Page 23 of Colton's Secret Weapon
If she’d been fully present she might have thought it would be awkward, being at The Cove at all that day—with her mother gone, her father’s business on the brink of collapse and him missing—let alone sitting at a table for two by the window with the lawyer.
Maybe because she was on and off numb, her comfort wasn’t even an issue.
If he was embarrassed to be seen sharing a table alone with a woman in what most would consider unfashionable purple attire, he certainly didn’t show it.
“You’ve been nothing but kind to me,” she said, reaching with all the might she could muster to stay focused on that good feeling. “I’ll find a way to repay you, Mitchell. It’s important that you know that.”
Unfolding his napkin and putting it in his lap, he shrugged then said, “I don’t charge for kindness.”
The statement made her smile. Inside and out. It didn’t quell the fear slicing through her. But it helped ease the immediate sense of impending doom enough for her take a couple of bites of her salad when it arrived.
He seemed okay with letting her control the conversation while they sat together. So she asked about his family. He’d been born in town, but she knew his parents and aunt and uncle had moved from California when Eli and Parker had been little. The family was well known for their adventure tours. That hadnot only helped keep Shelby on the map but had contributed to the success of St. James Boats as well. Unfortunately, it also prompted the interest of outside businessmen like Brad Fletcher.
“I was born here,” Mitchell confirmed when she mentioned what little she knew about Colton family history. “So were Spence and Kansas. My cousins. Our fathers are brothers.”
She’d known that much. Wanted more. But couldn’t clear her mind enough to get there.
“And Lakin, of course,” he added. “She’s the real gem among us.”
Dove’s heart caught at the warmth she heard enter Mitchell’s voice when he mentioned his adopted sister—a woman who’d been two classes behind Dove in school—and a native Alaskan who exuded love.
“I heard she’d been abandoned at a grocery store,” Dove said, and then, with a quick intake of breath, needing to take back the crude words, ended up choking.
Which caused her to miss Mitchell’s initial reaction to her rudeness. “I’m so sorry,” she said, taking a sip of water as her coughing subsided. “I am most definitely not myself.” Which was scaring the crap out of her, and lending strength to the negativity invading her system.
Reaching over the table, Mitchell used his napkin to wipe the tears from her cheeks, caused by the coughing. “No need to apologize,” he said. “Lakin would be the first one to tell you about how she came to us. I’m convinced that she considers her story to be her lucky talisman, though she’s never admitted that. She was three when she was found alone at the grocery store. Friends of my parents fostered her while authorities searched for her parents, and my parents ended up adopting her. She’s been the light in our family ever since.”
The way he said that, as though his family had been lacking light, caught at Dove. She wanted to ask him about the darkness she sensed but didn’t trust herself enough to know if she was sensing him, or just projecting her own current state onto him.
Before either of them could say more, Mitchell’s phone rang. Because he’d placed it on the table when they sat down to eat, Dove saw the name flash on the screen:Kansas.
Her stomach clenched around the few bites of food she’d taken. Staring at the phone, she willed herself to take a deep breath. Could barely draw a shallow one.
Mitchell grabbed the phone and went out to the reception area to take his call.
And Dove sat alone, trying to think about her mother, about her family in that restaurant, and picking out the different tables where she had memories of them together. To draw on what she knew rather than accessing any of the emotion that led her through life, certain that doing so in that moment would release the fear waiting to drown her.
When Mitchell appeared in her line of vision, heading her way, she was still breathing, thinking about a birthday she’d celebrated at the table in the corner. She couldn’t remember how old she’d been. But she remembered the purple glitter birthday hats she and her mother had worn. Her dad had been out to sea. But he’d radioed in before she went to bed that night.
Mitchell didn’t have a radio. He had a cell phone. Still in hand.
Heart pounding, she glanced up as he reached their table. Got nothing from blue eyes staring straight in hers. No warmth. No fear. No strength. Or weak knees, either.
“Tell me,” she said.
Wondering what it meant when he sat first, instead. Had they found Whaler? Was he…
“Kansas found drag marks in the back alley, behind the bar.”
The last place her father had been seen.
“They end abruptly right next to a pair of tire tracks that left rubber and debris behind. As though a vehicle accelerated rapidly. A truck, most likely, based on the tire tread. But a newer one.”
Relief hit for a brief second. She grabbed a breath while she could and said, “Not my father’s truck.”
He shook his head. Didn’t seem to find the news as good as she did.
Because her father wouldn’t have hauled himself away. Someone else would have done that. In their own or a stolen vehicle. Made more sense that way.
