California Homecoming (Crimson Romance) Read online

  California Homecoming

  Casey Dawes, author of California Sunset & California Wine

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Casey Dawes

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-6980-0

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6980-7

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-6981-9

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6981-4

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com

  To the men and women of our armed forces and first responders.

  Thank you for all you sacrifice for us.

  To the real-life Daisy, our neighbor’s golden retriever, who always greets us with enthusiasm.

  Map © 2012 Pam B. Morris

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  Also Available

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Brendon Freitas, former chief in prosthetic and sensory aids service at the Veteran’s Health Administration in Montana, who answered all my questions about what happens when an injured soldier comes home from war. Brendon Frietas also introduced me to the Fisher House Foundation (http://www.fisherhouse.org/), a group that helps recovering veterans and their families adjust to new realities.

  Thanks to Skander Spies of Energetechs, Missoula, Montana for providing an amusing glimpse of how a romantic hero might put up sheetrock.

  As always, thank you to my writing support team — Clare, Pam, Rachel, and Danica — and the beloved hero of my own life, Ken. He gives me the love I deserve and need every day of our lives together.

  Chapter 1

  Sarah Ladina turned the key and pushed open the oak door, her pulse quickening in anticipation. Stale smells of forgotten perfumes and long ago dinners wafted from the entrance hall. She crossed the threshold, shut the door behind her, and leaned against it.

  Mine. This soon-to-be-inn is all mine.

  She rubbed her hand on her stomach. Ours.

  Cobwebs huddled in the high corners of the paneled entry and a screw sticking from the staircase newel told of a missing cap. Layers of dust added texture to the floor.

  The work was also going to be all hers.

  Her shoulders sank. What had she been thinking?

  “If you want a job done right, do it yourself.” Other people aren’t dependable.

  A bark from outside made her drop her bag of cleaning supplies, snacks, and tools on the floor. Cautiously, she opened the door.

  A golden retriever sat on the porch, staring up at her, dark eyes pleading entry. The dog barked again, stood, nosed the door open, and walked in. He … or she … made a beeline for the front sitting room, circled, and laid down.

  Great. A dog who thinks it owns the place.

  Keeping a wide berth, she walked toward the dog. “Shoo,” she said. “Go home.”

  The dog looked up at her, rolled over, and beat its tail against the floor.

  Definitely a girl dog.

  “Go! Get out of here!” Sarah raised her voice. She did not need anything else to take care of.

  The dog whined and thumped her tail harder.

  Tires crunched the driveway gravel.

  Sarah groaned, stomped to the door, and opened it wide.

  The dog got off the floor, followed her, and sat down crowded close to her leg.

  The heat of the retriever’s strong body against Sarah’s leg gave her courage, ready to face whoever was coming to call. Maybe I do need a dog. A single woman — correction: a single pregnant woman — might be at risk living alone.

  She glared at the newcomer’s car, a black Jeep polished to a gleaming shine.

  A tall man with broad shoulders emerged from the Jeep. His dark hair was clipped short and he stood with the rigid carriage of a soldier, an odd contrast to the banana slug T-shirt and shorts he wore. His right leg ended in a prosthetic below the knee.

  How sad.

  “Hello,” he said, his deep voice easily carrying across the distance between them. “Nice dog,” he added and walked toward her.

  A rumble from the dog’s throat made her put her hand on its head. The soldier wasn’t a threat.

  Yet.

  The man reached out his hand. Automatically, she took it. “I’m Hunter Evans.”

  Her cold hand was engulfed by his strong warmth.

  “I’m Sarah.” She withdrew her hand. “What can I do for you?”

  “I understand you just bought this place.”

  She nodded. “Today.”

  “Will you sell it to me?”

  She almost laughed out loud. Is he serious? “No.” She stepped back to close the door. The dog stood.

  Hunter didn’t move. “I’d really like to buy it.”

  “It’s not for sale any more. I bought it.”

  His green eyes glittered with determination. “I know, but you haven’t had time to get attached to it yet. I’ll give you ten percent more than you paid.”

  Now she was getting irritated. Why couldn’t he accept “no” to meant “no” and move on? Typical male. “Why do you want it so badly?”

  His lips went to a thin line. “My family used to own this house. I spent some of my best years here. After spending some time in the war … ” He gestured to his leg. “I was hoping to return to happier times.”

  Her irritation fled. “I’m sorry, I really am, but no.” She wouldn’t give up her baby’s future for anyone, even a vet. “I wish you well, but this house is not for sale. I’m going to make it into an inn.”

  “Interesting.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket and scribbled on it. “In case you change your mind.” He handed her the paper.

  He gave her a mock salute, climbed into the Jeep, and drove off.

  Sarah patted the dog, anticipation and regret tingling her nerves. Even with a bum leg, Hunter Evans exuded testosterone. He was the kind of man who could take the place of Rhett Butler, swooping up a reluctant Scarlett, and ascending the stairs to bed.

  She shivered at the imagined touch of Hunter’s arms around her.

  Stop that. He’s probably nothing like Rhett Butler.

  She regarded the dog. “C’mon you.”

  Shutting the door, she picked up her purse and supplies and headed off to the kitchen, the dog’s nails clicking on the floor behind her.

  One thing she knew for sure. Hunter Evans was a damn good-looking man.

  Too bad she’d sworn off the species.

  Once they reached the kitchen, the dog wagged its tail, sat down, and peered up at her expec
tantly.

  “What am I going to do with you?” Sarah asked. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed. “Hi, Mom.”

  “How are you doing?” Elizabeth asked. “Is everything okay?”

  Her mother was going to drive her crazy. Ever since Sarah had told Elizabeth she was pregnant, her mother had pinged between being furious that Sarah was throwing her life away and worrying about Sarah miscarrying like Elizabeth had done so many times.

  “I’m fine. Healthy. Mom, stop worrying.”

  “Um. Sure. Fine. Stop worrying about my unmarried pregnant daughter who just sank all her money into a rundown house. Sure. Okay. Whatever you want. Dinner should be ready around seven. I’ll see you then.” Her mother hung up the phone.

  Elizabeth had flipped from worried to furious with the speed of a NASCAR racer.

  Sighing, Sarah redialed.

  “Mom, can you listen? I need some advice.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Elizabeth’s voice brightened.

  “It’s just … well … there’s this dog. It came in the door and won’t leave. Any idea who I should call?”

  “SPCA. They’ll come get him, I think. Do you have the number?”

  “They won’t kill her or anything, will they?”

  “Well, I don’t know, Sarah. They try to place all their animals, but if an animal is there too long … ”

  The silence lingered. Sarah looked down at the dog who regarded her steadily as if she knew her fate was being discussed.

  Who could have abandoned such a beautiful animal?

  “I’ll have to think about it,” Sarah said. “I’ll be home in time for dinner. See you then. Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Sarah hung up the phone. “C’mon you,” she said. “Let’s explore.”

  She poured through the bag she’d brought with her. Unsure what she’d find upstairs in dark corners, she grabbed a flashlight. Time to find out what work lay ahead of her.

  Even though the day had been unmarred by winter rain, the January light was fading. Sarah flicked on the light switch and a solitary bulb turned on. Shadows lingered in the corners — the Victorians had been cheap with their fixtures.

  The dog thumped her tail, got up, and trailed Sarah up the stairs and into the main upstairs hallway. This time flipping a switch produced no light. Sarah turned on the flashlight, halfway expecting to see a mouse scurry along the baseboard.

  Nothing but layers of dust and cobwebs.

  She breathed out. Good cleaners and elbow grease would take care of those problems. Hard work would keep her from remembering the ugly scene with Rick when she’d told him about the baby — their baby.

  The five upstairs bedrooms were passable. Once the inn was making money, she could redo the wallpaper and get rid of the bordello-like flocking on the walls. But for now, she could tell prospective guests they were having a true Victorian experience.

  She chuckled. Good thing she’d started with hotel marketing classes at Davis.

  A flash of melancholy washed over her, but she pushed it aside. There were things to do.

  The last bedroom was the only one with a closet carved from the space. She’d have to find wardrobes for the other rooms. Peering into the small nook, she realized she’d need to get some kind of light fixture installed.

  Her flashlight beam caught on a box tucked back on a shelf. Curious. The rest of the house had been empty.

  Using the tips of her fingers she nudged the box to see how heavy it was.

  She wasn’t going to be able to get it down without a stepstool.

  The twinge in her side caught her unaware and she bent double, her breath leaving her as if someone had punched her in the gut.

  As quickly as the pain had come, it passed.

  Had she imagined it?

  No.

  She pushed back the tears. Keep thinking positive thoughts and everything will be okay.

  Won’t it?

  The dog pawed at Sarah’s foot, as if she knew something was wrong.

  Sarah smiled weakly at the animal. “Maybe I should keep you,” she said, still short of breath. “But you need to behave or it’s off to the pound with you,” she said, knowing it was a step she’d never take. “And you’re going to need a name.” She glanced at the bedroom wallpaper. Rose didn’t seem right.

  “I think I’ll call you Daisy,” she said and patted the dog on the head.

  Daisy’s tail thumped.

  “Time to call it a day.” Sarah started back down the hall. “Let’s go face the music.”

  • • •

  After he left his former home, Hunter drove aimlessly south on Highway One.

  Future inn. Ugh.

  The thought of the future innkeeper made him smile. Her wiry toughness was covered by a soft petite frame, luminescent eyes, and gleaming chestnut hair. Boy, would he like to wrap his hands in that hair and find out what kissing her would be like.

  Eucalyptus trees whipping by the side of the road made him glance at the speedometer. Immediately, he eased off the gas. He wasn’t in the desert anymore; he actually had to obey the laws instead of enforcing them with the military might of the U.S. Marines.

  He had no right to be attracted to another woman. He still hadn’t completed his penance for getting Lauren killed. No matter what the shrink said, Hunter knew his inattention was to blame for her death.

  He pushed away all thoughts of women — past and present.

  The day gleamed in a way his soul never would again. He should focus on the natural beauty of the bay. Ignoring the camouflaged paintball store at the curve of the road by the Bennet Slough, he concentrated on the egrets and herons stalking the wetlands.

  His stomach grumbled. Moss Landing, the small town up ahead, was a good place to stop for something to eat and figure out his next moves. He needed a job and a place to live.

  As he turned off the highway by The Whole Enchilada, he caught a glimpse of otters in the cove and pulled over to watch. The flop of their webbed feet as they rolled and dove in the water whispered boyhood memories of carefree afternoons on the Santa Cruz shores.

  Before his father had uprooted them all and moved them to the chi-chi town of Sausalito. Before Hunter had gone to war.

  Before Lauren had died.

  Hunter scowled, got back into the Jeep and drove to the fish house. On a late Saturday, even in January, the place was awash with humanity, each person jostling for a place in line.

  Panic crept his skin. He scanned the room for exits and examined faces for threats. His breath became shallower and he remembered why he was here. He focused on the mounted fish on the walls, the dinner choices before him, and edged as close to the glass cases as possible.

  Why did he ever think he could resume a normal life?

  He got a tray of fish and chips and found a table near an exit. He forced himself to eat deliberately, fighting the urge to bolt his food and rush back to the safety of the Jeep. Good thing he no longer kept a gun in the glove box. Times like these made him unsure the struggle to live was worth it.

  Practice, the shrink had told him. One day at a time — the mantra of all twelve-step groups.

  Hunter wasn’t sure it was ever going to work.

  If it didn’t, what would be become of him? Memories surfaced of his mentally ill grandfather reliving the Vietnam War on the streets of San Francisco.

  Hunter shoved a fish stick in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed without tasting anything.

  He forced his mind back to the present and the image of the innkeeper reappeared in his mind, making him smile. If the thought of her made him feel this good, what would a date feel like — or a kiss?

  A bit of life stirred in his heart.

  He shook his head. If she was smart she’d want nothing to do with a screwed-up, out-of-work, one-legged vet.

  He stuck a French fry in his mouth, the greasy, salty potato soothing his mood. Taking a piece of paper from his pocket, he flattened it and clicked on a pen
to write down his job qualifications.

  The blank page mocked him.

  He couldn’t put down a word. Everything he’d done in the war was classified. The past four years were a blank slate as far as prospective employers were concerned.

  Chapter 2

  “Hi Mom,” Sarah said as she pushed open the kitchen door of her mother’s home. Spicy aromas of oregano and garlic permeated the air and she breathed in deeply. Daisy trotted behind her, her nose reconnoitering the floor.

  “I see you decided to keep it,” her mother said as she walked into the kitchen from the dining room. Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and studied Daisy.

  Daisy sat, the picture of politeness. The only giveaway was the slight thump of her tail on the tile floor.

  “Uh … yeah … do you mind? She’ll only be here for a few days, until I move to the inn.”

  “Don’t rush things. You know you can stay here as long as you like.” Her mother’s arms wrapped around Sarah. “The dog, too. Did you name her?”

  “Daisy.” Sarah shrugged off her mother’s arms with her coat.

  The animal must have sensed her acceptance. She clicked across the floor to Elizabeth and nudged her palm with her snout.

  Elizabeth automatically patted the dog, but Sarah could still feel her mother’s inspection. “Are you okay?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Sure. It’s just been a long day — the closing, the dog, you know … ” She let her voice trail off as she hung her coat on the hook in the side room. “I brought stuff for Daisy.” She unloaded bright yellow dishes from a bag, opened the dog food, and poured it in the bowl. “There,” she said kneeling next to the dog and burying her face in Daisy’s warm fur. “Food. I hope you like it. Not as good as Mom’s ravioli, but … ” She shrugged her shoulders as she stood.

  Daisy walked over to the bowl, sniffed, lay down, and began to eat.

  Sarah stood up and twirled, just as she had when she’d come home from dance class years ago. “So do I look like the owner of a successful inn?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Of course you do!” She put her arms back around Sarah and planted a kiss on her head. “Set the table and I’ll serve dinner.”