Choices: On Geneva Shores, #5

By Kate Vale

Melanie Holmes has her hands full when 15-year-old Keith and 13-year-old Anne react badly to Melanie's impending divorce from their father. Only four-year-old Jeffrey is his usual sunny self.

Further complicating her life is Melanie's attraction to Sam Hudson, the detective who goes to her home when Ken runs off, and who later rescues Anne after she is abducted from a strip club.

Sam is forced to confront his own demons as he contemplates becoming deeply involved with Melanie's family after she is seriously injured in the same car accident that kills her ex-husband. After she returns home, Melanie's kids tell her they want to marry Sam, even though he has yet utter the "M" word.

 How will Sam react when her kids do the proposing for him? Can the long-time bachelor commit himself to her and her children?

• Language: English
• Publisher: North Cascades Press
• Release date: Jan 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9780985638979

Kate Vale

Kate Vale writes and publishes contemporary women’s fiction and contemporary romantic fiction. Most of her titles center in the Pacific Northwest or the Western United States.She has lived or visited nearly every state, several provinces in Canada and other countries, too. When she isn't writing, check her garden or look for her on nearby bike trails.

Book preview

Choices

Kate Vale

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2013 Grand Prize Winner, Chatelaine Award for Romantic Fiction in Chanticleer Books and Media Women’s Fiction Contest

Vale stays true to her likable characters as they navigate ... conflict with each other and people they both care about. Through it all, the choices each character makes independently build to an explosive – and ultimately satisfying – conclusion. – Virginia H.

Published by North Cascades Press

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Copyright 2013 - Kathleen Auerbach

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-0-9856389-7-9

Cover Artist: LLPix Designs

Discover other titles by the author at: http://katevale.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

Melanie Holmes hip-bumped the boot-scarred kitchen door and entered her Evergreen, Washington, home, her arms full of groceries, her purse dangling from one wrist.

From a seat at the table, her husband squinted in her direction, his eyes bloodshot, his mouth turned down at the corners.

What are you doing here, Vic? Why aren’t you at work?

Wasn’t laid off, if that’s what you’re thinking. His burly shoulders hunched forward. He rose and placed the grocery on the counter. We need to talk.

Her breath caught as she pulled dinner fixings out of the first bag. You’re not going to cancel tonight, are you? The kids know you were coming, so we can eat together.

His eyes scanned the room, lighting everywhere but on her face.

Are you sick again? On Labor Day weekend, he’d insisted the big kids go camping with him, but he’d brought them home early.

No, not sick. His hands brushed his thighs as he turned his back on her and looked out the window facing the backyard.

Melanie slid a gallon of milk into the refrigerator. Vic’s hair was mussed, like he’d been running his fingers through it.

She sat down, folded her hands in front of her and tried not to think the worst. You said we had to talk. So, talk.

Why do you always push, Mel? He edged closer to her side of the table. She jerked when he ran one hand lightly up her back before he rested it on her shoulder. The weight of his hand seemed tentative. Then he gave her arm a gentle squeeze, his way of acknowledging her.

The wall clock’s ticking filled the room. Vic eased into the chair opposite her.

I want out.

What? she croaked, gulping. You want another job? But could they make it on her income while he looked?

I don’t want to be married—to you. I want a divorce.

Her heart slammed into her throat, a throat so tight she was certain she would never speak another word.

Noni was right. Her neighbor had said Melanie was pretending that her and Vic’s problems were because of his issues at work.

The bonging of the grandmother clock resounded. Anne and Keith would be home from school soon. Noni would be bringing Jeffrey through the back gate any minute.

Is that why you’ve missed our counseling sessions? But didn’t you say you were working on those extra accounts, so Mason would ease up a little?

Questions swirled in Melanie’s brain. "We’ve been married sixteen years, Vic. We have three children. You promised you would go to counseling with me. So we could work things out. You’re throwing all that away?" The kids? Not just me? She felt hot and cold by turns.

You said it, I didn’t. He avoided her gaze. I wanted to tell you to your face so you wouldn’t ...worry. But his voice seemed so icy again—brittle, unfeeling.

Worry? He wasn’t making any sense.

When I move my things out. Why I’m here—to get my stuff.

Even after he’d moved into the apartment—to give each of them space while they went to counseling—most of the clothes he claimed he didn’t need were still upstairs. She’d assumed that meant he was coming back. She detected something like sadness in his gaze, along with a glare that dared her to stop him.

I want a new life, he declared firmly. A new start.

What about the kids? Don’t you dare say you want custody. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, willing herself not to show weakness. How are we going to live? I’ve only had a couple of closings the last two months, not nearly enough to cover the bills, she mumbled.

I won’t contest custody. His voice was flat, like his eyes, as if he was looking through her.

You mean you don’t want to be a part of their lives. You don’t love them anymore? She knew she was accusing, not simply asking a question, something the counselor had commented on. She knew she sounded—even if she didn’t mean to—like she was trying to control Vic’s actions.

Keith and Annie are big enough to understand. I’ll see them, just not every—

Keith’s only fifteen, Vic. You know he hasn’t yet adjusted to high school. He didn’t make the basketball team, not even the JV team. He’s been so wanting you to help him with his shots, but you haven’t been around enough.

She rushed on, hoping she could change his mind. "And Anne’s just going into puberty. Girls need their fathers, to help them through the rough spots with boys and things. She misses you when you aren’t cheering at her soccer games. No, they’re not old enough. Neither of them."

Victor had also missed Keith’s junior high school band concert last spring, and Annie’s first play as a seventh grader. When had he stopped attending their school activities? Her eyes filled in spite of her plan not to show how she ached for her children. Maybe she had pushed too much, demanded too much.

What about Jeffrey? No way was she going to let him ignore their four-year-old, the pregnancy he’d never wanted. Her face reddened, remembering his accusations.

Victor shook his head. He’s too little. He and I—we never did that much together. I doubt he’ll miss me. His chair scraped against the floor. We’re done here. You can make this easy or you can make it hard. I just want out. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be gone.

Just like that? She couldn’t feel her fingers. She looked into her lap and realized her hands were so tightly fisted her fingers were white.

Are you going through a midlife crisis, Vic? Is that what this is?

She followed him up the stairs. Or have you found a cute little dolly to play with—like one of my friends said? One of her realtor colleagues had seen Vic with a young woman at the fall festival, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. At the time, she’d laughed it off, claiming lots of men looked like her husband.

When she entered their bedroom, he was pulling his clothes from the closet and stuffing them into two oversized suitcases, unused since their family vacation to Disneyland five years earlier. She had joked when they returned that she’d conceived the night after they visited Tomorrowland. But Vic hadn’t laughed. Maybe that was when he began pulling away.

Aren’t you going to tell the children?

You do it. You’re better at it than I am.

She bit her lower lip. I’ll have to get a lawyer. Are you still at that apartment?

He stared at her then, his dark eyes squinting again, the muscles in his jaw working. Unless I decide otherwise.

She backed away from him. At least he was still working. Months ago, Noni had told her to see a lawyer—after that disaster at the community Fourth of July party. Just in case, Noni had urged. Melanie’s talk with the attorney had been brief, nonspecific. She’d been a fool not to follow through. Maybe Mickie was right about Vic and that girl at the fall festival. Maybe there was someone else.

She sat down on the bed. How are we going to live? I don’t make enough ...

"You were the one who wanted to go back to work when Jeffie was two. I guess now you’ll see what it’s like, how hard it is to support three kids."

But they’re your children, too. Are you saying you won’t provide for them? Your own flesh and blood? He’d always been an attentive father with Keith and Anne, at least until last year. With Jeffrey Vic had paid less attention. She couldn’t remember when Vic had last made love to her. She’d chalked it up to exhaustion. Hers and his. Too much work on both their parts.

Jeffrey’s high-pitched squeals sounded from outside. He must be playing in the yard next door. She imagined Noni pushing him on the swing.

I have to make sure Vic pays child support. What was it the attorney had said? That working women rarely received alimony? But she had three children and she wasn’t getting a paycheck every month. She was a realtor, and a new one at that, having started at Brown Family Realty less than two years earlier. Average out the closings. The attorney’s request, so he could estimate her likely earnings through the year. But she hadn’t expected to live on that money. She’s planned to put it in the children’s college funds.

Vic snapped the suitcases closed and walked past her. I’ll be back for my other things later.

He reminded her so much of Keith. They had the same dark hair and dark eyes. Except that Keith was going to be tall, taller than Vic. Would her older son want to live with his father? He had accompanied Vic to work earlier in the year—to see what it was like to be a salesman. Or was he really wanting to be close to his dad? Keith was interested in science. He’d even said the only things he would sell were scientific equipment, that he wanted to go to college so he could study cells, microbiology—like Noni’s husband. Vic had derisively called John a nerd when Keith had asked for a microscope last Christmas.

Vic touched her arm again, his voice softer, like he used to be. I don’t want to make this hard, Mel. I just want out.

She moved aside as he angled the larger of the suitcases out the door.

Have your attorney call me. On my cell. Not my work number.

That’s it? She knew she shouldn’t be angry, that it only made him withdraw, but he had to understand how she felt. Bereft, sad ... guilty, too. Only now, what she felt most strongly was a rush of anger, swamping her other emotions.

He pulled the other suitcase behind him as he clumped slowly down the stairs.

She watched him, wanting to throw something. Instead, she said, You’ll be so sorry, Vic. I’ll make you pay. But if he’d asked, she couldn’t have told him her intentions.

He paused on the stairs and looked over his shoulder, his voice cold, calculating. Maybe. But if you care about the kids, you won’t.

She returned to her bedroom and flopped onto the bed. Unable to stop the tears she’d been holding back, she buried her face in the nearest pillow. The scent of Vic’s aftershave, something she’d always taken comfort in, assaulted her. She tossed his pillow on the floor, rolled over, reached for her own and let the tears flow.

From out of the depths of her despair, she then felt another surge of anger. She sat up, pulled his pillow back onto the bed and began to pound it, thinking of him, what he’d said. Her voice harsh to her own ears, she demanded, "How can you do this?"

She beat at the pillow until she heard a noise. When she looked up, her two older children were standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

What’s the matter, Mom? Anne asked.

Keith answered. It’s Dad, isn’t it.

Keith must have known. Maybe Vic had talked to him.

She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat, wanting to sound calm. She brushed a feather of hair off her cheek. Your father has moved out. He wants a divorce.

Her daughter gave a little gasp and began to cry, wisps of her honey-colored blond hair—just like Melanie’s—escaping the braid she’d worn to school. What did we do?

Melanie reached for Anne and hugged her, tears flowing again. Oh, honey, it isn’t—it has nothing to do with you or your brothers. Please don’t think that.

He has a girlfriend. Keith moved closer to her.

She released Anne and looked at her son, now almost as tall as she.

I saw them the other day—when he came to see me after school. I’ll bet that’s why he left.

Though his words were matter-of-fact, the deep hurt in Keith’s eyes betrayed him.

Oh, Keith. Unlike so many times recently when he had refused a hug, claiming he was too old, he melted into her arms, holding her tight to his thin chest as he, too, choked back tears.

How could Vic have placed their son in this position? Her gut twisted at the knowledge that Keith knew what she had refused to consider.

What did he say to you, honey? Did he introduce her? Maybe the woman you saw is a coworker. She could only wish.

After a minute, he let her go, his eyes telling her it was more than that. His voice choked, a voice starting to take on the deeper tones of the adult he was becoming. Where he works, everyone is old, like him. She’s a lot younger. And she wasn’t exactly dressed like the women in his office.

Melanie sat down on the bed, Anne on one side, Keith on the other.

What are we going to do? Anne’s hand slid into Melanie’s as her blue eyes bored into her mother’s face.

We’re going to stay here and I’m going to work—like I do every day. Nothing’s going to change—except that your dad won’t be living with us. We’ll work things out. Together. Hoping she sounded confident, she patted their hands then grasped them tightly. I’ve got to make this work. The fewer changes the better. But what if I don’t have enough closings?

Wasn’t he supposed to eat here tonight? Keith reminded her of his seven-year-old self, the year he had climbed a tree and been too afraid to climb down until his father clambered up after him.

Not tonight, but I’ll make sure you have time with your dad. Right now, I need your help, both of you. Jeffrey won’t understand this. He’s so young. I want you to help me by not letting him—by not acting—differently. And Dad and I need to talk to you—together. But will he agree to do that?

Why didn’t he tell us today? Keith asked. Dad knows when we get home from school.

He was just here to pick up some things. I’m sure Dad’ll be back, so he can talk to you. I have to call him, make sure he does.

Keith nodded. Maybe Jeffie won’t notice. Dad hasn’t been around much lately.

Why hadn’t she thought of that? Was she too preoccupied with her own work?

Melanie rose from the bed. Jeffie’s still at Noni’s. She closed the closet door so that she wouldn’t have to acknowledge the half-empty space. We’ll get through this. I promise.

The three of them walked downstairs. Only Melanie’s mother had ever been divorced and she knew of very few among her circle of friends who were divorced. Who could she talk to? How was she going to handle whatever negotiations were likely to follow? She had to talk to her attorney, but not in front of the children. That, at least, would have to wait until tomorrow.

How much of her life would be different then?

Chapter 2

Come in, Officer. Detective Sam Hudson followed Melanie into the house.

Almost two years ago, he’d seen her. At a client’s house, she’d said. Images of her had intruded whenever he saw a blonde with soft blue eyes and shoulder-length hair. She’d seemed embarrassed when he escorted her home after she’d was t-boned and her car had to be towed to the repair shop. Probably because she lost her composure when the other driver began yelling at her. A different kind of problem than before.

If I’d known being a realtor involved so much driving, especially in areas I’m not familiar with, I might not have taken that real estate course, she explained.

Sam suspected her smile was forced.

He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his thick hair. It can happen to anyone, he replied. The skirt of her suit had taken on wrinkles. Her hands were busy pressing against her thighs.

Perhaps you should have a glass of water, or a cup of coffee, while I ask you some questions.

Oh. Yes. What else do you need to know? Didn’t I say I wasn’t speeding?

You weren’t at fault. The other driver hit you. He grasped her elbow and eased her into a chair. Sit down. You’ve had a bad scare. If Lou knew how many times Sam had fantasized about this woman, he’d be laughing up a storm.

The pretty realtor rose abruptly. Let me make some coffee. And cookies? Is it okay for you to have cookies when you’re on duty? The words that spilled from her were additional testimony to her frayed nerves.

A cookie would be nice, Sam replied.

While the coffee perked, Melanie placed several cookies on a plate. What do you want to ask?

Was she fighting an attraction to him? Like he was to her? He wondered if she was still married. If not, would she go out with him?

Sam pulled a small notebook from an inside pocket. We might as well start at the beginning. Make sure I didn’t miss anything in the excitement on the street. Tell me what happened before my partner and I arrived.

Well, let’s see. I was headed to my appointment—oh, gosh. I need to call Mrs. Petrie—why I never made it. She reached for her purse and pulled out her cell phone.

He nodded. Go ahead.

Melanie left a quick message, and returned to the table. And then, out of the blue, this other car came barreling through the intersection and hit me.

A good thing he hit the passenger side. You had your seat belt on? The airbag deployed. You didn’t bang your head?

Yes. No.

Sam watched Melanie hands flutter over the table, like birds caught in an updraft.

Just shaken up.

One hand moved to the vee-neck of her silk blouse, calling attention to her breasts.

"I have no idea what the repairs are going to cost. Do you know if that man who hit me—if he has insurance?"

He gave you that information. Maybe you placed his card in your purse. Sam sat back in his chair, hoping if he looked relaxed, Melanie would calm down.

She took a deep breath, rummaged in her purse and pulled out the card. Yes, here it is. Her words describing the other driver’s words and actions became a torrent.

Could you slow down a bit? So I can get it all down.

She blushed prettily as she poured him a cup of coffee. I’m sorry. When I think about it, I get so upset. I mean, who knew he would hit me and then try to scare me when it was all his fault?

Sam put down his notebook to reach for the steaming brew.

Have another cookie, she offered, pushing the plate to his side of the table.

He nibbled on the cookie and looked up when the slider opened.

~ ~ ~

Melanie smiled as Jeffrey preceded Noni through the sliding glass door.

Mommy! Jeffrey’s face lit up when she smiled at her four-year-old, his arms reaching for her.

Thanks for bringing him over, Noni. Melanie hid her face in Jeffrey’s shoulder after she lifted him into her arms, the better to hide the tears that threatened. Did you have fun at Noni’s today?

He nodded, one pudgy hand sliding around her neck and under her shoulder-length hair. Can I have a cookie? Noni said I could after my nap.

Melanie gave his nearest cheek a quick kiss, and slid him down onto his feet. Yes, you may. But I have to talk to the police officer first.

Maybe he wants a cookie, too, Jeffrey offered, staring up at the man who stood near the door. I helped make ’em.

Melanie glanced back at the detective—what was his name anyway?—and motioned for him to resume his seat. You haven’t finished your cookie. She recognized him from when that nasty client had threatened her broker—her, too—with a gun, and the police officer had escorted her home. Had she offered him something to eat then? The details were blurry—except how he made her feel. Taken care of. Safe.

Maybe we shouldn’t—you know—in front of ... he gestured toward the child.

Noni interrupted. Let me take him for a few minutes, while you talk.

Where are my manners? Noni, this is detective ...uh. Melanie flushed. I’m sorry.

Hudson, Mrs. Holmes, Sam Hudson.

There was an accident, Noni. A car hit me. He was good enough to bring me home. He remembered her name and she couldn’t remember his? This is my neighbor, Noni Cameron.

Noni shook hands with the detective.

Take some cookies with you. I promise I won’t be long.

Noni turned to Jeffrey. Kyle should be home from kindergarten soon. Let’s go see what he got at school.

The little boy followed her to the sliding glass door. But I want to stay here with the p’leese man. Where’s your gun? P’leesemans have guns.

The detective rose from his seat and squatted down to the child. Son, my gun is put away.

But what if you have to shoot a bad guy? I saw p’leesemans do that on TV.

The man’s face softened into a half-smile. Was he used to talking to preschoolers? I don’t shoot bad guys. I just haul them off to jail so they can’t hurt nice people like your mom.

But I want to see you shoot them. He pointed a small finger at the man. Bang, bang!

That’s make-believe. Real police officers don’t shoot bad people.

Oh. Jeffrey looked disappointed. Then I’ll go see Kyle. I’m going to his school next year. Mommy said I could. He glanced back at Melanie before taking another cookie and reaching for Noni’s hand.

She resumed her seat at the table, feeling more composed now that her pulse wasn’t galloping. The detective took a bite of his cookie and sipped the coffee. His long fingers curved all the way around the big mug she had given him.

Since the first time the officer had escorted her home after that dreadful scene with her client’s husband, she’d been plagued by her reactions to the man. Unbidden reactions. But she was married then,. The detective was probably married, too. Off limits, just like me.

His voice reminded her of one of the baritones in their church choir, its timbre rich and full, like a warm blanket wrapping around her shoulders.

How would his arms feel if he pulled her to his chest? Melanie shook her head, unsuccessfully trying to dislodge her imaginings.

Detective Hudson scanned his notes before looking across the table at her. You’re okay now? Don’t need to go to the hospital?

She brushed her thumb against her bare ring finger, something she’d been doing a lot lately.

All I could think about was who would take care of my children if I wasn’t home when school let out. She reached for a tissue, her hand starting to tremble again. Now that Vic isn’t here. She wondered if Vic had found another job. It had been two weeks since he’d called with more bad news.

The detective’s head cocked slightly to the side. Was he assessing her strength? Probably figured out she didn’t have any. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have lost it at the accident. She reached for her cup, glad to clutch something warm, as if it would melt the cold knot of fear that threatened to choke her. Part of her wished the detective would clutch her, too. Keep her safe. Stop thinking that! Since when do I need a man to take care of me?

Mrs. Holmes. Melanie—

She looked up.

I’m sure this was one of those experiences that happens once in a lifetime. He handed her his business card. I’ve been on the force for nearly fifteen years, and most people aren’t in a car accident more than once, unless they’ve been drinking. You weren’t and neither was the other driver.

But his words did little to make her feel better. I just keep thinking none of this would have happened if I’d been on a less busy street.

But didn’t you say that was the only way to reach Mrs. Petrie’s house? The warmth in his eyes worked its way to his mouth as one corner curved up again.

Detective Hudson has such a nice smile. You’re right.

He finished his second cookie. I have all I need to know. You’ll want to check with your insurance company. So they can follow up. He rose. Thanks for the coffee, and the cookies. I hope your little boy won’t mind that I had two.

She couldn’t help smiling at him. We have more where they came from. She followed him to the door. I’m glad you said you could take my statement here. I’m not sure I would have been as comfortable if we’d—if I’d had to go to the station.

Melanie watched his car back out of the driveway before she shut the door and walked next door to retrieve Jeffie. Time to relax before Anne and Keith arrived.

Sam Hudson, so very good-looking. He wore no wedding band and wondered if he chose not to wear one. Maybe in his line of work, he shouldn’t. She mentally slapped herself. Just because Vic wanted a divorce didn’t mean she should think about other men. As if she intended to rush into another relationship, much less a marriage. The detective was probably already taken and if he wasn’t, she was sure he’d never consider taking on three children, two of them teenagers. She had to stay focused on how she was going to make it. Alone. No man for her to lean on who might leave without warning.

Melanie sighed. I can look, but she certainly wouldn’t touch any time soon. Maybe never again, though Noni had laughed the last time they’d had lunch together, no children in the background.

She picked up the phone to call her insurance agent.

~ ~ ~

Sam drove back to the station. When would people stop speeding, not paying attention, using cell phones while driving? At least the man hadn’t been texting when he ran the light. He sighed.

His mind took a sideways jump. The way Melanie wore her hair reminded him of Wendy, out of his bed and his life for almost two years. She’d left because she thought his job was too dangerous. He wondered what Wendy’d think about real estate if she knew what had happened to Mrs. Holmes, the agent he’d just interviewed. The woman had seen a man pull a gun on her broker at her office.

He pulled into the station’s lot, parked the car, and joined his partner in the squad room as he passed a nearby holding cell. Are you done? He pointed to the man who paced in the confined space. His partner, Lou, had said he’d handle the interrogation while Sam interviewed Mrs. Holmes.

Benny did that while I was talking to the grown-up daughter. The guy’s going to have to control his temper. Had a permit for the gun, but he’s been making bad choices since his divorce. Hasn’t seen his family for a while, claims he doesn’t have any money. I’m thinking the wife’s lawyer may demand a restraining order so he doesn’t go after the wife or kids again, but she didn’t mention it when I talked to her. Benny wants us to talk with the neighbors—one of them claims to have heard threats. As if they don’t happen in that part of town.

Sam nodded. Let’s roll. I want to wrap this up so I can go home with a clean desk for a change.

Hot date tonight?

Sam glanced sidelong at the ebony shine on the bald head of his partner, taller than he by half a head, as they walked back out to the cruiser. Not unless you’re thinking of my recliner in front of the TV and a cold beer.

Sam, you need to get off dead center. You’ve been doing nothin’ since Wendy left. Just ’cause that snooty white girl couldn’t abide police hours doesn’t mean every woman feels the same. What about that little number who was makin’ eyes at you at Fran’s birthday party a couple weeks back?

She couldn’t have been over eighteen, and I’m not into robbing the cradle. Maybe that was part of the problem with Wendy.

How old was she?

Twenty-two when I met her. Twenty-five—the week after she took off. Ten years younger than me. He recalled the pity party of pizza and too much beer with the guys when she left two days before the birthday bash he’d planned for her.

Then find someone your own age. Want me to ask Naomi about some of the nurses she works with?

Lay off the matchmaking, will you, Lou? Just ’cause you’re happily married doesn’t mean I need to be. I’m not looking. And if I was, I’ll find my own woman. Melanie Holmes came to mind. That was a first, being attracted to someone he’d seen on the job. No wedding rings on her hand now. Maybe she was divorced or a widow. She had a