Starfish Pier (A Hope Harbor Novel Book #6) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Irene Hannon

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200 pages

English

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A year ago, ex-Delta Force operator Steven Roark left the rigors of combat behind to run fishing charters in Hope Harbor, decompress, and talk some sense into his kid brother. Business is good--but making peace with his past is more challenging than he expected.First-grade teacher Holly Miller leads a quiet, low-profile existence--until she's recruited to advocate for a cause that's dear to her heart. When she solicits Steven's assistance, sparks fly--especially after they find themselves on opposite sides of an issue that disrupts their placid seaside community.As these two seemingly incompatible souls search for common ground, might they discover a deeper connection--and find that love can banish darkness and light the way to a future filled with promise?Bestselling and award-winning author Irene Hannon invites you back to Hope Harbor--where hearts heal . . . and love blooms.

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	31 mars 2020
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9781493421176
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	3 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0461€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Cover
Praise for the Driftwood Bay
“Ranging in tone from harrowing to heartwarming, Driftwood Bay is character-driven, thought-provoking, and highly recommended for connoisseurs of the genre.”
Midwest Book Review
“Readers will delight in this pleasant romance. Hannon’s take on loss and survival is simpatico with Debbie Macomber’s Blossom Street series.”
Booklist
“Full of faith and characters that readers will want to root for until the end.”
Publishers Weekly
“ Driftwood Bay is beautifully layered. It’s the kind of story that becomes better and better with each turning page.”
Interviews and Reviews
“Rambunctious beagle alert!!!!! Perfect for comic relief, exasperating interruptions, and copious warm fuzzies! But there’s so much more to this divinely magical story (the whole series, really) that elevates it to the absolute top of my everyone-in-the-world-should-read this-book-NOW list.”
Best Reads ( 2010–2019 )
Books by Irene Hannon
H EROES OF Q UANTICO
Against All Odds
An Eye for an Eye
In Harm’s Way
G UARDIANS OF J USTICE
Fatal Judgment
Deadly Pursuit
Lethal Legacy
P RIVATE J USTICE
Vanished
Trapped
Deceived
M EN OF V ALOR
Buried Secrets
Thin Ice
Tangled Webs
C ODE OF H ONOR
Dangerous Illusions
Hidden Peril
Dark Ambitions
That Certain Summer
One Perfect Spring
Hope Harbor
Sea Rose Lane
Sandpiper Cove
Pelican Point
Driftwood Bay
Starfish Pier
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2020 by Irene Hannon
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-2117-6
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Dedication
To my niece, Catherine Hannon, as you graduate from high school.
I am so proud of the young woman you’ve become.
Wherever the road ahead may take you, hold fast to your dreams and values— and may all your tomorrows be filled with joy and love.
Contents
Cover
Praise for the Driftwood Bay
Books by Irene Hannon
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Sneak Peek of a New Series
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
1
Maybe coming back to Oregon had been a mistake.
Expelling a breath, Steven Roark moved to the stern of the twenty-two-foot fishing boat where he spent his days and double-checked the cleat hitch knot on the mooring line.
Secure.
Which was more than he could say for his place in the world—or in Hope Harbor.
He ducked into the foldaway canvas enclosure that offered a modicum of protection to charter clients on blustery, cold days—like this late March Saturday—and dropped into a deck chair, massaging his forehead.
From a business standpoint, the day had been productive. For this early in the spring, steelheads had been running better than usual on the river at the north end of town, and his customers had left satisfied with their catches. One of them had even hooked a twenty-pounder.
On the personal front, however, the day was a total bust.
Steven leaned forward, flipped the latch on a storage compartment, and retrieved the envelope he’d found in his mailbox yesterday, the address penned in Cindy’s fluid, curvy handwriting.
He pulled out the card, reread the printed verse, and skimmed the best wishes jotted inside by his sister-in-law under a crudely drawn smile icon that had to be his nephew’s handiwork.
His brother hadn’t bothered to sign his own name. Cindy had done the honors for both of them.
Stomach kinking, Steven shoved the card back in the envelope and hunched forward, elbows on knees.
Some birthday.
No one but fish, a couple of pesky seagulls, and three taciturn customers for company. No cake or festive dinner shared with friends or family. No recognition of the day by his kid brother—nor any progress in their relationship.
And if he hadn’t made any inroads with Patrick after almost a year, there wasn’t much chance his sibling would come around in the future unless the status quo changed.
Steven sighed.
While mustering out of the army had seemed like the right decision twelve months ago after Cindy’s disturbing letter arrived in the Middle East, in hindsight—
“Hello? Is anyone on board?”
Steven jerked upright and squinted through the isinglass window.
A slender, thirtysomething woman stood on the dock beside his boat, a folder clutched against her chest. As the gusty wind whipped strands of her longish, light brown hair across her face, she brushed them aside and peered into the deck enclosure.
Given the shadowed interior on this gray day—plus the fog that had rolled in—she might not be able to make out his form.
That left him two options.
He could sink lower and ignore her . . . or give himself a birthday treat and chat with an attractive woman for a few minutes.
No contest, in light of the solitary evening that loomed ahead—providing she wasn’t here on some sort of bothersome business.
He set the card down, pushed aside the canvas that covered the opening, and emerged into the stern.
The woman hugged the folder tighter and gave him a wary once-over.
Understandable, given his disheveled state after a full day on the water and the coarse stubble that would be darkening his jaw by now.
“Can I help you?” Taking into account her poised-to-flee posture, he remained where he was.
“Steven Roark?”
“Guilty.”
“My name is Holly Miller. May I speak with you for a few minutes?”
“Depends.”
Faint creases dented her brow. “On what?”
“On the reason for your visit. I’m not in the mood for a sales pitch.”
“I’m not selling anything.”
“Then we can talk.” For as long as she liked, since he had nothing more exciting to do.
How pathetic that the bright spot of his birthday was a visit from a nervous woman who looked as if she couldn’t wait to escape.
But it beat going home to an empty apartment.
“Um . . .” She surveyed the marina. “Could we sit somewhere? Like . . . back there?” She motioned toward crescent-shaped Dockside Drive, where benches and planters were placed along the sidewalk at the top of the sloping pile of boulders that led to the water.
“I have a few chores to finish here before I leave. Why don’t you come on board?”
She gave the craft a dubious sweep. “My sea legs aren’t the best.”
“There isn’t much motion in the marina.” Extending a hand, he moved toward her, toning down his usual take-charge manner. Based on her rigid stance, that sort of approach could frighten her off. “She’s easy to board, and we can sit there.” He indicated the unprotected bench seats along the edge of the stern.
It would be warmer—and far less windy—inside the portable enclosure he’d erected for today’s charter trip, but despite the windows it was safer to stay in the open. With all the misconduct allegations flying around these days, why take chances?
“Okay.” She swallowed . . . grasped his hand . . . and eased one foot onto the gunwale.
The craft gave an almost imperceptible bob as she transferred her weight, and she gasped. Tightened her grip.
“You’re fine. I’ve got you. Just step down.”
She followed his instructions, but the maneuver was downright clumsy, and the instant both her feet were on the deck she groped for the seat and collapsed onto it in an awkward sprawl.
Pretty as his visitor was, she seemed to have been shortchanged in the gracefulness department.
And the pink hue that crept over her cheeks suggested she knew that.
He took a seat at the far end of the stern, leaving plenty of space between them. “You have the floor . . . or the deck.” He hiked up one side of his mouth. Holly Miller appeared to be wound up tight as the ubiquitous black turban snails that clung to the rocks on Oregon beaches. Perhaps a touch of humor would help her chill.
Didn’t work.
Her lips remained flat—and taut—as she set the folder in her lap, picked a speck of lint off her jeans, and zipped up her windbreaker as far as it would go. “Are you familiar with the Helping Hands volunteer organization here in town?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m on a committee that’s putting together a dinner auction to raise funds for a new pro-life initiative. Everyone involved is soliciting auction items. Reverend Baker at Grace Christian mentioned you as a potential donor. That’s why I’m here.”
Steven stifled a groan.
This was the thanks he got for letting Cindy not only pressure him into helping with the holiday food drive at a church to which he didn’t even belong, but allowing her to drag him across the room for an introduction to the minister.
Proving the truth of the old adage that no good deed went unpunished.
Worse yet, of all the causes his visitor could be soliciting for, why did it have to be this one?
When the silence lengthened, she cleared her throat. “I was, uh, hoping you’d consider donating a charter fishing trip for two—or four, if possible. Everyone we’ve contacted has been very generous. I spoke this morning with the owner of the Seabird Inn B&B, and he offered a weekend romance package for one of his rooms.”
If she was hoping to guilt him into donating, it wasn’t going to work.
“What will the money you raise be used for?” He could guess, but the stall tactic would buy him a few seconds to figure out how to decline without coming across as a heartless jerk.
She opened the folder on h