Can't Fight the Moonlight Page 2

  "I am curious to see what's there. The last few years she rented out the cottage at the back of her house to artists passing through town or local painters needing a place to create their art. Aunt Carly never asked for rent money, but she did request that each artist leave behind one piece of original art when they moved on. I can't help thinking I might make a real discovery in that cottage."

  "That does sound like a possibility."

  "It looks like the party is starting," Mia said, as Emma took center stage.

  "Just a few games. I promise they'll be fun," Emma said with a laugh, as her news was received with groans of displeasure.

  Emma's determined gaze told the group that they were going to play whether they wanted to or not. "We're going to mix it up between baby and bridal, so our two favorite girls, Nicole and Maddie, will each feel special," she added. "Let's start with you, Nicole. You have to guess what's in the diaper bag that Ria is holding." She motioned toward the dark blonde holding an overstuffed tote bag in her hands.

  Nicole shook her head. "I can't."

  "Come on, you have to play," Emma said with a frown. "I know you think games are silly, but they're fun, too."

  "I can't." Nicole stood up, a pained expression on her face as she held her stomach with both hands. "My water just broke. I'm in labor. Oh, my God, I'm in labor. It's too early. It's too soon."

  "You'll be okay, Nicole," Lynda said, jumping to her feet as she rushed toward her daughter. "We're going to get you to the hospital."

  "I'm going with you," Emma said.

  "I'll call Ryan," Sara put in.

  "I'm sorry, Maddie," Nicole said. "I'm wrecking your party."

  Maddie waved a hand in the air. "Don't be silly. We'll celebrate after you deliver your beautiful daughter."

  "It's too early. I wish Shayla were here," Nicole added, referring to her younger sister, who was also a doctor.

  "She'll be at the hospital," Emma reassured Nicole as they left the living room.

  "Never a dull moment at a Callaway party," Annie said, coming over to her.

  "You can say that again. I hope everything goes well."

  "It will," Annie said confidently.

  "Okay, the party will now go on," Sara declared, taking charge. "We'll just focus on Maddie and celebrate Nicole's baby when she brings her home."

  As Sara started the next game, Mia thought about how many of her cousins were making big moves in their lives with babies and weddings. She'd been stuck in a rut, but she was going to get out of it, starting tomorrow with a very long drive down the coast.

  Chapter Two

  As Jeremy Holt drove through the streets of Angel's Bay on Monday afternoon, he wondered why he'd ever made the decision to come home. On the other hand, had he really had a choice?

  Two months ago his life had been completely different. He'd just finished his twelfth year in the Army, and his fourth year as a member of the Army's elite Delta Force. Then an IED blast had sent him to an operating room in a military hospital in Germany. It had taken four hours to stop the internal bleeding and repair shoulder muscles decimated by shrapnel. When he'd woken up, his future had looked a lot different.

  Rehabilitating his shoulder was possible, but it would be a long and painful process, and he might never recover full range of motion or the physical strength he needed to do a very challenging and dangerous job. His future with Delta was in jeopardy, and he'd be in denial if he thought otherwise.

  He'd never shied away from hard truths, but this was one truth he wished he could look past. He loved the Army. He'd enlisted after high school graduation, and in the military he'd found his family, his skill set. He was good at his job. What the hell else he was good at, he didn't know. But he was going to have to find out.

  It wasn't just the potential loss of his career that had sent him reeling, it was also the letter that had arrived two weeks after his surgery. The letter had come from the children's services department in San Francisco. It had been following him around the globe for almost a month before finally reaching his possession.

  The news had been shocking.

  He had a daughter—an eight-year-old kid named Ashlyn Price. His child was the result of a one-night stand nine years ago with a woman named Justine Price.

  Justine had been killed a month earlier in a robbery. Ashlyn had no other living relatives, so she'd been put into foster care until her father could be located—and he was her father.

  He'd flown to San Francisco and met a shy, dark-haired, dark-eyed, skinny little girl who mumbled a few words when she absolutely had to, but beyond that she seemed to have no interest in speaking to him. He'd been expecting anger, surprise, or joy at his arrival, but she'd given him no reaction whatsoever.

  He'd tried to explain to her that he hadn't known about her until now, but it was difficult to know if anything he'd said had sunk in. Ashlyn had shut down emotionally after her mother's death, and the social worker he'd spoken to in San Francisco had told him to be patient, that Ashlyn needed time to heal and a relationship could take a very long time.

  Ashlyn needed to learn to trust him. She also needed to feel safe, and that would require structure, predictability, consistency, and lots of therapy.

  He'd accepted his parental responsibility without a second thought. He might not have loved her mother—or even barely remembered her—but he would never walk away from his child. He just had no idea how to be a father.

  They'd spent the first two weeks together in a vacation rental in San Francisco. He'd thought about staying in the city and getting an apartment so Ashlyn could go to school with her friends, but the city streets terrified her. The convenience store robbery that had left her mother dead had traumatized her. She visibly shrank when he took her in the car or tried to get her to walk down the street with him. It had become clear to him that he had to make a change.

  Since his most recent address had been an Army barracks on the other side of the world, he'd needed somewhere else to go. His good friend Kent Palmer had told him it was time to come home.

  At first, Jeremy had resisted the idea. It wasn't like he had a family waiting with open arms to welcome him back or who were dying to get to know his daughter, maybe help take care of her.

  No, the only relative he had left in town was a gruff, cold father who still spent most of his days at sea and his nights with a bottle. It had been that way since Jeremy was eleven years old. There was no reason to expect things to be different now.

  But he didn't need his father to make things work. What he needed was a safe place for Ashlyn, and the charming coastal town of Angel's Bay couldn't be any safer.

  Kent had helped him find a rental house and a good therapist for Ashlyn. Unfortunately, the first visit with the therapist had not gone well. He hoped today would be different.

  He parked his car in front of the Redwood Medical Clinic and checked his watch. He had ten minutes until Ashlyn's appointment ended. He got out of the car to get some air. As his feet hit the pavement, he saw Kent pull up in his patrol car, then get out and walk toward him.

  At six foot four, Kent was long and lanky with short, dark blond hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in uniform and obviously on duty, but he didn't look particularly stressed out. Jeremy doubted being a cop in Angel's Bay put too much pressure on a man who'd been a soldier for ten years of his life.

  "How's it going?" Kent asked with a friendly boyish grin that took Jeremy back to the old days when they'd been two kids getting into trouble.

  "Not bad. What are you doing here?"

  "Taking a break. I thought I'd see how Ashlyn's session went today."

  "We'll see. The first one didn't do anything."

  "Did she put up a fight to go back?"

  "She doesn't put up a fight to do anything. I wish she would. Anger would be easier to deal with than…nothingness. It's like she wants to be invisible. I talk to her and try to play with her, but I get no response. I've bribed her with toys and candy. Her bedroom looks
like the inside of a toy store, but nothing interests her. She spends most of her days lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. I was actually thinking of painting a picture up there, just to give her something to look at."

  "That's not a bad idea, but I have confidence that Eva will help Ashlyn. She knows how to deal with trauma. I saw her a few times when I first got back, and talking to her really helped put things into perspective."

  "I hope so." His first impression of Dr. Eva Westcott had been a positive one. The thirty-year-old psychologist had a pleasant, soothing manner and a quiet confidence that commanded attention. His brows drew together as he thought about the rest of Kent's statement. "I didn't know you'd seen a shrink when you got back here or that you were having any issues. You never told me that."

  Kent shrugged. "It wasn't that big of a deal. I couldn't sleep for the first few weeks. I was feeling like a zombie. I ran into Jamie Adams one day. He told me that Eva Westcott had helped him when he got out of the Army and that she was great with soldiers. I thought it couldn't hurt. Plus, she's not bad to look at," he added with a sparkle in his eyes.

  Jeremy smiled. "I can see how that factored into your decision. How's Jamie doing these days?" The younger man had left the Army three years ago.

  "He's working in construction. He got his contractor's license, and he's been busy building the new homes going up at the north end of town. He hires a lot of ex-soldiers, if you feel like swinging a hammer."

  "Not at the moment."

  "You were lousy with tools anyway."

  "I wasn't that bad."

  "You weren't that good. You hammered your shirt to the fence, remember?"

  "I remember that I was twelve at the time," he said dryly. "I've picked up some skills since then."

  "Well, I have a better idea for a career change if you're looking to make one. We're going to be hiring one or two more officers in the fall; I think you'd be perfect."

  "I'm not a cop."

  "You could be. It's a good job. I know you're not ready to give up on Delta, but just keep it in the back of your mind."

  "Fine. I'll think about it. Speaking of Jamie Adams, isn't that his sister?" Jeremy asked, as an attractive blonde walked out of the clinic. She had on a slim-fitting blue dress under a white physician's coat. As she paused to check something on her phone, he couldn't help thinking that Charlie, as they used to call her, had grown up quite nicely.

  "That's her. Charlotte—over here," Kent said with a wave.

  She lifted her head and smiled, then walked over to join them. "Hi Kent." She paused, her eyes widening with recognition when she saw him. "Jeremy Holt? Is it really you? I don't think I've seen you since high school."

  "I'm back."

  "I can see that. How are you? Jamie tells me you're quite the hero, that the Army is going to run out of medals to give to you."

  "He exaggerates."

  "Really? I don't remember you being modest, Jeremy."

  He laughed and tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Life experiences have a way of humbling you. So you're a doctor here at the clinic?"

  "Yes. I'm an OB/GYN. I just delivered a happy, healthy boy to his very excited first-time parents. It never gets old." She paused. "And I'm not Charlotte Adams anymore. I got married last year to Joe Silveira, the chief of police. I don't know if you've met him…"

  "Not yet," he said.

  "Well, I'm sure you will. He's wonderful. Kent can attest to that."

  "Best boss I've ever had," Kent said.

  "I better go," Charlotte said. "I expect I'll be seeing you again soon. Angel's Bay has tripled in population since you left, but it's still a small town."

  "You don't have to tell me that."

  She laughed. "I left for a long time, too, Jeremy, but when I came back, I found it very difficult to leave. Be warned, Angel's Bay will put its spell on you."

  "She's right," Kent said, as Charlotte walked away.

  "I'm not in any danger of falling under the Angel's Bay spell, not while my father lives here."

  "Have you seen your dad yet?"

  "I saw him for about five minutes last week. I called first and told him I wanted to come by his apartment and talk to him about something important. I thought that might make him skip his afternoon cocktail, but I was wrong. His love affair with Jack Daniels is as strong as ever. I told him I had a daughter. That sent him on a rant of how irresponsible I'd always been. So I left. I don't need any further contact with him. Frankly, the last thing I want to do is expose Ashlyn to him."

  "You need to talk to him when he's not drinking."

  "And when would that be? He leaves before dawn to fish, and by afternoon he's back in the bar."

  "I've had some sober conversations with him. In fact, I thought he'd been sober for several years. I have a feeling you coming home set him back."

  "It doesn't matter. I've spent too many years of my life worrying about him; it's about Ashlyn now."

  "Has she told you anything about her mother, their life, the robbery?"

  "Absolutely nothing. I get only yes, no, and nonverbal answers. It's making me nuts, I have to admit."

  "Well, you're used to getting quick results when you put your mind to something, but this is different."

  "Very different. I have no idea how to talk to a little girl. And I don't know what her mother told her about me. I also don't know why Justine never tried to find me to let me know she was pregnant or had a child. I would have done the right thing. I would have supported her."

  "She didn't know you. You didn't know her."

  "We made a kid."

  "Yeah, but who knows if she could have even found you after that night. She might not have known your last name."

  He would have thought that was possible if Justine hadn't put his name down on the birth certificate, because he hadn't remembered Justine's name until the social worker had shown him a photograph and given him the date of Ashlyn's birth. He'd counted backward and realized that he'd hooked up with Justine while he was on leave in Miami. He'd been celebrating his twenty-first birthday, and she'd been on spring break.

  They hadn't done a lot of talking that night. It had been sex and drinking and more sex and more drinking. He'd left the next day for an eleven-month deployment, and he'd never seen or heard from her again.

  "She put me down as the father; she just didn't tell me," he said.

  "Maybe it's better that she didn't. You might not have had the career you've had if she'd told you she was having a baby. It would have changed your life."

  He knew that and there was a selfish part of him that was a little happy that he hadn't had to figure out how to be a father at twenty-one. But there was also another part of him that felt angry with her silence and the distance she'd put between him and his child.

  If Justine hadn't died unexpectedly, would he have ever known he had a daughter? Somehow he didn't think so.

  The door to the clinic opened, and Dr. Eva Westcott walked out with Ashlyn.

  His daughter had no expression on her face, and her hands were in the pockets of her shorts, making it clear she had no interest in holding Dr. Westcott's hand.

  Eva was an attractive, cool blonde who wore a straight black skirt and a cream-colored blouse.

  Jeremy couldn't help noticing that Kent stood up taller when Dr. Westcott approached.

  "Hello," Eva said calmly, as she walked Ashlyn over to the car. "Ashlyn and I had a good talk today."

  "Really?" he asked, unable to keep the doubt out of his voice.

  She gave him a pointed look that told him that wasn't the right thing to say.

  Ashlyn walked past him and got into the car without saying a word.

  "Sorry," he muttered. "Did she really talk to you?"

  "She responded to some pictures that we looked at together, a few words here and there. This is going to take time, Mr. Holt."

  "Please call me Jeremy. I do understand that it will take time. I just want to know how I can help her get better fa
ster."

  She gave him a compassionate smile. "Just be there for her. Ashlyn needs to learn how to trust you. Only then will she be able to share her emotions and her thoughts."

  "How do I get her to trust me?"

  "Be her father."

  "I don't really know how to do that."

  "Well, she doesn't know what she expects you to do, either. She lived alone with her mother. Having a father is as foreign to her as having a daughter is to you. You'll find your way together."

  "I hope so." He paused. "Why do you think she won't talk?"

  "Her voice is the one thing she can control when every other part of her life is in chaos. But she can speak, and she will."

  "When?"

  "When she has something she needs to say."

  "Great," he said, feeling even more frustrated by that vague answer.

  She gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'll see you on Friday. Please feel free to call if you have questions before then."

  "Thanks."

  "Do you have a minute, Eva?" Kent asked.

  She checked her watch. "I have a patient in ten minutes."

  "It won't take that long. I'll walk you to your office."

  As Eva and Kent went into the clinic, Jeremy got behind the wheel of his SUV. He'd always driven a truck, but he'd needed a more family-friendly car since he got Ashlyn, so he'd joined the SUV crowd.

  Ashlyn stared straight ahead, her hands clasped together in her lap.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked. "I was thinking we might pick up a pizza on our way home." He was getting used to answering his own questions. He took her silence for a yes. "Great, we'll do that then. Dr. Westcott said you had a good talk today," he added, as he pulled out of the parking space. "One of these days you and I are going to have a good talk, too. I want to get to know you, Ashlyn, hear about your life. I have a lot of questions. You probably do, too. We don't know much about each other, but we're family. And we're going to be together." He gave her a sideways glance and realized her expression hadn't changed a bit. She looked frozen. Had she even heard him?