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A soft place to fall

A Soft Place to Fall (Shelter Rock Cove - Book 1)

by

Robert

Praise for USA Today Bestselling Author Barbara Bretton

"A monumental talent." --Affaire de Coeur

"Very few romance writers create characters as well-developed as Bretton's. Her books pull you in and don't let you leave until the last word is read." --Booklist (starred review)

"One of today's best women's fiction authors." --The Romance Reader

"Barbara Bretton is a master at touching readers' hearts." --Romance Reviews Today

 

A Soft Place to Fall

Copyright 2001, 2012 Barbara Bretton

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and

reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,

organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For information, contact: Barbara AT barbarabretton DOT com

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

About the Author

Copyright

How It All Began

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

The Way It All Ended Up

At Last

I Do I Do Again

The Marrying Man

How It All Began

Late summer

"No good." Warren Bancroft pushed the sheaf of papers back across his desk. "The price is too high."

His attorney, a pig-headed Yankee named Stoney, allowed himself to register his shock. "Too high?" He glanced down at the number Warren had written across the top of the appraisal. "That's absurd! It isn't high enough."

"Not a penny more." Warren capped his fountain pen, and leaned back in his leather chair. "It would be highway robbery."

Stoney punched the appraisal with the tip of his forefinger. "The property alone appraised for more than this."

"The house is the size of a broom closet," Warren said, enjoying the confrontation. "That's as high as I'm going to go."

"You drive a hard bargain."

"Damn right," Warren said. "That's why I'm rich."

Stoney took another look at the number scrawled on the top line. "You won't stay rich long if you keep this up."

"Call her, Stoney, and tell her I'm rejecting her offer. If she balks, go down another ten percent."

"I suppose you want to renovate the place while you're at it."

Warren's laughter filled the spacious office. "I've already taken care of that. I sent a crew over this morning to paint and spruce things up a bit."

"You'd be better off giving her the house. At least then we could take a tax deduction."

"You're a damn fine attorney," Warren said, "and I'm grateful for your advice. Now go do what I told you."

That was the trouble with the Ivy League types, he thought as Stoney left the room. They thought too much. They paid too much attention to the way things were and not enough to the way things ought to be. Hell, if he had done that all those years ago, he'd be another in a long line of fishermen claimed by the sea.

Not that he hadn't made his share of mistakes. His book was full of them, all laid out there in black and white. Of course, he hadn't let Annie see the good stuff yet but he would one of these days. She was only a kid of thirty-eight after all, and she needed some more seasoning.

He could tell her a thing or two about loneliness. He could tell her that there was nothing wrong with spreading her wings and seeing if she still remembered how to fly. He could tell her a lot of things but he wasn't sure she was ready to listen. She had been loyal and true to the people she loved and that loyalty had cost her dearly. He'd watched her grow from a fun-loving young girl with big dreams to a quiet, tired-looking woman with no dreams at all.

Lately he'd noticed a change in her, a restlessness that he understood in his bones. The time was right for new beginnings.

He reached for the dark blue folder marked "Sam." Who would have thought the wise-talking fifteen year old he'd met at the marina near the site of the World's Fair twenty years ago would one day be Warren's hero? He'd never told Sam Butler that

because it would embarrass him but it was true. Warren was more than twice Sam's age but he knew he was only half the man. Life had dealt Sam a losing hand but somehow he'd managed to turn a pair of deuces into a full house. Nineteen years old and left with the care of five younger brothers and sisters – not too many men would have put their own lives on hold to see it through, but Sam had done exactly that.

When Sam called last week and asked if he could rent Ellie's old house for a while, he knew that fate was knocking on the door with both fists. Sam Butler would never take charity but he understood a good business deal when he heard one and the deal Warren was offering was damn close to irresistible. Sam would have free use of a house on the water and all Warren asked for in return was that he work on finishing the boat.

Sam took the bait.

He was pretty sure Annie would too.

The whole thing was a long shot and he knew it. But if ever two people deserved happiness it was these two children of his heart. Life hadn't seen fit to bless him with children of his own but he loved Annie and Sam same as if his blood flowed in their veins. They were two halves of the same whole and it was up to him to bring them together.

What was the point of being rich if you didn't use the money to take care of your own?

Chapter One

They saved the bed for last.

Annie Lacy Galloway stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched as the two impossibly skinny young men maneuvered the huge sleigh bed through the narrow upstairs hallway. She winced at the sound of wood scraping against wallpaper. She knew it would be a tight fit but she hadn't let herself consider that it might be impossible.

The moving boys paused at the top of the stairs and considered their options. "How'd you ever get this up here anyway, Mrs. G?" Michael, the one whose voice

still hadn't made up its mind between soprano and tenor, called down to her. "This is like shoving an elephant through a keyhole."

She'd found it at a yard sale six months after Kevin died, a wreckage of wood that looked much the way she'd felt inside. "I feel bad taking your money for this," the man had said as they loaded the pieces into the back of her Jeep. She spent weeks sanding the elegant curves and flat planes, stripping away years of neglect and damage, not even sure if the pieces could ever be put back together again into a recognizable whole. It still wasn't finished yet. Come spring, she intended to stain the sanded wood a deep cherry wood then coat the whole thing with a satiny finish that would grow more lustrous with the years.

"Turn it toward the window," she said. "Once you clear the top of the railing, you'll have it made."

Danny, her nephew by marriage, crouched down near the foot of the bed. "It comes apart," he said, fingering the supports. "Maybe we could --"

"No!" Annie forced her voice down to a more acceptable volume. The poor boys looked downright scared. "I mean, feel free to remove the stair rails, if you have to, but please don't touch the bed."

"You're the boss, Mrs. G," Michael said.

She turned in time to see a third moving boy grab for the cardboard box near the front door. The box marked "Fragile."

"Not that one." Annie raced back downstairs. "I'm taking that one in the car with me."

"You sure?" Scotty had been Kevin's top student, the one who was on his way toward bigger and better things. He was smart and funny and built like a two-by- four, all straight edges and long lines. Scotty nailed the Bancroft Scholarship, Kevin. You would've been so proud of him. Years ago, she had been the one with the Bancroft and the big dreams of studying art one day in New York. It seemed so long ago, almost as if those dreams had belonged to somebody else. The sight of the young man in her foyer awoke so many memories of Christmas parties and summer barbecues when they had opened up the house to students and their parents. Kevin loved those parties, loved being at the center of all the activity, laughing and joking and --

"There's plenty of room in the truck, Mrs. G."

"That's okay, Scotty," she said, wondering when he had started shaving. Wasn't it just yesterday that he was raking their lawn for two bucks an hour? "I'll take it over in my car." Her life was tucked away in that box: old love letters, wedding photos, newspaper clippings, and sympathy notes. The sum total of her thirty-eight years on the planet with room left over for her best wineglasses and her journals.

He pointed toward a box resting near the piano. "How about that one?" Annie grinned. "Be my guest."

He hoisted it on his shoulder with a theatrical grunt. "See you at the new house." "The new house." Claudia Galloway appeared in the doorway to the living room. She

dabbed at her eyes with a linen handkerchief, one of those flimsy bits with the hand-crocheted edging that were her trademark. "It's not too late to change your mind, Anne."

Annie thrust her clenched fists deep into the pockets of her bright red sweater. "Claudia, we've gone over this before. I --"

"This is your home," her former mother-in-law broke in. "This is where you spent your entire married life. My God, you're even sold most of your furniture. How can you turn your back on everything Kevin meant to you?"

"I don't need this house to remind me of all that Kevin meant to me."

"Is she at it again?" Susan, Claudia's oldest daughter, poked her head in the front door. "Ma, you already built a shrine to Kevin. Annie doesn't need to build one too."

Annie shot her best friend a look of pure gratitude. I owe you big time, Susie. Godiva, if I could afford it, or Dom Perignon. "Are they finished in the garage?"

"The place is stripped bare as chicken bones after a barbecue."

"Really, Susan." Claudia frowned at her daughter. "A bit less colorful language, if you please."

"Mother, I sell real estate for a living. I am a master of the colorful metaphor." "I could do with a tad less sarcasm as well."

"Coming through!" Michael and Danny had found a way to maneuver Annie's sleigh bed downstairs without major architectural damage and had it aimed at the front door.

"That ridiculous bed," Claudia murmured as she stepped aside. "Really, Annie. I don't know what you were thinking."

I wasn't thinking, Claudia. You've been there. Don't you remember how it was? I hurt too much that first year to think of anything at all.

"Mother," said Susan, "why don't you go have lunch with Jack and the boys. I know you love the chicken sandwich at Wendy's. We'll see you later at the new house."

Claudia looked from Annie to her daughter and in that instant Annie regretted all the sharp words she had bitten back. She was family to Claudia, same