See You in September : The Refuge Series Book One Read online

  See You in September

  Copyright 2017 by Debbie Zello

  All rights Reserved

  Cover Design by Tiffany Huegle

  Cover model Kennedy Gilbertson

  Edited by Elizabeth Robbins

  Beta Reader Randy Reynolds

  Interior Design by Darkmantle Designs

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author

  Thank you for supporting authors by purchasing books and complying with copyright laws.

  This is a work of fiction.

  any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Written and printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  I owe a huge thank you to Mary Morman Fazzi for her constant support and great advice.

  to my small but mighty team of fabulous friends Teresa, Tracy Lou, Denise, Lori, Tina, Alison, Paulie, Romanus, and Jennifer, you have stayed with me through everything and I thank you.

  Last, but most certainly not least, thank you to the readers. Without your patronage, there would be no writers. I hope you enjoy my book and all books and please remember to leave reviews. Reviews help authors to learn and readers to decide if this book is for them.

  Her Shore

  Once more something worthy was building and brewing out in the depths

  Soon to approach her shore

  But she would remain patient taking great care to greet him this time with unrestrained passion

  Alan Walker

  Poet_by_write

  Chapter One

  Her feet up on the railing. Sipping her morning coffee. Her eyes focused on the coming and going of the waves.

  Her refuge.

  Cheri Winslow Gates had it all. Had…as in the past tense. As in…no longer has it all.

  They were just here, at their beach house, on that Friday. They came to celebrate their third anniversary. They didn’t leave all weekend, choosing to make love all over the cottage. Every room, every surface, and every nook and cranny.

  They went back to their lives, and their house in Boston, late Sunday night. Saying good-bye to their Cape Cod life without cares or responsibilities. Back to the law practice they shared, and the long hours they each put in, building their reputations as a defense team that wins the cases they take on.

  Monday morning started much the same as any other day. Cheri made the coffee and David made the English muffins. They each drove their cars to the office. Two cars, because they often had to meet a client in jail or be at court for a meeting, separately.

  They kissed each other good-bye at the door of his office and she continued walking two doors down to hers. The morning passed with a variety of appointments punctuated with more coffee. Lunch. Cheri’s cell buzzed and she answered, “Hey, mom. What’s cooking?”

  “Cheri, darling, do you have the extra key to the bank deposit box?” her mother-in-law asked.

  “I think so. It’s home in the safe. Do you need it?”

  “Yes. I can’t find mine. I’ve looked everywhere. I know how busy you are, but do you think you could get it, and meet me at the bank with it?”

  “I have a few minutes around two-thirty. I’ll bring it to you then.”

  “You’re a life saver. Thank you, sweetheart. Bye.”

  “Bye, mom.”

  At two-ten, she left the office to find the key and bring it to the bank. She was a considerate daughter-in-law.

  She saw the car parked in the street, in front of their house, but it didn’t register as something to be concerned about.

  She saw the leather coat on the back of the couch when she came in but again, it didn’t trouble her.

  When she climbed the stairs, and heard the shower water running, this puzzled her but not enough to be afraid, just curious.

  She continued into their bedroom. As she entered, she heard him moaning as if in pain. She pictured him writhing, having slipped and fallen taking a shower. She flew to open the door to their large and luxurious bathroom.

  Then in slow motion, just as in the black and white movies, there they were. Her beloved husband standing in the shower. Crouching in front of him was another man, shall we say, engaged in thoroughly cleaning a certain protruding appendage.

  They were so engaged in their activities that neither man heard her enter the room. Cheri was so dumbfounded she could neither move nor speak. She felt the air squeeze from her lungs. Her head grew light and when she made a move to hold on to a nearby vanity, her husband yelled out his completion. A sound so familiar to her that she knew instinctively what it meant.

  His head came down and his eyes opened. The only part Cheri wanted to remember from this day was what followed his realization of her presence. He actually said, “What are you doing home, Cheri? Don’t you have a client appointment?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do, David. I can clearly see you’re accepting a retainer from a client. I’ll leave you two to finish your business,” she said very calmly. Just as he had taught her, to pretend nothing bothers you. “Never let them see you flinch,” he would tell her. Cheri turned and left.

  That was two years ago. She never listened to David’s explanation. He was an expert at arguing his point. The best she had ever seen, in fact. Therefore, there wasn’t any way she would go down that road with him. She filed for a divorce and sold her half of the law practice to the worst attorney she could find.

  Payback.

  Then she settled with David. He got the house in Boston. She could never live there again, anyway. She took the house at the Cape.

  Cheri’s cottage had a private beach on the ocean. The house was small, as most cottages built in the fifties are. It was perfect.

  The front door opened to the living room on the right with a large gas-lit fireplace. The combination kitchen and dining room was on the left. Everything was open in design. Even the two bedrooms, although separated by a wall which didn’t quite come up to the ceiling.

  There was a two-foot space that remained open. Cheri had large conch shells and pieces of driftwood decorating what she called her top shelves. All of the walls were painted a light cottage blue, and all of the furniture and bed linens were white.

  Cheri had spent a lot of time choosing the pieces that went in her cottage. She liked to mix wicker and wood. Her kitchen table was an old door she’d found on the side of the road. She spent two days sanding it down and painting it. She put it on top of two sawhorses that she had built up by nailing extra pieces of wood on until it was the right height.

  The lamps in the living room were pieces of driftwood she had found and somehow with the eye of an artist, she fit the pieces together and made lamps. David had made fun of her for making things when she could well afford to buy whatever they needed. He didn’t get it. This was her refuge.

  Now she had no one to make fun of her projects. Just as well.

  It wasn’t easy starting over. She used the money from the sale of her half of their practice to start a new practice on the Cape. She went from criminal law to deeds, real estate and financial planning. She missed the challenges of her past practice, but the long hours she didn’t miss at all.

  Cheri took the entire month of September off, to spend the waning days of summer at the beach. The tourists had gone home. The college kids were back at school. All that was left were the locals and the few smart enough to come here in the off-season.

  Cheri was very lucky; her cottage was the first after a wildlife sanctuary. There was her cottage and
the one next to hers and then one of those enormous houses owned by the rich and famous. A lovely older couple, the Weismans, owned the house next door. They were so quiet Cheri never knew if they were home or not, until she saw lights come on at night.

  The man that owned the Hollywood house was almost never there. Cheri was certain it was used mostly as a tax write-off. Rarely did people venture this far down the beach, as it was a dead end. So primarily, she had the beach to herself.

  Cheri walked into the fish market and over to the owner. “Hey, Stephen. What looks good today?”

  “I’ve got some cod, and the lobsters are nice and fat,” he said with a smile and a wink. He genuinely liked Cheri.

  “I’ll take a piece of cod and a fat lobster please.”

  “Coming right up.” He got her purchases wrapped up as he asked her, “Did you hear about Mr. Weisman?”

  “No, what happened?”

  “He had a heart attack a few weeks back. They’re staying with their son and his wife. Won’t be back until the spring, if then. It depends on how he does. They’re renting the cottage. You’ll have a new neighbor every week.”

  “Sorry to hear about him, and sorrier still about the renting. They are wonderful neighbors, so quiet.”

  “Nobody likes change,” he said handing her the fish. Cheri moped all the way home.

  Labor Day weekend…he arrived. Cheri was on her early morning walk down the beach, on her search for anything that might have washed up on shore overnight, when she saw the strange car parked in the Weisman’s driveway. Not seeing anyone about, she simply went to her house and made some coffee. By noon, the house next door was in full party mode. The beach-bunnies had arrived and covered the beach with their partially clad bodies. A volleyball match was in full swing with the equally almost-naked male counterparts of the festivities jumping and spiking the ball.

  Watching them didn’t bother her in the least.

  From her kitchen window, she had an excellent view of the flexing muscular backs and drool-worthy pecs and abs. Not a bad way to spend the holiday weekend.

  There was a bonfire at night, with drunken campfire songs being sung, at the top of untalented voices. It all finally died down around midnight, and Cheri went to sleep.

  By the end of the third day, she’d had enough of the continuous frat party next door. Cheri made up her mind if it continued, she would go over there and straighten them out. She didn’t have to, thank God, as she watched the last car leave. All that was left was that first car.

  Peace and tranquility once more descended on the little cottage by the ocean.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning was one of those “summer is still holding on” days. It was very warm and uncomfortably humid. Cheri dressed in a strapless, short sundress for her morning walk along the beach. She found a few of the smooth white rocks she so coveted and one medium sized piece of driftwood that looked like it might have come off a house in a storm. It hadn’t spoken to her yet, so she didn’t know what it wanted to be.

  Cheri got back to her house and fixed a coffee. Taking it out on the porch, she sat in one of the matching white Adirondack chairs and put her feet up on the railing. The sea was talking loudly this morning. Maybe there was a storm way out beyond her view. It was turning up the waves to an angry pitch. The riptide would be fierce, until the storm passed.

  As it was so humid, Cheri spent the day reading and completing some Sudoku puzzles. Mid-afternoon, she went in to take a nap, escaping the heat in front of a cool fan. She woke and had a light salad for dinner. Her evening walk yielded nothing to add to her collection. She had hope for the morning, as the storm would send untold treasures her way.

  Cheri went to bed at eleven, even though she wasn’t tired after her nap. She was a creature of habit and as it was her usual bedtime, she complied.

  At two in the morning, naked, sweating, and on top of the sheets, with the fan blowing directly on her, she gave up on trying to sleep. With a low growl, she got up, grabbed her silk short robe, and went outside.

  It was considerably cooler out on the porch. The breeze was perfect, coming right off the water. The moon was high in its orbit and the ocean was singing its softest love song. It seduced her into walking off the steps and onto the sand.

  She squished the cool sand between her toes and instantly felt better. The sound of the waves caressing the shore drew her to the edge of the water. As she’d always felt she was a creature of the water, she knew then she had to go in just for a dip.

  Cheri wasn’t inexperienced with the dangers of the ocean. She knew the creatures of the deep fed at night, often coming close to shore to grab a tasty morsel. She did not intend to be anyone’s dinner. She would go in just far enough to scoot down in the water.

  She looked up and down the beach to make sure she was alone in her quest for refreshment. Seeing no other living soul about, she shed her robe and walked into the cool, refreshing surf.

  Gareth Marshall couldn’t sleep that night. His Labor Day festivities had left him exhausted and he had slept most of the day away. When he woke, he felt much better, except now there was no way to fix his internal clock. He was still operating on California time, so that was one strike. Drinking, dancing, and…well, you know, had occupied his first weekend in the little cottage. It would probably take him all week to get on some kind of reasonable schedule.

  It was much cooler sitting on the deck than in the hot house, so taking his glass of wine, he sat in the deck chair with his feet up on the railing, watching the stars and listening to the beat of the ocean. This is the way to live, he decided.

  He was just taking in a deep, salty breath when he heard the screen door shut on the house next door, a sound he recognized after hearing it repeatedly over the last few days. It had an annoying squeak that screamed the need of a drop of oil. He might even sneak over there and complete the task without asking first.

  He watched the woman that lived there stroll down to the water’s edge. Gareth sat up and placed his feet on the wooden deck. What the hell was she doing? Didn’t she know you never swim alone, especially at night?

  Just as she slipped off her covering and stepped into the water, he walked off the deck. His long strides had him at the water’s edge in a few moments. He picked up the cover that was lying on the sand. “That’s mine,” he heard from the dark water.

  “Okay and who, may I ask are you?” He gave a chuckle.

  “I live in the cottage over there, the white one.”

  “Pleased to meet you, I-live-in-the-cottage-over-there-the-white-one. Is that a native American name by any chance?”

  “No,” Cheri said, laughing loudly. It felt so good to laugh. Cheri didn’t realize how much she missed the feeling. “My name is Cheri.”

  “Better. The other one was a mouthful. I’m Gareth and I’m in the Weisman’s cottage. I saw you walk down and go into the water. I was worried you’d drown.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine,” she said.

  “Good. I feel like I’m talking to the water. Why don’t you come out and we’ll get acquainted,” he suggested.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I thought I was alone. I didn’t bother to put on a bathing suit.”

  “This just got a whole lot more interesting. So I can assume you’re skinny-dipping?”

  “That would be a correct assumption. And if you’re a gentleman, you would turn your back so I can come out of the water before I’m something’s dinner.”

  “I see we have a quandary. Tell you what, I have three solutions.”

  “Make it quick.”

  “You can just walk out. I’ll hold your robe and you can walk into it. I’ll try not to take a look, but I can’t promise. Or, I can strip down and get in the water with you. That way we’re both naked and on an equal footing with each other. Lastly, I can put your robe back where I found it, walk back to my cottage and pour you a glass of wine. You can come out of the water, p
ut your robe on and join me. My back will be to you the whole way.” He sounded conspiratorial.

  “Fine, I’ll take the third option, thank you,” she replied, relieved.

  “Great! White or red?”

  “White, please.”

  “White it is. I’ll see you in a minute,” he said, turning and walking back to his deck. As soon as he turned his back, Cheri moved closer to the shore. When she was sure he had moved far enough away, she bolted from the water and with the speed of sound, shoved her arms into the robe and tied it shut. Satisfied she had made a hasty enough retreat; she began walking back to her cottage.

  “Hey, I live in the cottage over there, the white one/Cheri, where do you think you’re going?” he yelled from his deck.

  “I’m going to dry off and put some clothes on,” she yelled back as she walked.

  “I don’t remember that being part of the bargain. I have towels; you can dry off right here.”

  “I’m a little cold,” she said still walking.

  “I’ll start a fire. Your wine is poured, come on over. A deal is a deal. You don’t want my second impression of you to be that you welsh on your agreements, do you?”

  “What’s your first impression?” she asked, with a fire in her voice.

  “I’m not yelling it. Get over here and I’ll tell you,” he said playfully. With her arms crossed protectively over her chest to cover her perky assets, she walked at her most regal pace to his deck.

  “Towel,” she said extending her hand to him. He placed a fluffy beach towel in her hand. “Thank you,” she whispered wrapping that around her to cover the wet and most likely see-through robe.

  “You’re welcome. Have a seat,” he said smiling at her slight discomfort at being nearly naked in his presence.

  Once he got a good look at her, he was glad he’d plucked her from the sea. Cheri was a stunner. Even with her hair wet from the ocean, it was almost black and had a sexy curl to it. Her skin was tanned and toned. Her legs were long and lovely. In the dim light of the candles he had lit, he couldn’t make out for sure what color her eyes were. That would have to wait for daylight. He spent a beat too long on her feet and she shifted them to break his stare.