Page 7 of Forbidden Forward

Handing her the mug, I take my place across from her on the settee. “So what you got for me?”

“If you’re going to be around all week, I’ve got some kids who are dying to spend time on your boat.”

I don’t hesitate. “You know I’m here for it. What days should we plan on?”

Her eyes grow misty, and alarm rises inside me. I’ve known this woman a long time, and she’s made of the strongest steel I’ve ever come across. If she gets emotional, I have no idea what to do. She recovers quickly and finds a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

I soften my voice. “What can I do?”

She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand for an instant. I’m taken aback, but I school my reaction. It’s rare when she shows me physical affection. “You’re already doing it. You have no idea how much this means to them.”

Actually, I do have a good idea, and that’s why I do it. Selfishly, I also do it for me. If my actions in the present can right a fraction of the pain my mistake from the past cost, then maybe I can find some lasting peace. But deep down, I know that will never be possible. The scales are too far out of whack, and they’ll never be in balance again.

Jackie

DAYS AFTER THE WEDDING, I scribble a quick note to Donovan before I grab my backpack and head for the Jeep. He texted me last night to let me know he wasn’t coming home and not to worry. I have a suspicion he’s spending time with the skinny brunette, and while my most natural behavior would be to poke fun at him about his Casanova ways, I don’t want to give him an opening to poke me right back about choices in my own romantic life. And good God, does he have plenty of material.

Soon I’m in the Jeep heading down the highway, looking forward to some fresh coastal air. Before I left my life in San Francisco behind me, I used to clear my head at Ocean Beach. If I wanted a different vibe that was only an hour away, I’d head down Highway 1 to Half Moon Bay. There, I’d pick out one of its many beaches and walk along its expanse, relishing the feel of cool sand between my toes.

Something about the ocean has always soothed me. I don’t swim in its cold waters, and I’m not a boater or a surfer, but the rhythm of the waves mesmerizes me. Anchors me somehow. I’m awed by the power of Mother Nature. It’s humbling to realize how much of that power she withholds and how destructive she can be when she decides to unleash it.

Soft tunes that match the moody gray sky overhead play through the speakers, and I unwind as I drive. I don’t have a plan for where I’m going. I just know I’m headed for the coast. When a sign announcing Beaufort is seventy-seven miles away catches my attention, it tickles something at the back of my brain. It’s farther than I thought I’d go, but I do have a change of clothes in case I decide to spend the night in a cheap motel.

I chug toward a marina lined with stark masts that remind me of toothpicks. It’s not the same as walking on a beach, but I like docks too. I especially like looking at the boats and letting my mind wander over who they belong to and what places they’ve been. Mega yachts are nice to look at, but sailboats hearken back to a time when sailors had only the wind and their wits to move them across vast oceans. The awareness triggers a wave of nostalgia, and I park in a public lot and exit my vehicle, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

A locked metal gate stops me from strolling along the pier, but a man in a beanie walks up from the other side and opens it. He motions me through, and I thank him. I guess I look like I’m supposed to be here.

I amble over worn wooden boards, inhaling the pungent smells of oily fuel and oilier fish. Okay, so my romantic notion about boats didn’t include the stench, but the wind tugs playfully at my French braid and temporarily takes the smell with it as it drifts past me.

A group of kids is clustered around a guy in a navy knit cap. He’s lifting one into a wheelchair while talking to the whole group. He seems to be telling them a story, and they’re caught in a spell as he speaks to them in his deep timbre. I notice one dark-haired girl leans her weight on a prosthetic leg, and there’s another boy in a motorized wheelchair. It dawns on me that each of these kids has some kind of disability, though in that moment they’re so enraptured they don’t seem to be aware of their physical limitations. Maybe it’s because the guy in the blue knit cap is talking to them as if they don’t.

He’s masterful.

I inch closer, eager to hear what kind of yarn he’s spinning that has them so captivated. I guess I’m not subtle enough because two of the kids turn their heads and look at me. Others follow suit. Shit! I didn’t mean to kill this guy’s mojo by sneaking up on him and his audience.

Well, I wasn’t exactly sneaking. Okay, I was.

Finally, the man turns his head toward me, and I see his face straight-on for the first time. His gray eyes widen, and my heart stammers and plummets to my knees. I’m not the only sneaky one here.

Before I can turn and run, he blares, “Dude, what are you doing here?”

Chapter 5

Captain Colby

Colby

I blink, but the vision doesn’t go away. Harper’s sister is standing no more than thirty feet away, mouth hanging open. She’s as stunned as I am. What the hell is she doing here? I ask her that very question, and none too politely.

“Dude, what are you doing here?”

She pivots like she’s ready to sprint, then turns back to me and freezes.

Panic builds inside me. Did her brother discover my other life and send her here to spy on me? That’s a douche thing to do. Then again, Harper is the king of douches, so ...

Shit, her being here can’t be good.

One of the kids tugs at my sleeve, and I look down and realize all five little heads are looking from me to her and back again like they’re watching a ping-pong match without a ball or a table. Fortunately, I spot the cavalry coming to my rescue. Peggy’s custom-built, high-roof van with a hydraulic lift is parked in the lot, and she’s through the gate, hustling my way, with a parent or two on her heels. She’s a little late, but I’m not bothered by it. Gives me a few more minutes with the kiddos. What is bothering me is the five-foot-nothing of blond braid and fern-green eyes that I have to deal with.