Author: Robyn Carr

He shot a note off to his sister Rochelle and told her this was a pretty cool place, in fact. He had no idea what to do with it, though. Dry camping in the fifth wheel was not exactly convenient—he had to find a trailer park, dump the lav and reload potable water every few days. But he could at least run off the bar’s power and not his battery. He hadn’t told anyone in his family the extent to which he was tied to all this—he didn’t want any advice. His family, especially his sisters, was very good at telling him what he should do.

He saw the dog again, but not with the girl this time. A young man or boy was with him, throwing a ball for the dog as he walked. Husband? he wondered.

Then he saw the guy trying to give the kids on the beach a wide berth, walking all the way down to the surf to get by them without contact. The guys, six of them, two in wet suits, made a line across his path. The dog walker went the other way, headed inland for the hill, calling the dog to follow. The teenage boys reversed their position, blocking him again. The dog, half as big as a human, cowered behind his master.

Cooper, who had been in way too much trouble for fighting when he was younger, could see the fight brewing. He knew what was coming, and it was six on one. Then the guy who must be the ringleader shoved the loner. The loner stood taller; his shoulders widened a little, ready. The ringleader was seriously talking him down, leaning into him, verbally assaulting him. Then he shoved him again and the loner put his fists up.

“Not gonna happen, assholes,” Cooper said aloud to no one. He put down the laptop. Then he stood, put two fingers in his mouth and rent the air with a deafening whistle.

They all turned to see him standing on the deck of the now-defunct bait shop. His legs were braced apart, hands on his hips, and he watched. He hated bullies. He was ready to leap over the deck rail and barrel down to the beach to stand up for this guy, even though the guy, the loner, might be the problem. It didn’t matter if the loner had done something terrible, you don’t do that—you don’t attack someone in a fight that isn’t fair and balanced.

The teens watched him; he watched the teens.

Then the barricade wisely separated and the loner passed, headed for Cooper’s dock.

He wasn’t headed for Cooper. He went to the bottom of the steps that led up to the bar and sat. From there he threw the ball for the dog. Cooper let this go for about five minutes, then he descended to meet the guy. A very cranky-looking teenager looked up at him and said, “Thanks for that. I guess.”

“You guess? Would you rather I just watch them beat you up?”

“They probably wouldn’t have.” He looked back down to accept the Great Dane’s ball and throw it again.

“Probably wouldn’t have?” Cooper asked.

The kid shrugged.

“Have a little disagreement with your friends?”

The kid looked up and laughed. “Dude, they are not my friends!”

“Who are they, then?”

“Teammates. And that’s all.”

Cooper took another two steps down and sat on a step even with the kid. “You throw the last game or something?”

The kid gave him a very impatient look. He held on to the ball, all slimy with dog spit. The dog sat and panted happily, full of expectation. “You wouldn’t understand,” the kid said, finally throwing the ball.

“Wanna try me?”

The kid shot him an angry look. All defensive, hurt, full of impotent rage, and Cooper thought, Holy shit—that’s me! About twenty years ago or so...

“I’m the new kid,” he said. “Just moved here. Just in time for football, which was my fatal mistake. I wasn’t supposed to get on the team, much less make touchdowns. The asshole on the beach, he’s a senior. Team captain. He was counting on three things this year—being all-conference, being homecoming king and getting laid by every cheerleader in Coos County.”

Cooper had a strange reaction to that. First of all, being the new kid felt all too familiar to him. Getting in fights, though long ago, was fiercely memorable. Homecoming king—not Cooper! And cheerleaders? When he was in high school, he hadn’t been lucky enough to even date one, let alone anything more. He thought about Mac’s daughter, whom he’d met when he’d had dinner with the McCains a few nights ago. Eve was a lovely, virginal, delightful sixteen-year-old cheerleader who no one should be allowed to touch. Just to be ornery, he asked, “How many of those things are you going to rack up?”

The kid looked at him incredulously. “Seriously? Like I could ever get all-conference or get a date. Come on.”

“The kid who shoved you—who is he?”

A bitter laugh. “Jag Morrison. Crown prince of Thunder Point. And yes, that’s short for Jaguar, if you can believe anyone would name their kid that.”

“Shew,” Cooper said, shaking his head.

“Yeah.”

Cooper let that settle a little bit. Obviously there was some very bad blood there. It could be about anything—about this kid being a better ball player, about a girl, about anything. Finally Cooper asked, “Your dog have a name, kid?”

He laughed without humor. “Are you ready for it? Hamlet. It’s Danish.”

“You could use a tougher dog.”

“Tell me about it,” he said.

“How about you? Name?”

“How about you?” he shot back.

“Sorry,” he said, putting out his hand. “Hank Cooper. People just call me Cooper.”

The kid relaxed a little. “Landon Dupre.” He shot a glance at the teenagers on the beach, who were not going anywhere. It occurred to Cooper that they were looking for a second chance at bullying and intimidating Landon.

“Nice to meet you, Landon. So, what do your parents have to say about this new-kid issue you’ve got going on?”

“I don’t have parents.”

“Ah. So who do you report to?”

“Report to?” he mimicked with a mean laugh. “Gimme a break.”

“Look, I’m trying to figure out, in the nicest possible way, if your parents back you up, if you’re a street urchin, in foster care or just plain contrary.”

“I live with my sister,” he said. His voice dropped, as did his chin. It was either a measure of respect or misery.

“Ah, the girl in the red slicker.”

Landon looked up at him. “You know her?”

“I know the dog—she’s had him out on the beach a couple of times. He’s hard to miss, big as a horse.”

“And dumb as a stump.”

“Now, you shouldn’t put him down like that,” Cooper said. “You might damage his self-esteem.” Then grinned at the kid. “Why’d you get him?”

“My sister got him for me. He was a rescue—his owner had to deploy. It was her idea of some kind of consolation prize because she moved me right before my best season ever.”

The dog was back, dropping the ball, sitting expectantly, saliva running out of his jowls. “Hamlet, here, he has a drooling issue.”

“It’s horrible. I don’t know what was wrong with a good old German shepherd.”

Cooper laughed in spite of himself, happy he was not this kid’s guardian. “Why’d you move here?”

“Divorce.”

“You’re divorced?” Cooper asked facetiously.

Landon’s head snapped around at Cooper and, seeing his smile, melted a little bit. “She got divorced, couldn’t afford so much house, wanted a smaller town so she could keep track of me better—which I so appreciate, if you can understand. And she didn’t enjoy running into the ex. Now I get that, but really, do we have to move to Podunk, Oregon, where the natives just want to kick the shit out of me every day? Seriously?”

“Have you told her?” Cooper asked. He almost looked over his shoulder to see who was talking. This was the weirdest interaction he’d ever had. He sounded like his father.

The kid’s chin dropped again. “I’m not hiding behind my sister, dude. Besides, she’s got her own troubles.”

Cooper, who had big sisters, absolutely got that. But all he said was, “Is this ‘dude’ thing almost over? Calling everyone dude? I never caught on to that....”

“Well, dude, you might wanna catch up.”

“Or you might,” he said. “So, anyone back you up? I mean, anyone? Teachers? Ministers? Corrections officers?”

“Funny. You’re a real comedian.”

“I am, huh. But I’m serious, everyone needs a wingman. I got in fights when I was your age. I don’t know what it was about me....”

“Want a second opinion?” he said.

Cooper laughed at his sarcasm. “Okay, never mind. I think I’m catching on.”

“Ben,” Landon said. “Ben was my friend.”

Stunned, Cooper was silent. Then he put a hand on Landon’s shoulder. “He was my friend, too. I’m sorry, man.”

“Yeah. Well. Whatever happened? It shouldn’t have.”

He gathered strays, Cooper thought. He gave Rawley work, protected Landon and made sure Gina’s Jeep was running. Who knew how many others he helped? He protected the birds and fish. He had a lot of friends and no real friends. He took care of the town in his way, keeping this little piece of beach safe.

Five

The weather turned stormy not long after Landon finally made his escape across the beach to the town. The bait shop could get pretty lonely during a storm. Cooper guessed that with the wet Oregon weather, there were plenty of nights like this. So he showered in the trailer, then took the truck the short way into town, across the beach, and decided it was time to hit Cliffhanger’s for a meal.

It wasn’t crowded, which came as no surprise. He had watched the fishing boats come in before the rain clouds and the last of the sunlight left the bay, and he supposed those guys were happy to be home, eating a hot meal in front of a warm fire. There was a large hearth in the restaurant that could be seen in the bar and it made him think of Jack’s place in Virgin River. A lot could be done to that old bait shop of Ben’s to make it a cozier hangout—like a fireplace, for starters, he thought. Then he told himself to stop it—no matter what some piece of paper said, he really had no stake in it. He was only going through the motions for Ben’s sake. For some reason, his old friend trusted him.

He hadn’t expected to see a familiar face in the restaurant, so he was pleasantly surprised when he realized Mac was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer and talking to the bartender. He wasn’t dressed for duty tonight. Cooper approached and said, “Hey, Deputy.”

“Cooper,” he said, putting out his hand. “What brings you out on such a wet night?”

“Food,” he said, sitting up at the bar.

“Cliff, bring my friend Cooper a beer.”

“Cliff?” Cooper repeated with a short laugh. “That’s convenient.”

“Yeah, right,” the guy said. “What’s your pleasure?”

“Draft,” Cooper said. “This must be your place, Cliff.”

“Must be. Menu?”

“Thanks.”

“Just get the grouper,” Mac said.

Cooper peered at him. “And how do I want that done?”

“He’ll have the grouper. Just trust me. So, what’s happening on the other side of the beach?”

“Got most of the smell out, went through most of Ben’s things, donated, threw away stuff, you know. It’s not functional. Ben was working on that septic system way back when I was waiting for him to meet me in California. I guess he never quite got it fixed,” Cooper said.

“So, what next?”

Cooper drank some beer. “I don’t know. I’m thinking. I pulled down part of a wall—I don’t know if there’s mold or rot. Maybe it needs to be leveled. I don’t know.”