Tallulah Nights (Tallulah Cove Book 2) Read online

  HAGEN NOVELS, LLC

  KENNEBUNK, MAINE

  Copyright © 2019 by Casey Hagen

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.

  Hagen Novels, LLC

  www.CaseyHagenAuthor.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Tallulah Nights/Casey Hagen. — 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-0-0000000-0-0

  When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.

  ―WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

  Contents

  Hellos and Goodbyes 1

  Make Sure He Gets Your Good Side 22

  Fingers Crossed 42

  Life Isn’t a Straight Line 62

  Lead the Way 81

  Walk of Shame 97

  So Many Truths 112

  Admissions 131

  A Little Letting Go 146

  What’s Up Doc? 153

  CHAPTER ONE

  Hellos and Goodbyes

  “WHAT AM I GOING TO do with you, William?” Kate LeBlanc said as she ran her fingers over the curve of the smooth, cherry-wood urn propped next to her on the white, sandy beach just south of Tallulah Cove.

  Thank God her family couldn’t see her now.

  Her sister, Abby, had finally found her happily-ever-after in the form of her seasoned husband, Ben. Within the first year of marriage, they had produced a porcelain-skinned ball of baby perfection in the form of her drool-bucket niece, Amelia, now sixteen months old.

  Abby had called her just that morning to tell her that she was pregnant again.

  The rapid changes in Abby’s life only highlighted how stuck Kate had become in her own.

  She’d buried two husbands. The first, Patrick, had been laid to rest in a traditional Scottish ceremony, as per his wishes. William had wanted to be cremated, his ashes tossed into the Pacific where he could travel the seas.

  He’d loved sailboats and lamented himself a pirate in a past life.

  Now, here he sat, reduced to ashes, riding the sand with his clingy widow who couldn’t seem to give him up.

  She’d gone full-blown nut bar.

  “Your daughter is going to call me again to see if I finally did it. I should have just handed you over to her when she offered,” she said despite knowing she’d only get silence in return.

  She curled her toes in the cool sand and closed her eyes as she listened to the gentle crash of waves on the beach. “It’s just hard, is all. With Patrick, I have a stone I can visit. He’s there. But if I let you go…where will you be? How will I talk to you and know you’re close?”

  Rays of the sunshine peeked through the puffs of white streaking across the sky. A breeze whipped through just then, much stronger than any so far that day. She’d swear it was William, proving to her she wasn’t alone at all.

  “Show-off,” she muttered.

  Heaviness settled in her chest, making it impossible to take a deep breath. She folded her arms on her knees and rested her head on them, staring at what was left of her five-year marriage to a fifty-nine-year-old financial advisor with beautiful, thick, dark hair, graying at the temples, who’d died from brain cancer. He’d had a flawless knowledge of wines and a knack for winning every hand of poker they had ever played.

  “If I let you go, I’ll truly be on my own. And did I tell you that some of the women in town whisper about how I killed two husbands? I’ll be left to my own devices around here, pinned between the Pacific Ocean and wine country with the locals whispering about the new town black widow. Ugh. This is next-level dramatic. Total Nicholas Sparks material right here.” She sucked in a wobbling breath. “Hard to believe I’m scared, right? I mean, I’m all bravado and sass—”

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Kate jumped, and her elbow knocked into the urn, almost tipping it over. She clasped it with her hands, steadying it, and shot a glare over her shoulder. “A little warning would have been nice,” she said, her gaze landing on the Tallulah Brew cup in the man’s hand.

  The stranger grinned. “I thought that’s what I did. I mean, I could have just sat down whether you liked it or not.”

  She looked him up and down. He stood at least six feet tall, had cropped dark hair, a strong jaw, and a sinfully delicious tan. His knee-weakening smile revealed straight white teeth. He could give Antonio Banderas a run for his money. His white chambray shirt hugged his muscles as the warm breeze washed over them. Dark hair covered his shorts-clad legs.

  And there were no bare spots. Not like Patrick and William had each had. Patrick had hardly had any leg hair. William had had a couple of areas that had rubbed bare where he crossed his legs the same way each time.

  She needed to get her head checked because it wasn’t normal for anyone, especially someone known for her damned flair, to be sitting on the beach, clutching an urn full of ashes, and comparing the leg hair of the young hottie standing in the sand next to her with the leg hair of each of her deceased husbands.

  Life had dulled her shine. Well, she was taking that shit right back, thank you very much!

  Now, the only question was, how to go about doing it.

  A brave, new hairstyle?

  A tattoo?

  A one-night stand?

  Fall in love at first sight?

  Scratch that one off the list. She had taken her time falling for two wonderful men. That worked for her.

  You know, if she could just keep them alive.

  She’d never be able to stay in this town if she became a widow a third time.

  She glanced up at the guy still waiting for an answer and patted the sand next to her. “Have a seat,” she said, giving him a smile.

  His warm, chocolate eyes found hers, and he winked. “Thanks.”

  She slid off her hat and smoothed her hair. “Don’t thank me yet. There are conditions. What’s in the cup?”

  He didn’t sit right down. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and glanced from her to the cup and back again. “Uh, coffee?”

  “Are you asking me?” she said.

  His eyebrow shot up as he lifted the cup. “Well, isn’t it obvious what it is?”

  She squinted up at him, trying to avoid a particularly bright burst of sunshine stabbing her in the face. Every last one of her newly emerging eye wrinkles was getting enhanced right at this very moment. “No, it could be hot chocolate.”

  “Teenage girls drink hot chocolate,” he said, his mouth pressing into a hard line.

  Such a shame with those full, kissable lips of his; they’d be soft, and she’d bet they were strong lips. Commanding lips. How long had it been since she’d been kissed by lips like that?

  College maybe?

  Her husbands, though she’d loved them, hadn’t made her forget her own name with a kiss. And with the way life had been just chugging along, with nothing sparking her interest or striking excitement into her heart, she could go for a bit of temporary amnesia.

  But, today, she’d settle for coffee and company.

  She held her hand out and wiggled her fingers. “Gimme.”

  “Yo
u’re going to steal my coffee?”

  “It’s not stealing if you give it to me. Consider me the troll under the bridge. This is the price to pass.”

  He glanced around. “It’s a public beach.”

  “Ahh, but sitting skin to skin with me will cost you,” she said.

  His gaze locked on hers, and he nodded. “Fine, but can I at least get a few sips? Otherwise, I’ll be shit company.”

  “Done,” she said and patted the sand next to her again, waiting for him to take the offered seat.

  He dropped down next to her and stretched his legs out before him, crossing them at the ankles.

  That’s where his bare spots would be…one day.

  Jesus, she had to get a grip on that.

  “How old are you?” she asked, taking the offered cup. Their fingers brushed, barely anything really, but the zing shot through her hand and up her arm just the same. She hadn’t zinged in years. Good to know the parts still worked. She had started to wonder if she had formed cobwebs.

  God, she was talking like she was sixty.

  She glanced up at him and found him studying her.

  “Twenty-eight.” His voice dropped as he said it, the words cruising from between his lips, making her tremble.

  Or maybe it was the fact that he was so young. So, this was her second-half-of-life direction, huh? Step out of the ordinary and into flirtmances with men who wouldn’t stick around for more than five minutes. All it would take is a young blond thing in a string bikini, and he’d launch himself off Kate’s patch of paradise so fast she wouldn’t even have time to commit the view of his ass to memory.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. “God, you’re just a baby.”

  He laughed. “Babies have mortgages and investment plans these days?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He turned to her. “Yes, you mean compared to you. Although, I think the gap is a lot smaller than you make it sound. How old are you, anyway?”

  She tipped the cup to her lips, finally taking her first sip. The hot brew slid down her throat, the hint of bitter lingering on the back of her tongue.

  He took his coffee black. Interesting.

  “It’s rude to ask a woman how old she is,” she finally replied.

  “I thought I was asking the troll,” he said on a laugh.

  She handed him the cup and let the smirk settle on her lips. “Oh, look at you with the smart mouth. I think I like you. Maybe I’ll share more than a few sips of your coffee with you.” She winked. “I’m turning forty soon.”

  He raised a brow and brought the cup to his lips. “Really? I never would have guessed.”

  She tried to ignore the way his lips hugged the cup, but God, he gave good mouth. His tongue darted out and licked the spot where her lips had been, and by the way she reacted, he may as well have tasted her neck, or breast…maybe even lower.

  She blinked. “Oh, you lovely, lovely boy…didn’t your mama teach you it’s bad to lie?” she scolded, attempting to cover for the way she’d just panted over him like a bitch in heat.

  “Lying? I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, but I see long, smooth legs, gently sun-kissed skin, an elusive dimple on the right that only seems to come out with your smart-ass smirk, and fascinating olive-green eyes ringed with gold that look like they may have seen a bit too much in this life. Nothing that says almost forty.”

  Her jaw fell open.

  “Maybe the evidence is stamped on your butt,” he said, keeping a straight face before taking a sip of coffee.

  She threw her head back and laughed. Years of sadness built on childbearing years lost to loving and losing husbands rose off her fatigued chest and drifted off with the gentle sweep of salty, ocean air… and a dose of him.

  “I can tell you one thing,” she said, taking the cup back. “You’re not going to find out.”

  “Bummer.”

  She leaned over and bumped him with her shoulder. “Oh, come on…you’re young, strong, way easy on the eyes—you can have any piece of arm candy you want. You don’t need to waste your time fooling with me.”

  He squinted at the sea. She didn’t know what he saw there, but his face lost a bit of its playfulness; his upturned lips straightened, and he sighed. “Twenty-somethings are tiresome. They’re all worried about their yoga, lattes, selfies, and Snapchat.” He cupped his neck and tilted his head back in a stretch. “I’ll pass.”

  “Cynical. Normally that would amuse me, but you’re too young to slide into celibacy.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. The sunlight caught his face at just the right angle, and something about him niggled at her. “You look familiar. I can’t place it, but I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

  “It was only a matter of time, I guess.” He held out his hand to her. “Sebastian Macina, injured shortstop for the San Jose Cobras.”

  She slid her palm against his. “That’s it. My brother-in-law, Ben, is a huge baseball fan. Makes me watch it all the time when I’m there.”

  Her fingers were so small and delicate for someone with such a big… attitude. She was a bundle of contradictions.

  He’d seen her park her cherry-red ‘64 Chevy Impala convertible in the same spot every morning for the past week since he’d arrived in Tallulah Cove. He’d be lying if he didn’t say he loved watching her climb out of that sweet car. She drove barefoot and pointed those toes out until they touched the pavement. And the way her calves flexed as she did it?

  Hot. As. Hell.

  He’d had teenage fantasies of legs like that, and never quite found a woman who could compete with those dreams… until now. The best part? She wasn’t some interchangeable young thing flitting about. The kind he had to worry about being genuinely interested in him and not just the cash he came with.

  “He makes you watch it? You don’t like baseball?”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I don’t have the patience for baseball. There’s a lot of sitting in front of the TV, waiting for something to happen. I’m not a patient woman.”

  He nodded in agreement but held up a finger. “I suppose there is, but in all fairness, when you’re on that field, it doesn’t feel like there’s a lot of waiting.”

  She tipped her head and watched him. “What does it feel like?”

  Like flying.

  “A mix of exhilaration and lung-crushing pressure. I’d be lost without it.” He’d miss the clay the most. The scent of it, the way it dug into his pores, and no matter how much he scrubbed, a bit of it always lingered in the cracks of his skin. He loved the way it weathered a ball and glove, giving them character.

  Giving them a story.

  His story.

  She slipped her fingers under his and took the cup. “Is there a chance you won’t make it back out on the field?”

  Yeah, and it terrified him, but he couldn’t say those words out loud. Not yet. “There’s usually that risk for any player. In this case, more risk since it’s the rotator cuff in my throwing arm. I have three more weeks to make progress. If I don’t make enough—surgery. Going under the knife is a gamble. Some bounce back. Some don’t.”

  She leaned back on her hands, the position thrusting her breasts out. If it had been any other woman, he’d bet it was intentional. Not her. He found the gap between the buttons of her shirt, revealing a glimpse of the curve of her breast where it swelled up over the cup of her bra. Heat spread through him. A genuine desire to touch her, something he hadn’t felt in far too long, because the women he’d been around the past few years had done absolutely nothing for him.

  “So, are you one of those players who blows his millions, and if he’s injured will be destitute, reduced to sacrificing himself to becoming a male escort or worse, taking a job in customer service?”

  He craned his neck and met her eyes. “A male escort?”

  She shrugged, the motion lifting those full breasts of hers, catching his eye. “Sure, with those looks, you’d
stoke a few fires.”

  “Do I stoke yours?” he asked. He held his breath a second, hoping he hadn’t pushed them out of the banter zone.

  A slow glide of her lips curving into a smile was his only answer, but it was answer enough.

  He took a relieved breath. He didn’t know what this was with her, but he knew for sure he didn’t want it to end. Not yet. “I won’t say I haven’t spent some of my money, but for the most part, it’s been invested. If my career is over, I’ll live comfortably for the rest of my life,” he said, answering her question.

  She cringed. “Yikes. You sound like you’re reading a pamphlet.”

  He held out his hands. “What do you want to hear? That if I lose my career, a part of me will die with it? Well, there it is. I said it.” And he wished he could stuff the words back down his throat.

  “You won’t know who you are, or what you’ll do with yourself,” she whispered.

  He jerked his head up and down, swallowing hard. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he said quietly.

  She tilted her head against his shoulder. “Aren’t we a pair?”

  “What about you? What do you do?” he asked.

  “I take care of people…or, at least I used to. Now, I don’t,” she said, her voice taking on a hint of wistfulness from another time, another life.

  He couldn’t quite say she missed it. She played her cards close to the vest. Maybe it was hard to take the next step.

  “What do you want to do?”

  She sighed, and her eyelids fluttered shut. “I want to put on a dress that’s far too young for me and go dancing until the wee hours. I want to drink margaritas and sing at the top of my lungs. I want to drive up the Pacific Coast Highway with my music blaring and my hair flying loose in the breeze, no worries about pesky seatbelts. I want to ride in a hot air balloon and drink champagne while watching the sunrise.” She smiled. “I want to let the past go and feel alive again. It’s been a long time.”

  And he wanted to give it all to her. He’d been sitting there for maybe ten minutes tops, and just like that, he was hooked. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”