Sandpiper Cove Read online

  “She was here all morning, but she had a dress fitting in Coos Bay at lunch. She said she might be a little late getting back.”

  “Ah, yes. The wedding dress. Her marriage is getting close.”

  “Yeah.” Eleven days, to be precise. A week from Saturday.

  “I am happy for her. Eric is a good man.”

  “He seems to be.” He and BJ were at church every Sunday, but Adam never lingered long afterward. Charley spoke highly of him, though—and that counted for a lot.

  “You would be welcome to ride to the wedding with Eleanor and me. We would not mind picking you up—and I expect BJ will put us at the same table for the dinner.”

  Adam ate the last bite of his sandwich and crumpled up the plastic wrap.

  Just tell him, Stone. You knew this would come up eventually. Get it over with.

  He took a swig from the bottle of water he refilled every morning from the tap and watched Shep and Ziggy chase bog rats in the adjacent bed, their barks echoing in the quiet air. “I’m not going to the wedding.”

  In the silence that followed, he could feel Luis watching him.

  “You have told this to BJ?”

  No. He’d been too much of a coward to decline the invitation to her face. And the response card was sitting on the table in his kitchen, the four-days-away due date staring at him accusingly every time he walked past.

  “Not yet.”

  Nor had she asked him if he was coming—although she’d dropped plenty of hints she expected to see him there.

  “She will be disappointed.”

  Like he didn’t know that.

  “No one will miss me in that crowd.” The lame excuse sounded hollow even to his ears.

  “Each person she invited is special to her. An important part of her life. She will notice you are not there.”

  And it will hurt her.

  Luis didn’t have to say the words for Adam to hear the man’s implied rebuke.

  There was no rebuttal to it, either. His coworker was right. Considering all BJ had done for him, he owed it to her to show up for her wedding.

  But he wasn’t fit for a high-class gathering like that.

  “I do have a present for her.” That counted for something, didn’t it?

  “A present is not the same as your presence.”

  The man’s gentle reproach twisted his gut.

  He opened the cake he no longer wanted, more to keep his fingers busy than because he had any interest in the treat. “It’s not my scene, Luis.”

  “You do not like weddings?”

  “I’ve never been to one.”

  “Then how can you know it is not your scene?”

  He broke off a piece of the cake and popped it in his mouth . . . but even Eleanor’s sweet fudge frosting couldn’t chase away the bitterness on his tongue.

  “Look . . . there will be a lot of nice people there. I won’t fit in.”

  “You see many of those people at church on Sundays, do you not?”

  “This isn’t the same. The reception is a social event, not a church service.”

  “You think they will treat you different at a wedding than they treat you at church?”

  He had no idea—and he didn’t want to find out.

  “People might feel awkward if an ex-con shows up.”

  “You are an invited guest. Sometimes you must give people an opportunity to put the faith they express on Sundays into practice.”

  That sounded fine in theory—but Adam wasn’t certain it would hold up in the real world.

  And he’d had enough rejection to last ten lifetimes.

  He switched to a practical argument.

  “I don’t have anything to wear to a fancy shindig like that. I’ve never owned a suit and tie, and I’m not about to buy duds like that to wear once.”

  “BJ will not care what you wear.”

  Maybe not, but others would judge him by his inappropriate attire.

  “I can’t go in jeans.”

  “Then get some new clothes. When I move in with Eleanor, I did not have much money. She wanted to buy me some better clothes, but my pride would not let me to accept her charity. She did not push—but she left a flyer for a Coos Bay resale shop in my room. They have good clothing at very cheap prices.” He rattled off the name of the store.

  Great. Now he was out of excuses.

  Except for the real one.

  And he wasn’t going to admit he was afraid.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “A wise choice.” Luis started on his cake and motioned to the piece Adam had barely touched. “You must eat that. Eleanor will ask me how you liked it.”

  At Luis’s prodding, he tried to do justice to the older woman’s offering.

  They ate in silence until both were down to crumbs.

  “Please tell her I enjoyed it—and thank her for me.” Adam stuffed the plastic wrap into the brown sack with the rest of his trash.

  “I will do that. She may be old, with many limitations, but she still has gifts that can brighten people’s lives. As we all do.”

  “Not all.”

  “Yes.” Luis fixed him with an intent look. “All.”

  “I have nothing to offer.” His voice rasped.

  “That is not true. You have many fine qualities. Kindness. Compassion. Strength.”

  He snorted, crushing the bag into a tight ball. “Strength? How can you say that, with all the mistakes I’ve made? I’m weak, not strong.”

  “You survived those mistakes—and became a better person. That is strength.” Luis’s declaration rang with conviction. “As for compassion and kindness . . . I remember the man who gave me food he could not spare when I was hungry. Who saved a dog no one wanted and nursed him back to health. Who never says no if a charitable group like Helping Hands calls to tell him someone needs assistance.”

  “Anyone would do those things.”

  “No, my friend, you are wrong. And your actions say a lot about your character. If you give others a chance, they too will see what I see.”

  Reverend Baker had offered similar encouragement during their last conversation before he was released from prison.

  Yet life had taught him a different lesson—and it was much easier . . . and safer . . . to continue with the solitary existence he’d carved out for himself.

  But it was also lonely.

  And getting lonelier every day.

  “I will be happy to write out the directions to the resale shop for you.” Luis wiped his fingers on a paper napkin and closed his lunch box.

  Adam didn’t respond.

  Nor did his lunch companion mention the subject again as they worked together during the afternoon—but when Adam finished for the day and returned to his car, he found the carefully written directions tucked under his windshield wiper.

  For a moment he was tempted to wad up the slip of paper and toss it into the trash can beside the drive.

  But in the end, he tucked it in his pocket.

  Just in case he had a change of heart.

  3

  That car was going way too fast.

  Lexie caught no more than a glimpse of the vehicle in her rearview mirror as it zoomed past the intersection of Highway 101 and Sea Rose Lane on the outskirts of town, but she didn’t need a radar gun to know the driver was paying zero attention to the posted speed limit.

  Executing a tight U-turn, she hit her siren and lights and took off after the lawbreaker. Issuing a ticket hadn’t been on the agenda for her final patrol this Thursday afternoon, but she couldn’t ignore that kind of excessive speed. Some serious fog was rolling in, and the coastal highway would be more treacherous than usual.

  She gained on the car ahead of her—but only after mashing the gas pedal to the floor. Forty . . . fifty . . . sixty . . . seventy . . . seventy-two.

  Man.

  This driver was about to get one hefty fine.

  As she approached the car, it slowed. Eased to the side of the road. Sto
pped.

  She pulled in behind it, noting the make and color through the swirls of fog.

  A dark-blue Kia.

  The same kind of car Adam Stone drove.

  The left front door flew open. An instant later the driver shot out and raced toward her, his eyes frenzied.

  Like he was on drugs.

  It was Stone.

  Nerves vibrating, she scrambled out of the patrol car and reached for her gun.

  “Please . . . I need to get to Coos Bay. My dog’s . . .” He lurched to a stop and slowly lifted his palms, eying her hand on the gun. “Chief Graham, I . . . the vandals came back. Clyde’s hurt. I need to get him to my vet in Coos B-bay.” He choked on the last word. “I know I was speeding, but it’s an emergency.”

  The man was distraught but lucid, his agitation sourced from panic, not drugs.

  Lexie relaxed her grip on the pistol and left it in its holster. “How bad is he?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. He has a gash on his head and he seems disoriented. He’s on the front seat.”

  “Show me.” She gestured for him to precede her. Her gut told her his story was true, but in this business, it was better to back up instincts with proof.

  He led the way to the Kia, moving aside at the door to give her a view of the dog.

  Clyde was on the passenger seat, as Stone had said. There was blood on the blanket cocooning him. As she peeked in, the dog whimpered. He was shivering so hard the whole blanket was shaking.

  Beside her, she could feel Stone quivering almost as much as the injured dog.

  The man was in no condition to drive.

  “I can get you there faster. Lock your doors and put on your emergency flashers. Pick Clyde up and get in the back of the patrol car. Hold him as steady as possible.”

  Without a word, Stone followed her instructions.

  He hesitated only once, at the door of the cruiser. As if he was recalling other unpleasant rides in the back of a police vehicle and was loath to revisit those memories.

  But he straightened his shoulders and slid in anyway, cradling Clyde in his arms.

  The trip to Coos Bay took twenty minutes—longer than she would have liked, but the best she could do in the fog. Lexie made no attempt to talk until they reached the veterinary clinic.

  “Are you certain this place will still be open?” She tossed out the question as she swung into the parking lot.

  “I called my vet as soon as I found Clyde. He said he’d wait.”

  As promised, the man greeted Stone at the door and ushered them inside. “You got here fast.”

  “I had some help.”

  “I see that.” The man nodded to her. “Speed is always important in a medical emergency. Go ahead and take him back. First room on the right.”

  “Can I stay with him?”

  “Absolutely. You and I have been down this road before. I think you can handle it.”

  Stone paused at the door that led to the examining rooms and turned to her. “You don’t have to wait. This could take a while. I can call someone to pick me up.”

  That was a viable plan. There were people in town who would be glad to come to Stone’s aid—Luis, BJ, Reverend Baker.

  But somehow she knew he wouldn’t ask any of them for help. Rather than impose, he’d spend his hard-earned money on an expensive cab ride back to his car.

  “I always see every incident through to the end.” She sat in one of the chairs in the waiting room to emphasize that point. “I’ll be here when you and Clyde are ready to leave.”

  Several emotions passed through his eyes. Gratitude was among them—but it was colored with other feelings that came and went too fast to identify.

  Whatever they were, though, they left her feeling breathless.

  How weird was that?

  As Stone disappeared down the hall and the vet closed the door behind them, she pulled out her cell. Her mom and Matt would have to eat without her . . . but unless she told her mother she was stopping for a bite elsewhere, there’d be a plate waiting in the oven for her, however late she arrived home.

  A heaping dose of TLC had been one of the perks of moving back to Hope Harbor.

  She keyed in the number and leaned back in the chair. As Stone had said, depending on the vet’s assessment, this could be a long wait. And based on the bond between the man and his dog, he wasn’t going to leave without Clyde.

  But getting a statement about this latest incident of vandalism was important—and the fresher the incident, the more inclined he might be to file a report. So she had to wait.

  Right.

  At the skeptical retort from her conscience, she frowned. What was with that? She did have official business with the man.

  Yeah—but that’s not your only motive for sticking around.

  She huffed out a breath.

  Fine. She could admit the truth—to herself, anyway.

  For some obscure reason, the man had touched her heart.

  Maybe it was seeing that forlorn shack he called home.

  Maybe it was discovering he’d adopted a lame dog—a fellow misfit in society.

  Maybe it was the resignation in his demeanor when he’d told her there was no reason to report the vandalism . . . as if he deserved to be a target.

  Maybe it was his frantic worry over Clyde tonight—and the soft words of comfort he’d offered as they’d sped toward Coos Bay.

  Who knew why she was drawn to him?

  One thing for sure, however. As much as she’d craved TLC when she’d come back to Hope Harbor, this man needed nurturing a lot more than she had.

  And while she couldn’t make everything right in his world, at least she could keep him company tonight so he didn’t have to face this emergency alone.

  “He should be fine, Stone.” The vet stripped off his latex gloves and tossed them in a trash container in the examining room. “The gash will heal, and the concussion appears to be mild. Expect him to be a little wobbly at first, but that should pass fast.”

  “I’ll watch over him. Thank you again for waiting around tonight.” Adam pulled out his wallet.

  “Goes with the job.” The man waved away the cash he extracted. “Check with the office tomorrow on the fee. I leave money matters to my bookkeeper.” He rummaged around in a drawer and pulled out some antibiotic samples. “These should hold you until I remove the stitches.” He reached into another cabinet and gathered up several packets. “This is a topical ointment to keep the stitches from itching. We don’t want Clyde to start scratching.”

  “Thanks.” Every free sample helped. Who knew how much tonight’s emergency would set him back? And he’d only last month finished paying off the bill for Clyde’s close encounter with a car.

  But the expense didn’t matter as long as the dog recovered.

  He followed the vet to the waiting room, a woozy Clyde in his arms.

  Lexie stood as soon as he appeared in the doorway. “How is he?”

  “The doc says he’ll recover. He’s got a . . .” His voice rasped.

  “Concussion and eight stitches.” The vet finished his sentence. “He should be good as new after a couple days of rest and some close observation over the next twenty-four hours.”

  “That’s great news.” Her features relaxed as she crossed to him and stroked Clyde’s ear.

  A faint fragrance wafted up to Adam’s nose, much more appealing than the antiseptic odor that had permeated the examining room. It smelled like . . . not flowers exactly. More like freshness and dew and spring and . . .

  “. . . ever you’re ready.”

  He blinked and tuned back into the conversation. “What?”

  “I said, we can leave whenever you’re ready.” Lexie jingled her keys.

  “I’m ready now.”

  After thanking the vet again, he followed her out.

  “There’s more room in the back, but if you can squeeze into the front with Clyde on your lap, you’re welcome to sit up there.” She motioned toward th
e passenger seat as she unlocked the car doors.

  “We’ll fit.” If he never again rode in the back of a squad car it would be too soon.

  And he had a feeling this woman knew that.

  “I’ll get the door.” She circled around the car ahead of him and pulled it wide.

  Keeping a firm grip on Clyde, he lowered himself gingerly into the seat. The dog snuffled and snuggled against him but otherwise made no sound as Lexie pulled out the seat belt for him, waiting while he adjusted it.

  Once he was strapped in, she disappeared around the rear of the cruiser. Ten seconds later she took her place behind the wheel and started the engine.

  “Sorry to keep you out this late.” He squinted at the clock on the dashboard as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Seven thirty must be long past your quitting time.”

  “Like being a vet, this job isn’t nine-to-five.” She pointed the car toward 101. “Have you had dinner?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Me neither. I need to fill out some paperwork on this latest incident. We can do that over a pizza at your place, if you don’t mind calling in the order while I drive. There’s a great place south of Bandon. Looks like a hole in the wall, but Frank has a magic touch. You are going to file a report on this incident, aren’t you?”

  It wasn’t really a question—not that she’d have to twist his arm. Whoever was wreaking havoc in the town could mess with his stuff all they liked, but they’d crossed a line when they’d hurt his dog.

  “Yeah. I am. I can fix myself some dinner after you leave, though.”

  “Suit yourself, but my stomach isn’t willing to wait for dinner.” She pulled her cell off her belt. “Half of it—or more—will go to waste if you don’t help me eat it . . . unless you don’t like pizza?”

  “I like it fine.” Restaurant food wasn’t a treat his tight budget accommodated very often, but he could spring for half a pizza.

  “Order whatever you like. I’m not too picky.” She held out the phone and rattled off the number. “But if you need a suggestion, the supreme lives up to its name.”

  He tapped in the number and followed her recommendation on the order, hesitating at the request for a credit card number. “Um . . . can we pay cash?”

  “Is that Frank?” Lexie glanced over at him.