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“Sure. Have a good one.”
Kate hung up and leaned back. She stared out the window toward the purple-gray clouds beyond. Only a few skeleton staff remained in the office, none of whom she really knew past work. She took a long breath. She was in need of some company. Some fun company. It niggled that she’d not managed to secure the mayor’s attendance and that the main draw of the Moon Shadows would be a no-show. What else could go wrong?
She needed to get out of here and lighten her mood.
Shutting down her computer, Kate grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
A couple of drinks and some friendly company at the Coast and she’d be feeling more positive, ready to fight for some more backing tomorrow. Her charity work mattered—to her, and to the teenagers she tried to help. She would not be beaten down from working for mothers who’d had the courage to go through their pregnancies and the birth of a new baby alone.
She pressed her hand to her stomach. She would’ve found that courage if the baby she’d once carried had made it...if she’d managed to keep her child safely cocooned in her womb.
Kate’s heart grew heavy as fresh doubt and a sense of ineptitude pressed down on her. She quickly buttoned her coat against the February chill and shook off memories that would only serve to upset her. Lately, it felt as though she was losing her fire, failing herself and others. She could not give up her work or her determination to succeed. If she did, she’d have nothing left but the haunting memories of the baby she’d lost and how that had brought her to work at the center in the first place.
That, and Marian’s support, of course.
Kate smiled as she thought of the town’s matriarch and baker, Marian Cohen. A wonderful woman who had also been a surrogate mother to Kate through one of the worst times of her life. She’d never take Marian’s continuing love and comfort for granted. Not ever.
With that thought, Kate’s steps lightened, and a slow smile appeared as she strode toward the Coast.
* * *
MAC ORMAN WALKED to the window of his room above the Coast. Light snow swirled around the parking lot, and the old-fashioned streetlamps shuddered in the gathering wind. Maybe the idea of starting his search for Marian Ball, or Marian Cohen as she was known these days, could wait until morning.
He walked to the small desk in the corner of the room. Papers were strewn across the top, along with his father’s notebook. The chaos reflected Mac’s frame of mind. Despite knowing before he came here two days ago that Templeton was a small town, the lack of activity—and the increased chance of being noticed as a stranger—was worrying. For a fleeting moment, he’d wondered if he had made a bad decision coming to this seemingly sleepy town where a newcomer would undoubtedly be scrutinized like a rare museum piece.
The last thing he wanted was a bunch of nosy people wanting to know him and his agenda.
He’d been exposed to the same suspicion repeatedly as he’d walked along the high street until he’d found the Coast. Why his pretty average appearance could evoke such blatant evaluation was beyond him. Not that it mattered. Self-righteous and judgmental people he could deal with. It was comfort and sympathy from others that irked him.
Mac walked back to his bed and flopped backward against the pillows, picking up one of the letters the adoption agency sent to his father. Whatever happened next, he was here now, and he wouldn’t leave until he’d achieved his goal. Closed community or not.
There would be no going back once he started making enquiries, and many people in this small seaside town might be affected by his actions. He dropped his gaze to the correspondence, feeling guilty.
Marian Ball, married name Cohen—Now resident in Templeton Cove.
Approx. 65 years old. No other children.
He folded the letter and exhaled.
God only knew how things would go. Judging by the stony welcome, there would be plenty of people wanting to know who he was and what he was up to. Mac smiled wryly. Well, all they’d know was he had a job to do. A job he was keeping from his family, one with the potential to turn his world—and theirs—upside down.
Templeton Cove, with its rows of seafront shops, B and Bs with vacancy signs hanging from fancy posts, tempting restaurants and bustling offices, was where he would find his biological grandmother. Marian Cohen had given Mac’s father up for adoption, and, according to his father’s research, she now lived in the Cove. She’d been married for eight or nine years but hadn’t had any more children.
Mac clenched his jaw as further resentment whispered through him.
No other children.
Reading between the lines of his father’s sometimes indecipherable notes, the circumstances surrounding his father’s conception had not been ideal. The implication of possible abuse, neglect or abandonment had been alluded to, which was why his mother had asked him to let the search for Marian Cohen go. To leave the past in the past now that his father had passed.
The strain of keeping this trip a secret from his mother and older sister had bothered him for weeks, but now he was here, there would be no going back. He closed his eyes.
His family didn’t feel the same drive to find Marian as he did. Why would they? It was Mac who’d lost his girlfriend and their unborn child, and the future happiness that had been torn from him by a drunk driver.
Anger burned in his chest, and Mac snapped open his stinging eyes to glare at the ceiling. Life was too damn short to ignore a person because you might not like what they had to say, where they’d been or what they’d done.
Rightly or wrongly, Marian Cohen deserved to know what kind of man her son—his father—had been. She deserved to know Dan Orman had cared for his family, worked hard and tried to be everything a good husband and dad should be, but time and again he’d failed.
Insecurity and self-doubt had incessantly plagued Dan’s personal life, no matter how successful his business. Over time, he had pushed away his wife, barely managing to keep the love of his children. Abandonment and unworthiness had pulsed in his blood.
Mac knew all too well the legacy his father’s biological mother had left him with—and Marian Cohen was to blame for her son’s every failing.
Guilt didn’t belong in Mac’s mission, only determination...and resolution.
Neither did the cowardice of a phone call. Marian Cohen would look her grandson in the face.
Pushing up from the bed, he walked into the bathroom. A quick shower and change and then he’d head downstairs for a beer or two. The Coast, with its polished ship’s wheel hanging in pride of place on the wall, ropes looped across the ceiling and the whole interior decorated to resemble a galleon from years gone by, was as corny as any little seaside bar could be.
Yet when he’d arrived, the place had been packed, a three-piece band playing on a raised platform and the small dance floor in front of them decently full for a Wednesday night. From what he’d gathered from the people who frequented the place, the Coast was quite probably the most popular bar in town.
Mac undressed and stepped into the shower. He’d be lying if he said the Coast’s inexplicable familiarity hadn’t influenced his decision to stay here. He’d immediately relaxed a little and allowed the informality to seep inside him and bolster his reasons for being here.
In bars, no one cared who or what he was. When he played and sang, all they cared about was that his music relieved them of their worries.
The sense of loss that squeezed his chest confirmed how improbable it was he’d ever share real love with anyone again. Jilly had been gone three years, and although Mac dated, was open to what might be with someone else, no woman had come close to rekindling his belief in true, lifelong love.
If everything he’d once dreamed of—marriage, kids, a home—wasn’t to be, he could accept that. But what he wouldn’t accept is Marian Cohen not knowing what being given up for adoption had done to his father’s confidence.
Mac was here now and God damn it, he would come face-to-face with Marian Cohen no matter what.
Chapter Two (#ue10c7dc7-e979-5295-a96a-e1b421cafe7f)
KATE TOOK A sip of her rum and Coke and laughed. “Vanessa, you can’t be serious. Since when have you tossed anyone out of the bar without good reason? Just tell me what she did.”
The Coast’s landlady glanced at her husband, who stood at the other end of the bar chatting with a couple of guys. “Dave will have something to say about me gossiping, but...” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Let’s just say the girl was in here looking for trouble. Whether that trouble landed her in bed with one of the locals or not.”
Kate shook her head and smiled. “That isn’t even a story. After all that build-up, I thought...” She looked at the guy who moved in beside her. Good Lord, of all things male and glorious. She cleared her throat and dragged her gaze back to Vanessa. “Anyway—”
“Well, hello there.” Vanessa deftly sidestepped and stood in front of the burning hunk of love who had just approached the bar. “How was your day? Is there anything you need?”
Kate feigned intense interest in the mirror behind the bar, surreptitiously checking the stranger out. His gaze briefly met hers in the reflection, and she quickly turned toward the pool table, smiling into her glass.
The man’s eyes were bright blue against his tanned skin. His hair was longer than she normally liked on a guy, but he wore it well. His shoulders were broad and sheathed in a worn, leather jacket, with only a rectangle of white T-shirt temptingly visible beneath.
“Spent most of it in my room, if I’m honest.” His voice was deep and just the right side of husky. “Everything’s good, though.”
“Glad to hear it.” Vanessa smiled. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a beer. Thanks. Oh, and some dry roasted nuts, if you have any.”
“Nuts?” Vanessa voice faltered. “Oh, nuts...of course. Coming right up.”
Fighting the urge to laugh, Kate faced the bar again and risked another glance at him. He’d leaned his back against the bar, his eyes narrowed as he stared toward the band playing onstage.
Nice, strong jaw. Wide shoulders. Dark lashes surrounding his phenomenal eyes. She lowered her study to his hand resting on the bar. Men’s hands had always been her thing.
Her mouth dried. Big and strong-looking, his nails nicely trimmed and veins popping in just the right way. The man’s hand bolted him at ninety miles an hour from the starting line to the winner’s podium in her book.
“One beer.” Vanessa placed the glass, none too gently, on the bar and smiled at Kate before turning to Mr. Bad Boy. “And one bag of nuts.”
“Thanks.” He lifted the beer and drank.
Kate stared at his throat as he swallowed, aware Vanessa was staring, too. He lowered the glass, and Kate snapped her study to the mirror.
He swiped his hand over his mouth. “Do you have any other bands lined up for the week?”
Vanessa exhaled. “Not this week, as we’re hosting a big fund-raiser on Saturday. It’s going to be a lot of fun. You should be there.” She glanced at Kate. “Shouldn’t he?”
Kate took a deep breath and forced her gaze to his. “Sure.” She held out her hand. “Kate Harrington. I’m in charge of the fund-raiser. Nice to meet you.”
Ignoring her hand, he nodded, his gaze intent on Kate’s as Vanessa moved away to serve another customer.
Kate stared back. His refusal to shake her hand made her attraction wane. “I manage the Cove’s Teenage Support charity. You might have passed by the office. We’re just off the main promenade.”
“Can’t say I have.”
She narrowed her eyes as he turned back to the band. What was this guy’s problem? She wasn’t sure if it was her, Vanessa or the entire town that made him behave like a jerk, but she as sure as hell wasn’t going to let him ignore her. Sometimes manners had to be taught. “So, you’re visiting? Anyone I might know?”
“I doubt it.”
Tension radiated from him as he took another slug of beer. Not to be put off, Kate picked up her drink. “Saturday’s fund-raiser is for a new mother and baby unit that opened at the hospital a few months ago.” She waited for him to look at her.
“Mothers and babies?” His bright blue eyes burned into hers. “Great cause.”
Surprise mixed with pleasure and, at least momentarily, quashed her reservations about him. She smiled. “Glad you think so. So how long are you staying in Templeton?”
He sipped his drink, his gaze moving back to the band. “I don’t know yet. At least a week.”
He faced her and lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
Her cheeks warmed, clearly her annoyance with him showed in her voice. “No. Not at all.”
He slowly ran his gaze over her face, lower to her neck, lingering on her chest for just a second longer than necessary, before he focused on the stage again.
She lifted her glass to her lips. Every inch of her body was intensely aware of him, and she didn’t like it. Not one tiny bit.
The guy was aloof, standoffish...maybe even downright rude.
Good looks and even better bodies were not to be trusted. This guy could be just as much of a cheater as her ex. Even more so, if his terse manner was anything to go by. So why did she want to keep looking at him?
He leaned his elbow on the bar and faced her. “So...” He took a sip of his drink. “Do you live around here?”
Feigning nonchalance, she sat straighter on her stool and put forth as much of a welcoming attitude as she could. It wasn’t this stranger’s fault he’d briefly—very briefly—attracted and intrigued her in one very dangerous blow. “Yes.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “That’s all I get?”
“That’s all you get.” She held his unwavering gaze. His voice was rich and deep and had the same warming effect on her as a shot of whiskey on a cold night. “That is, until I know a little more about you. Your name would be a good start.”
He drank. “Mac. Orman.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
He studied her for a moment before he took a drink. “So, what else do you want to know?”
Her gaze dropped involuntarily to his mouth, most likely betraying her nonchalance. She shifted on her seat and lifted her eyes to his. “Why don’t we start with what brought you to the Cove?”
The seconds ticked by, his blue eyes darkening.
Kate’s nerves whispered with tension. “Was that not a good question to start with?”
He flitted his focus to the band once more. “I’m here on business.”
She frowned. “In Templeton?”
“It’s as good a place as any, isn’t it?”
She hazarded a guess that his cold tone was meant to make her believe it was no big deal why he was in Templeton. Little did Mr. Bad Boy know, she was blessed—or sometimes cursed—with the ability to read between the lines and notice when something wasn’t quite right with a situation. Her senses pinged to high alert with this guy, at the stiffness in his body, his clenched jaw and, quite frankly, his whole defensive demeanor.
She eyed him over the rim of her glass. “You don’t strike me as the type to have work in a small town. You have city nightlife, city women and city trouble written all over you.”
He faced her. “Why trouble? Because of the way I’m dressed? The fact I’m in a bar on my own?” He shook his head. “Give a guy a break, won’t you?”
She fought to keep her cool and shrugged. “You seem, I don’t know, a little guarded, that’s all.”
“Is that right?” Another sip of his drink. “Then why don’t we talk about you?”
She frowned. “What about me?”
“Well, I know your name’s Kate. I know you work at a charity. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why a charity? Why that charity?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, but I wanted to see how open you are to sharing with strangers, seeing as you’re expecting so much from me.” He lifted his beer and looked around the bar. “As I thought. None of my business. Like why I’m in town is none of yours.”
She narrowed her eyes as she glared at his profile. “Fine.”
