That Thing Called Love

to

the brilliant Robin Franzen, R.N., who allowed me to have my chicken pox and excuse it, too.

Contents

PROLOGUE (#u6bcd7659-a9b4-5fe9-ba66-fc063b822da8)

CHAPTER ONE (#u2a13b8ce-5608-5c29-8b60-e9b46ebd9e80)

CHAPTER TWO (#u50d84e6d-8411-5111-8e1d-0fe0d2c72bf3)

CHAPTER THREE (#u64820e59-e133-5953-b394-1a87052bfedf)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u60fe423c-bf75-59f2-b104-7bbe6682aef0)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u0b43d0d9-78da-5b2c-ba18-606c402b423d)

CHAPTER SIX (#u414d4094-986a-5a47-b0d9-05a6b6b43479)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE

February 23

Razor Bay, Washington

“JEEZ, JENNY, are they ever gonna go home?”

Jennifer Salazar heard the half angry, half plaintive query beneath the rise and fall of conversation coming from the dining room. Outside, gusts of wind, howling down out of Canada, chased rain from the Olympic Mountains rising across the water to ping and rattle against the venerable old Craftsman on the bluff.

Turning around from the momentary break she’d taken to watch raindrops fracture into prisms against the leaded glass porch light, she looked down the hallway.

Thirteen-year-old Austin stood between her and the doorways to the kitchen and dining room. He was curved in on himself, and his newly wide shoulders in that grown-up black suit coat looked out of proportion to the rest of his verging-on-skinny body—even hunched up around his ears as they currently were.

Moving quickly, she reached out to pull him into her arms. He hugged her tightly in return.

“They will,” she assured the teen. “And pretty soon, I imagine, given how fast the weather is turning.” She pulled back to smile into his tense face. “But Emmett was an institution, pal. People want to pay their respects.”

Austin was the closest thing she had to a brother, but lately she hadn’t known quite how to deal with him. It killed her to see his pain as he struggled with the loss of the grandfather who’d raised him. Emmett Pierce’s death had tromped on the heels of Austin’s grandmother’s, who had preceded her husband just a few short months ago, blasting the barely turned teen with a double whammy.

But he was so volatile these days. A well-adjusted kid one minute, unhappy or angry the next. And he rarely shied away from mouthing off the rest of the time. Emmett and Kathy had spoiled him shamelessly, up to and including buying him a brand-new Bayliner Bowrider—a boat she’d argued against—for his thirteenth birthday.

“I swear I’m gonna pop the next person who calls me ‘you poor boy,’” he muttered. “And Maggie Watson pinched my cheeks like I was four years old or something!”

She didn’t know whether to commiserate over the misguided insensitivity or laugh at the indignation in his voice. “I imagine they just want to express their sympathy but don’t know what to say.”

“And they think I do? I mean, am I supposed to say it’s okay or somethin’ when they tell me Gramps’s in a better place? ’Cause it isn’t. Plus, what genius thinks I’d jump at the chance to be ‘you poor boy’ to a bunch of people who’ve known me since birth? And I’m sure as hell not gonna talk about how it feels to lose him.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat angrily. “My feelings are— They’re...”

“Yours and no one else’s,” she supplied with an understanding nod when he stalled. She had experience with the phenomenon. She’d only been a few years older than he was now when her own world had fallen apart.

“’Zactly,” he mumbled.

Realizing she’d stepped back to give her neck some relief from looking up at Austin, Jenny dug at the bunched muscles in her nape and gave him a rueful smile. “I’m still not used to you being bigger than me—let alone so much bigger. The last time I checked you had maybe three, four inches on me. But I’m wearing four-inch heels today and you’re still way taller!”

For the first time since Emmett’s passing last week, Austin flashed her the wholehearted smile that until recently had been his default expression—the endearing grin that crinkled his pale green eyes and carved little crescents around the corners of his lips. “I hate to break this to you, Jenny, but crickets are way taller than you are.”

“Why, you little smart-ass.” She smacked his arm, but refused to be sidetracked. “When did you get to be, though? I swear you weren’t this tall yesterday.” She had begun to fear he might, in fact, turn out as height challenged as she. Heaven knew she wasn’t thrilled to have ended up a scant five-two in a default thirty-two-inch-inseam world—and that only if she practiced really excellent posture. She couldn’t help but think the same outcome for a boy would be even harder.

But considering the kid had apparently grown three or more inches overnight, her worry would probably be better directed at something that actually required it.

Austin’s momentary good humor visibly fading, he merely shrugged at her question. “What’s gonna happen to me now, Jenny?”