Recipe for Eagle Cove

Chapter 1-3

Becky snagged her dance with Greg once she’d dug Natalya’s claws out of him. She did a turn with Vincent McCall while Greg danced with Vincent’s wife Dawn. Then after Becky twirled and giggled with Dawn’s twin girls, the three of them raided the wedding cake for second pieces and wolfed them down as if they were about to be caught for being naughty.

Becky and Natalya made sure to point out their black mourning frocks to Jessica at every chance and the damn woman just nodded, giggled—which oddly didn’t looked ridiculous on a thirty-two year old woman—then sighed happily. The whole black-dress ploy would have been a complete waste of time except they were drawing the attention of every single male, even snaring a few of the married ones into receiving eye rolls from their spouses. She pitied the male of the species. Around women like the three of them, the male gender didn’t stand a chance.

Throughout the reception Becky had been keeping a weather eye on eligible men as she moved back and forth across the lawn, up onto the big porch that wrapped around the house and was so crowded with merrymakers, and back out onto the lawn. The problem was that she knew these men too well. Mick, Zander, Alex…it really was like old home week.

It was one of the only drawbacks to a small town. Every man her age she’d either dated, hated, or just knew too much about to do either. How did you find a man like Vincent or Greg while living in a small town? She and Greg had even taken a test spin around the track a few times when he first returned to Eagle Cove, but he’d clearly been looking for something else, as was she. Now he’d found it, but she still hadn’t.

Evening was settling over the yard. The sun was turning brilliant orange as it descended into the fog bank that so often lingered a few miles offshore. It had been a perfect day for a wedding. Probably one of their last warm and sunny days until next spring.

Already the older generation was drifting inside to pack the kitchen, the library, and the parlor. The evening chill was rolling in off the Pacific so she’d be headed that way soon. Little black dresses offered no defense against the night sea air.

Actually, she already was chilled, standing alone and watching the endless waves roll in and hammer down on the sandy beach far below. Deciding to retreat, she turned abruptly for the house and rammed her nose into the center of a broad chest.

“Was looking for you.” Harry Slater. He looked nothing like his brother or his father. The Judge, as everyone called him, was a large, imposing man. Greg was lean and darkly handsome just like his mother had been.

Harry stood as tall as his father, a little broader than Greg, and as blond-haired and blue-eyed as his brother and father weren’t. The last time she’d seen Harry was at his mother’s funeral three years ago.

“Looking for me?” Why was he looking for her? And if he was, why hadn’t he done it sooner? “Took your time, foreigner. Waiting until the dancing was done?”

“Saw you dancing before.”

She liked his voice. It was low and smooth—more like a distant freight train than a rumbling diesel engine. He had the kind of deep voice in a lawyer that would make a jury want to trust him. And his accentless Oregon had picked up a hint of Southern-smooth from his years in the Big Easy.

“Can’t imagine how I’d keep up with that.”

“Like this,” she slid up against him and wrapped her arms around his back. A jazz sax was playing somewhere in the distance. She wasn’t really sure what had come over her; not that much champagne had passed her lips. Becky might run a brewery, but she drank very little even on major occasions like today. Maybe it was how gorgeous he looked in his gray designer suit. She’d never known she was a sucker for men in great suits.

Harry hesitated for a long moment before wrapping his hands slowly around her shoulders. She didn’t have to really duck to lay her head on his chest. His chin rested lightly on her hair and she let herself be swept up in the moment.

Just a moment.

She was in the arms of a handsome, successful, single man. Lying against his chest with her eyes closed as he guided them about the lawn to a deliciously slow cadence.

It was magical.

It shouldn’t be.

Harry was just the groom’s brother at a wedding, but she could pretend that he really had sought her out.

And maybe she him.

As long as she was pretending, maybe this was what “magical” actually felt like in real life. The music slipped by and the world melted along with it.

A slow shiver slipped over her arms.

“You okay?” Harry whispered it against her hair.

“Um, I think so.” Why didn’t she know? “You?”

“Oh yeah,” he said in one of those deeply satisfied male ways.

She pulled out of his arms enough to look up at him. Without her noticing, the sun had set…long enough ago to make his expression hard to see. They were alone near the high bluff above the beach. Harry had kept them away from the few remaining dancers and some of the younger kids running about with sparklers flaring bright in the falling darkness. Twinkle lights which hung from the lower branches of the towering Douglas firs near the house cast a soft glow over the remnants of the party.

To the north, two miles of white sand beach stretched off to where the Eagle River entered the Pacific. The lights of the town of Eagle Cove were sparkling to life. The very first stars were also putting in an appearance. The ocean had gone nearly black, only marked now by the steady whump of the waves landing on the long strand in a never-ending cascade, There was the smell of salt and the promise of a fresh, amazing world.

High above the south end of the beach, perched atop a rocky headland that blocked any view in that direction, Orca Head Light cast its bright beams out to sea. It was just possible to see the path of the automated light sweeping across the waves far below. When the fog rolled in, it was a dramatic sight.

Even at the moment it was fairly breathtaking.

Speaking of breathtaking, how long had she just been lost in Harry’s arms?

Simple answer: too long. It had been forever since she’d gotten lost in a boy’s arms. The last time had been back when boys were still boys and not patented and certified men like one Harry Slater.

“That was…” Lovely was too mundane, even worse, too predictable. “…kinda pleasant coming from a foreigner.”