Finding The Way Back To Love (Lakeside Porches 3) (2 page)

Peter sensed his partner’s gaze on him. He glanced over and saw both Sam’s eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Well, I wouldn’t want my wife or—or sister or girlfriend in that situation, would you?” Sam’s chuckle pushed Peter’s buttons. “What?”

Sam shrugged. “Just never thought of it that way. What do you think of her?”

“Gwen Forrester? She’s either made of steel or out of her mind.”

Sam nudged Peter’s arm. He pointed to a sedan that had emerged from the park with no headlights. It weaved ahead of them toward town. “Let’s get this guy.”

Gwen watched as Haley settled herself on a stool at the kitchen island and gave a loving pat to her big belly.

She loves this baby
. Gwen wanted to hear about the boyfriend and their plans, but she knew from experience that Haley would shy away like a high-strung filly if she felt threatened or judged. After putting the teakettle and a pot of water to boil on the stove, she rummaged through the freezer for a pint of her homemade pasta sauce. “Beef or veggie?”

“Beef, please.”

Good appetite.
“Does your mother know you’re here?”

Haley’s smile faded to a grim line. Her shoulders slumped and she focused on a broken fingernail.

That went well.
“Guess not, huh?”

Haley shook her head and picked at a loose bit of polish.

We need a spa day. Probably some maternity clothes, too
. “Tell you what,” Gwen said.

Haley looked up at her through thick, dark lashes.

“You open the package of pasta.” Gwen handed her the wheat linguini. “I’ll call Ursula and leave a message, just in case she’s worried about you.”

Haley snorted and picked at the end flaps of the box.

“Then my conscience will be clear. And yours, too.”

“You’re right.”

Gwen dialed her ex-sister-in-law’s phone number and heard the call switch immediately to voicemail. “It’s Gwen. Haley is here with me at the lake. She’s safe. I’d appreciate a call back tomorrow.” She gave her cell number and broke the connection. “Done.”

“I’ll call Dad tomorrow, I promise.”

“Good thinking.” Gwen placed two pasta bowls, two forks, and two big spoons on the island. She smiled when Haley slid off her stool and set their places using two placemats from the linen drawer.
She’s already at home here. That helps
. “Thanks, sweetie.”

“Welcome.”

“There’s Italian bread in the box. How about slicing a big hunk for both of us?”

“Sure. Can I make a salad?”

“Great idea.”

When the kettle shrilled, Gwen plopped two chamomile teabags in a white teapot, poured in boiling water, and grabbed two white mugs from the cupboard. She started the linguini cooking and went to work microwaving the frozen sauce.

Over their midnight supper, they chatted about Haley’s classes at the State University of New York at Albany, her double major in art and botany, and her summer job waitressing in Saratoga Springs.

When she was satisfied Haley had eaten a healthy supper, Gwen broached a harder topic. “Do you want to talk tonight about the baby and why you’re here, or wait until morning?”

Haley licked her lips and studied the veins in the marble counter top. Finally, she met Gwen’s gaze and swallowed. “Tomorrow.”

Gwen stared.

Haley glared back.

Gwen conceded. “Good enough. The guestroom is all made up. Sleep well, sweetie.”

Haley climbed the stairs, but Gwen stayed to perch a while at the island.

She sipped and savored the soothing tea, as her thoughts unfolded. It was no surprise that Ursula opposed Haley’s pregnancy, but it troubled Gwen that Haley had sought out the Forrester homestead in the Finger Lakes, now, two weeks before the start of the fall semester and two months before the baby was due. Had Ursula kicked her out? Cut off her funds?
Must be.

There were so many unanswered questions. Did Haley want to take classes in the fall? Stay here or move back to Albany? From their discussion, Gwen had inferred that Haley still loved school, so she probably wasn’t planning to drop out. Did Haley want to have her baby here? And then what? And where was the boyfriend?

Gwen had no answers, so she did what was in front of her—cleaned up from their meal. Once she had the dishwasher chugging, she sponged off the inside of the microwave and the top of the range and cleaned the marble counters.
Good
. She rested her hands on her hips.

Whatever possessed me to invite Peter Shaughnessy to breakfast
? A smile spread across her face.
Adonis in uniform, and no wedding ring
. She drew out one more placemat and set the island for three.

When he and Sam arrived back at the station, Peter remarked, “Our shift is off to a wild start.” He grabbed an apple for himself and tossed another to Sam.

Sam fielded it with one hand. “You want to handle the report on the Forrester break-in while I book the DWI?”

Since Peter had never lost his disdain for drunks, he gladly went with Sam’s plan. “Good deal, and I’ll make fresh coffee.” He started a new pot, and then hunkered at his desk. Entering data in field after field was part of the job, and it made him glad he’d learned office skills in high school. He’d been ribbed for taking “girly classes,” but a few well-placed punches had shut that down. He never let on that meeting girls was half the motivation.

He’d met Cynthia in Keyboarding Lab. They’d married right after high school and had nine good years together before she decided being a cop’s wife meant too much stress and too little money. The divorce was official last month, just after his move, and he was waiting for the final bill from his lawyer. He had his eye on a little Cape Cod a few streets from Tompkins College. Soon he’d know if he could swing it or if it was just a nice dream.

Either way, he knew in his heart moving from Syracuse to the Finger Lakes and a smaller city—Tompkins Falls was population twenty thousand plus a thousand or so college students—was right for him. He was only thirty, not too old to find a good woman and start a family.

So Gwen Forrester is a widow? Beautiful, athletic body, just the way he liked a woman be. But is she out of my league?

Her lakefront home must be more than a century old, and in beautiful condition, with wide oak floors that gleamed as though someone had polished them lovingly for decades. The property must be worth a million or more. Situated a good four miles down the east side of the lake, it probably sat south of the cluster of gumdrop islands, giving it a clear view of Chestnut Lake to the west and south.

The lake was one of the lesser-known Finger Lakes, about twenty miles long and a couple miles wide. No one had a name for the tiny islands in the northeast corner of the lake, but everyone knew what he meant when he called them gumdrop islands. They were little mounds covered with evergreens, like spearmint gumdrops coated with dark-green sugar crystals.

With his mind back on the report, he detailed the damage to Gwen Forrester’s locks and thought about the young woman who’d done the damage, Haley. He checked his memory for the odd-sounding middle name, Ursula, and shook his head as he entered the full name in the report. Why had her folks picked Ursula? The name didn’t fit Haley.

The two Forrester women were so beautiful and charming, most visitors to the lakeside house would probably overlook the not-so-charming details, like the smashed lock. Haley had said her baby was due in October, but he’d say sooner, and her aunt had not known anything about the pregnancy. Why did Haley arrive unannounced and break into her aunt’s house, instead of planning a visit?

And walking from the bus terminal, six or seven miles, couldn’t have been fun. According to the bus schedule, she’d arrived in town a few minutes after seven, and he’d bet the last few miles of her walk had been in total darkness. Dangerous for anyone, especially a teenage girl, pregnant or not.

Maybe the aunt had her phone turned off while she was out. But, as a psychologist, wouldn’t she check messages pretty often?
So, what, Haley just showed up and broke in?

He was curious if Haley had a record. Even though the homeowner had not pressed charges, he checked the state database. No record. Facebook told him more.

Haley’s personal page showed her with her boyfriend Rick, an engineering major at prestigious Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. The photo gallery told the story of their hiking, cross-country skiing and kayaking.

But Haley’s timeline stopped in early May, more than three months ago. Maybe it was the end of the semester. Maybe she broke up with Rick. Maybe she found out she was pregnant. Maybe she dropped out of sight. Maybe all or none of those things.

Haley’s artist page on Facebook led him to the website for her online business, H. Forrester, where she sold original, botanical prints to an upscale clientele. He barely recognized the scared, pregnant teen on Gwen’s porch as the polished young woman wearing a white lab coat, perched at an easel in a greenhouse, surrounded by flowering plants and miniature fruit trees. Science and reference books formed a tall stack beside her, and a glossy picture book by her feet lay open to the plant she drew. H. Forrester’s photo made her seem in her twenties, business-savvy, intelligent, and very talented. And not pregnant.

He sat back and stretched. Was it any of his business? No, except something was off, and he wanted to know what it was. Haley’s actions were those of a desperate teen—a lot like his sister, Bree, had been half a dozen years ago. That behavior didn’t jive with someone who ran an online business and had the talent and brains Haley obviously did.

And Gwen was putting herself at risk out there on the family estate. Why was Gwen Forrester still alone, years after her husband’s death? She was a beautiful, desirable woman.

“Still working on that report?” Sam’s voice pulled him out of his musings.

“Almost done.”

“I’m heading to Wegmans to pick up pizza. What kind do you want?”

“See if they have a mushroom and sausage for me. Otherwise anything. And a salad, with peppers, if you can find one.” He opened his wallet, peeled off a twenty, and held it out to Sam. “Thanks, pal.”

Peter read through the report, added details, and corrected his typos. He’d have Sam read it and add his stamp of approval over pizza.

Just because he was already online, he searched on the name of Gwen’s husband, Jeb Brewster. An obituary in the archives of the local newspaper featured a photo of him with his Ski Patrol team and told of a skiing accident in Pennsylvania five years ago. A lengthy tribute in a Rochester newspaper cited Jonathan Evans “Jeb” Brewster, Esq., partner with Fitch, Brewster and Allan in Rochester, as a hero who had given his life rescuing two boys trapped in a broken gondola lift. Jeb was survived by his beloved wife, Gwendolyn Forrester, no children. This time the accompanying photo showed Brewster as a blond, blue-eyed, Ivy-League-type attorney.
Shaughnessy, you don’t come close to this woman’s taste in men.

Gwen had no presence on the web, except as a psychologist in a regional listing for health services. Peter grabbed the phone book and found an ad for her as ‘Gwendolyn C. Forrester, Ph.D., Psychologist, specializing in addictions.’ Not how he’d want to spend his time. He remembered what he’d said to Sam, that she was either made of steel or out of her mind.
So why can’t I get her and her sleek body out of my mind
?

Chapter 2

Gwen’s arrival at the Chestnut Lake Café a few hours later, just after it opened at six-thirty, drew a raised eyebrow from Deirdre Calhoun. At Gwen’s nod, Deirdre tucked in a bookmark and closed the cover on Stephen King. Coral fingernails tapped a worried beat on the tabletop.

Gwen dumped her purse on the chair across from her AA sponsor, fished out her wallet, and threaded through the throng of arriving customers to the pastry case.

Lynnie, the proprietor of the Chestnut Lake Café, rested an arm on the case and waited.

Gwen’s eyes sparkled as she pointed from one tray to the next. “One of those and one of those and . . .”

Lynnie gave up a hearty laugh. “Not if you want those skinny jeans to fit tomorrow, Gwen.”

“Darn.” Gwen snapped her fingers in mock frustration. “Reality is a drag. I’ll go with a large coffee, no room.”

Lynnie winked. “Good choice.”

Gwen set down her mug, slid the sturdy chair back from the scarred wooden table, and sat. “Stephen King? I thought you were strictly the whodunit type, Deirdre.”

“Needed some chills and thrills. What’s new with you?”

“Lots.”

“Do tell. Did the Beamer guy propose?”

“Who?” Gwen gave her a puzzled frown.

“The hot shot you’ve been dating. Ned Somebody, drives the Beamer.”

“Porsche. And it’s Williams. No. I decided—on my perilous drive home last night—that I needed to stop seeing him.”

“Smartest thing I’ve heard you say in months. So why are you here?”

“Because this is where I can find my sponsor every morning between six-thirty and eight.”

“Except in the four years I’ve been your sponsor, this is only the second time you’ve taken me up on that offer.”

Gwen shrugged and took three sugar packets from the white ceramic container in the middle of the table. She opened each in turn, emptied the contents into her drink, and stirred idly.

“Nod if you’re just here for sugar and caffeine.” Deirdre shifted in her chair.

“It’s serious,” Gwen told her. “I may have lost my mind.” Gwen picked up her mug and blew across the hot liquid.

“If I want suspense, I’ll go back to Stephen King.”

Gwen held up a finger while she took a hot sip of strong, sweet coffee. “There. Now I can talk.”

“Start with why you’re dumping Ned.” Deirdre rested her elbows on the table.

“I vowed to stop seeing Ned because the sex was outstanding but, beyond that, there was no relationship. Same with all the others I’ve been dating the past few months. Eye candy and a hot car might be cool when you’re twenty, but I’m thirty-two, Deirdre, and I want a meaningful relationship with a man I admire and respect and who wants to have a family.” She ran out of breath.

“It’s about time you figured that out.” Deirdre’s tone was stern, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“I got there a lot slower than you wanted, I know. But the guy who’s coming to breakfast at nine might be Mr. Right.”

“Wait. After you drove home from Eye Candy’s house, you met someone else and you’re having breakfast with him?”

“At nine o’clock this morning.”

“Gwen, do you hear yourself? As a psychologist, you’re a thoughtful, intelligent, dedicated professional. But when it comes to men, you’re a flake.”

“And I want to stop that. Deirdre, I think the universe put this man in my path last night.”
Like the deer that forced me to stop and decide to end it with Ned
. “He’s the kind of man I want to date. He’s strong, he’s dependable, and he’s making a contribution to the community.”

“That’s good. And where is this man now? At home in your bed?”

Gwen’s face flamed at the criticism. “No.”
I deserved that
. “He’s a cop, and he’s finishing his shift.” Gwen turned to see the clock on the wall behind Lynnie.

Deirdre tapped a coral fingernail on the table to reclaim Gwen’s attention. “I’ll watch the clock. You talk. How did you meet him? Were you speeding?”

Gwen shook her head. “He and his partner, Tony Pinelli’s brother Sam, were in my house when I got home, and their cruiser was out front with its lights going. I called 911. Sam came out and informed me it was a break-in and they’d caught my niece Haley.”

“Haley, the straight-A student who’s operating a responsible business as an artist and halfway through her degree in botany? That Haley broke into your house?”

“Haley has an online business?”

Deirdre waved her hand at the wall beside their table. “You know those fruit and vegetable posters above my kitchen table that you like so much? Haley did those.”

“I had no idea. How come you know about her business and I don’t?”

“Gwen, I keep telling you, there’s a whole world on the Internet that’s passing you by. You’re only thirty-two, but you’re stuck in the last millennium. Maybe Haley can teach you a few things while she’s here. How long is she staying?”

“I hope she’ll be here until the baby.”

“You’re planning to have a baby?”

“No. Didn’t I tell you Haley’s seven months pregnant?”

“Sheesh. Anything else you left out?” Deirdre counted on her fingers. “She’s due in October?”

“Yes, but she’s really big.”

“And she came unannounced. I’ll bet she’s planning to stay until the baby is born.”

“I agree.” Gwen sipped her coffee without further comment.

“Tell me what your Mr. Right looks like.”

“Why do you always want to know what my dates look like?”

“Humor me.”

“He’s taller than me by—I don’t know—five or six inches.” Gwen took another sip.

“Huh.”

“Dark hair, kind of curly, a little too long, probably cuts it himself.”

“Already you’ve found something you can fix.” Deirdre chuckled.

“Hush. Green eyes, like sea glass, that just scream, ‘I’m a good guy.’”

“Now, wait. What does that mean exactly?”

“You know, the eyes are the windows of the soul, and this guy seems like a ‘What you see is what you get’ kind of guy.”

“And you can tell he’s a good guy from one interaction?”

“Well, he was kind to Haley.” Gwen held her mug with both hands. “And he was concerned about our safety, told us to close and lock the garage door and bolt the kitchen door. And when he accepted our invitation to breakfast, he said he’d bring a new lock to replace the one Haley broke. Haley’s going to pay for it. That was her idea.”

“I’m going to come back to Haley and the break-in. But right now I have to say this guy doesn’t sound anything like Jeb.”

“My Jeb? No, of course not. Why should he be anything like my late husband?” Gwen inhaled the intoxicating smell of pastries behind her. Lynnie must have opened the case to fill an order.
I want one
.

“Gwen.” Deirdre stretched halfway across the table and tapped her fingernails for attention. “Think about it. Every man you’ve dated since you decided to ‘move on’ a few months ago could be Jeb’s twin—blond, preppie, athletic, hotshot professional, sharp dresser. If they didn’t match up with Jeb as he was five years ago, right before he died, you rejected their profiles.”

“I did?” Gwen squinted. The aroma of the cinnamon-pecan rolls beckoned her.

“Yes, and finally you’re interested in a guy who’s not a Jeb look-alike. Not even a lawyer, he’s a cop. But I don’t get why you think he’s the guy you want to have a baby with.”

“I never said that. Haley’s the one that’s pregnant. I just had a hunch he might be solid and interested in a family and . . .”

“How old is he?”

“He’s probably thirty. Do you think I’m out of my mind?”

“I think you’re jumping too far ahead, but the fact he’s not a Jeb clone is real progress.” Deirdre smiled and patted Gwen’s arm. “And inviting him to breakfast?” She flipped two thumbs up. “Spontaneous. You have broken out of your dating rut. Maybe he is Mr. Right, maybe he’s not, but he’s a big step in the right direction. Just take it one step at a time, honey.”

Gwen gulped the rest of her coffee. “Listen, do we have time for a quick walk along the lakeshore? I want to talk about Haley, but not here.”

Deirdre glanced at the clock. “Forty-five minutes. Let’s do it.”

“Yo. Bro,” Tony Pinelli called across the crowded Bagel Depot. He had just emerged from the Early Riser’s AA meeting that congregated every day in the back room of Tompkins Falls’ refurbished train depot.

The brothers often ran into each other this time of day, as Sam rolled off his shift and grabbed a bite to eat before heading home to bed. “I got your text. Give me details. Who’s this Peter that has his eye on my good friend Gwen?”

Sam pointed to his full mouth and then to his half-eaten bagel smothered with ham, egg, and cheese.

Tony clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll get some coffee. Need a refill?”

Sam nodded and chewed.

Settled at Sam’s table with their coffees, Tony pumped his brother for details.

“What can I tell you?” Sam shrugged. “We got the call, like I told you last night. The niece broke in and made a mess of the outside lock. Ms. Forrester—”

“Gwen.”

“Whatever. So I tell her it’s her niece inside with my partner, and she bolts into the house. One minute she’s too shaky to stand up, and the next—”

“Back up. Gwen was too shaky to stand up?”

“She said a buck almost wiped her out as she came down her road. Big hoof print on the hood, maybe four inches from the windshield. I’d be shaking, too.” He took another bite of his breakfast sandwich.

“Okay, so she bolts for the house to see if her niece is all right.”

Sam nodded and chewed.

Tony tapped his foot impatiently and blew on his coffee.

Sam swallowed and told him, “He was full of questions about Gwen. She’s a beautiful woman, you know.”

“Well, yeah, if you like the type.”

“And we all know your type.” Sam guffawed and pantomimed two big breasts in front of his chest. “Now Gwen, she’s more the athletic type. And classy. Some men go for that.”

“I hear you. What’s your partner look like?”

“Tall. Works out. Handsome. Dark hair kind of falls in his face. Women love that stuff.”

“So they’re both fit and great looking,” Tony said. “Probably the only things they’ve got in common.”

“Come on, bro. Maybe they’re both ready to start a family. They can make beautiful babies.”

“You’ve already got them married?” Tony laughed.

“I’m just saying, I think he’s hot for her.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Only thing is, he has a hang-up about drunks. His father was one.”

Tony drew back his fist before he realized he was doing it. “What, you told him she’s in recovery? Did I tell you she’s in recovery?”

“Easy, man. No way would I tell him that. She told me she knows you, and when I asked how, she said she just celebrated eight years sober, or something like that. But the thing is, Peter always lets the other guys book the drunks. We brought one in last night on our way back from the Forrester house. Peter let me handle it, as usual. Says he’s the best one to write up reports and chase down details. And he’s good at that. Really fast with paperwork, and everyone else hates doing it. But you told me her whole practice is about helping drunks and druggies recover. Right?”

Tony nodded.

“Well, Peter’s got very definite ideas about women. Doesn’t want them in danger. Doesn’t think she should be dealing with psychos.”

“They’re not psychos. Gwen’s not in danger.” Tony snorted. “But maybe I’d better meet this dude. Teach him a few things about ex-drunks who are cleaning up their act.”

“Sure, come on over some night.” Sam sat back. “We shoot baskets outside the police station on break, most mornings around two-thirty. Kids come around. They’re just out roaming with no supervision, and they like playing there, where nobody’s going to yell at them. They really dig Peter, like he’s one of them.”

“Two-thirty in the morning? Yeah, that’ll happen. Is he any good?”

Sam drained his coffee. “Might want him for the team this fall.”

Deirdre’s sneakers scuffed the gravel path along the lakeshore. “This is the first you knew about Haley’s pregnancy?”

Gwen lifted her face to the cool morning breeze and inhaled the clean smell of lake water. “She hadn’t told me, no. She’d been working at a restaurant this summer, in Saratoga Springs, near where she lives with her mom. Lived, that is.”

“Her mom is your weird sister-in-law, Olga?”

“Ex. And it’s Ursula.” Gwen stuffed her hands in the pocket of her hoodie. “I’m guessing she threw Haley out. I’m not sure why Haley came here yesterday, but I know she needs support. She hasn’t seen a doctor yet, for starters, and she has no clothes that fit her belly. I got that much out of her.”

“She needs a woman’s help. And you’re the go-to woman in her young life.”

“Thank you. I intend to live up to that.”

“Has she been engaging in dangerous behavior?”

“Aside from unprotected sex—which, by the way, is not like her—I doubt it. She’s not a drinker, as far as I know. In the past she’s been dead set against drugs, even pot. My sense is she has taken good care of her health. I think she wants this baby to have every chance. I hope she’s willing to give it up for adoption, but as far as I know she hasn’t done anything about that yet.”

“Does she want you to raise her baby?” Deirdre’s tone was direct.

“Wh-What?” Gwen’s heart jackhammered.

Deirdre did not back down.

“Surely she’s not thinking that?” Gwen willed her heart to settle down. When that didn’t work, she let out a laugh.