Sea Glass Winter (15 page)

“From what I hear from Johnny, Dillon’s a great teacher,” Charity said. “He’s smart and clever, and he really likes kids.”

“Partly because he’s still part kid himself,” Kara suggested.

“That’s what makes him fun,” Charity countered. “How many other men do you know who set off cannons?”

“Not my husband, fortunately,” Kara said. “Considering I like Sax having all ten fingers.”

That said, she pushed herself out of the chair. “I’m afraid we have to get going, but it was lovely meeting you, and although I know you’re busy, I do hope we’ll be able to get together over the holidays. . . .

“Oh! That reminds me of what I wanted to ask you. I swear, my brain’s in a fog these days.”

“Pregnancy brain,” Claire said. “I remember it well.”

“The main reason we came here today, along with bringing you some meals for while you settle in, is so I could introduce myself and invite you to Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Oh, that’s very nice, but I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“Don’t be silly. We have a huge house we’re just rattling around in. Sax and his brothers will be doing all the cooking. They actually enjoy it,” she said with a roll of her expressive eyes.

“I’ve already invited some other people who don’t have family here, and since this will undoubtedly be a difficult year for you, not having your mother, it might be good for your son to have some other kids around.”

“Gabe and I’ll be there with Johnny and Angel,” Charity volunteered. “When Matt gets sick of all us old fogies, he can go shoot hoops with Johnny.”

Claire had planned to get a takeout turkey dinner from the market’s deli. But Charity had a point. It would be good for Matt and her to start having a social life.

“I’d love to come,” she decided. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“It’ll be fun,” Kara said simply as Maddy helped her slip back into her coat.

Claire stood in the doorway watching the SUV until it had turned onto the road and disappeared around a tight S curve. For the first time since arriving in Shelter Bay, she was actually feeling optimistic.

27

“I like her,” Charity
said as they drove toward the bridge to return to town.

“She is nice, isn’t she?” Kara agreed.

“Though it’s sort of amazing that her son is fifteen years old and she’s never learned to cook,” Maddy said.

“Not everyone cooks,” Charity said. “My mother’s gone her entire life without knowing how to feed herself. And Marcy Curtis said that Claire and her son lived with her mom, who died this past year after a lengthy bout with cancer. Maybe she’d been their family cook.”

“Well, we’ll still have to get her up to speed,” Maddy decided. “If I have to give her private lessons in her house.”

“Well, if I were you I’d wait until after Lucas replaces that ancient stove,” Sedona said. “Maybe it’s a good thing she doesn’t cook, because she could well burn the place down. . . .

“That was clever how you worked your way into sneakily inviting her to Thanksgiving dinner,” she said to Kara.

“I wasn’t being sneaky. I was totally telling the truth about inviting people who don’t have family.”

“Ah, but I grew up Catholic,” Maddy said, “where we’re taught all about the sin of omission. Which you pretty much committed by not mentioning that Dillon Slater happens to be the other person you invited to dinner.”

“It was also clever how you conveniently failed to mention that he asked you to invite her,” Charity pointed out.

“So? And here I thought you, of all people, would approve of matchmaking,” Kara shot back. “Is there anyone but Claire Templeton left in town without a dog or cat?”

“There are a few holdouts,” the vet said dryly. “And I do approve. Which was why I was complimenting you on how you slipped it in.”

Kara’s phone, which she’d stuck in the cup holder, rang again. She glanced down at the caller ID and grinned.

“Would you take that,” she asked Sedona, who was riding shotgun, “and tell Coach Slater that his date for Thanksgiving is set?”

28

Matt had stopped by his lo
cker after lunch to get his English textbook when an amazing pair of breasts came bouncing toward him. They were attached to Dickhead’s blonde.

“Hi,” she said, a little breathlessly, as if she’d been working out. Or maybe—he thought back to what her boyfriend had implied earlier—having sex in Dirk the Jerk’s backseat. “I’m Taylor Bennington.”

“Like Bennington Ford?”

“That’d be it.” Her glossy lips smiled, revealing blinding, perfect white teeth. “Daddy has another dealership in Boise. When this one came available last year, we moved here so he could get it started.” She tossed her hair in a sexy way. “It sucks being the new kid in school, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. But I doubt you had any problems.” He thought back to what Aimee had said about the girls at BHHS. She’d been mostly right. Except for a small minority, most of them had looked a lot like Taylor Bennington.

“Isn’t that sweet of you to say?”

As a group of freshmen plowed by like a school of minnows keeping tightly together for defense in a sea of sharks, she bumped against him. It
could
have been an accident. The way her chest stayed plastered against his definitely wasn’t.

“I’m going to be your cupcake girl,” she said.

“Cupcake girl?”
Was that, like, a euphemism for something else?

“The cheer squad always brings cupcakes for the players on the away games. We’re each assigned players.”

She treated him to another dazzling smile that could’ve lit up the rainy day from the California border up to the Washington State line.

“I asked for you.” Eyes as blue as a sunny summer sky back home sparkled. “I hope you’re not one of those health nuts who hate cupcakes.”

“What’s not to love about cupcakes?”

“That’s exactly what I always say. Especially since the cupcakes at Take the Cake are purely orgasmic.” The thought of Taylor Bennington in the hot, noisy throes of orgasm nearly took the top of Matt’s head off. “What’s your favorite kind?”

“Kind?”

“Cupcakes. My favorite is Better Than Sex.”

“That sounds good to me.” Though he had no empirical evidence—yet—he seriously doubted
any
cupcake could be better than sex.

“Great. That’s what I’ll get you, then. And surprise you with some other flavors. Also, the other reason I wanted to talk with you is that my parents are going to be in Oahu for some Ford dealers’ convention the night after the team’s season opener,” she said. “So naturally, I’m having a party at my place. Please tell me you’ll come.”

Matt thought about his mother being away in Portland that night. He knew she’d hit the roof if she found out he was going to a party that was going to be totally lacking in adult supervision. But, hey,
she
was going to be out of town. And what she didn’t know she couldn’t worry about.

“Sweet,” he said.

“Oh, great.” She clapped her hands, then rose up on the toes of those red UGGs and kissed his cheek.

Matt was debating turning his head, just the slightest bit, and kissing her mouth when the bell rang.

“Well, I’d better get to class,” she said. “Mr. Petterson is always so cranky when I’m late. It’s like he’s in permanent PMS. Sometimes I wonder if he must’ve been a girl in another life. The other day he told me I was flirting with an EMD. I mean, is that petty, or what?”

“EMD?”

“Early morning detention.” She sighed heavily, which did interesting things to her breasts. “You know, like
The Breakfast Club
movie? But without the dancing and the pot.”

She waggled a good-bye with her fingers, then rushed off, allowing him to finally touch his cheek where she’d left behind a glossy imprint.

It was the same type of impulsive, casual kiss Matt had given Aimee this morning. Even less of one, since only the corner of her glossy pink lips had gotten anywhere near his.

As she melded into the crowd dashing to classrooms and he sprinted off to class, Matt told himself that she’d just been being friendly to the new kid. It didn’t mean anything.

Did it?

29

Although Claire had had goo
d intentions of getting at least two pieces done when she entered the studio, concentration was proving impossible.

The trick, she knew, was to watch the glass, listen to it. Let it speak to her. Let
it
tell her what it wanted to be. Instead of trying to force the glowing, living material to gather into what
she
wanted to create.

Unfortunately, her mind kept drifting to Dillon Slater. Focus proved elusive as, instead of paying attention to the pale glass forming on the end of her pipe, she was remembering last night’s hot dream. But she had no business imaging Matt’s coach making love to her while the winter rain pounded on the roof.

Finally, after spending another futile two hours in the sweltering studio, Claire decided she was getting nowhere fighting the glass.

Frustrated, she looked into the fire hole, watching as all the failed attempts bled and died on the glowing red coals, melting down into a single mass. The thing to do, she decided, as she poured the water bottle she kept for hydrating—vital in such dry heat—over her head, was to expand her horizons.

Experience had taught her, going back to her early days of jewelry making, that when her muse grew stubbornly silent, nothing came from trying to force it.

She was in and out of the shower in less than five minutes. She blew her hair halfway dry, braided it, and went out to explore her new home.

Unfortunately, a quick glance out the windows revealed that while she’d been struggling to create something good enough to show in Portland, another storm had blown in from the sea, causing the rain to drum on the mossy roof and pound against the windows like a shower of stones. It was not a day for beachcombing or strolling along Shelter Bay’s colorful waterfront.

As she took out the newcomer welcome packet Marcy Curtis had given her, a brochure for the aquarium in the town of Newport, just south of Shelter Bay, caught her eye. Grabbing her sketch pad, some pencils, and her Gor-Tex jacket and umbrella, she was headed out the door when her cell phone rang.

“Hey,” she said, trying to hold down her anxiety over why her son might be calling. “What’s up?”

He had a friend. A teammate he was shooting hoops with after school. And—hallelujah!—better yet, it just happened to be Charity’s adopted son.

“Of course I’ll pick you up at Johnny’s house. His mother dropped by with some friends—and, get this, some already cooked meals for us—so I know exactly where it is. Just give me a call when you’re ready. And, Matt, honey . . . have a great time.”

Feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, Claire drove down the coast road, and ten minutes later she was immersed in the magical land of the sea. At one exhibit, the surf ebbed and flowed against docks and piers and tide pools much like the ones on the beach below the cottage. Taking out her pad, she quickly sketched the anemones and sea pens, which resembled bright pink and orange old-fashioned ostrich-feather plume pens.

Continuing on the glassed-in passage, through the dark and quiet canyons of the reef, through the sparkling waters out into the vast blue expanse of open sea, she reveled in the colors of blood stars, bat stars, brilliant sea urchins, and ghostly transparent moon jellyfish that appeared to have been created from liquid, amorphous glass.

Dazzled by the colors swimming in her head, she stopped in to a gift shop to purchase postcards and a photography book of what she’d just walked through. With her muse once again fulfilled and excited, she couldn’t wait to get back home to work.

“That’s a stunning necklace,” the woman behind the counter said as she rang up the sale.

“Thank you.” Claire had tumbled the deep aqua sea glass oval making up the pendant until it was smooth and translucent, then wrapped it in swirling silver strands that represented the power of the surf during a winter storm such as today’s.

“May I ask where you bought it?”

“I made it.”

Having been about to hand Claire her credit card receipt to sign, the woman paused.

“You’re an artist?”

“Jewelry and blown glass.”

“Isn’t that interesting?” She handed over the receipt. “Do you do glass whales and paperweights and such?”

“Although I enjoy them, my own work is larger. And I think my muse must have a very low boredom threshold, because I’ve never been able to make the same piece twice.”

“Do you sell your jewelry locally?”

“I’m at several stores in Portland, Salem, and Eugene, but since I was living in Los Angeles until last week, I never really had time to establish a market in the smaller towns. Though I have sold pieces to the Dancing Deer Two in Shelter Bay.”

“I love that shop,” the woman said. “And the cookies are great, too. Would you be interested in placing any items on consignment? I’m manager here, and I just know they’d sell like hotcakes. Or even better, crab cakes.”

Fifteen minutes later, Claire was headed back up the coast road, with a new consignment contract in her purse and dozens of shimmering, colorful images dancing in her head.

The rain stopped just as she reached the sign welcoming her to Shelter Bay. As she passed the next sign declaring the town to be home to Navy Cross winner Sax Douchett, a double rainbow, sparkling like jewels in the light of the sun that had broken through the pewter clouds, appeared in front of her car.

Deciding to take that as a positive omen, she drove across the bridge heading toward the cottage that was beginning to feel more like home every day.

30

P
hoebe should have been floating on air. She’d spent the night making love to a wonderful, sexy man. But unfortunately, in the cold light of the mid-November day, reality had returned.

“I swear, he’s like a shark,” she said as she paced the apartment floor the following afternoon. “Just when we think it’s safe to go back into the water, there he is.”

“No,” Ethan said firmly. “He’s not.”

“Well, maybe not him. But his parents. Which is even worse, since they have the bottomless pockets.”

“But you have right on your side. And the law. And”—he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers—“you have friends in high places.”

She laughed at the twist on one of his favorite songs. Had it only been last week they’d been dancing to the Astoria band Sax had brought in for country night at Bon Temps? As if on the same wavelength, he gathered her into his arms, which wasn’t so easy to do with the baby between them, and began twirling her around the floor, singing the lyrics to one of Garth Brooks’ signature songs in her ear.

“I can’t stay upset when I’m with you,” she said, the worries that had begun bedeviling her again sliding away as he crooned about slipping down to the Oasis.

“That’s the point.” He cupped her butt—which was considerably larger than it had been when they’d met—and slowed the dance to a sexy sway. “You brought sunshine back into my life, Phoebe.”

His breath fanned her hair as he nuzzled her neck. “I’d put my feelings into cold storage after losing Mia and Max. If it hadn’t been for the farm, which I knew Mia would want me to make a success, I probably would’ve let myself spiral down into a deep black pit of self-pity.

“So I threw myself into making it the best organic farm in the state.”

“The country,” she said.

She felt his smile right below her ear, where his lips had been stimulating a now familiar warmth. “You’re prejudiced,” he said.

“True.” She lifted her arms, twined them around his neck. “But it’s also true that Blue Heron Farm sets the standard.”

She’d once wondered if she could allow herself to fall in love with a man who’d loved another woman so deeply. Over the months she’d come to realize that it was precisely because Ethan had been the kind of man to fully give his heart that she could give her carefully guarded one to him.

He’d loved Mia. Deeply. But now she was blessed to have him love her. Just as deeply. And, although her child wasn’t one of his blood, he’d assured her while they’d been waiting for Charity to arrive that he would love her son as if he were his own.

“I have an idea.”

“About Peter’s parents?” They’d already spoken with Charity, who had immediately promised to call her stepfather for advice.

“No. About us.” He brushed his lips against hers. “We’re not going to let them into our lives any more than we have to. I called Charity again. She said she could meet us at the shelter this evening. So what would you say to going out to dinner? Then dog shopping.”

How did he always know exactly the right thing to say—and do? Phoebe had quit believing in soul mates when she’d given up on Prince Charming. But Ethan Concannon had her rethinking the concept.

She went up on her toes and kissed him with all the love and happiness that was filling her heart.

“I’d say yes.”