Sea Glass Cottage (A Hope Harbor Novel Book #8)

A Hope Harbor Novel

Irene Hannon

• Publisher: Revell
• Year: 2022
• eBook ISBN:
  9781493434145
• Print ISBN:
  9780800736163

When painful pasts collide, can love overcome heartache and triumph despite the odds?

Christi Reece is desperate. The one-time golden girl's life has tarnished, and a cascade of setbacks has left her reeling. She needs help, and she's certain Jack Colby is in a position to provide it.

When she shows up in Hope Harbor, however, Jack wants nothing to do with the woman who betrayed him. He's built a new life on the Oregon coast, and there's no room in it for Christi, even after she takes refuge in a charming but mysterious cottage nearby. Yet it soon becomes apparent his opinion of her may need revising . . . especially when he ends up needing her help.

Can these two hurting souls open their hearts to a new beginning?

Come home to Hope Harbor--where hearts heal . . . and love blooms.

1

Asking for help from a man who hated you was hard.

Really hard.

But she was out of options.

Jack Colby was her last resort.

Despite the cool Oregon breeze tripping along Dockside Drive, a bead of sweat trickled down Christi Reece’s temple as Jack completed his purchase at the stand on the wharf. Prying one white-knuckled hand off the steering wheel, she inhaled a lungful of the briny Hope Harbor air and swiped away the external evidence of her nervousness. Thankfully she alone was privy to the pretzel twist in her stomach and the erratic lurch of her heart.

A savory aroma wafted toward her from the white truck that had been Jack’s destination on this sunny end-of-April afternoon, setting off a rumble in her stomach. But eating was low priority—even if her last meal hours ago had consisted of a stale bagel and gas station coffee.

The man she’d driven thirty-plus hours to see lingered to exchange a few words with the cook, who adjusted the baseball cap over his long gray ponytail as the two shared a laugh.

Still smiling, Jack lifted a hand in farewell, picked up the brown bag containing his order, and strolled her direction.

Unless time had softened his heart, however, he wouldn’t be smiling for long.

Pulse pounding, Christi fumbled with the handle on the older-model Nissan that had carried her more than two thousand miles. Pushed the door open. Swung her shaky legs to the pavement, praying they wouldn’t fold.

Jack gave her a casual glance as she slid from behind the wheel and stood. The kind you bestowed on a stranger who happened to catch your momentary attention.

No hint of recognition flickered in his eyes.

A twinge of disappointment nipped at her—but that was foolish. Eleven years had passed. Her once-long hair had been cropped to shoulder length, and she didn’t lighten the dark blond hue anymore. Oversized sunglasses hid most of her face. And life had taken a toll. The frothy twenty-year-old college student he’d known—and loved—was long gone.

Jack’s pace slowed, as if he’d realized there was more to this encounter than chance.

Her cue to move forward.

Squeezing her fingers into tight fists, she approached him. Unlike her, he’d benefitted from the passage of time. The handsome twenty-three-year-old who’d brightened that carefree summer had filled out. Matured. Acquired an intriguing aura of worldliness that enhanced the considerable appeal she’d once found difficult to resist.

Christi stopped a few feet away and tried to fill her uncooperative lungs. “Hello, Jack.” The greeting came out a bit husky, thanks to the tail end of the cold she’d been fighting for the past week.

His smile evaporated, and a pair of crevices creased his brow. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

Still no glimmer of recognition.

“It’s been a while.” She drew a shaky breath and removed her sunglasses. “Christi Reece.”

As the name of the woman who’d once stolen his heart—then trampled on it—reverberated in the quiet, peaceful air of the town he now called home, Jack’s lungs locked.

Christi Reece, here?

Impossible.

Yet as he scrutinized her, reality smacked him in the face. Her hair was shorter and not as blond, and a decade of living had snuffed some of the youthful glow from her complexion, added a smudge of shadow beneath her lush lower lashes. But the brilliant cornflower blue of her eyes remained undimmed, and those full lips that had caressed his with eager abandon looked as soft as ever despite a slight droop at the corners.

It was her, even if her voice was deeper than he remembered.

His stomach bottomed out, and he swallowed past the sudden bitter taste in his mouth.

Why, after all these years, had she invaded his turf? Tainted the new life he’d created far from his Midwest roots? Resurrected the memories he’d banished of the day his world had crumbled?

He gritted his teeth, his appetite vanishing despite the savory aroma of Charley’s tacos wafting up from the bag clenched in his fingers.

“What are you doing here?” If the question came out harsher and more resentful than he intended, so be it. The sentiment was spot-on.

She tucked a lank strand of hair behind one ear. “I came to see you. To t-talk to you.”

He frowned at the subtle stammer. Christi Reece, nervous?

Major disconnect.

With her wealth and privileged upbringing, she’d always possessed an overabundance of confidence and composure. What was going on?

But curiosity wasn’t sufficient motive to extend this conversation or probe for particulars.

“I have nothing to say to you.” He pulled out his shades, slid them on, and prepared to make a fast exit.

As if sensing his intent, she took a step closer, palms extended in a placating gesture. “Look, I know I hurt you. I know what I did was wrong. Worse than wrong. It was unconscionable. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t regretted my behavior. If I could fix the damage, I would.”

He steeled himself against the trace of tears in her voice. “What happened between us is ancient history. If you came here for closure, consider it done.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

“Wait! Please!”

Please?

He faltered midstride.

That word hadn’t been in her vocabulary eleven years ago. Christi Reece had known how to cajole and sweet-talk her way into getting whatever she wanted, but she’d never resorted to pleading.

Keep walking, Colby. You know she’s a master manipulator. Don’t be fooled again.

He resumed his retreat.

“Please, Jack. I need help, and I-I don’t have anywhere else to t-turn.”

He hesitated again—and bit back a term that would have shocked his mother.

How could this woman who’d used him and hurt him still have the power to get under his skin?

But he’d always been a sucker for people in trouble—especially desperate ones.

And Christi sounded desperate.

Bracing, he slowly angled back.

Big mistake.

She’d followed him, stopping touching distance away. A brimming tear was poised to spill down her cheek.

A knot formed in his gut, and he took a quick step back.

Didn’t help.

Seeing this once-poised, self-assured woman reduced to tears activated a potent—and unwanted—protective instinct.

“What kind of help?” He shifted into the intimidating, wide-legged stance that served him well as a cop, shoring up his resolve to keep his distance.

“I need money. A loan. I’ll pay it back as fast as I can. With interest.”

Silence fell between them as he tried to process her request. Failed.

Why would a woman from her wealthy background need money?

“You’ll have to explain that to me.”

“I just did. I need money.”

“Why don’t you ask your father?”

Her throat worked. “He died six years ago.”

Hard as he tried to quash it, a brief surge of sympathy swept over him. Losing her father would have been tough. Hard-nosed and snooty as the man had been, he’d doted on Christi. They’d been as tight as father and daughter could be. As she’d told him during that golden summer, it had been the two of them against the world after her mother died when she was ten.

Good as David Reece’s intentions may have been, however, giving his daughter everything she wanted had been a mistake. All he’d done was create a spoiled little rich girl—and a spoiled big rich girl.

Water under the bridge now. What was done was done.

But in light of her father’s generosity to his only offspring, why was she having money problems? As his sole heir, she should have inherited his estate.

“Are you telling me your father didn’t leave you well fixed?”

She moistened her lips. “His businesses weren’t as successful near the end.”

He cocked his head. “As I recall, you had a penchant for designer clothes, first-class trips to Europe, and high-end resorts. Did you squander the inheritance?”

A shaft of pain darted through her eyes, and she dropped her gaze. Picked at a piece of lint on her jacket. “No.”

“Then why do you need money?”

“Like I said, he didn’t leave me as much as you may think.”

“But he left you what he had.”

“Yes.”

“What happened to the money?”

“It’s a long story.”

And not one she intended to share.

Message received.

He switched gears. “Why come to me of all people?” He at least deserved an answer to that question.

She watched two seagulls flutter down and snuggle up together ten feet away. “Because you cared for me, once.”

He wasn’t going to fall for the hint of wistfulness in her inflection that suggested she’d harbored feelings for him too, back then. He knew better.

“Like I said, that’s ancient history. Over and forgotten.” He used his most dismissive tone.

She searched his face, her voice soft but certain as she responded. “If that were true, you wouldn’t still be angry with me.”

Checkmate.

But no way was he going to admit she had the power to rouse emotions in him—of any kind—after more than a decade.

“I’m not angry.” Liar, liar. “But I am in a hurry.” Also not true. His night shift didn’t start for hours. “How much money are you talking about?” Not that it mattered. Of course he wasn’t giving her a loan. But refocusing the conversation on her request would deflect attention away from the sudden, simmering anger she’d detected. Anger he thought he’d long ago put to rest.

She transferred her weight from one foot to the other and gave him the amount.

Not paltry—but not a fortune either. Well under six figures. Less than the amount her father had dropped on her each year as he indulged her every whim.

Strange how their situations had reversed. He could write a check for that total and never miss it.

But she didn’t know that.

Or did she?

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s a chunk of change. What makes you think I have that kind of money?”

“I saw your debut book in the library two weeks ago, on the bestseller rack.” Her gaze didn’t waver, suggesting she was telling the truth. “I picked it up because the title intrigued me, and when I flipped it over, I saw your photo on the back. The name didn’t match, but I knew it was you. I remembered you telling me you wanted to write a book someday. Finding it on that shelf was like a sign from above. An answer to my prayers for guidance.”

He didn’t attempt to hide his skepticism. “Since when did you get religion?”

“I’ve learned a few things through the years.”

“Like what?...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Endorsements
• Hope Harbor
• Downtown Hope Harbor
• Half Title Page
• Books by Irene Hannon
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3
• Chapter 4
• Chapter 5
• Chapter 6
• Chapter 7
• Chapter 8
• Chapter 9
• Chapter 10
• Chapter 11
• Chapter 12
• Chapter 13
• Chapter 14
• Chapter 15
• Chapter 16
• Chapter 17
• Chapter 18
• Chapter 19
• Chapter 20
• Chapter 21
• Chapter 22
• Chapter 23
• Chapter 24
• Chapter 25
• Chapter 26
• Chapter 27
• Chapter 28
• Epilogue
• Sneak Peek of the Triple Threat Series Conclusion
• Author’s Note
• About the Author
• Back Ads
• Back Cover