Brambleberry Shores: The Daddy Makeover / His Second-Chance Family

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“Is that the kind of childhood you had? Regimented, toe-the-line. Military school, right?”

He laughed, though he heard the harsh note in it and wondered if she did as well. “Not quite. I would have given my entire baseball card collection for a little structure and discipline. My parents were of the if-it-feels-good-just-do-it school of thought. It destroyed them both and they nearly took me and my sister along with them. I can’t do that to Chloe.”

Her hands paused in the sink and her eyes widened with sympathy. He shifted, uncomfortable. Where the hell had that come from? He didn’t share these pieces of his life with anyone. He wasn’t sure he’d ever even articulated that to Brooke. If he had, maybe she wouldn’t have expected so many things from him he wasn’t at all sure he had been capable of offering.

He certainly had no business sharing them with Sage. She was quiet for a long moment, watching him out of intense brown eyes. The only sound was the rain clicking against the window and the soft sound of their mingled breathing.

“I’m sorry,” she finally murmured.

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I just don’t want to make the same mistakes with Chloe.”

“But you can go too far in the other direction, can’t you?”

“I’m doing my best. That’s all I can do.”

He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. With her so close, he was having a tough time hanging on to any coherent thought anyway. All he could think about was kissing her again.

But he couldn’t.

The thought had no sooner entered his head than he could swear he felt a soft hand in the small of his back from out of nowhere pushing him toward her.

She gave him a quick startled look then her gaze seemed to fasten on his mouth.

What other choice did he have but to kiss her?

Chapter 7

She sighed as if she’d been waiting for his kiss and she tasted heady and sweet from the wine and the strawberries.

Having her in his arms felt right, in a way he couldn’t explain. On an intellectual level, it made absolutely no sense and every voice in his head was clamoring to tell him why kissing her again was a colossal mistake.

He shut them all out and focused only on the silky smoothness of her hair, her soft curves against him.

Her hands were warm, wet from the dishwater. He could feel the palm prints she left against his shirt, a temporary brand.

He had been thinking of their earlier kiss all day. As he drove to Portland and back, as he listened to his attorneys ramble on and on. Like the low murmur of the sea outside, she had been a constant presence in his mind. Their kiss that morning had been heated and intense, more so because it had been so unexpected.

This, though, was different. Eben closed his eyes at the astonishing gentleness of it, the quiet peace that seemed to swirl around them, wrapping them together with silken threads.

He still wanted her fiercely and the hunger thrumming inside him urged him to deepen the kiss but he kept it slow and easy, reluctant to destroy the fragile beauty of the moment.

“All day long, I’ve been telling myself a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t do that again,” he murmured after a long, drugging moment.

He could see a pulse flutter in her throat, feel her chest rise and fall with her accelerated breathing. She dropped her hands from his shirt, but not before he was certain he felt their slight tremble.

“I can probably give you a couple thousand more why I shouldn’t have let you.”

“Yet here we are.”

She sighed and he heard turmoil and regret in the sound. “Right. Here we are.”

She stepped away from him and immersed her hands in the dishwater, a slight brush of color on her cheeks as she started scrubbing a pan with fierce concentration.

He sighed, compelled to honesty. “I’m not looking for anything. You need to know that. This just sort of… happened.”

The temperature in the room suddenly seemed to dip a dozen degrees and he could swear the rain lashed the windows with much more force than before.

When she spoke, her voice was as cool as the rain. “That makes two of us, then.”

“Right.”

He was digging himself in deeper but he had to attempt an explanation. “We just have this…thing between us. I have to tell you, I don’t quite understand it.”

“Don’t you?” Her voice was positively icy now and he realized how his words could be construed.

He sighed again, hating this awkward discomfort. “You’re a beautiful woman, Sage. You have to know that. Any man would be crazy not to find you attractive. But I swear, until this morning I have never in my life kissed a woman I haven’t at least taken on two or three dates. I’ve never known anything like this. You just do something to me. I can’t explain it. To be honest, I’m not sure I like it.”

The ice in her eyes had thawed a little, he saw, though he wasn’t sure he was thrilled with the shadow of amusement that replaced it.

“I’m sure you don’t.”

“I haven’t dated in a decade,” he confessed. “My wife and I were married for seven years and Brooke has been gone for two years now. I’m afraid I’m out of practice at this whole man–woman thing.”

She sent him a sidelong look he couldn’t read. “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

Oddly, he could swear he heard a ripple of low laughter coming from the other room. He shifted his gaze to the doorway into her living room and saw Sage do the same, almost as if she could hear it, too.

No one was there, he could tell in an instant, but his attention was suddenly caught by a picture he hadn’t noticed before hanging on the wall of the kitchen.

He stared at the image of two women on what looked like a sea cliff, their cheeks pressed together as they embraced, deep affection in their eyes.

One was Sage, a lighthearted joy in her expression he hadn’t seen before. But his shock of recognition was for the other person, the one with the wrinkled features and mischievous eyes…. He moved closer for a better look.

“I know this woman!”

Sage blinked a little at his abrupt change of topic. “Abigail? You know Abigail?”

“Yes! Abigail, that’s her name!”

“Abigail Dandridge. She’s the one who left me this house. She was my best friend in the world.”

“I never knew her last name. She’s dead, then.” An obvious statement, but he couldn’t for the world think of what else to say.

She nodded, her eyes suddenly dark with emotion. “It’s been almost five weeks now. Her heart just stopped in her sleep one night. No warning signs at all. I know she would have wanted to go that way, but…I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye—you know?—and everything feels so unfinished. I still feel her here, in the house. At random moments I think I smell her favorite scent or feel the touch of her hand in my hair. It’s a cliché, but I still keep thinking I’ll hear her voice any minute now, calling me down the stairs to share some gossip over tea.”

He suddenly understood the sorrow he glimpsed every once in a while in Sage’s eyes. He wanted to comfort her but couldn’t find the words, not through his own shock and sadness.

She looked at him with puzzlement in her eyes. “I’m sorry. How did you say you knew her?”

“I suppose I can’t really say I knew her. I met her only briefly but the encounter was…unforgettable.”

She smiled, a little tremulously. “Abigail often had that effect on people.”

“I should have figured it out. You know, I thought Conan looked familiar but I didn’t put the pieces together until right this moment. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“You met her then? She didn’t say anything about it.”

“It probably wasn’t as significant a meeting for her as it was for me. I came to town scouting locations for a new property. I was jogging early one morning and I saw her and I guess it was Conan. I don’t know why I stopped to talk to her—maybe I stopped to tie my shoe or something—but we struck up a conversation. It was the oddest thing. After we talked for awhile, she insisted on taking me to breakfast at The Sea Urchin—and I went, which isn’t at all like me.”

What also hadn’t been like him was the way the woman’s warm, kind eyes had led him to telling her far more about himself than he did with most people.

By the time they’d finished their divine breakfast of old-fashioned French toast with mountains of fresh whipped cream and bacon so crisp it melted in his mouth, Abigail knew about Chloe, about Brooke’s death, even about those last years of their troubled marriage.

“Abigail was always doing things like that, grabbing a stranger to take out for a meal,” Sage said into his sudden silence. “She loved to meet new people. She used to say she knew everything there was to know about the locals and she got damn sick and tired of hearing the same boring old stories a hundred times.”

“She was wonderful. Sharp. Funny. Kind. After breakfast at The Sea Urchin, she suggested I talk to Stanley and Jade Wu about buying it. You know, the whole thing was her idea. She told me they were thinking about retiring, but I have to say, until I approached them with an offer, I don’t think it had even occurred to them to sell the place.”

“I told you Abigail knew everything about the locals, sometimes things they didn’t even know themselves.”

Abigail had certainly been able to see deep into Sage’s own mind. From the moment Sage arrived in Cannon Beach, Abigail had seemed to know instinctively how much Sage longed for a family and home of her own.

The remarkable thing had been her way of finding the best in everyone she met and helping them see it as well.

Why on earth would Abigail have picked Eben Spencer to be one of her pet projects? Sage couldn’t for the life of her figure it out. And she had steered him toward buying The Sea Urchin? It didn’t make sense. Abigail would never have suggested he buy the place if she didn’t trust him to take care of it.

Maybe Sage needed to reconsider her perceptions of the man. If Abigail had approved of him to that extent, perhaps she saw deeper into him than Sage could.

“That morning at breakfast with Abigail felt like an omen. I have to admit, from the moment we stepped into the place, I set my heart on purchasing The Sea Urchin and I’m afraid I haven’t been able to even entertain the idea of any other property for Spencer Hotels’ next project. I’m only sorry I didn’t have the chance to meet up with her again.”

What weird twist of fate had led her to Chloe on the beach that morning, to someone peripherally connected to Abigail? Or had it been a coincidence? She shivered a little, remembering how Conan had greeted Chloe like an old friend, as if he had been expecting her.

“Everything okay?” Eben asked.

He would probably mock any woo-woo speculation on her part. She had a feeling Eben was a prosaic man not given to superstition.

“Fine. Just thinking how odd it was that you’re here now, in Abigail’s house.”

“Your house, now.”

“In my mind, it will always belong to her. She loved every inch of this place.”

Before he could answer, they heard footsteps bounding up the stairs. A moment later, Chloe and Conan burst into the apartment, with Anna Galvez in tow.

“Daddy, Daddy, guess what?”

“What, sweetheart?”

“There’s a whole room of dolls downstairs. It’s huge. I’ve never seen so many dolls. Miss Galvez says if it’s okay with you, I can pick one out and keep it. May I, Daddy? Oh please, may I?”

“Chloe—” He shifted, obviously uncomfortable with the idea.

Sage sent a swift look to Anna, surprised she would make such an offer. She wouldn’t have expected such a generous gesture from Anna, especially after their conversation the day before about keeping the collection intact.

But somehow it seemed exactly the right thing to do, precisely what Abigail would have wanted, for them to give this sweet daughter of the man Abigail had known one of her beloved dolls.

“Several of the dolls have resin faces and aren’t breakable. They’re completely safe for her,” Anna said somewhat stiffly.

Eben looked at Sage with a question in his eyes. She nodded. “Abigail would have wanted her things to be loved,” she said. “She adored showing them off to children.”

She got the impression it wasn’t an easy thing for Eben to accept anything from anyone. He was a hard, self-contained man, though it appeared he had a soft spot for his daughter, something she wouldn’t have expected just a few days before.

“All right,” he finally said. “If you’re certain you don’t mind.”

Chloe squealed with excitement. “You have to help me choose one. Both of you.”

She grabbed Sage with one hand then Eben with the other and started tugging them both toward the stairs. Conan barked once and Sage could swear he was grinning again.

She didn’t know which she found more disturbing, her dog’s pleased expression or Anna’s speculative one.

For the next ten minutes, she, Anna and Eben helped Chloe peruse Abigail’s vast collection, doing their best to point her toward the sturdier, more age-appropriate dolls.

Sage had never been one to play with girlie things, but even she had to admit how much she enjoyed walklng into the doll room. She couldn’t help feeling close to Abigail here, amid the collection that had been such a part of her friend.

Abigail never married and had no children of her own. She had a great-nephew somewhere, but he hadn’t even bothered coming to his great-aunt’s funeral. In many ways, the dolls were Abigail’s family, the inanimate counterpoints to the living, breathing strays she collected.

Sage loved seeing them, remembering the joy Abigail had found every time she added a new doll to her collection.

She especially loved the dolls Abigail had made herself over the decades, with painted faces and elaborate hand-sewn clothes. Victorian dolls with flounced dresses and parasols, teenyboppers with ponytails and poodle skirts, dolls with bobbed hair and flapper dresses.

There was no real rhyme or reason to the collection—no common theme that Sage had ever been able to discern—but each was charming in its own way.

“I can’t decide. There are too many.”

A spasm of irritation crossed Eben’s features at Chloe’s whiny tone. Sage could tell the girl was tired after their big day on the shore then coming back to Brambleberry House afterward. She hoped Eben was perceptive enough to pick up on that as well.

To her relief, after only a moment his frustration slid away, replaced by patience. He pulled his daughter close and kissed her on the top of her dark curls and Sage could swear she felt her heart tumble in her chest.

“Pick out your favorite three and maybe we can help you make your final choice,” he suggested, a new gentleness in his voice.

That seemed a less daunting task to his daughter. With renewed enthusiasm she studied the shelves of dolls, pulling one out here and there, returning another, choosing with care until she had three lined up in the middle of the floor.

They were an oddly disparate trio: a little girl with pigtails holding a teddy bear, a curvy woman in a grass Hawaiian skirt and lei, then an elegant woman with blond hair and a white dress.

Chloe studied them for a moment, then reached for the one in white. “You don’t have to help me pick. This is the one I want. She looks just like an angel.”

The doll was simple but lovely. “Good choice,” Sage said, admiring the doll when Chloe held her out.