“I just don’t want you to feel restricted,” he said.
She reached up and kissed his cheek. “I don’t. My world got larger when you and Davey came into it.”
It was the simple truth. Once she’d agreed to marry Paul, they hadn’t wanted to wait, so they’d had a hurry-up Valentine’s Day wedding. And then they’d had a spectacular, though short, honeymoon in the Far East. She was pretty sure Paul had gotten the travel bug; he’d loved the trip, and she’d loved being on it with him.
They kissed on the docks, slow and lingering, and then headed back. They waved to Harmony, the new occupant of the Healing Heroes cottage. Soon they were passing Amber’s old place and then the new Victory Cottage, where Mary was planting flowers along the porch, and Kirk was painting trim.
“She’s put you to work, has she?” Amber called, and the two of them waved. They both looked happy. Mary continued to insist that she wouldn’t date Kirk, didn’t want to date anyone. But it definitely seemed like they were spending more time together.
Imogene was well and truly out of Mary’s life now, which was good. She’d done a little jail time for her vandalism and possession of drugs, and then Mary had paid for a stint of treatment for her. While in rehab, she’d met someone and they were living together on the West Coast, hopefully dry, both working.
When she, Paul and Davey reached their home, Amber smiled, feeling the warmth she always felt when she saw it. It wasn’t fancy; it was a pretty little beach cottage, with a yard for Davey and Sarge to play in, and a glassed-in sunroom for Amber to do her writing projects.
Paul hadn’t gone back to being a cop. He was working as a firearms instructor for now, but was retraining to become a high school teacher. He’d gotten over his distaste for being in a school. With his patience and his calm demeanor, he’d be great with teenagers.
Davey threw down his bike in the yard and came back to them, lifting his arms. “I’m hungry.”
Amber bent down and picked him up. Having a five-year-old was better than any weight lifting program.
Was better than anything. “We’ll let Sarge out and get some lunch,” she said. “And then I think we all need naps.” She winked at Paul, and nearly laughed when his face colored. He’d always be more reserved than she was, and that was fine. Underneath that reserve was a fiery passion that both surprised her and filled her with joy.
She’d always wanted to live an adventurous life. But underneath that, she’d always been searching for love and a home.
She had that, now, with Paul and Davey. Home and adventure and, most of all, love.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AS ALWAYS, FINISHING a novel reminds me of the debt of gratitude I owe to so many people. My publishing dream team, Karen Solem, Shana Asaro and Susan Swinwood, have been incredibly supportive with ideas, suggestions and encouragement. The art, sales and marketing teams at Harlequin are staffed with talented people who work hard, often behind the scenes, to get books into the right readers’ hands, and I’m the beneficiary of their expertise. Writing these books for HQN has been a dream come true.
I owe a special debt to my writer friends. My Wednesday morning writers’ group pushed me to make each chapter better, while my pals Sandy, Dana and Rachel listened to my complaints and encouraged me to get back to work. Nicole Peeler was a blessing, organizing online write-ins that created a supportive virtual community. And I’m especially grateful to Karen Williams, who read the manuscript and guided me toward a stronger portrayal of both cancer survivors and young children.
Nearest and dearest, I’m grateful to Bill for his unfailing support and ready smile, and for reminding me to stop working and have some fun. And finally, I am so thankful for my daughter, Grace, who fills my life with love and laughter.
Lee Tobin McClain’s The Off Season series continues! Read on for a sneak peek at the next book, coming soon!
Book Four of The Off Season series
by Lee Tobin McClain
CHAPTER ONE
“THAT’S A WRAP on oyster season.” Bisky Castleman tied her skiff to the dock, fingers numb in the March morning chill, then turned toward the wooden shed that connected the dock to the land. She hung up her coverall on the outside hook, tossed her gloves in the bin and sat down on the bench to tug off her boots. “You coming?” she asked her sixteen-year-old daughter, Sunny.
“I’m coming. I’m just dragging.” Sunny hung her coverall beside Bisky’s and then flopped down on the bench beside her, letting her head sink into her hands. “Sure doesn’t feel like a vacation day.”
It was one of those teacher workdays they hadn’t seemed to need when Bisky had gone to school. “I appreciate your coming out dredging and culling when most of your friends were sleeping in.” Bisky slung an arm around her daughter and tugged her close for a quick side hug. “Come on, I’ll make pancakes and then you can take a nap.”
Sunny frowned. “No pancakes, thanks.”
“You sure? You’ve been working hard. Too hard.” Bisky paused, thought about it. “Maybe I’ll see if we can hire some of the teenagers from around here to work the traps with us, come crab season. Heard Tanner Dylan dropped out of school.”
“He’s not going to want to work with us, Mom.” Sunny’s face flushed a deep red. “Please don’t ask him.”
If Tanner was one of the boys who’d been teasing Sunny about her height and size, Bisky would tan him herself. She lifted her hands. “I said maybe. We need to find some help. If you have better ideas, tell me, because I’m not keeping you out of school.”
Now that they were done oystering, the second half of March would give them a
