A Charming Doorstep Baby
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Heatherly Bell
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HarlequinChapter One
“Another drink for Maribel.”
Maribel Del Toro held up her palm. “No, thanks. I might not be driving, but I have to worry about walking while under the influence.”
For an establishment that was a historical landmark, the Salty Dog Bar & Grill had mastered the art of a modern twist. The ambience fell somewhere between contemporary and classic, with a long bar of gleaming dark wood, one redbrick wall and exposed ceiling beams. Separate and on the opposite side of the bar the restaurant section was filled with booths. To top it all off, a quaint sense of small coastal town community infused the bar. Maribel loved it here.
Her brother, Max, was the occasional bartender and full-time owner. Situated on the boardwalk in the quiet town of Charming, Texas, it was the kind of place where everybody knew your name.
Especially if you were the younger sister of one of the three former Navy SEALs who owned and operated the establishment.
“You had one beer. Even I think you’re skilled enough to make it to the cottages without falling.” Max grinned and wiped the bar.
“Ha ha. My brother, the comedian. I’ll have a soda, please and thank you.”
Afterward, she’d take a leisurely walk down to her beach rental a short mile from the boardwalk. Lately, she’d been digging her toes in the sand and simply staring off into the large gulf. Her father had once said if she ever got too big for her britches, she should consider the vastness of the ocean. She often had from her childhood home in Watsonville, California. The Pacific Ocean was an entirely different feel from the Gulf Coast, but both reminded her of how small her own problems were in comparison.
The doors to the restaurant swung open and some of the customers called out.
“Val! Hey, girl.”
“When are you gettin’ yourself back to work?”
“Soon as my husband lets me! Believe me, I miss y’all, especially your tips.” Valerie Kinsella stopped to chat with customers and let a few of them check out the bundle in her front-loaded baby carrier.
She sidled up to the bar, her hand protectively cradled on her son’s head of espresso brown curls that matched his mother’s. “Hey, y’all. How’s it goin’?”
“Hey there.” Max hooked his thumb in the direction of the back office. “If you want Cole, he’s in the back checking the books. We want to give the staff a nice bonus around the holidays.”
“Well, dang it, I’m going to miss out on that, too. But I didn’t just come by to see Cole. I sleep next to him every night.” Valerie elbowed Maribel. “How are you enjoying your vacation?”
“Loving it. The beach rental unit is just perfect.”
“And even if it is hurricane season, the weather seems to be cooperating.”
Oh yeah. By the way, somebody should have told Maribel. When she’d eagerly booked this vacation for November, everyone forgot to mention the tail end of hurricane season. But this part of the Gulf Coast hadn’t been hit in many years, so it was considered safe. Or as safe as Mother Nature could be. In any case, the lovely row of cottages near the beach were being sold to an investor, according to her sister-in-law, Ava, and this might be Maribel’s last chance to stay there.
She nodded to Valerie’s baby. “What a cutie. Congratulations again.”
“Wade is such a sweet baby. We’re lucky.” Valerie kissed the top of his head.
He was a healthy-looking kid, too, with bright blue curious eyes the same intense shade as his father’s. Maribel didn’t have any children of her own, but she had plenty of experience. Loads. More than she’d ever wanted, thank you. In a way, that was why she was here in Charming, taking a sabbatical from all the suffering and gnashing of teeth. It went along with her profession like the ocean to the grains of sand.
“When do you go back to teaching?” Maribel gently touched Wade’s little pert nose.
“Not until after the holidays. I’ve had a nice maternity leave, but it’s time to get back to my other kids. The students claim to miss me. I have enough cards and drawings to make me almost believe it.”
Maribel spent a few more minutes being treated to Valerie’s “warrior story,” i.e., her labor and delivery. She was a champ, according to Cole. Valerie claimed not to remember much, which to Maribel sounded like a blessing in disguise. Mucus plug. Episiotomy. Yikes. Maribel had reached her TMI limit when Cole, the former SEAL turned golden surfer boy, came blustering out of the back office looking every bit the harried father of one.
“Hey, baby.” He slid his arm around Valerie, circling it around mother and child.
Maribel had known Cole for years since he’d been a part of the brotherhood who for so long had ruled Max’s life. She imagined Max and his wife would be headed to Baby Town soon, as well. And though it was information still being held private, Jordan and Rafe were newly pregnant. Maribel had been given the news by a thrilled Jordan just last week.
Maribel slid off the stool. “Well, folks, I’m going to head on back to my little beach shack now.”
Shack wasn’t quite the right word. She’d been pleasantly surprised to find a suite similar to resort hotel villas. It contained a separate seating area and flat-screen, attached kitchenette and separate bedroom with a second flat-screen and a king-size bed. The bedroom had sliders opening up to a small patio that led to the private beach.
“Need a ride?” Cole asked.
“Nah. Part of the ambience of Charming can only be enjoyed by strolling.”
Max gave a quick wave. “Don’t forget, Ava wants you over for dinner soon.”
“I’m here two weeks. Plenty of time.” She slid a pleading look Valerie’s way. “I’m hopeful for another invite to the lighthouse, too.”
“Anytime!” Cole and Valerie both said at once, making everyone laugh.
Max rolled his eyes, but he should talk. He and Ava often finished each other’s sentences.
Outside, the early November evening greeted her with a mild and light wind. Summers in the gulf had resembled a sauna in every way, but autumn had so far turned out to be picture perfect. Except for the whole hurricane season thing. Still, it was warm enough during the day for trips to the beach. When she dipped her toes in, the gulf waters were less like a hot tub and more like a warm bath. Maribel ambled along the seawall, away from the boardwalk side filled with carnival-style rides for children. The succulent scent of freshly popped kettle corn and waffle cones hung thickly in the air. She passed by shops, both the Lazy Mazy kettle corn and the saltwater taffy store. The wheels of an old-fashioned machine in front of the shop’s window rolled and pulled the taffy and entertained passersby. In the distance, Maribel spotted a group of surfers.
The views were everything one would expect from a bucolic beach town with a converted lighthouse, piers, docks and sea jetties. The first time she’d been here was for Max and Ava’s wedding six months ago, and she’d fallen in love with the area. It was the only place she’d considered escaping when she’d decided to resign from her position as a social worker. The offer from a multi-author doctor corporation was one she’d consider while here. They wanted a psychologist on board to assist with their heavy caseload, and that meant Maribel would put her hard-earned PhD to use. Although she wasn’t excited by the prospect. Maybe after this vacation, she’d be able to clear the decks and finally make a firm decision. The offer was attractive, but it would be a huge change for her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to do much good and felt at a crossroads in her life. And this was the perfect location to decide what she’d do for the rest of her professional life.
The small row of beachfront cottages were rented year-round by both residents and tourists. Maribel had lucked into a rental during the off-season, meaning she had the peace and quiet she craved. As far as she could tell so far, she had only one neighbor, immediately next door. He was the most irritating male she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. Sort of. There was, in fact, quite a list. He was, at the moment, in the top five.
On the day she’d arrived, she’d been to the store to stock up on groceries for all the cooking she’d planned to do. Hauling no less than four paper bags inside, she’d set one down just outside the heavy front door, propping it open.
When she’d returned for it, a huge cowboy stood outside her door holding it.
“Forgot something.” He’d brushed by her, striding inside like he owned the place.
“Hey,” she muttered, following him.
The man spoke in a thick Texan drawl, and he hadn’t said the words in a helpful way. More like an accusatory tone, as in “You dingbat, here’s your bag. If you need any other help getting through life, let me know.”
She’d caught him looking around the inside of her rental as if apprising its contents. But he didn’t look like a burglar.
“I didn’t forget.” Maribel snatched the shopping bag from him, deciding in that moment he’d made it to the top five. Of all the nerve. She hadn’t been gone a full minute.
“You might not want to just leave anything out here unattended. Unless you want someone to steal it.”
Steal? Here in the small town of Charming, Texas?
She flushed at the remark. “I don’t think anyone is going to steal my box of cereal or fresh fruit.”
“Regardless, you should care for your property. Don’t invite trouble.”
Okay, so he’d figured out she was a single woman and wanted to look out for her.
“Great. If you’re done with your mansplaining, I’m going to cook dinner.”
“Are you liking this unit well enough? Everything in working condition?”
Now, he sounded like the landlord. Good grief. Top three most irritating men, easily.
“Yes, thank you, I have located everything I need.” She rolled her eyes.
“I’m next door if you need anything else.”
“I won’t.”
He’d tipped his hat, but she’d shut the door on him before he could say another word.
Since that day, she saw little of him, and that was fine with her.
Twenty minutes of an invigorating walk later, she arrived at her cottage. There was her neighbor again, the surly surfing cowboy, coming up from their lane to the beach carrying a surfboard under his arm. He might be irritating as hell, but he looked like he’d emerged from the sea shirtless, ready to sell viewers the latest popular male cologne.
She wondered whether he was attempting to cover two hero stereotypes at once. He wore a straw cowboy hat, and though this was Texas, after all, the hat didn’t quite match with the bare chest and wet board shorts he wore low on his hips. A towel slung around his neck completed the outfit of the salty guy who once more simply nodded in her direction. Before she could say, “Howdy, neighbor,” he stared straight ahead like she no longer existed.
No worries. She hadn’t come here to make friends. Even if he resembled a Greek god. Thor, to be more specific—who wasn’t actually from Greek mythology. This demigod had taut golden skin, a square jaw and a sensual mouth. His abs, legs and arms were chiseled to near perfection. But she was going to ignore all this because it didn’t fit into her plans.
Focus. Men were not part of the plan. Even sexy irritating males, her weakness. She was here to unplug and had turned off her cell, giving her family the landline for emergencies. In her plan for mindfulness and peace, she was practicing yoga every morning before sunrise. And reading. Not from her e-reader but actual print she had to hold in her hands.
Rather than dwelling on her problems, Maribel would set them aside for now. Since months of dwelling on her problems hadn’t given any answers, she was trying this new approach.
Once she’d spent enough time away from her situation, her mind would produce fresh results and ideas.
Because she had to decide soon how she would spend the rest of her life.
Dean Hunter hopped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself. Another day completed in his attempts to hit the waves and master the fine art of surfing. All he had to show for it? Two more fresh cuts, five new bruises and a sore knee. He had to face facts: he was a disaster on the water, having spent most of his life on a working cattle ranch. He’d been bucked off many a horse, and how interesting to find it wasn’t any less pleasant to slam into the water than the ground. Seemed like water should give a little, and of course it did, more than the ground ever would. Still hurt, though, equal to the velocity with which a person slammed into a wave.
Why am I here?
A question he asked himself twice a day.
He should have simply backed out of this vacation and lost his deposit. This time was to have been a getaway with Amanda, where he’d get down on bended knee and pop the question. The cottages were going to be a surprise wedding gift to her. A way to show her all he’d accomplished. They’d have a vacation home every summer, a whole row of them. He was a damn idiot thinking that maybe he’d finally found the right woman. He and Amanda were both part of the circuit and had been for years. They had a great deal in common, and eventually they’d decided moving out of the friend zone made sense.
Then, six months ago, he’d walked in on Amanda showing Anton “The Kid” Robbins the ropes. And by “the ropes,” he meant he’d walked in on her and the twenty-six-year-old, Amanda straddling him like a bucking horse. No way a man could ever unsee that. He’d walked out of his own house and moved into a hotel room. One more race to win, he’d told himself, and maybe then he’d go out on top. But that hadn’t happened.
To think that Anton had been his protégé. Dean hadn’t been ready to retire, but he saw the sense in training the new kids, giving them a hand up. Someone had done this for him, and he would return the favor. He couldn’t ride forever, but he’d thought he would have had a little more time. Now Dean was the old guard and Anton the new. He didn’t have as many injuries (yet) as Dean and was also ten years younger.
Dean still had no idea how he’d gotten it all so wrong. He hadn’t been able to clearly see what had been in front of him all along. His manager had warned him about Amanda, who was beautiful but calculating. Dean had wanted to believe he’d finally found someone who would stick by him when he quit the rodeo. He’d had about six months with her, during which time she convinced him he’d found the right woman. Yeah, not so much.
Their breakup happened right before his last ride. He’d already been reeling when he’d taken the last blow, this one to his career. In some ways, he was still trying to get up from the last kick to his ego. At thirty-six, battered and bruised, he’d been turned in for a newer model. Anton still had plenty of mileage left on him, time to make his millions before a body part gave out on him.
So Dean should have let the opportunity to buy this investment property go. There were ten cottages, and in anticipation of his stay here to check them out thoroughly, they’d kept them vacant for him. All except Cute Stuck-up Girl next door. The moment he’d noticed he wasn’t here alone as expected, he’d phoned the real estate agent.
“Thought I was going to be here by myself.”
“You were, but Maribel Del Toro apparently has some influential friends in this town, friends who know the current owner and have some pull. We thought it best not to reschedule her reservation like we did the others.”
“How am I supposed to inspect her unit?”
He’d already found an excuse by hurrying to help bring in a grocery bag in before she had a chance to say anything. You would have thought he’d wrecked the place instead of tried to help. He’d obviously insulted her in the process, but how else was he supposed to check inside? He never bought a dang thing before he inspected every nook and cranny, and that included a horse.
“We will give you a clause to back out if something is wrong in that unit. These deals fall apart all the time.”
“And why is she right next to my unit?”
The real estate agent sighed. “Remember, you asked for new storm windows if you were even to consider buying. Progress on the others was not complete, and hers was the only unit available when she arrived.”
By nature, Dean was a suspicious sort, and he couldn’t help but wonder why these units were going far too cheaply for ocean-front property. But as a kid who’d grown up in Corpus Christi to a single mother who never had much, it would be a nice “full circle” gesture to buy this. And after years of punishing his body and garnering one buckle after another, he was a wealthy man. Still, he didn’t like anyone to know it, least of all women. So he dressed like a cowboy even if he was technically a multimillionaire. At his core, he was a cowboy and always would be.
While the injury was said to be career ending, he could have gone through rehab and come back stronger than ever. Having come from nothing, he’d been wise about his investments, and while others enjoyed buckle bunnies, gambling and drinking, Dean had socked away every nickel. He had investments all over Texas, including his ranch in Hill Country.
In the end, he’d forced himself to walk away from the rodeo before he didn’t have a body left to enjoy the other pleasantries in life. Oh yeah. That was why he was here in Charming trying his hand at surfing in the Gulf of Mexico during hurricane season. It was just the shot of adrenaline a junkie like him needed.
He would find his footing in his new world with zero illusions he’d find a second career as a competitive surfer. Instead, it was time for the second part of his life to begin, the part that was supposed to matter.
Life after the rodeo. Life after poverty.
He’d already been coming here for a short time every summer just to remember his roots. He’d drive from Corpus Christi to Charming, counting his blessings. Enjoying the coastal weather.
Remembering his mother.
Once, he could recall having ambitions that went beyond the rodeo. An idea and a plan to fix for others what had been broken in his own life. Somewhere along the line, he’d forgotten every last one of those dreams. He was here to hopefully remember some of them in the peace and quiet of this small town. Here, no one would disturb him. No one except his feisty neighbor, that is, who behaved as if he’d deeply insulted her by carrying in her groceries. She’d immediately put him on the defensive, seeing as it had merely been an excuse to get inside her unit. It was as if she could read his mind. He didn’t like it.
He often watched Cute Stuck-up Girl from a distance as she sank her feet in the sand and read a book. Two days ago, he’d seen her fighting the beach umbrella she’d been setting up for shade. It was almost bigger than her, which was part of the problem. She’d cursed and carried on until Dean was two seconds away from offering his help. He’d walk over there and issue instructions on how to put the umbrella up until she got all red in the face again with outrage. The thought made him chuckle. He’d put the umbrella up for her if she’d let him. Not likely.
Finally, she got it to stay up and did a little victory dance when she must have assumed no one was watching.
And he’d found a laugh for the first time in months.
After changing clothes and towel-drying his hair, Dean plopped on his favorite black Stetson and headed to the local watering hole. A little place along the boardwalk that he’d discovered a few years ago sandwiched between other storefronts and gift shops. At the Salty Dog Bar & Grill, the occasional bartender and owner there was a surfer who’d given Dean plenty of tips. Cole Kinsella had even offered Dean one of his older boards, since as a new father, he wasn’t taking to the water as often.
Safe to say, Dean liked the bar and the people in it from the moment he’d strode inside and momentarily indulged in one of his favorite fantasies: buying a sports bar. It was one of the few investments he didn’t have because he’d been talked out of it too many times to count. This place resembled a sports bar, but was more of a family place that also happened to have a bar. The restaurant section sat next to the bar separated only by the booths. Instead of huge flat-screens on every spare amount of space, there were chalkboards with the specials written out in fancy white cursive.
Everyone was friendly and welcoming. The first night Dean had come in, he’d met a group of senior citizens who were having some kind of a poetry meeting.
The only gentleman in the group, Roy Finch, had offered to buy Dean a beer.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Dean nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re a cowboy?”
“Yes, sir. Born and bred.” Dean tipped his hat.
“Don’t usually see that many of you here on the gulf.”
“Our profession usually keeps us far from the coast.”
“What you doin’ in these parts?”
“Good question.” Dean took a pull of the beer the bartender had set in front of him. “I guess I’m lookin’ for another profession.”
“All washed out?”
“That obvious?” Dean snorted. “I was part of the rodeo circuit longer than I care to say.”
“Thought I recognized you. Tough life.”
They’d discussed the rodeo and the current front runners, which unfortunately included Anton. The man thought he was God’s gift to women, overindulging in buckle bunnies and earning himself quite a reputation both on and off the circuit.
Dean had gone over a few of his injuries with Roy, but held back on the worst ones. Mr. Finch had introduced him to his fiancée, Lois, and some other women who were with him and were all part of a group calling themselves the Almost Dead Poets Society. Every night since then, Dean met someone new.
Now, he sidled up to the bar, but the surfer dude wasn’t behind it. A dark-haired guy named Max, going by what everyone called him, was taking orders.
“What can I get you?” he asked Dean in an almost-menacing tone.
“Cold beer.”
“We have several IPAs, domestic and imported.” He rattled off names, sounding more like a sommelier than a bartender.
“Domestic, thanks.”
“Here you go,” he said a moment later, uncapping a bottle and taking Dean’s cash.
This guy wasn’t quite as chatty and friendly as Cole had been. He was also busy as the night wore on and, after a while, got grumpy.
“Max,” someone called out. “C’mon! I ordered a mojito about an hour ago.”
This was a great exaggeration, as Dean had listened to the man order it no more than fifteen minutes ago.
“And if you ask me again, you’re not getting it tonight.”
Dean would go out on a limb and guess this man was one of the owners of the bar. Cole had explained they were three former Navy SEALs who had retired and saved the floundering bar from foreclosure.
Turning his back to the bar, Dean spread his arms out and took in the sights. A busy place, the waitresses in the adjacent dining area flitted from one table to the next. He saw couples, families and a group of younger women taking up an entire table.
“Hey there, cowboy,” a soft sweet voice to his right said. “I’m Twyla.”
Dean immediately zeroed in on the source, a beautiful brunette who looked to be quite a bit younger than him. He shouldn’t let that bother him, but for reasons he didn’t understand, only younger women hit on him. He guessed it to be the fascination with the cowboy archetype, which usually happened when traveling in urban cities or coastal areas. He happened to know men who’d had nothing to do with ranches or rodeos who wore Western boots, a straw hat and ambled into a bar. They never left alone.
But a beautiful woman would only take time and attention away from Dean’s surfing. Besides, were he to take up with any woman, it would be with the girl next door. Literally. She was as gorgeous a woman as he’d ever laid eyes on. Dark hair that fell in waves around her shoulders, chocolate brown eyes that made a man feel...seen.
“Dean. It’s a pleasure.” He nodded, failing to give her a last name. She didn’t seem like the type to follow the rodeo, but one never knew.
He intended to remain anonymous while in Charming, though a few had already recognized him. The night before, he’d given out his autograph and taken a few photos with a family visiting from Hill Country. He ought to ditch the hat and shoot for a little less obvious.
“You’re on vacation?” Twyla asked.
“How did you guess?”
“Not many cowboy types around here.”
“Actually, I’m a surfer.”
Speaking of exaggerations...
“You’re kidding. Well, you’re in the right place. Pretty soon the waves are going to kick up, depending on whether a system hits us. But don’t worry, we haven’t had a direct hit in decades.” She offered her hand. “I own the bookstore in town, Once Upon a Book.”
Her hand was soft and sweet, making Dean recall just how long it had been since he’d been with a woman. Too long. And even though it seemed like bookstores had become as out-of-date and useless as broken-down cowboys like him, he didn’t feel a need to connect with this woman.
She had a look about her he recognized too well: she had a thing about cowboys. He wasn’t interested in indulging in those fantasies. Been there, done that, bought the saddle. He was done with women who were interested in the part of him he was leaving behind. Rodeo had been fun, his entire life for two decades.
And now it was over.
They chatted a few more minutes about nothing in particular, and then Dean set his bottle down on the bar, deciding to call it an early night.
“Nice meeting ya.”
“I’ll see you around?” she asked.
“You will.” He waved and strode outside.
The sun was nearing the end of its slow slide down the horizon, sinking into the sea, assuring him the sky would be dark by the time he drove to his rental. He looked forward to another night of peace and quiet, retiring to bed alone and hogging the damn covers. There were good parts of being alone, few that they were, and he needed to remember them lest he be tempted to remedy the situation.
He arrived to find a basket in front of Cute Stuck-up Girl’s house she’d obviously forgotten to bring inside, again, and Dean figured he’d knock on the door and finally introduce himself. This time, he wouldn’t be as irritated and try on a smile or two. Maybe even apologize for their rough beginning.
Just a quick hello, and he’d be home lickety-split. He stepped over the crushed shell walkway between them, heading toward the front door.
Then the basket made a tiny mewing sound.
What the hell?
Dean approached and bent low to view, with utter horror, that his neighbor had left her baby on the doorstep.
