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

Chapter Four

“W hat,” Reid said when Trystan came back up the stairs three minutes later, “the actual fuck?”

“What?” Trystan played dumb as he took Storm, seeing as she was trying to launch herself out of Reid’s arms at him.

Reid hung his hands on his hips and tried to drill holes through him, staring with all his might.

Trystan did his best to keep his thoughts and reactions off his face. His conflict. Not because they were a family incapable of showing emotion—which they were. It was a tradition they observed like Christmas. And not because he feared Reid would mock him for having feelings, either.

No, it was the feelings themselves Trystan wasn’t ready to pick apart. The fierce attraction and sense of threat. Cloe was too small to pose any physical danger to him and seemingly too broke to make a challenge for custody of Storm. She struck him as reasonable. Earnest. Like she wanted to put Storm’s best interest above her own.

So he was trying to do the same. And he was struggling with it. Because want was sitting like hunger in his belly, but lower.

He ignored it and kept his focus on Storm, his expression impassive.

“It’s a couple of nights,” he said dismissively.

He didn’t have a savior complex. He wasn’t about to overturn his life for a woman, no matter how much his gut told him she could really use a hand. He was a decent person who helped out a stranger in need, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t let a woman take advantage of him. Not again.

Even so, he couldn’t shake how deeply her voice had pierced him when she’d said, She’s all the family I have left .

“We invited her for dinner,” Reid pointed out begrudgingly, as if he had been the one to issue that invitation. As though it was enough.

“Why did you do that, Em?” Trystan held out his hand, allowing Storm to bat hers against it while he lifted his brows at his sister-in-law, already knowing her answer.

“Honestly?” One side of her mouth pulled in a grimace. “I thought, What would Glenda do? ”

Glenda was Logan’s mother and the profoundly patient stepmother to the pair of them. She wasn’t a saint, but she had loved them every bit as much as she loved the son she’d made with their father. That relentless love of hers had made them see each other as family despite their animosity toward their father and his complex relationships with their mothers. Most importantly, she’d made them see their baby sister was their family and needed their protection and love.

“Shit.” Reid released a hissing breath toward the ceiling. Then he gave a heavy couple of nods. “Okay. You’re right.”

Storm copied his exaggerated nod, which was objectively hilarious, not that Reid or Emma noticed. They were sharing a look of reckoning.

“You’re really okay with her sticking around?” Reid asked Em.

“Unless something comes up that makes her unfit to be around Storm, we have to be as open as possible.” She was hiding her face by stacking the dishwasher, burying her voice in her own chest. “Storm deserves to know her.”

Storm did know her. These days, she wasn’t above playing shy with Trystan when he came back from being away most of the week, but she had gone to a complete stranger as though she recognized Cloe as one of her own.

Which was costing Em. There was tension across her cheeks. Concern pulled her brow.

Reid’s mouth was flat and pensive. “I agree she’s entitled to reasonable access, but what does that look like? Where the hell did Logan go?” He looked impatiently toward the powder room. “Every time we need a family discussion, he vanishes.”

“I scared him off, asking about Sophie.” Emma peeked upward. “What is going on with them?”

“Tune in next week,” Trystan said in his best voice-over. “When Logan fucks up his love life in a fresh and unexpected way.”

“Sophie won’t put up with that.” Emma shook her head.

“Neither will I,” Trystan assured her.

“Would you two focus?” Reid said with exasperation. “New rule. Gossip happens when we’re off the clock. I’ve already lost half my day to our run across the water. Now this?” He waved toward the stairs to the basement, where he’d left Cloe.

“I’m not on the clock. It’s my day off,” Trystan pointed out in the ultra-reasonable tone that he knew would get under Reid’s skin. It was puerile, more Logan’s MO than his own, but he was feeling prickly. All his pent-up tension wanted to scrap, even if it was only verbally.

“Fine.” Reid tried to stare him down. “You two sit here and paint each other’s nails. I have a company to run, a sale to midwife through government bureaucracy, and a wife who needs immigration papers. Plus, an adoption application to file.”

“And your mom,” Emma noted with a crinkle of her nose. “She called this morning as soon as you left. I didn’t say anything about the sale, don’t worry.” She held up a hand. “We had a nice chat, actually. She was asking if you’re planning to visit soon. She’d like to see both of us. I said I’d have you call her back tonight.”

“Yeah, she’s used to seeing me over the long weekend in August.” Reid ran his hand down his face, then asked her, “Would you like to come?”

“I would. I think she’d be hurt if I didn’t, but…” She looked at Storm.

Miriam was still coming to terms with her son raising her ex-husband’s baby. She was taking to Emma, but she would need more time before she welcomed Storm to any family dinners.

“Logan and I can figure something out,” Trystan said. “Book whatever works.”

“Great. Can you and Logan also work out what to do with…” Reid waved toward the stairs again. “I don’t have the bandwidth.”

“Sure.”

“She can’t stay here,” Reid added, sending a look to Emma that was both protective and defensive. “I know that sounds petty, but we don’t know her or what she’s capable of.”

“I get it.”

“It’s not fair to ask Sophie to take her. They’ve just lost Art,” Emma said, brow wrinkled in concern.

Logan and Sophie were also banging like newlyweds. Trystan wouldn’t subject anyone to that.

“I’ll figure it out,” Trystan promised.

“How?” Reid asked him.

“Are you serious?” Trystan understood why Reid hated for anything to be less than predictable. His mother had been a lot when he’d been a child. He’d been way too young to be tasked with handling her mood swings, but this was their childhood dynamic in a nutshell. Reid would tell him or Logan to do something, then jump right on the task himself, worried they would do it wrong.

“You don’t have the bandwidth,” Trystan reminded him. “I’ll figure it out.”

Reid gave him a scowl of frustration at having his own words thrown back at him. “Maybe she’ll leave by Wednesday. If she needs money for the ferry—”

“Yeah. I know.” Jesus Christ.

The subtle hum of water running through pipes shut off, indicating Cloe was finishing her shower. Don’t think about it . But Trystan’s lizard brain couldn’t resist conjuring an image of her compact figure with sparkling water droplets trailing down her dark gold skin.

“I should get back to work.” Reid frowned with concern at Emma.

She might be doing what she thought was right, but there were shadows in her eyes. She needed a breather.

“Storm will need her nap soon,” Trystan noted, still rassling the little seabass. She was squiggling and flopping, tiny fingers clutching into his shirt as she tried to climb every direction. “I’ll take Cloe to the Storm Ridge until dinner, feel her out on her plans.”

Did he accidentally say, Feel her up ? Shut up, libido.

“Thank you.” Emma’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“Here. Snuggle Em,” he told Storm, suspecting Em could use a dose of baby love.

The second he offered her to Em, Storm went straight to her, cuddling into her and resting her head on Emma’s shoulder.

Trystan left Reid smooching his wife and went down to the basement to wait for Cloe.

*

It felt good to wash away the dullness of travel, even if it was with men’s body wash that smelled of cedar and spice. While she did, fresh salt tracked down her cheeks.

Cloe stifled her sobs, but otherwise released all the rigid, single-minded urgency that had carried her here. Storm wasn’t withering from neglect in a Victorian orphanage. She was safe and happy and loved.

If she hadn’t been in a good place, what could Cloe have done, though? She leaned weakly against the tiles, hating herself for being so inadequate. So lost . Not just beyond the place that she knew but defeated. Hopeless.

Now that she didn’t have to worry about Storm, she had to turn her attention onto herself, and it scared the hell out of her. A whole new mountain arrived in front of her, one that seemed even more impossible to climb than the journey to get here had been.

Some of this overwhelm was grief. She knew that. She was standing in the house where her sister had last been alive. Tiff had probably chosen these pretty fish scale tiles with their gold speckles on green. She had made her own coffee in the kitchen upstairs and sipped it while looking out at the water, wondering when Cloe would arrive.

Too late, too late .

Cloe covered where her chest ached as though her breastbone had been fractured, trying not to resent how this house was full of strangers who didn’t want her. She had to find a way to be with her niece and not impose on them, but Raven’s Cove wasn’t a town. It was barely a village. She was afraid to count her money because she already knew how little she had left. Where would she go? What would she do ?

She made herself turn off the shower, hoping it would turn off her tears. She had already lingered under the spray a lot longer than she would dare spend back in California.

As she reached for a towel and buried her face in it, she began to form hazy thoughts. She could ask around on the boats. Deck swabbing was a thing, wasn’t it? Would Trystan let her borrow a tent? He must have one kicking around. Would that look too desperate?

If it did, did she care?

Not really. Of the many things she could no longer afford, pride was one of them.

She dried off with the soft towel that smelled vaguely of baby powder, but she only had the one change of clothes. They were no fresher than the ones she’d been wearing, but she changed into her yellow T-shirt and denim shorts. Her face looked dewy and clean, but her eyelids were puffy and red. Hopefully, no one would notice.

She faltered when she came out of the bathroom and found Trystan standing at the chest freezer, using the top as a table while he folded towels and Storm’s clothes.

“Have you been out here the whole time?” she asked, horrified he might have heard her crying.

“No. I was upstairs with Reid and Emma, but Storm is going down for her nap and Reid is heading back to work. I have things to do on the Storm Ridge so I thought you could come with me and relax until dinner. Did you leave anything upstairs?”

“No, this is everything I have.” She shouldered her small backpack and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

He folded the last sleeper and left it in the basket, then opened the downstairs door out to the carport. There was no vehicle in the space, but she didn’t suppose they needed one, seeing as they worked at the bottom of their driveway.

“If this is an excuse to get me out of the house, and I’m not allowed to go back, just tell me,” Cloe said, unable to put herself through the suspense, even though she wasn’t ready to hear such a blunt truth.

“Em invited you to dinner,” Trystan reminded her. “But she needs a little time to wrap her head around your being here.”

Fair.

“I could tell you’re all pretty appalled that I’m here.” She accidentally kicked a rock and stumbled.

“Okay?” He put out a hand but didn’t touch her. “You’re tired?”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

“You did take us by surprise,” Trystan admitted. “Reid doesn’t care for surprises. At all.” There was a pithy dryness in his tone. “So don’t take it personally. Em has a huge heart, but she won’t feel secure as Storm’s mom until she’s got her permanent residency and an adoption certificate in her hand.”

Cloe tried not to reveal how devastated she was by their collective will to hand her sister’s baby to someone who, sure, seemed nice and loving, but wasn’t her sister .

“We all want what’s best for Storm, though. That means welcoming her family into her life.”

She might have been more inclined to believe that if he didn’t look so much like he was making himself say it.

None of them liked her, but the fact that he didn’t like her bothered her. A lot. Merely walking beside him caused the pressure in her lungs to increase. He was too tall and confident and smooth. Not in the way of a ladies’ man, but in the way of an athlete. He walked with casual grace and seemed both alert and nonchalant. He was masculine in all the most sexy and potent ways.

He was a demigod who wasn’t afraid of spiders or snakes. He had transported her to wild, beautiful places and soothed her with the smooth timbre of his voice.

Her nervousness at being alone with him began to expand. Not that she feared he would attack her. No, she was growing anxious because she already had few defenses around him. In her mind, he was a loving, guiding friend who had convinced her she could survive in the wilderness with a sharp knife and a length of string, if she had to.

Ironically, here in the “real” world, she wasn’t so sure. She felt clumsy and burdensome and had this aggravating desire for him to approve of her.

Don’t. Just don’t , she scolded herself.

She was still looking for someone to take care of her, was the issue. Her mother had only managed to parent in fits and spurts, not in the steady way a child needed. Cloe’s brief stint with a foster family had met her basic needs, but in a very matter-of-fact and impersonal manner. At college, she had formed a loose network of fellow students, but they’d all moved on very quickly.

The closest Cloe had come to a state of genuine self-dependence was when she had started working at the car dealership. She had still needed roommates and Tiffany had covered half her student loan repayment, but she’d been making progress into adulthood.

Then Ivan had come along and made her feel cosseted. She had let him look after her and that had turned into law enforcement becoming her nanny.

Somehow, she had to get on her feet. She needed to meet her own needs, financially and emotionally.

A wicked voice whispered, What about sexually?

Don’t .

“Hey, Trys,” a man called from the patio of the pub as they passed below it. “If you were dropping a line this weekend, where would you do it?”

Trystan halted. “First of all, does Reid know you’re getting a day off? Are you looking for somewhere he won’t spot you?”

“Heh. Yeah, he knows. My wife is bringing the kids. Hi.” He nodded at Cloe.

“Hi.” She gave him a hesitant smile.

“This is Cloe, Tiffany’s sister. She’s here to visit Storm. Braiden is one of the journeymen who’s been working on the lodge upgrades,” Trystan explained.

“I’m really sorry for your loss.” Braiden touched the bill of his ball cap, looking sincere. “Your sister hired me. She was always full of ideas and making us laugh.”

“Thanks.” Cloe tried to swallow the lump that arrived in her throat.

“This time of year, I’d try one of the inlets off Spooner,” Trystan said, steering the conversation back to its purpose. “Maybe hike over to Smuggler’s Cove if you’re on foot.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Wear the kids out with a long walk, then leave them in the room with pizza and a movie while we come for dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan. Have fun.” Trystan turned to the ramp down to the wharf.

Cloe gave a small smile and wave then followed Trystan.

“I hope you don’t mind my introducing you like that,” Trystan said over his shoulder. “It’s better to tell people up front who you are, otherwise they’re making up the wrong reasons for me bringing you aboard the Storm Ridge . When it comes to gossip, this place is a hotbed in every sense of the word.”

“It’s fine,” she murmured, growing even more self-conscious of her attraction toward him.

Trystan led her to the cross of the T, turning away from the leg where the water taxi had been this morning and down the other one.

She glanced at a low, sleek sailboat and a fishing boat of some kind, then almost walked into him when he stopped in front of a behemoth that looked like a three-story building.

Before she could make her slack jaw ask him if this was it, she read the name Storm Ridge scrolled on its bow.

“I thought it would be that boat you were using this morning. This is…a cruise ship, isn’t it?” It was as long as two busses and seemed to have three floors. “Is that a rooftop patio?”

“With a disco ball and everything,” he said in what she hoped was a joke. “Thanks for reminding me. I have to refuel the bowrider we borrowed this morning.” He unclipped a crosspiece on the rail and lifted it, then casually grasped the bar that was still fixed. He took one long step up into the gap. He turned back to look down on her. “Do you need the steps or…?” He bent to offer his hand.

The deck was three feet above where she stood, but she reflexively started to grasp his hand. He slid his grip past her palm and closed his firm hand behind her elbow. As she put her foot where he had, he straightened.

She kind of flew upward and staggered to find her balance beside him while the deck bobbed slightly beneath her feet.

“All right?” He kept his hand on her elbow until she caught a nearby handhold and nodded.

The truth was, she was mostly bowled over by being so close to him and his casual strength and open collar and his blade-sharp profile as he released her and stepped to the door.

“Do you know Storm’s birthday?” he asked.

“October twenty-ninth.”

“Then you know how to get in.” He punched the numbers into the keypad and opened the door. As he stepped inside, he paused to secure the door open so the breeze drifted in to freshen the interior.

“Oh. Wow.” Cloe was agape as she entered. She had never seen anything like this outside of movies. “You live here? This is, like, your house?”

“No.” His tone dismissed that as laughable. “Tiffany bought two of these to offer whale-watching tours. I run the Wednesday departure. The other one leaves on Sundays. This is the main saloon and galley.”

Cloe took in the living room and the island that separated it from the kitchen. It was very roomy and luxurious, considering the limited space. There was a built-in sectional facing a big-screen TV, a dining nook with bench seating all around it, and the appliances were stainless steel. In one corner, a curved staircase led to that mysterious top floor.

“Staterooms for the guests are below.” He pointed to stairs that descended beneath windows that looked over the bow. A pair of armchairs faced a bank of screens that she presumed were for navigation, not video games. “The crew cabins are in the stern.”

He took her into a stairwell and, without moving, pivoted to open the three doors, one at a time.

“This is my cabin.” It held a twin bunk with a flannel shirt tossed across its foot. Two drawers were built in beneath it. There was a tiny desk with a mirror above it, a small square window, and a door at the foot of his bed that seemed to lead to an outer deck.

“My room is the emergency exit onto the stern. Staff share this head.” He closed his door and pivoted to open the adjacent one, revealing what looked like a shower stall with a toilet and sink inside it. The third door revealed another cabin. “My first mate and steward sleep in here. They both live in Bella Bella so I pick them up with any passengers who aren’t already on board. Take whichever bed you like. Those sheets are clean.” He pointed at the folded bedding on the top bunk.

This cabin was similar to his, but the beds were singles and installed at an angle so the person in the lower bunk didn’t bash their head when they sat up. There was no door leading outside from this room and the curtain over the window was closed.

“Look around while I run the bowrider over to the fuel station. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. There’s not much. I haven’t picked up the grocery order yet.”

“You’re not afraid I’ll steal your fancy boat?” She was still feeling the weight of suspicion.

“Do you want to be keel-hauled for piracy?” He kept a completely straight face.

“I presumed the punishment was walking a plank.” She managed an equally sober expression, even though she was so relieved at his joking with her, she had to fight not to laugh.

“The plank is for mutiny.” He shook his head at her ignorance. “There’s a handbook of marine law in the library. Maybe bone up before you head out on your joy ride.” He walked out, leaving her with her hand rising to cover her fluttering heart.

Was there a library? It was probably between the tanning salon and the indoor pool.

Curious, she left her bag on the bottom bunk and moved back to the saloon in time to see Trystan’s long strides taking him up the wharf without looking back.

She slipped downstairs for a peek and it was another big “Wow.”

There was a very fancy cabin in the bow with a queen-size bed that had built-in cabinetry all around it. It was surrounded by a V of windows that let in plenty of light. The bathroom—head—held a separate shower stall and a sink with a proper vanity plus tons of drawers and cupboards for storage.

There were four more cabins down here, two with stacked single bunks and two with queen beds, each with their own head.

Since she was here and desperate to ingratiate herself, Cloe made up the beds. She had worked in nearly every kind of minimum-wage job through high school including housekeeping so she got it done quickly. She even popped up to the top deck long enough to see that it wasn’t a nightclub or a penthouse apartment. It was what she presumed was the main cockpit or bridge. It had another armchair facing another set of instruments along with a snug built-in dining area behind it. The windows had a view in every direction.

Slipping back to her cabin, she made up the two bunks then lay down on the lower one to see whether it would be comfortable.

Yeah. That’s what she was doing. She wasn’t collapsing in mental and physical exhaustion.

God this was comfortable. She exhaled a breath that she had been holding for months. Years, even. Her whole body sagged. She could almost feel the sway of the boat. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she told herself she would only lie here a minute, then she would get up and help Trystan…