The Truth About Comfort Cove

And just as Earl Miller was there for his wife, no matter what the future held, Ramsey Miller might be able to come through for Lucy, too.

At the moment, there was no other choice. She might be a woman with two families, but for now, she shouldn’t live with either one

of them. Which meant that he was all she had. According to Dr. Zimmerman, her best shot was to take both relationships slowly—the separation from Sandy, and any reunion with Rose and Emma—to work on being comfortable with herself first, and then open herself up to the needs of others around her.

So he would do what he had to do.

“I read a poem once.” Lucy broke the silence in the car. Darkness had fallen and he was beginning to worry about her. Nights were always harder in times of fear and stress. And he knew that, for her in particular, they were much worse.

“Tell me about it,” he said, slowing down to thirty-five miles an hour as he entered the city. Tourist district first, he figured. To let her reacquaint herself with people in a more jovial setting.

“I can’t remember the poet, or the poem. I just remember one line. It said something about being someone who could go through hell the night before and still have what it took to get up in the morning and feed the children.”

He slowed as he came abreast the bar where Chris Talbot usually played on Friday nights. They hadn’t talked about the wedding yet. He figured he was going to call someone in the morning and say that Lucy had the flu. Or something else that would get them out of appearing, or being visited.

“I’ve always wanted to be that person,” she said. “I think I’m one of those people who can go through hell and still be able to get up and feed the children.”

He smiled. And knew in that moment that the woman beside him was an angel.

And that she was going to be just fine.

Dinner time had come and gone. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast at Ramsey’s house. He had to be starving. “You want to get something to eat?” she asked, wondering how on earth she was going to keep anything down, but knowing she had to if she was going to have the strength to feed the children.

“I can grill some steaks back at the house, put some potatoes in the oven. There’s stuff for a salad.”

She actually felt a grin coming on. And when it surfaced, her face was so stiff it felt like it cracked. “Sounds like you were prepared for a visitor,” she said.

“I was.” His warm glance thawed her enough that she knew the night ahead was probably not going to be easy. She was starting to feel again.

“But we can eat out if you want to,” he offered. “If you’d rather stay out.”

“I’d rather be at your house. I like it there.” There was no way she was going to be able to keep up any kind of appearances at this point. “And while we’re at it, can I just say that I want to sleep in your bed with you, too?”

“I’m glad to hear that. I envisioned a long night camping out on the floor in the spare room because there was no way I was leaving you alone tonight.”

Another crack in the ice.

She knew how ice worked. Once it cracked, the warm air got inside and then the solid chunk started to melt from the inside out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

R amsey’s phone rang just as they were pulling onto his street. “We’ve got Frank Whittier in custody. I’m not telling him about Claire, for now. I can give you until tomorrow to find out how Lucy wants us to handle this. But be warned, the family isn’t happy.”

He didn’t give a rat’s ass about the Whittiers at the moment. He felt a twinge of guilt when he thought of Emma, but he knew that, in the end, she’d understand.

And if she didn’t, she didn’t deserve Lucy for a sister. “The big news is Colton,” Bill continued. “Is Lucy there?” “Yes, she’s right here.”

“You think she’s up to listening or do you want to fill her

in later?” Looking at the woman sitting beside him in his car, in his driveway, Ramsey didn’t hesitate. “Hold on,” he said into the phone, and then asked Lucy, “Bill has a report on Colton. You want to hear it now?”

“Yes.” Her answer was unequivocal, just as he’d expected it would be.

With a push to his phone, he said, “You’re on speakerphone, Bill. Go ahead.”

“Hi, Lucy,” Bill’s voice softened.

“Hi.”