Finding The Way Back To Love (Lakeside Porches 3)

FINDING THE WAY BACK TO LOVE

Lakeside Porches Series Book Three

KATIE O’BOYLE

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

FINDING THE WAY BACK TO LOVE

Copyright©2015

KATIE O’BOYLE

Cover Design by Niina Cord

This book is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher.  The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN: 978-1-61935-
700-6

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

To all the Burroughs Girls—

talented, smart, and strong!

Acknowledgements

So many people have contributed to the writing of this book. Kim Gore provided a hard-hitting critique of the opening chapter. Judges of The Sheila Contest (Valley Forge Romance Writers of America) and of the Fool for Love Contest (Virginia Romance Writers of America) gave suggestions that made the book an award winner. Author Elizabeth Kelly provided insightful feedback from a psychological perspective. As always, I am indebted to my Sunday Critters critique group and to the Lilac City Rochester Writers. First, last, and always, warm thanks (and promises of more good books to come!) to my beta readers Anne, Martha, and Kathy. 

Chapter 1

Gwen Forrester knew every tricky turn of her private, half-mile road. Just after eleven on a cool August night, she made the drive alone from East Lake Road to her house on Chestnut Lake, with the windows rolled down to the breeze off the lake. As she navigated, turn-by-turn, she rehashed the ridiculous argument with Ned, until an eight-point buck sprang from the trees on her right.

She screamed and slammed on the brake, as the magnificent animal arched across the hood of the car and filled her windshield. Gwen held her breath while he hung there for an endless moment. Then he stomped his rear hoof inches from the windshield and vanished into the woods.

The car skidded on the gravel and a rear wheel dropped toward the ditch. Gwen steered into the skid, pressed the accelerator, and regained control. Shaking, she coaxed the car to a stop and jammed it into ‘park.’ With both feet on the brake, just to be sure, she folded her arms across her middle and leaned back on the headrest.

“Good job,” she said out loud to herself. The scent of evergreens and wildflowers wafted in through the open window.
Thank you, God.
She drew in a deep breath and, with the exhale, told herself, “I am a competent driver.” With the next exhale, she asserted, “I am a competent woman.” She surprised herself with the next one. “I will stop dating Ned.”

Her eyes opened wide.
I need to do that
.
I feel like a bimbo with him
. Maybe the sex was amazing, but that was the only decent thing she could say about her relationship with Porsche-driving hottie Ned Williams. So what if every woman wanted him? She didn’t.

When the shakes subsided, she put the car in gear and rolled forward. “Done,” she with a nod of her head as she rounded the final curve to her house. “I’m done with Ned, and with all the others like him. I want a real man, one who appreciates me for who I am and who wants to— Ohmigod!”

The pulsing lights of a Tompkins Falls police car bounced off the front windows of her white frame house and washed the turnaround in red.

Officer Peter Shaughnessy cracked open the door from the office to an enclosed porch in the Forrester home. Moonlight flooded through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Instinct held him in place at the doorway. He probed the porch with his eyes and ears, sure now that the slight movement and soft rustle in the far corner belonged to a person. With his body solidly behind the doorframe, he slid his weapon out of its holster and kicked the door wide. Someone gasped. Whoever hid there sounded more like a frightened child than a hardened criminal.

However, after the bullets he’d taken last summer, he wasn’t taking chances. “Walk into the patch of moonlight by the window,” he ordered. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

He counted four seconds before the shape detached itself from the shadows. First into the moonlight was a big old T-shirt stretched tight over a rounded belly. The pregnant woman’s next step revealed that she was slender, medium height, and very young.

“Stay there.”

Tangled brown hair nearly covered her face. She licked her lips and bit the lower one. Her erratic breathing made him worry she might pass out.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice quavered.

“What’s your name, miss?”

“Haley Ursula Forrester,” she squeaked and then cleared her throat.

He thumbed the switch on his walkie-talkie to tell his partner Sam he’d found their trespasser. “And do you live here, Haley?”

“No sir, I’m a student at SUNY Albany. This is my Aunt Gwen’s house.”

“And does she know you’re here?”

“No, sir. I’ve been calling her since this afternoon when my bus left Albany.” Her voice was stronger now. “It’s a straight shot west to Tompkins Falls from Albany, on the Thruway, but you probably know that.”

“Was your aunt expecting you?”

She looked down at the painted wood floor. “No, sir.”

“How did you get here from the city bus terminal?” As he asked the question, he moved through the doorway and scanned the porch. Twenty feet long and ten feet wide. A double door in the middle led out to the yard and the lake. He wondered why Haley hadn’t used it as an exit.

“I walked. It’s miles, and I had to pee really bad by the time I got here.” Her chin came forward. “I know where the key is.”

Peter grimaced.
Not the whole truth.
She might have used a key for the door from the garage to the kitchen, but she had demolished the lock on the outside door to the garage, apparently by smashing it with a rock, multiple times. He’d have just broken the window on the door and turned the lock from the inside.
Not a seasoned criminal, just a desperate kid
.

He felt the wall for a light switch. “Haley, do you know you tripped an alarm when you broke into the house?”

“Uh, yeah.” The answer dripped with teenage sarcasm. “Everyone on the lake heard it.” When he cleared his throat, she squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny.”

Peter found a dimmer switch on the left. With one press and a turn of the knob, the porch flooded with light.

Haley blinked as she shrugged out of her sweat jacket, gathered her long hair into a ponytail, and held it in place with a rubber band from her wrist. Peter studied a face free of makeup, big dark eyes, a pouty mouth, and cheekbones that belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine.

“How old are you, Haley?”

She gave him a ready smile showing perfect white teeth. “Nineteen.”

Housebreaker and heartbreaker
.

Gwen huddled in the front seat of her car, phone clutched in her hand, resisting the impulse to spring from the car and fix whatever was wrong. As the 911 operator—Sally, who she knew from Power Yoga—had directed, she sat with the windows up and doors locked, while she waited on the line for some kind of update.

“Gwen?” Sally’s voice crackled. “Officer Sam Pinelli is coming out to escort you. They have a suspect who claims to know you.”

“A suspect? What’s happened in my house, Sally? Is someone hurt?”

“I don’t have that information.”

Gwen’s attention shifted anxiously from the front door to the garage door. Finally, a buff young man emerged through the side door. When he came into the light from her headlights, she saw his face. “Sam is Tony’s brother, isn’t he?” she asked Sally.

“Sam’s the youngest of the three Pinellis. Joined the force a year ago.”

“Thanks, Sally, I’m okay now.” She closed her phone and slid out of the car. When she tried to stand, though, her knees buckled, still shaky from the adrenaline. She leaned back on the front seat. While Sam made his way to the car, she stretched her legs one at a time and did ankle circles.

“Ms. Forrester? You okay there?”

She laughed at herself. “Still shaking. I nearly hit a big buck on the way in from the highway, and when I turned the last corner, instead of home sweet home, I saw your cruiser.”

He reached out a hand to help her stand and stayed close, probably smelling her breath to see if she’d been drinking.

“You’re Tony’s brother?”

“How do you know Tony?”

“We see each other Friday nights at the Town Hall AA meeting. I celebrated eight years sober a few weeks ago.”

Sam just smiled. And sniffed her breath. He pointed to a hoof-shaped dent on the hood. “Your buck left a calling card.”

Gwen suppressed a shudder. “What’s happening inside, Officer?”

“Housebreaking. My partner found her on the lakeside porch. Says she’s your niece Haley. If you’ll—”

Shaky legs forgotten, Gwen dashed into the garage, flew up the kitchen steps, raced down the hall and skidded on the turn into her office. She stopped at the porch door with a gasp, her attention arrested by the commanding stance and compelling green gaze of the officer blocking her path. His face and physique could be the work of a Renaissance sculptor, and his black, wavy hair tempted her fingers.

“Gwen Forrester?” Peter asked. At her nod, he stepped aside.

Her startled gaze shifted to Haley and softened with love.

Haley stood like a racehorse straining at the gate, tipping up on her toes, her mouth giving little gasps that suggested a torrent of words, barely held in check.

Gwen’s face lit up with delight when she spied the big belly. “Oh!”

The two rushed toward each other, embracing, laughing, crying, talking so low he could make out only a few words—“your mother?” and “boy we met at Christmas” and “when?”

“October, really?” Gwen stepped back. “Just two more months?” She caressed Haley’s face. “Have you had anything to eat today?”

“I’m starved.” Haley grinned.

“Ma’am?” Peter got no response. He might as well be invisible. “Ms. Forrester?” he said louder.

Gwen turned with a look of pure joy, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. She was a chic, older, ash-blond version of Haley.
Even more beautiful
.

“Yes, Officer?”

Her dreamy gaze made him wonder if she was flirting with him.
Get real, Shaughnessy
. “If you won’t be pressing charges, my partner and I will clear out of here, Ms. Forrester.”

She held out her hand, tilted her head coquettishly, and told him, “It’s Gwen. And you are?”

“Officer Peter Shaughnessy.” Her handshake was firm and surprisingly strong for such a slender, feminine woman. He cleared his throat. “You’ll need to get those locks fixed right away, ma’am.”

“Gwen,” she reminded him with a flutter of thick, dark eyelashes.

“Gwen, my partner and I recommend that you put your vehicle in the garage tonight, close and lock the overhead door, deadbolt the kitchen door, and set the alarm. Call a locksmith first thing in the morning.”

Her only response was, “Haley and I will be having breakfast around nine. We’d love to have you join us, Officer.”

He opened his mouth to repeat the caution but closed it again. His partner had told him Tompkins Falls operated more like a small town than a city. This definitely wasn’t going by the Syracuse Police Department procedure book that he still had in his head.

Haley touched his arm and winked. “Come for breakfast, Officer. I need protection from the Inquisition. And Gwen makes a mean omelet.”

Are they sucking up, embarrassed at bothering the police with family business?

“Please, Officer Shaughnessy,” Gwen added.

He surrendered. Sam was always on him to extend a hand to the community. He’d have time after his shift to shower and stop by the home improvement store. “Okay, I will, and I’ll bring a new lock and replace the outside one that Haley damaged.”

“Cool, thanks,” Haley said. “I’ll pay for the lock.”

“And, Haley, you heard my instructions about locking up tonight, right? Maybe you can help your aunt with that.”

“Absolutely.”

“Let me show you out,” Gwen offered.

“I’m good.” He held up his hands to stop her. “You ladies have a lot to talk about.” With a quick salute, he headed back through the house.

Peter navigated the final, treacherous turn of the Forrester Road, signaled a left onto the main road, and headed the cruiser back toward town. He asked his partner, “What’s the story with Gwen Forrester? She lives there alone?”

Sam answered with a laugh. “She did until tonight. Nice place, isn’t it? She spares no expense. Man, did you see her Range Rover? Latest model. Shame about the hoof print.”

“The place is so isolated. I don’t get why she lives there by herself.” It was pitch black on this stretch of highway. They wouldn’t see city lights for a few miles yet.

“The property has been in the Forrester family a few generations. There’s a brother somewhere, who I guess would be Haley’s father. Good family. Gwen’s dad delivered babies in Tompkins Falls for a few decades. His wife did a lot for charity—raised money, ran the thrift shop, started a food pantry, things like that.”

Peter loved it when his partner got on a roll like this. It was a quick lesson in local history and a Who’s Who in Tompkins Falls rolled into one. As a newcomer he was determined to fit in, and he needed all the information he could get, as fast as he could get it. “The doc and his wife are gone now?”

“They died one after the other, like some couples do. She had a heart condition of some kind, and he died a few weeks after they buried her.”

Peter wondered what it was like to have two loving parents.

“I was in high school,” Sam continued, “so it was six or seven years ago. Seemed like the whole town was in mourning. Gwen was widowed around the same time.”

A widow?
“Rough.”

“I’m sure it was. Gwen and her husband, Jeb Brewster, had their own place on the lake, down the west side past Cady’s Point, but she sold it and moved back to the family home after he died. She moved her practice here, too. You saw the office.”

“She’s a doctor like her dad?”

“Psychologist. I talked to my brother Tony while I waited for you to finish inside. He knows her well and can’t say enough good things about her. She helps a lot of people, especially recovering alcoholics and addicts. Sometimes for free or on a sliding scale. If they want to get well, she’s willing to help them.”

“That’s a recipe for disaster.” As they rounded the curve at the north end of the lake, he saw the highway lights on the downtown bypass a couple miles ahead. On the left, a popular lakeside park stretched for two miles. He usually went for a run on the gravel path after his shift.

“What do you mean disaster?” Sam asked.

“Woman alone, miles from town, lives down a long, private road. Sees clients with psychological problems, alone, all day. Sure there’s an alarm, which is what brought us out tonight. A lot could happen between the time an alarm is triggered and an emergency vehicle arrives. It took us, what, seven minutes to get out there, from the time the 911 dispatcher called us. You figure there had to be some delay before that while the alarm company phoned the homeowner, got no response and relayed information to the police.” He shook his head. “Plus, if one of her patients went off on her during a session, no alarm would summon help.”