A Soft Place to Fall Read online

  A Soft Place to Fall

  (Shelter Rock Cove - Book 1)

  by

  Barbara Bretton

  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 loo
ked 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 as any of the children of her body, and that gave her the right to annoy the daylights out of Annie. Suddenly her redoubtable mother-in-law looked small and old and vulnerable and Annie's heart twisted in sympathy. She loved Claudia dearly even if sometimes she wished for a bit more breathing room.

  "I have a better idea," Annie said, putting an arm around Claudia's fragile shoulders. "Why don't both of you have lunch with Jack and the boys and we'll meet up at the house."

  "We can't leave you alone," Claudia said and for once Susan agreed with her mother.

  "Sure you can." Annie started moving them toward the door. "I'll be fine. I promise."

  "Are you sure?" Susan asked. Her eyes were wide and dark-brown and she looked so much like Kevin that there were times when Annie had to turn away.

  "Positive." She waved goodbye to them from the top step then closed and locked the door. The movers were gone. The only thing she had left to do was sweep the floors, coerce the cats into their carrying cases, then load everything into her ancient four-wheel drive. She grabbed the broom and began to move living room dust into one central pile. The Flemings were due to arrive at three o'clock and by nightfall this quiet old house would be bursting with laughter and children, the way it was always meant to.

  #

  "We're crazy," Annie had said the night they moved in. They were lying on afghans in front of the fire place in the living room, watching the flames flicker and dance. "You know we can't afford a house like this." They were only a handful of years out of college. Neither one of them was established in a career. He had only just started teaching and she had yet to sell one of her paintings, much less study in Rome. It would be a long time before they could even think about putting down roots.

  "We can't afford not to buy it," Kevin had said, filling her wineglass from the jug of Chianti they'd purchased at the discount liquor store near the state line. "Face it, Annie. This house has family written all over it. We're going to grow old here." They clicked glasses for the third -- or was it the fourth? -- time. "One day our grandchildren will play in that backyard."

  "Grandchildren?" she'd said with a laugh. "First things first, Mr. Galloway."

  "Five kids," he said, pulling her over onto his lap. "Three girls, two boys."

  "Five?"

  He grinned at her. "It's my lucky number."

  "We only have four bedrooms."

  "We'll add as many as we need."

  "Kids or bedrooms?" She loved the way he was stroking her hair, her shoulder, the warmth of his lips against the side of her neck.

  "Both," he said, sliding his hand under the hem of her sweater. She gasped when he cupped her breast. He murmured words of praise, wonderful, honey-drenched words against her skin, the kind of words that melted a woman's bones. He could talk a statue to life with those words, turn cold marble into warm flesh. He had been doing it to Annie from the very first.

  "We should wait another year or two," she whispered, struggling to stay reasonable against the sensual onslaught of his hands and mouth. "We don't even have furniture yet."

  "I love you, Annie Rose Lacy Galloway. I love the family we're going to have together. Life is short. We're young and strong and healthy and we love each other. Let's make a baby, Annie Rose. Let's start tonight."

  #

  Annie turned away from the empty living room. The ghosts were everywhere. There wasn't a corner of the house that wasn't filled with them. They had made love that first night with a sense of sacred abandon and Annie had been sure they had made a baby. A son with Kevin's dark brown eyes and ready laugh . . . or maybe a daughter with his strength and kindness. They were so young then, so innocent. Believing in miracles came as naturally to her back then as breathing. Why else would she have stayed with Kevin until the very end?

  "There's nothing to worry about," her doctor had said to her as the months passed and there was still no baby. "The test results are all unremarkable. You're healthy. Kevin's healthy. Give it time, Anne. You'll have your baby."

  But it took two to have a baby. A man and a woman who loved each other and shared the same vision of their future. A man and a woman who shared a bed and made love with tenderness if not passion, not two strangers who lived alone in the same house. He refused to li
sten when she suggested they look more deeply into their infertility problem. He turned a deaf ear when she spoke about adoption. Months turned to years and after a time she began to believe that it was for the best. You didn't bring a child into uncertainty and chaos. Not if you had a choice in the matter. There was so much she hadn't known about her husband until it was too late.

  Nobody ever told her that you could fall in love with a boy only to wake up one day and discover you were living with a man you didn't really know at all. A man whose problems ran deeper than your solutions, to a place not even love could reach.

  But then she probably wouldn't have believed it. Kevin had taught her to believe in happy endings and right up until the moment he drew his last breath she had thought they still had a chance for happily-ever-after.

  She knew better now. They'd never really had a chance for happily-ever-after. Kevin had seen to that the day he placed his first bet.

  George's and Gracie's plaintive yowls sounded from somewhere upstairs and reminded Annie that she still had a lot to do before the Flemings arrived to take possession of the house.

  She swept out the living room, the foyer, the kitchen. She wiped down the counters, cleaned the sink, dried the faucets carefully until they gleamed. She wiped a handprint off the door of the fridge then stood back and scanned the kitchen with a critical eye she had rarely brought to housework before. The house was over forty years old and unfortunately so were most of the appliances. At first the ancient heating system and outdated refrigerator had been a source of amusement for Kevin and Annie, two of the many things they would take care of some day in the far-off future when their bankbook recovered from the shock of home ownership.

  The only thing was, it never did. She put aside her dream of pursuing a career in art and opened a flower shop instead. Annie's Flowers took a while to get on its feet and for some reason Kevin's salary didn't increase the way they had hoped. Every month it seemed to Annie that the number of unexpected bills went up and their checking account balance went down and no matter how hard they tried to keep up with the house's demands, their income couldn't keep pace with the required outgo.