Wanting a Family Man (Raven’s Cove #3)

Chapter One

O f the many mistakes Cloe Vance had made in her twenty-three years, showing up in Raven’s Cove unannounced was arguably one of the worst.

She’d been scared, though. Scared someone would tell her she wasn’t allowed to come. Scared no one would tell her where her niece was. Scared that her phone would be tapped and tracked. Heck, she was even scared that she was becoming paranoid, which said everything about the state of her life these days.

She was a mess, which was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid when she’d aged out of foster care and started adulting. She had been determined to make smart, practical choices. She hadn’t wanted to end up like her mother, yet here she was—broke, homeless, and fleeing a dangerous relationship with a Very Bad Man. She wasn’t doing drugs to numb the pain, but she saw how alluring that type of escape could become.

She saw clearly how all the rotten stuff happened. When you felt like you were utterly alone in this world, it took only a little misplaced trust and allowing hope to override your gut. The next thing you knew, you had no job, no home, no friends. She had even lost her sister, which wasn’t directly connected to her actions, but it felt as though it was.

This new perspective humbled her. It made her hate herself for judging her mother all those years ago. Being frightened and lonely wasn’t a crime.

Being an accessory to money laundering was, though.

Somehow, Cloe had avoided being charged with that. She had cooperated and was still in a daze that she had walked out of the courthouse with her freedom.

Within days, she had liquidated her few remaining possessions and bought a bus ticket north. It was strange to be so untethered. As she had sat on the ferry from Port Angeles, Washington, into Victoria, Canada, she had felt like a castaway bobbing on an open sea.

She still felt adrift, even though she’d since left that ferry for a second bus that had taken her to the top of Vancouver Island, where she had climbed aboard a second ferry that took her even farther up the coast and into the night.

She didn’t stop for a proper sleep anywhere, just dozed in her seat, waking disoriented from confusing dreams.

When she walked off that last ferry, she found herself two miles from town. At midnight. The landing crew must have thought she was waiting for someone because they got in their car and disappeared, leaving her alone on the slip.

If she’d had a phone, maybe she could have hired a rideshare or found a room. Instead, she studied the brochure she’d picked up off the ferry, waiting until there was enough light to see the road since there were no streetlights, then walked into Bella Bella.

It was terrifying and exhausting, yet peaceful. It felt good to be moving instead of sitting, breathing fresh air instead of stale AC. It was midsummer so the breeze wasn’t too cold. She could hear the steady hiss of waves and concentrated on that, trying to ignore the creaks and snaps in the brush that stopped her heart every few steps.

The town was barely coming awake. It was only a couple of streets in each direction, increasing her sense of having arrived at the edge of the earth. She was the coffee shop’s first customer. She took her paper cup to the wharf, where she sipped while waiting for the water taxi that would take her into Raven’s Cove.

Her brain was numb, forming no thoughts beyond Get to Raven’s Cove . That had been the only imperative in her head for months. Even before April, when she’d been told her sister had passed unexpectedly in a small plane crash.

After that terrible news, Cloe’s urgency had intensified, fueled by urgent questions. What will happen to Tiffany’s baby? Who will look after Storm?

The baby is with family had been the message relayed through her lawyers. What family? Tiffany’s almost-husband, Wilf, had three grown sons. Had one of them taken guardianship? Which one?

The need for answers, and to see for herself that Storm was safe and well-cared for, had kept Cloe alive through the twists and delays in the court case. If she hadn’t been driven to survive for Storm, she might have given up entirely by now.

The water taxi growled into place against the wharf, releasing a handful of children wearing backpacks and babbling with excitement for whatever their day promised.

Cloe boarded and would have fallen asleep as the taxi rocked its way to Raven’s Cove, but the coffee and the rush of finally arriving had her sitting up with anticipation as she came into—

Is this it?

She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but definitely something grander. All she could see was a marina with a T-shaped wharf holding a variety of boats in their slips, some fishing boats, others for leisure.

On shore, there were a dozen houses peeking from the forest on the hills above the collection of commercial buildings. A pub on the left was dwarfed by a huge industrial building behind it that wore a sign declaring it Raven’s Cove Marina and Shipyard . Between that and the two lodges on the right stood what looked like the shortest strip mall in history. It held maybe three shops and what might be a couple of apartments above it.

As the taxi closed in on the wharf, the land rose too high to reveal anything except the pub’s patio, which jutted out to overlook the cove.

“Is this…it?” she asked the water taxi captain as she disembarked. Perhaps she’d been dropped off on the outskirts again. Please don’t make me walk another two miles .

“Sure is,” he said with a nod, as though he heard that a lot.

As she stepped onto the wharf, she hung back, letting the handful of fellow passengers go ahead while she shrugged into her backpack and brushed back her hoodie, trying to get her bearings.

Her ears were immediately accosted by the chill of her new pixie haircut. Along with so many other parts of her old life, she had also left behind the chemical blond she had saturated into her dark brown curls all these years. She wore no makeup, jewelry, or even a bra.

Slowly, she started toward the ramp, passing a man who was casting off a speedboat of some kind. She didn’t know boats. This one looked like a convertible sportscar with a low, angled, wraparound windshield and white seats in the bow.

The man straightened as she came even with him and she halted, stepping out of his way so they wouldn’t risk knocking each other into the water.

Oh, shit. He was Trystan Fraser .

A year and a half ago, Tiffany had sent her a link to a trailer for Never Alone with the text, I’m dating this guy’s dad!

The Never Alone series chronicled Trystan’s adventures and outdoor survival tips as he trekked into remote locations around the globe. He took only what he could carry, then documented how he was never really alone. There was always wildlife and insects and a thriving ecosystem around him.

Cloe had watched way too many hours of him talking intimately into the camera while she’d been in protective custody. That’s what really made her falter into speechlessness—awe at facing her celebrity crush.

He was taller than she had expected, familiar yet infinitely more handsome with his neatly trimmed dark hair and straight brows and strong bone structure beneath a naturally tanned complexion. He also radiated a dynamic self-confidence that was even more powerful in person than on screen. He was sexier , which was saying something because she lived for the handful of episodes where he took his shirt off.

While she stood there agog, mute and practically drooling, his gaze swept over her in a way that felt like male interest—which gave her a lurching yes-no response that swung wildly between invitation and rejection. He had a girlfriend, didn’t he?

He gave her a friendly nod and a self-deprecating smile that said, Yeah, I’m that guy from that show .

Oh God. She winced inwardly. He must get this fangirl reaction a lot. How mortifying.

“Are we leaving today or what?” another man asked, making her realize there were two men already in the boat.

Did they see how obvious she was behaving?

“Yeah.” Trystan moved around her and stepped aboard, using his foot to push the boat away from the wharf as he did. The engine was already rumbling. The boat motored into an arc away from the wharf.

Wait. Was that them ? All of Wilf Fraser’s sons? Which one had custody of Storm?

Cloe had glanced at their socials many times, hoping to spot her niece in one of their photos, so she recognized the man who remained on his feet at the helm. That was the eldest, Reid. The one who’d spoken was settling into the shotgun seat. He was Logan, the middle brother. Trystan settled behind the driver’s seat, facing backward.

He held her gaze another moment, until they were too far away for her to even call out to stop them.

She wanted to kick herself. Had she really just let them get away like that? She could have wept. What an idiot .

No crying , she scolded herself. She’d done enough of that, and it didn’t fix anything. She was tired and hungry. That was the problem.

She decided to treat herself to breakfast in the pub restaurant while she figured out her next move and took a table on the patio so she could watch for the men to return.

Over eggs and toast, she learned that yes, those had been the Fraser men heading to Bella Bella, where she’d just come from. Which figured. They hadn’t had a baby with them, though. Did that mean Storm was still here with someone? Her nanny, maybe?

“I was hoping to speak to one of them,” Cloe told the server when she brought her bill. “I don’t have a phone. Do you know where I could leave a message?”

“Go into the office. Take the stairs beside the hardware store or…” She pointed to a house on the bluff that overlooked the marina. “That’s where Reid and his wife live. Emma’s probably home with the baby. You could talk to her.”

Emma. That was the name of Tiff’s nanny. Cloe scraped the recesses of her mind for what Tiffany had said about her. She was from Australia, wasn’t she? No. New Zealand?

That didn’t matter. Cloe’s heart clutched with nervous excitement at how close she was to seeing Storm.

“Thank you.” She tipped as well as her dwindling cash would allow and left, shouldering her small backpack and making her way across the grassy verge where a couple of picnic tables overlooked the marina.

She was getting a better look at this place now that she was on foot. It was cute, but for someone who’d grown up in LA, it was mind-bogglingly small.

All the essentials seemed to be here, though. A licensed eatery, a hardware store, a grocery store that also served as post office and liquor store, a laundromat, and an espresso bar that also sold gifts, housewares, and ice cream.

She paused outside the grocery store to read the flyers on the corkboard, hoping to see a cheap room to rent. There was only an offer of free kittens and someone selling used tires.

As she reached the far side of what might be called a town square, she arrived at the two hotel lodges. One was utilitarian, but looked newly refurbished. The other was likely the one that Tiffany had regarded as the jewel that would draw a wealthier clientele to the cove. It was built of massive logs and tons of glass. Each room had a wide balcony that overlooked the water.

That building was the first thing that struck Cloe as pure Tiff. Her sister had longed to be someone who “did something.” She had wanted to be a boss—not the metaphorical kind. The kind who owned a company and hired people and was taken seriously. She had always been drawn to home décor and house flipping and everything high-end so all of this seemed right up her alley.

Cloe stepped inside long enough to learn from reception that even the rooms in the “old” lodge were priced sky-high. Also, they were booked out through October and, no, they didn’t need help in housekeeping at this time.

She tried not to let despondency get its claws into her. Dusk was hours away. Right now, her priority was to see Storm.

Her palms were sweating. Nerves chased her as she carried on to where the graveled forefront of the village forked into a lane on the left and a driveway on her right. The lane meandered toward sparsely placed farmhouses along the shoreline. The driveway rose to the top of a bluff where a tall split-level house overlooked the marina.

For a moment, she stood and took in how impossibly beautiful this place was.

She had lived in cities for so long, she had started to think that wilderness like this only existed on television. There were no honks and air brakes, no skyscrapers, no crowds. There was only the calls of birds and the distant drone of a boat engine and the steady wash of the tide pushing against the shore. The air smelled of salt and pine and earth and sunshine.

She removed her backpack so she could take off her hoodie and tie the sleeves around her waist. Then she warmed in the morning sun as she hooked her backpack on one shoulder and finished her climb up the drive.

Her feet began to feel as though they were encased in concrete, though, slowing her step. Reality was sinking in. Losing her sister was something she’d compartmentalized while she’d been living in the isolation of a shitty hotel room, but her lateness in getting here—four months after her sister had died—curdled the eggs she’d eaten.

Tiffany wasn’t here.

But her daughter was.

Swallowing the jagged lump from her throat only to have it lodge like broken glass in her chest, Cloe fisted her clammy hand and knocked.

“It’s open.” A woman’s voice carried through the screened window beside the door.

Hesitantly, Cloe turned the knob and poked her head in, keeping her feet on the stoop. “Hello?”

“Hello?” The speaker was drying her hands on a tea towel as she came to the wide archway between the living room and kitchen. She was a little older than Cloe, close to thirty, maybe. Her brown hair was bundled into a clip atop her head. She wore a green T-shirt and cutoff jeans. Her feet were bare.

“Sorry. I thought you would be—” The other woman shrugged off providing a name and gave Cloe a confused smile. “G’day. Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I’m, um…” Cloe wished she had found a way to shower and dress in fresh clothes, not that she possessed such a thing. Should she ask for Mrs. Fraser? “Are you the nanny, Emma?”

“Yes. Can I help you?” Wariness edged into her tone. She came to the door and took hold of it, subtly forcing Cloe to retreat on the stoop.

“Hi. I’m Tiffany’s sister, Cloe.” She tried to find a friendly smile, but too many emotions were accosting her, making her mouth feel numb and quivery. “Is Storm here? I was hoping to see her.”

Emma’s shock was unmistakable. Her jaw went slack, and her eyes bugged out. Her hand twitched as though she wanted to slam the door in Cloe’s face.

“She’s down for her nap right now.” Emma’s voice turned thin and high. “Why don’t you come in and sit down. Would you like something to drink?”

“Water would be great.” Her throat had become a desert. “Thank you.”

Cloe toed off her cheap, rubber-soled flats and left her bag by the door, then gratefully followed Emma into a beautiful kitchen with a granite island, modern cupboards, and stainless steel appliances. A breakfast table sat in a nook that overlooked the sun-dappled water. A pair of French doors stood open to the wide deck, allowing the fresh air to fill the house with the intoxicating smell of summer and beach.

“Wow.” Cloe couldn’t help stepping outside to appreciate the breathtaking view. “This is beautiful.”

“It is.” Emma came out and searched the water as she set the glass on a small table beside a lounger. “I’ll check on the baby. Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Cloe didn’t get a chance to ask where Mrs. Fraser was. She sank onto the lounger, relaxing because she hadn’t known how she would be received, but Emma was being really nice to her.

Finally, for the first time in way too long, something was going her way.