Christmas on the Coast Read online

  There’s no better place to spend Christmas than on the Chesapeake Bay, where it’s always the perfect season to start over.

  Former police officer Paul Thompson has come to the little town of Pleasant Shores to heal his PTSD. The prescription involves volunteering, therapy and, most of all, a stable routine for his young son. Falling for Amber Rowe, however, would make that stability impossible. Even though she immediately bonds with little Davey, Amber’s future is filled with uncertainty, and Paul can’t bear to see his son love and lose someone else.

  Amber got to know Paul’s late wife while writing a book about cancer. In doing so, she learned a secret that could tear Paul’s world apart. Keeping her distance is the best way to avoid unwittingly causing turmoil for a man she’s come to care about more than she ever intended. But as Christmas draws near and their joint volunteer project develops, so does the depth of their feelings. And soon, Amber will have to choose between keeping a promise and committing to a risky love...

  Praise for the novels of Lee Tobin McClain

  “Lee Tobin McClain dazzles with unforgettable characters, fabulous small-town settings and a big dose of heart. Her complex and satisfying stories never disappoint.”

  —Susan Mallery, New York Times bestselling author

  “Fans of Debbie Macomber will appreciate this start to a new series by McClain that blends sweet, small-town romance with such serious issues as domestic abuse.... Readers craving a feel-good romance with a bit of suspense will be satisfied.”

  —Booklist on Low Country Hero

  “[An] enthralling tale of learning to trust.... This enjoyable contemporary romance will appeal to readers looking for twinges of suspense before happily ever after.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Low Country Hero

  “Low Country Hero has everything I look for in a book—it’s emotional, tender, and an all-around wonderful story.”

  —RaeAnne Thayne, New York Times bestselling author

  Also by Lee Tobin McClain

  The Off Season

  Cottage at the Beach

  Reunion at the Shore

  Safe Haven

  Low Country Hero

  Low Country Dreams

  Low Country Christmas

  Look for Lee Tobin McClain’s next novel in The Off Season miniseries, available soon from HQN.

  For additional books by Lee Tobin McClain, visit her website, www.leetobinmcclain.com.

  Lee Tobin McClain

  Christmas on the Coast

  For Grace

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  EXCERPT FROM BOOK FOUR OF THE OFF SEASON SERIES BY LEE TOBIN MCCLAIN

  CHAPTER ONE

  AMBER ROWE WOKE up to the sound of a child crying and pushed herself to a seated position on the couch. “Hannah?”

  Heart pounding, she looked around the living room of her little beach cottage and then checked her phone. Just 11:15 p.m.

  Outside, a dog barked, and something, maybe a cat, yowled over the rattling November wind. Amber shoved her fingers through her hair, reflexively pressed at the scars on her abdomen and sucked in a deep breath, let it out. She’d been sleeping so heavily, dreaming.

  It hadn’t been her daughter crying. Hannah wasn’t a small child anymore, but a thriving college freshman two states away.

  She heard the dog bark again, closer, and the same howling sound. It couldn’t be a child, could it? Had to be a cat, or... She cocked her head, listening.

  Was that a cat or a child?

  Shoving her blanket and travel books aside, she crossed the living room, flipped on the porch light and opened the door. “Hello?”

  Silence for a moment, and then one deep, baying bark, shockingly close, made her jump. She peered into the darkness just beyond the porch light’s circle and saw a big, dark dog.

  Then the wail of a child pierced her heart, and she rushed onto the porch. She made out a small form hugging the dog’s neck.

  “Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?” She kept her voice warm and soft, knelt to make herself smaller and less frightening. “Do you want to come in?” She held out a hand, too concerned about the child to be afraid of the large dog.

  The child—a little boy in superhero pajamas—buried his face in the dog’s neck and continued sobbing, flinching as a gust of cold wind ruffled his hair.

  This wouldn’t do. “I have hot chocolate,” she said, leaning forward enough to touch the child’s arm.

  The dog growled.

  She pulled her hand back. “Don’t worry, big boy, I have a biscuit for you, too.” She kept a canister of them for Ziggy, her sister’s goofy goldendoodle, and King, her brother-in-law’s German shepherd.

  “His name’s Sarge,” the boy mumbled, turning his head sideways on the dog’s neck to look at her.

  That rang a bell, but she couldn’t stop to think about why. “Come inside and we’ll find your parents.” She held the door open and gestured, and the boy came in slowly, the dog beside him. Both of them had muddy feet. The boy, who looked to be four or five, politely wiped his Spider-Man slippers on the mat before following her across the room.

  They reached the kitchen and she was glad to note that his sobs were slowing down. “You have a seat and I’ll start some hot chocolate. And we’ll get Sarge a biscuit.” She filled a cup with water and stuck it in the microwave, then shook her tin of dog treats.

  Sarge, who appeared to be a bloodhound, lifted his head and sniffed the air, but didn’t leave the boy’s side.

  She extracted a large dog biscuit and held it out to the dog, and he took it delicately despite the strings of drool hanging from his saggy jowls. He flopped down on the floor and started to crunch. Apparently, he’d decided she wasn’t a danger to his charge.

  “I’m Miss Amber,” she said, smiling at the child. “What’s your name?”

  “Davey.” He studied her with big teary eyes. “I’m cold.”

  “Of course you are.” She stepped into the living room, grabbed an afghan off the couch and wrapped it around his shoulders. Then she fumbled in the cupboard and found instant hot chocolate and some stale marshmallows, and pulled almond milk from the fridge. The microwave dinged and she fixed a steaming, chocolaty mug for the boy, cooling it down with the milk.

  She sat down catty-corner from him, the dog between them, and slid the mug close. She’d made it too full—it had been a while since she’d had a little one—but he knew to lean forward and slurp rather than picking the mug up. He’d stopped crying, though his face was still wet with tears.

  “Where are Mom and Dad?” she asked.

  He pointed to the sky.

  Oh, no. “In heaven?”

  “Mommy is,” he said, and slurped again.

  “Wh
ere’s Daddy?”

  His lower lip trembled. “Daddy was scary.”

  Her hands tightened into fists. “Did Daddy hurt you?”

  He shook his head vigorously.

  Amber blew out a breath and tried to think. Even if the child’s father hadn’t hurt him, a father being scary was cause for concern. And the boy was obviously lost. Calling 911 made the most sense, unless a junior officer who liked to use lights and sirens responded, waking the neighborhood and scaring the child all over again. She pulled her phone from her back pocket, scrolled and tapped her brother-in-law’s name.

  He answered immediately, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Amber? You okay?”

  “I’m fine, but I have a...situation.” She explained what had happened, keeping her voice calm and quiet, aware that the little boy was listening.

  “I’ll be over,” he said, and ended the call.

  Suddenly, footsteps pounded up her front steps. “Davey! Davey, are you in there?” came a man’s frantic yell.

  “Daddy!” Davey ran to the door and Amber hastened after him. Scary Daddy wasn’t coming in here without an explanation.

  Davey tried to open the door, but she put a hand on his shoulder. “Step over there a minute,” she ordered firmly, and opened the door a crack.

  There was a wiry man, barefoot, flannel jacket open over a thermal, dark hair disheveled.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m trying to find my son.” He looked past her, scanning the room.

  “What makes you think he’s here?” She tried to keep her voice steady.

  “Yours is the only light on in the neighborhood. If he went outside, he’d go toward somewhere that was lit up.”

  The bloodhound brushed against her leg on its way to the door, tail wagging.

  “Daddy!” Davey pushed past her, too, and reached for the storm door handle.

  She stilled his hand. “Davey said you were being scary.”

  The man let out a big breath, his tense face and shoulders relaxing, and she realized she knew him. She tilted her head to one side. “Are you...” She frowned, trying to remember his name.

  “Paul Thompson. You interviewed my wife a while back.”

  “That’s it.” The husband of her interview subject had seemed like a nice guy. And she remembered...yeah. She knew way too much about his personal life, but right now, that wasn’t relevant. “Come on in.” She held open the door.

  He walked in and swept his son up into his arms. “Davey, Davey, Davey. You know you’re not allowed to go outside after dark.” He rested his cheek on the top of the boy’s head. “You scared your old dad.”

  “Sorry, Daddy.” The boy looked totally relaxed in Paul’s arms.

  “Come on into the kitchen,” she said, leading the way. Somehow, she didn’t want little Davey to go off into the darkness with the man who’d been scary, even if Paul seemed like a perfectly decent guy. She gestured them both to the table. “Davey was having some hot chocolate. Want some?”

  “Uh, sure.” His eyes skimmed over her and then he quickly looked away, leaning down to scratch the bloodhound behind his big, droopy ears.

  At that point, Amber realized she was wearing a skimpy crop top and leggings. Nothing to hide her bony, boyish form. She started another cup of hot chocolate and then ran out to the coat closet, grabbed a hoodie and pulled it on. As she walked back into the kitchen, she heard father and son murmuring together.

  “You were yelling loud,” Davey said. “You said, ‘Get down, get down, get help!’”

  “I did?” Paul pressed his lips together.

  “I’m sorry I watched a shooting show. But you were ’sleep on the couch and it came on and I—I just wanted to see the soldiers.” Davey started to cry again.

  “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Paul said, grabbing a napkin and using it to wipe Davey’s tears, cuddling him close. “I wasn’t mad. I was having a bad dream.”

  “Some dream,” Amber commented as she pulled boiling water out of the microwave and stirred hot chocolate mix into it. No marshmallows for Dad; she’d put them all into Davey’s cup.

  She was pretty sure Paul was telling the truth. There was no guile in the rugged face, and his body language was open. He was obviously able to be affectionate with his son, who seemed to adore him. There was no way to fake that.

  Davey picked up his half-empty mug and guzzled hot chocolate.

  Amber met Paul’s eyes over the boy’s head.

  “Thank you for taking him in,” he said. “I panicked when I woke up and he wasn’t there. We just moved in today, and he doesn’t know his way around at all.”

  “He had a good escape buddy in Sarge,” she said lightly, smiling at the dog who’d flopped down onto his side. It looked like he’d decided the humans could take over for now.

  A car pulled into the driveway beside the house, spewing gravel, and then she heard heavy footsteps, this time coming up the back steps.

  Paul leaped to his feet and pushed Davey behind him. In his hand was a gun she hadn’t known he was carrying, and her heart gave a great thump.

  “Put the gun down,” she forced out through a dry throat.

  Davey knelt on the floor behind Paul, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I don’t like this,” he fretted, rocking back and forth.

  Sarge stood, the hair on his back bristling as he watched the door.

  “Amber? You okay?” Trey’s voice outside the door sounded loud, concerned. He must have seen her and Paul through the window.

  Heart pounding, Amber stepped in front of the door. She was facing Paul and directly in his line of fire, but she was praying he wouldn’t shoot a woman. “Everything’s fine,” she said to the rigid man whose eyes were glued on the door behind her. “It’s my brother-in-law. I called him when Davey came over. He’s a cop,” she clarified when Paul showed no sign of relaxing his fighting stance.

  Davey was sobbing quietly.

  “Everything’s fine,” she repeated.

  “Amber! Open up!” Trey pounded on the door again.

  “Just a minute,” she called over her shoulder and then she frowned at Paul. “I’d appreciate it if you’d put your gun away.”

  His eyes narrowed. He slid his weapon into a holster inside his jacket but kept his hand on it.

  “Why don’t you just sit down,” she said quietly. “You’re scaring your son.” For whatever reason, she didn’t want Trey to come in and find this man an utter basket case, someone who should have his kid taken away from him.

  Paul’s head drooped for a minute and pain crossed his face. “Sorry,” he said. He looked back at Davey and it was as if a switch flipped; he knelt and picked the boy up and held him close. “It’s okay, buddy. Everything’s okay.”

  Curiosity licked at her. She waited until he’d sat down, Davey on his lap, before opening the door to her very tense, angry brother-in-law.

  * * *

  THE FEEL OF HIS SON in his lap—safe, warm, alive—helped Paul get his heartbeat back to something resembling normal.

  He tried to make his face look normal, too, to stop sweating, but the big guy at the door was a cop and clearly on high alert. He’d almost certainly seen Paul’s weapon, because he was watching Paul with narrowed eyes. So was Amber.

  Of course they’re watching you. You acted like a madman.

  Just as he’d done on the job, leading him to be here in a little shore town in a program designed to help him heal.

  At least Davey was calming down. Paul focused on his son, used a napkin to wipe his tears and held it to his nose. “Blow. Real hard. There you go.” He wiped Davey’s nose. “You’re fine. We’re all fine. Okay?”

  Davey looked up at him and nodded, and Paul’s heart seemed to warm and grow. He didn’t deserve the trust in his son’s eyes, but he’d try to live up to it. He stroked Davey’s hair.

 
“Everything okay here?” the guy asked Amber.

  “Yeah. I think so.” She backed away from the door and beckoned the guy to come farther in. Her hand was shaking. “Sorry to call you out so late, but Davey, here, came to visit me, and then his dad showed up a few minutes later.”

  “Hey, buddy.” The cop walked slowly in their direction, smiling at Davey. He stopped a good eight feet away and knelt down, hand subtly near his waist where, almost certainly, a weapon was concealed. “My name’s Trey. I’m a police officer, just making sure everything’s okay.”

  Davey looked up at Paul, his face solemn, and then back at Trey. “It’s okay. My daddy’s a cop, too.”

  Paul blew out a breath and tried to smile at the officer. He shifted slowly, held out a hand. “Paul Thompson. Just moved into the cottage next door, and Davey took a notion to come outside while I was dozing on the couch.”

  “Trey Harrison.” The officer stood, stepped closer and shook his hand, looking directly into Paul’s eyes. Then he refocused his attention on Davey. “It’s late to be outside by yourself. You’re, what, five?”

  “Four.” Davey held up four fingers. “I have a birthday coming. Then I’ll be five.” He held up five fingers now, to illustrate.

  “Wow,” Amber said, moving over to the counter and leaning against it. “Five is big.”

  “Sure is,” the cop, Trey, agreed.

  Davey nodded, his face solemn. “Daddy said I can have a party.”

  Now that the immediate danger was past, shame licked at Paul’s insides. He was a poor excuse for a father, scaring his son like that, but he was all Davey had. And Davey couldn’t take another loss, not after losing his mother two years ago.

  Paul’s whole life centered, now, around protecting his son.

  “Daddy, you’re squeezing me,” Davey said.

  Paul loosened his grip. “Sorry, kiddo. You had me scared.” He let Davey slide to the ground and watched him as he cuddled against Sarge. Thank heavens for his loyal former K-9 dog. How terrifying might Davey’s late-night excursion have been without the big bloodhound for company?