The Hero (15 page)

“I have this fantasy—that each one of them thinks I can take him down if I want to. Don’t give me trouble, boy, because I can sack you.”

“Ego,” she said, drilling her fists into his back.

“Hmm. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Lower.” He stretched his arms out above his head. And she worked his back harder, deeper, half tempted to try walking on it.

She went after the small of his back, which was tight as a drum. “You take anything for this?”

“Two Advil, one beer. I’m thinking about another beer.” Then he yawned.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” she said.

And then in a swoop that she didn’t see coming, he rolled, grabbed her and she was on the bottom looking into those deep brown eyes as he leaned over her.

Those dark eyes seemed to glow a little bit. Her hands rested on his biceps and she was frozen, gazing.

“I didn’t know we’d end up like this,” he said.

“Kind of seemed like your intention....”

“The first time I saw you, six weeks ago or so, with your overalls and long braid, I didn’t know I’d kiss you. I didn’t expect to be holding you. I wasn’t looking for anything...”

“I know,” she said softly. “You’re a pretty new widower. I understand.”

“I don’t want to pry for personal details, but is he out of your life now? The man? Mercy’s father? Are you free from him?”

“I hope so.”

He tapped her chest above her left breast. “In here?”

That startled her; she didn’t realize just how much of a mystery her life was to him. “Oh, Spencer, that was over almost as soon as it started. I was afraid and confused and...I was vulnerable and he was very protective and loving. I didn’t realize he was a liar, that he didn’t care about me, only about possessing me, making me a part of his vision, his family, his ‘Fellowship.’ I haven’t been with anyone since Mercy was conceived.”

“And now, Devon? What now? Because I think you know—my feelings for you are getting stronger....”

She didn’t have to even think about it. “I just want a normal life. Like other people have.”

He smiled into her eyes. “Really?” he asked. “Normal like who? Like Rawley, an old Vietnam vet who spent a lot of the past forty years homeless, battling PTSD? Or like Gina, who had a daughter at the age of sixteen and raised her alone? Like Scott Grant whose wife died just after the birth of his second child? Leaving him the single father of two? Or maybe a normal person like me—widower who shares his son with another father? We’re all just a bunch of flawed people, trying to slap together decent lives with the few tools we have.”

She just stared at him, her mouth open slightly. She could feel her eyes threaten to tear and she swallowed. “God. I don’t know if I’m just completely naive or really insensitive. I’m not the only one who has challenges.”

He gave her a little kiss. “Your challenges haven’t been small,” he said in a comforting tone. “Look how far you have come.”

Twelve

T
he landscape of the hill behind the beach took on a ravaged appearance as the earth movers came in and began a complicated excavation for the new Cooper residence. The old switchback road from 101 to the bar was closed and would eventually disappear while two new roads would take its place, making things safer and more accessible. While he was at it, Cooper was enlarging his parking area, which would allow people easier access to the bar and the dock.

These two roads were going to cost a small fortune. And that was not even considering the additional cost of a custom home. So why was he standing on the beach every day, watching those huge, noisy, exhaust-spewing earth movers and dump trucks with a big stupid grin on his face?

And he wasn’t alone on the beach by any measure.
Everyone
arrived at one time or another to watch the action. Sometimes there were ten people standing on the beach near him, looking up at that vast hill. This was a momentous event for Thunder Point—the development of new land. The town and the whole north promontory was pretty well developed and there were some who had hoped Cooper would sell this land to a resort or hotel chain but, mostly, people were just happy to see it improved. All of this development was bound to be good for the town.

Cooper had talked to a developer, of course. He had it in his head that he’d sell lots along the beach for single family residential. It was even within his power to lease those lots with restrictions on the size and architectural style of each structure. “I’ll be the homeowners’ association,” he told Sarah. “No one’s putting a purple shed with a neon sign that flashes
Girls Girls Girls
on my beachfront.”

He planned to put some classy picnic tables and grills on the beach. Not a ton of them, but a few. He had an idea that once this part of the beach was further developed, and the new roads were built, they’d have more visitors in the bar. And if they had more visitors, he would be able to add more kayaks and boards as rentals.

During the dog days of August, there weren’t a lot of people on the beach, at least during the weekdays, so work progressed nicely. And the beach, while the road crew wasn’t working, was completely unaffected.

He had a vision for this hillside development. Given it was a hill, tall multilevel houses were practical. Lower-level garages and even wood shops or rec rooms would fit perfectly on the lowest level with most of the living space on the second level. Then lofts or second levels could be built on top of that. Anywhere from twenty-five hundred to four thousand square feet, these family homes would have large oceanfront decks and staircases to the beach. That style of architecture was not only most practical but would maximize the use of the land.

Even though he had an idea of how many single family lots this stretch of beach could handle, he was still focused on one—his. Theirs.

Mac drove the sheriff’s department SUV across the beach, stopped, got out and just stood with Cooper for a while, looking at the roadwork, as he did almost every day. After several minutes he said the thing he said every day. “That’s gonna make a difference. But the beach might get busier.”

“As long as it doesn’t look like Fort Lauderdale at Spring Break, I’ll adjust. Maybe they’ll buy sandwiches and drinks from me.”

Rawley came down from the bar to stand with them and stare up at the site. “Damn fancy, you ask me.”

The men looked at him. “I didn’t hear anyone ask. You hear anyone ask, Mac?”

“I like fancy,” Mac said. “I’d kill to have one of those parcels. I don’t need much—those kids will get their own lives eventually. But I’d take one of those windows. Or the deck—I could use a deck like that as long as it had an ocean out in front of it.”

Cooper looked at him. “Maybe you ought to go see the bank.”

Mac laughed. “I walk into a bank in this uniform and they smile, thank me for the service to the town and offer to set up a little checking account for me. They know what I make, what I’m worth.”

“We’ll look at the map together. You pick out one of the lots. I’ll make you a deal.”

“I don’t want a deal.”

“Why not? I can do whatever I want,” Cooper said.

Mac sighed. “Because I don’t want to be sitting out on that deck having a beer with you,” he said, lifting his chin toward the bar, “and have you remember you cut me a deal and be all butt sore about it.”

“I’m not like that,” Cooper said.

“You might get like that.”

“Tell you what,” Rawley interrupted. “I’ll buy one and I’ll cut you a deal. I’ll be dead by the time I get around to complainin’ about it.”

Cooper and Mac turned together to look at him. “
You’re
going to buy a lot?” Cooper asked.

“I could,” Rawley said with a shrug. “If it made a difference in my life.”

“But I thought you didn’t have any money!”

“Did I ever tell you that?” Rawley wanted to know.

“You were going to sell your truck to bury your father!”

Rawley shrugged. “I’m a practical man. My dad, he socked away a little here and there. Over time, it piled up. I got no bills and a steady job. And I have another truck. I never thought it was a good idea to sell that old house. My dad died in that house—it’s good enough for me to die in.”

“And I paid to bury your father,” Cooper grumbled. If Rawley had enough money socked away to buy one of these beachfront lots, he sure wasn’t broke, yet he’d let on that he’d have to sell his truck or house to pay for a burial. He sure played broke.

Rawley slapped a hand on Cooper’s back. “That was real neighborly, Coop. I didn’t forget to thank you, did I?”

“No,” he said. “You were very polite.”

“That’s a relief. My dad would be spinnin’ in his grave to think I was ungrateful.”

“Why didn’t Ben leave this whole thing to you?” Cooper asked him.

“I had little use for it. All I wanna do is run errands and mop up now and then. I ain’t innerested in dividing it into parcels and talkin’ to a lot of people about what they can put on ’em. For that matter, I ain’t the friendliest proprietor and have no intention of getting any friendlier. I reckon Ben made the right choice, all things considered. You’re the talker, not me.”

And then he just walked back up that long staircase to the bar. Once he was inside, Mac started to laugh.

“It’s not that funny,” Cooper grumbled.

“I think it’s hilarious,” he replied.

* * *

The landscape of the town was changing in many ways. School would start the week before Labor Day. Lou McCain, who had shared a house and parenting responsibilities with her nephew, Mac, for ten years, was ready to move on. Since she taught middle school in Thunder Point, she could continue to help with the kids even if she lived elsewhere. She was the perfect person to make sure they got to and from school, and when Mac or one of the seventeen-year-olds, Ashley or Eve, or Mac’s new wife, Gina, couldn’t carpool the kids to games or lessons, Lou would find a way to help out. But at the age of sixty-one she was ready for something new.

“I’m getting married,” she announced at dinner one night. “I’m moving in with Joe this week before school starts and on Labor Day weekend, while you’re cooking burgers on the grill, we’re leaving town.”

There was silence around the table for a moment. Then Mac said, “Alone?”

“I’m over twenty-one,” she replied starchily. “And so is Joe, though he’s not quite as far over twenty-one as I am.” Joe was African-American, ten years younger and a State Trooper who occasionally worked with the sheriff’s department. So far there hadn’t been so much as a blink at the biracial connection or age difference.

“I mean no wedding, no reception, no friends or family along for the ride?”

She shook her head. “We’re looking forward to going somewhere alone. I’m not changing my name, either. I’ve been Lou McCain a long time. I don’t want to learn how to change my signature. And I’ll still help with the kids regularly. I mean—they’re as much mine as anyone’s.”

“They are that,” Mac agreed. “Well. Congratulations.”

“We have to get this done before football starts,” she said. “If you think I’m missing a Thunder Point football game, you’re crazy.”

* * *

In Cooper’s apartment, the plans for the new house were always handy, usually rolled up and standing at attention in the corner. Sarah thought Cooper was a little addicted to them. He spread them out a few times a day, made too many calls to the architect and contractor. He had pronounced this as Sarah’s special project, her responsibility since she was leaving the Coast Guard but, so far, he hadn’t been able to let go of it for thirty seconds.

While they were lying in bed late one night, he pointed out to her that she was almost done with flying. “You have one more week,” he said. “Then you’re all mine.”

“There’s a farewell party and you have to go. This time, no shots.”

“That hasn’t been a problem of mine,” he pointed out to her, since the last time they attended a Coast Guard party she was the one who got drawn into doing shots and he’d had to practically carry her home.

“Then it’s you and me. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, beach bar entrepreneurs. We’ll be looking at colleges with Landon, going to Friday-night games, paddleboarding on the bay. What else are we gonna do?” she asked.

“Build a house,” he said.

“Right. You seem to be all over that project. So—what’s the anticipated date of completion on that?”

“The date they promise or the date it will probably actually be?” he asked. “Because the rule of thumb is that it always takes longer and costs more than they tell you.”

“Let’s go with your best guess on when we’ll be in there,” she suggested.

“I’d say June at the latest now that the roads are almost complete. They’re in but not paved. Damn, those suckers are pricey!”

“So, do we have money problems?”

He ran a knuckle over her cheek and smiled. “Not yet.”

“Are we going to have money problems?”

He lifted his brows. “Need something?”

“Do you promise not to laugh?”

“I never laugh at you, babe. You laugh at me, remember. But I take you oh-so-seriously.”

“I want to get pregnant. I want us to have a baby. I want me to have a baby and you to be the daddy. I want to throw away my pills. I want to just go for it. I’ve wanted it for a few years and never dared. But with you, I feel safe. I’m ready. I’m almost thirty-four and I want to have a baby.”

Cooper’s eyes got a little glassy. She thought he might be going into some kind of fugue state. He gave her hand a little squeeze and got off the bed and went to the corner. He gathered his rolled-up plans and came back to the bed. He unrolled one after the other until he found the floor plan he wanted to look at.

“What are you doing? Can’t you leave that alone for ten minutes and talk to me?”

He shook his head. His index finger ran over the lines. “Here,” he said. “We can add a bedroom or two here.”

“Shouldn’t we talk about it?”

“I just don’t know how many bedrooms to add,” he said. “We know I’m fertile, even when I’m trying not to be. You’re the x-factor here. So how do you feel? Feel like one? Two? Three? Because I can still take the lot next door.”

“What are you doing? Are you crazy? The second I suggest throwing away my pills you’re building on three more bedrooms?”

He rolled over the plans and grabbed her arms, pulling her against him. He kissed her deep, hard and convincingly. And long. He didn’t release her mouth for a long, long time. When he finally did, his voice was a little hoarse. “This is it for me, sweetheart. And I hope it’s it for you. This beach, this town, this house. If you want to fill it up with kids or raccoons, there’s no way I can say no to you—so why don’t we add a bunch of bedrooms?”

“Do you want a baby?”

“I want one with you,” he said. “And I’m ready to get started.”

She laughed at him. “We’ll mess up your plans. Besides, I haven’t thrown away the pills yet.”

“No worries. I can always use the practice....”

* * *

Spencer, Devon and Mercy had dinner together most nights. Austin was still with his grandparents, but would be back in a few days to get ready for the start of school. Devon would pick up Mercy at the doctor’s house and they went home to freshen up. Then either Devon would make something simple at her house and Spencer would join them or, with Mercy in her pajamas and toting a couple of picture books, some color crayons and a coloring book, off they went down the street. “Does Pencer know I don’t like that pizza in the box?” Mercy always asked.

She laughed. “I think by now he gets it. But don’t worry—Spencer has peanut butter.”

“I like peanut butter,” she said.

But Spencer had a nice surprise for Mercy—he usually served her favorite meals. Tonight it was spaghetti and meatballs. So while they ate, Devon and Spencer always talked about football practice, or her busy office, with all the kids showing up for physicals and immunizations. They covered town news, updates on the transformation on the beach and anything else that came up. After dishes were done, Mercy was found on the sofa, reclining on her special blanket, leafing idly through her favorite book or watching an old kids’ movie on the hand-me-down DVD player that was once Austin’s. That was the best babysitter Devon had ever come across.