been having a rough time during this recession. He’s not one to play favorites.”

“That’s good to know. Though do people really expect Matt to solve all their problems?” And technically, he’d ridden into Shelter Bay in a black Lexus, but that wasn’t the least bit pertinent to the discussion.

“Yeah. Some do. But you don’t have to worry about Matt being under impossible pressure, because Dillon’s been working overtime to keep expectations reasonable.”

“I have the feeling high school basketball holds a higher priority here than it did in Beverly Hills.”

He laughed. “Yeah. I’d say you’re probably right. There’s not a lot of movie premieres and charity balls to go to in Shelter Bay, so once the winter rain sets in, high school hoops are pretty much the top ticket in town.”

As he went out to his truck and began taking out the backboard, rim, pole, and what appeared to be a brand-new net, Claire hoped the amiable, handsome contractor was right about Dillon Slater protecting her son from Shelter Bay’s fans’ expectations.

24

“Marry me,” Ethan said as Phoebe lay in his arms the next morning.

She’d awoken still basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking and the feeling of sleeping in his arms. Then she’d remembered that horrid subpoena and it had felt as if an icy wave had washed over her.

“What?” Startled out of her worrisome thoughts, she looked up at him.

“You must have thought about it. I have.”

“You have?” She’d hoped. But he hadn’t said anything, and having loved the place they were already in, she hadn’t wanted to risk their closeness by asking.

“I love you. And I’d gotten the impression you love me—”

“You know I do.” She hitched up to a sitting position, and although he’d already seen and tasted every bit of her body, feeling suddenly modest, she tucked the flowered sheet beneath her arms. “More than I ever thought possible.”

There’d been a time, while planning to escape her dangerous marriage alive, that she’d sworn to never, ever, consider getting involved with any other man. Not that Ethan was just
any
man.

He sat up as well. “Then what’s standing in our way?”

“I’m pregnant, for one thing.”

“You wouldn’t be the first pregnant bride to walk down the aisle. Hell, Kara was pregnant when she and Sax finally tied the knot this past summer. And you won’t be the last.” He ran callused fingers that had both soothed and aroused so wonderfully last night over her bare shoulder.

“I can’t plan a wedding. I have a new job, a baby on the way, and now Peter’s parents’ custody grab to fight.”

“There’s no way they have any claim on your child.”

“Their grandchild,” she pointed out.

“Whom they don’t deserve and shouldn’t be allowed to be anywhere near because they raised a monster.” He splayed his broad fingers over her sheet-covered stomach. “They’re not going to take anything more away from you. I promise.”

“I can’t believe they’re claiming I’d be a bad mother.”

The complaint had accused her of illegally establishing a new identity by buying forged documents. It had gone on to accuse her of abandoning her family, adultery, and living with a man who was not her husband while still married.

The pages of legalese did not add that the only reason she’d been living in Ethan’s farmhouse was because her husband—their son—had, on more than one occasion, threatened to kill her. And had even attempted to follow through on that threat. Which he would have succeeded in doing had it not been for this man sitting next to her in bed.

“They’re grasping at straws. You’ll get a lawyer who’ll prove that you’ll be a far better and safer parent than they could ever think of being. Meanwhile, if you’re bringing your baby home to a stable marriage, that’s got to weigh heavily on your side.”

“That’s why you’re proposing?”

He shook his head. “No. That’s why I’m suggesting getting married now. In a perfect world, since this is a slow time for farming, I’d wait until the baby’s born and you can fly again, then take you both to some tropical island where I can feed you breadfruit and make slow love to you all night long.”

“When we’re not feeding the baby,” she said dryly, even as his suggestion sounded like, well, paradise.

“Time slows down in the islands,” he said. “Even more than here in Shelter Bay. We’ll have plenty of time. Meanwhile, getting married can checkmate your former in-laws, because although we both know you’re going to be a dynamite mom, they won’t be able to play that working-single-mother card against you. Your child would be born into a family with both a mother and a father.”

It was so tempting to just let Ethan leap in to solve her problem. But she’d worked so hard to regain her independence; she didn’t want to allow herself to crumble just when things got a little tough.

Okay, a lot tough.

“I want to marry you, Ethan.” She took both his hands in hers and lifted them to her lips. “I’ve dreamed of it.”

“That makes two of us. So why do I hear a
but
?”

“Because I don’t want to let the Fletchers be the impetus to our getting married. That’s giving them a power they don’t deserve.”

“That’s one way of looking at it. But did you consider that you’re giving them power by letting them prevent us from having a life together?”

“I don’t know.” She was so torn.

“Am I at least allowed to make a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“Call Charity.”

“How can a veterinarian help? Other than show any investigators who come around to check me out that I’ve already adopted a dog for my child?”

“Her stepdad’s a hot-shot judge in Washington State. He probably knows someone back in Colorado who can make the Fletchers go away with a single phone call.”

“Do you think?” Hope fluttered in her heart, which was torn between her very real fear of her former husband’s powerful, wealthy parents, and her joy at being loved by Ethan Concannon.

“Absolutely.” He kissed her again. “Trust me,” he murmured against her mouth.

“I do,” she said as his wonderfully clever lips caused her wounded heart to take wing.

25

Matt grabbed some utensils and a handful of paper napkins, then pushed his tray down the cafeteria line. Today he had a choice between spaghetti, which looked a lot like white worms drowning in a dark orange sauce, and a gray meat loaf that reminded him of one his mom had tried to make while his grandmother had been in the hospital. That had turned out as dry as Huntington Beach sand and as heavy as a brick. This didn’t look any more promising.

The side dish was spinach boiled until it looked like the seaweed strung all over the beach below the cottage. And, seriously, orange Jell-O?

“What is this place?” he asked as he sat down across from Aimee. Although he was starving, he’d skipped the nuclear waste, and since the kid in front of him had snatched the last turkey club sandwich, he’d settled for an apple and milk. “A hospital or a school?”

“That’s why I try to remember to check out the menu at least the night before. If there’s nothing that looks like it was created by a human for human consumption, I brown-bag it.” She reached into the brown bag in question. “My mom, who has the metabolism of a hummingbird, always packs enough for two people. Want a salmon salad sandwich with capers on whole wheat? Or sushi?”

“I’ll take whatever you don’t want, thanks.”

“We’ll split.”

She took out a plastic container and had just divvied up the food onto one of the paper plates her mother had provided when Brendan Cooper, who’d initially complimented Matt on his shooting the previous day, stopped by the table.

“Hey, Templeton. What are you doing at this table?”

Matt looked across at Aimee, who appeared to be waiting for the answer. The other kids, he noticed, had taken a sudden interest in the nutrition information on their milk cartons.

“I like it here.”

“Here?” Cooper looked down at the others at the table as if noticing them for the first time. “Seriously? Dude! You’re a Dolphin.” The way he said it had Matt half expecting a flare of trumpets from the band table across the room. “Which means you belong sitting with the rest of the dream team.”

It was what Matt had wished for yesterday. It was also what he wanted at this moment. But he’d already hurt the first person who’d been nice to him. And not, he was sure, because it had been her job. But because she was a warm, caring person.

“You should go,” Aimee said. “Didn’t you tell me Coach Slater wants you all to bond as a team?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Go.” She made a little shooing gesture. “I’ll see you later in English.”

Matt felt bad ditching Aimee, but it wasn’t like he was leaving her all alone. She’d probably been eating at the same table with the same kids all year.

“Look who I rescued from the geek gang,” Brendan announced. “The Beverly Hills phenom himself.”

Matt wondered if he’d have been so complimentary if Dirk the jerk were here. For some reason, although the thirty-minute lunch period was half over, his nemesis hadn’t yet shown up to hold court over his minions.

“Hey, your mom made you sushi?” one of the kids asked, spotting the lunch Matt had brought with him.

“Aimee’s mom made it. She shared it with me.”

“Wow. You California guys move fast,” Cooper said as Matt sat down in the space on the bench that Johnny scooted over to make for him.

“She was my assigned greeter yesterday. That’s all.”

“Good to hear. Because, like Coach said, we Dolphins need to keep up our image. You having a flat-chested brainiac as a girlfriend just doesn’t cut it, dog. You know what I’m saying?”

Matt did. Back when he’d been rolling around on top of his homework beneath the pink-flowered canopy of way-hot Lila Greene’s bed, he’d thought the same way.

“Aimee’s a nice girl,” he said at the same time Dickhead Dirk strolled in with the blonde, who today was wearing a pair of skintight jeans, a ribbed tank top, and a denim jacket studded with red rhinestone hearts. Today’s UGGs were the color of cranberries.

Acting as if Matt were invisible, Dirk glanced down at the tray in front of Johnny. “What the hell is that stuff?”

“The sign said meat loaf.”

“Well, then, you’d better eat it. Because no Dolphin ever lets his meat loaf.” He basked in the expected laughter from his sycophants, then pulled the blonde against his side and grinned down at her. “Right, babe?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“You wore me out,” he announced loudly. “I need nourishment.” He pulled a five-dollar bill out of his wallet. “Why don’t you go get me some chips and a drink?”

“That’s not very a nourishing lunch,” she said.

His eyes narrowed to slits. Dangerous slits. “Make it Doritos. And a Coke. And regular, not that diet stuff you drink.”

Obviously pissed at his behavior, she nevertheless sashayed off.

“What do you think you’re looking at?” Dirk asked Matt.

Apparently having become visible, Matt shrugged. “Just admiring the scenery,” he said mildly. Along with every other guy at the table.

“Don’t.” With that warning lingering in the air, Dirk went to the far end of the table, swung his legs over the bench, sat down, and began talking to the French fry kid.

The buzz of conversation that had stopped when Matt had shown up at the dream team table resumed.

“So,” Johnny, of the hyphenated name, said, “I hear the coach had dinner at your house last night.”

“News gets around fast.”

“It’s a small town.”

“Yeah, I’ve already figured that out for myself. But it wasn’t like people are probably trying to spin it. He came over to tell my mom about my bad attitude. Then stayed to show my mom how to cook clams.”

“Bad attitude?” Johnny took a bite of the meat loaf.

“Yeah. I let him know I didn’t like coming off the bench, which didn’t go over real well. And you must have either a suicide wish or a cast-iron stomach.”

“You spend enough years in foster care with people who are in it just for the money—which they don’t spend on groceries for the kids living with them—you learn to eat just about anything you’re lucky to get.” He took a long, thirsty slurp of milk, which suggested that the meat loaf was as dry as it looked. “Guess you didn’t do much Dumpster diving for dinner in Beverly Hills.”

“You’d guess right. Do you have a problem with that?”

Skinny shoulders shrugged. “Some of the guys don’t like the idea of a rich kid breezing in and winning a spot on the team.”

“I may have lived in Beverly Hills, but I’m not rich. My grandmother got the house in a divorce. Since it was paid for, we stayed. Both she and my mom had to work. Even though Mom inherited the house and sold it to buy our place here, she’s still not anywhere near rich.”

“It wouldn’t matter to me if you were. I hit the jackpot when I ended up here in Shelter Bay with my sister and we both finally got adopted. Which is how I got my last name. Since both my mom and dad had names they were already known by for their careers, they kept their own names, and then my sister and I got both.”

“That’s kind of a cool way of handling it,” Matt said, thinking that the possibility of his taking on
his
father’s name had been a moot point in his family.

“Yeah. Mom and Dad are both way cool. They even took us to Hawaii with them when they got married. So no way am I going to begrudge anyone else their good luck.”

He picked up a forkful of greasy spinach, then put it down again. Apparently even the former sometimes-starved foster kid had his limits. “I’m coming off the bench. But I’m not nearly as good as you. Hell, I was surprised to make varsity.”

He was pushing the spinach around. “You want to come over and shoot hoops after practice? I heard you have this goal of three hundred shots a day, and since you don’t have a setup at your place yet, maybe we can work out a trade. You can use the hoop my dad set up to keep sharp and maybe give me a few pointers on how to improve my game so I don’t get busted down to JV.”

Realizing that he had no idea if Aimee was thinking about sticking around like she did yesterday to drive him home—unlikely since he’d manage to insult her twice today—Matt glanced over at her table. And saw her looking at him. Had she been watching him this whole time? Or was it just some weird coincidence that their eyes would, like, meet across the crowded cafeteria?

She turned pink, the way she had when he’d kissed her, and forced a smile that was obviously fake. Then, giving him the indication that he’d turned invisible again, she picked up her tray and took it over to the recycle bins.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said.