Recipe for Eagle Cove

Chapter 1-5

Becky stepped forward until she was once again pressed against Harry Slater’s splendid body. The yard had emptied while they’d sparred. They now owned the entire bluff from house to ocean.

Then she had a crazy, dumb idea after she was already stepping into his arms. She’d thought to cop another dance…

The man had been arrogant, a long time ago back in high school. But not any longer. It was as clear as the night sky that that had been kicked out of him somewhere along the road since he’d left town. He also wasn’t happy, and that wasn’t right.

Some trifecta of pity, a little champagne, and just how wonderfully he’d held her collided. Reaching up, she pulled him down to her and kissed him hard.

As she’d expected, a man who looked like Harry Slater had found plenty of opportunity to hone his kissing skills as well as his lawyering skills. As a matter of fact—she wished to hell she had worn spike stilettos with high platforms so that she could get closer to his kiss—if he was as good a lawyer as a kisser, he must be a kajillionaire.

His hands didn’t wander much. Most men went for her breasts and never looked back. Harry wrapped one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders and pulled her in until her feet were light in her boots.

He was foreign. His sharp gray suit that smelled…well, she wasn’t sure, but it definitely wasn’t Eagle Cove. He’d been the snappiest dressed man in the entire wedding, discounting only Greg’s tux and the Judge in his magisterial robes as he performed the ceremony. Harry still wore a silk tie that he hadn’t loosened.

As he continued his efforts to melt her bones, she slipped a hand up onto his chest and loosened that tie. Then he slid his hand down her back and onto her butt and grabbed on hard, pulling her tight against his thigh. The jolt that convulsed through her had her hand fisting around the Windsor knot.

One of them moaned. She was fairly sure that it was him, but she could feel it echo into her chest and down her body in ways that were going to lead to places she didn’t want to go.

She pushed back against his chest. He protested, hung on tighter when she persisted, but finally gave in and let her ease back. Her head was spinning and deep gulps of cool salt air did nothing to clear it. Unable to release her fist, she pulled on the tie; the silk tail slid free as a smooth caress against her palm.

“Careful,” Harry’s voice was rough.

Careful? Who was he kidding? Careful didn’t begin to cover the present dilemma. She started to take one more step—

Harry grabbed her wrist and tugged her sharply toward him. “Cliff,” he croaked out before she could protest. A glance over her shoulder revealed that she was a single step from a hundred-foot tumble down to the beach.

“Uh, thanks.” This time she was careful to sidestep but couldn’t seem to slow her need to retreat from Harry Slater.

“Becky?”

“That’s…” she searched for something to say. Something light, even funny. “That’s a hell of a kiss you pack there, Counselor. You got a license for that thing?” It came out all whispery and dreamy.

“Nope,” she could hear the smile in it even if it was too dark to see. He was regaining control of that smooth voice of his, so why couldn’t she do the same with her own. “Unlicensed. Is the court going to fine me again?”

Not if the judge wanted to keep her sanity. “The, uh, court rests at this time. It will reconvene…” when more than two brain cells were firing with something other than the temptation to jump Harry Slater’s bones here and now, “…tomorrow.” At the very earliest.

She turned abruptly for the house and started to toward it. Even with the low heels of her dressy cowboy boots, she tacked across the lawn in a staggering line. The house practically throbbed with the sounds of the party that had all moved indoors by now: laughter, shouts, conversations, and a stereo pouring out AC/DC’s Back in Black. With the assistance of the handrail she navigated the half dozen pitching steps up onto the verandah.

“Nice tie,” a voice whispered from the shadows. Tiffany Mills sat on one of the porch swings. Her long hair had slid forward mostly hiding her face. It fell almost to her lap. She was knitting by the light spilling out from the living room window.

Becky looked down at her own hands. She still clutched Harry’s necktie in a bunched fist. It was green with gold strips. Inside the narrow gold stripes she could see “Oregon Ducks” imprinted in a pale green. What was it with University of Oregon grads that they were such rabid fans of the Ducks even after a decade in New Orleans?

She dropped down to sit beside Tiffany and clutched the tie in her lap. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Trophy?”

“I—” she’d never taken a boy trophy in her life. “I don’t think so. I just couldn’t seem to let go of it at the time.”

“I might have noticed.”

Becky glanced up. The horizon was invisible in the darkness. Then the lighthouse beam swept across the water. In the foreground, low bushes and the handrail for the beach stairs stood out as dark silhouettes. She and Harry would have been visible front and center in the vista. She watched carefully through a handful of sweeps of the light, but he was no longer anywhere to be seen.

Tiffany had returned to her knitting. Her actions at least made sense for the evening. Several years back Tiffany had purchased and cleared property up the hill, a mile past the lighthouse. She came down to town only for the Tuesday and Friday afternoon knitting sessions at the Lamont B&B and to sell her farm’s excess produce. As far as Becky knew, this was the first time Tiffany had come to an Eagle Cove party of any sort. So it made sense that she would be sitting out here, away from the crowds, and enjoying being near rather than a part of the action.

Becky wasn’t making any sense to herself at all. She was normally in the heart of any crowd and this was exactly her sort, local. There wasn’t a person at the party she didn’t know. It was fun and loud.

She barely managed to return a wave from Peggy as the Judge escorted her down the steps and away beneath the twinkle lights to where the cars were parked. Judge Slater was always the perfect gentleman, which was more than Becky could say for his son. She could still feel the warm palm print where Harry had grabbed her butt.

Instead of jumping up to rejoin the party, she was sitting out here in the cool darkness clutching a man’s tie like a lifeline.

What the hell?