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    Return to Paradise Cove
    Return to Paradise Cove
    Return to Paradise Cove
    Ebook154 pages2 hours

    Return to Paradise Cove

    By T. J. Robertson

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    About this ebook

    When Julie Hartwell, a naive and idealistic recent college graduate, takes a job as a congressional aide, she soon gets caught up in both the romantic and political intrigue, so prevalent in the nation's capital.
    Although Return to Paradise Cove was published in hardcover in 1989 under the author's pseudonym, Roberta Thomas, now, in ebook form, its love triangle, political intrigue, and flawed characters are more relevant than ever.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherT. J. Robertson
    Release dateJul 17, 2011
    ISBN9781466134676
    Return to Paradise Cove
    Author

    T. J. Robertson

    Although I’ve made my living as a teacher and guidance counselor, I’ve always had a passion for writing. Thomas Bouregy and Company published my novel, Return to Paradise Cove, under their Avalon imprint. Two of my one-act plays, A Different Kind of Death, and The Flirt, have been produced, respectively, in New Haven, Connecticut, and Sacramento, California. Short stories of mine have appeared in commercial magazines such as Action and True Romance as well as in certain literary and professional ones.

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      Book preview

      Return to Paradise Cove - T. J. Robertson

      Return to Paradise Cove

      by

      T. J. Robertson

      AKA Roberta Thomas

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 1988 Thomas J. Robertson

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thanks for respecting the hard work of this author.

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      Chapter 1

      As a gentle sea breeze caressed her long, tawny hair and the noonday sun shone brightly, Julie Hartwell put on her aviator sunglasses and pushed off from shore in Summer’s Delight, her small sailboat. She intended to take full advantage of the fine weather for sailing. The route through the channel, separating the mainland from Braddock’s Island, was familiar to her since she had taken it countless times during past summers. Now once again she listened to the roar of the incoming tide and the cries of the circling gulls.

      Out on the bay, her small craft glided across the shimmering surface, the boat’s billowing sail eagerly embracing the wind. Intoxicated by the freshness of the salt air and lulled by the rays of the sun, she stretched out on the decking and closed her eyes, relaxing her grip on the tiller. Soon she found herself thinking again about Senator Roger Whitman, her employer in Washington, D. C.

      Her father had introduced her to the tall, distinguished-looking politician whose hair and mustache were touched with gray. Roger had been spending the weekend at her father’s summer home, The Gull’s Way. She had just earned her degree in government and had been impressed by his eloquence on issues such as the budget crisis, unemployment, and terrorism. Brimming with youthful optimism, she was eager to help him save the world.

      When he had suggested that she come to work as a staff aide in his office, she had promptly accepted his offer. But once she was in Washington, her initial excitement over being at the center of national power soon gave way to the reality of her daily routine as a staff aide. Whenever he was in the office, he always found time to chat with her--his hectic schedule notwithstanding--and even requested her presence at events after normal working hours. At first she had felt flattered but soon his romantic interest in her had become obvious. Despite her own warm regard for him, she had not responded in kind; for, he was engaged to Tracy Brooks, a wealthy socialite whose kindness and warmth had earned her Julie’s friendship and respect.

      This vacation was a welcome opportunity for Julie to return to her favorite summer haunt, Paradise Cove, and to think seriously about her relationship with the senator. But the time had passed quickly and, though this was her last day in the seaside community, she still had conflicting emotions about him.

      Hey, watch out! she heard someone yell. The shouted warning shattered her reverie and brought her bolt upright—too late to prevent the bow of her sailboat from hitting the dinghy broadside and hurling both her and its occupant into the water.

      Are you okay? she asked the young man treading water nearby as she clung to the side of her overturned sailboat.

      Yes, but no thanks to you, he icily replied.

      Your rowboat looks fine, she said, trying to make the best of the embarrassing situation, but my sailboat has a hairline crack in the hull.

      That serves you right, he replied, pushing his dark, wet hair away from his hazel eyes. "I suggest you change its name from Summer’s Delight to Summer’s Disaster."

      His gibe irritated her. I’m sorry about the accident, she snapped, but must you be so rude?

      Look, lady, he chided, because of your negligence I’ve narrowly escaped serious injury. I’ve also lost a two-hundred-dollar rod and reel—not to mention an expensive tackle box. He paused and, then, softening his tone, he said, I’ll help you upend your happy little craft if you’ll help me track down my oars.

      With a few short strokes he swam to her side. Together they righted her sailboat and Julie quickly slithered on board. The sight of her supple body in a clinging blue halter and pink shorts abruptly ended his complaining.

      What are you waiting for? she asked motioning him to join her.

      Still gazing at her approvingly, he shook his head.

      I refuse to let you drown--much as I might enjoy watching it happen, she said impatiently.

      Her sarcasm broke the spell. I have no intention of giving you that satisfaction, he replied curtly. I’ll turn the bow of my skiff toward the island so the current will carry me there. If you’ll get my oars before they float across the Atlantic, I’ll be grateful. He swam back to his dinghy and forced it around so that its bow faced the island. Soon the current, just as he had predicted, was sweeping him and the dinghy toward the island.

      Meanwhile the fuming Julie was tempted to abandon him and set sail for the mainland. But she bit her tongue and retrieved the oars. By the time she reached the island, he had already made his way onshore and was struggling to turn over the rowboat and drain it of water. Reluctantly she got out of her sailboat and went to his aid. Stop playing Superman and let me give you a hand, she said, unable to resist the taunt.

      His glare silenced her. Together they managed to tip the boat onto its side and empty the water. Afterward he slumped down breathlessly and said, You really ought to learn how to control your sailboat.

      Stung by the mild rebuke in his voice, she retorted, You should have blown your whistle to warn me.

      He shook his head in disbelief. I was minding my own business, trying to do some fishing when you slammed into my skiff, almost drowning me. Now you blame me.

      Ignoring his words, she went on, You don’t have a whistle or a flotation device—both of which are required by state law.

      Aye, aye, sir, he said with a mock salute. Now I suppose you’ll have me walk the plank.

      Besides, she continued, you shouldn’t have been fishing in a narrow channel used constantly by sailboats from the yacht club.

      Since when is it a crime to fish anywhere on this bay? he demanded, his voice rising. I’ve been catching some good flounder in that spot.

      Satisfied she had made her point, she turned to leave.

      Where do you think you’re going? he asked.

      As far away from you as possible.

      He was on his feet following her. I want your name and address, he told her.

      I don’t care what you want, she replied, walking on.

      You’re going to pay me for that lost rod and reel.

      She didn’t reply; for, the sight of her sailboat floating off the tip of the island left her speechless. Throwing herself down onto the sand, she exclaimed, Now see what you’ve done.

      Blaming me has become a way of life with you, he complained. She said nothing, but if looks could kill, at that moment hers would have vaporized him. Personally, he said, glancing at the errant sailboat, I think the fates are punishing you.

      Her face reddened in fury. You’re the rudest man I’ve ever met.

      You wouldn’t win any medals for manners, either, he retorted.

      She got up and stalked along the water’s edge, biting her bottom lip as Summer’s Delight floated farther away.

      If you ask me politely, I might row out and get it for you, he said more gently.

      She whirled around. Don’t do me any favors. Unwilling to let him see how unhappy she was, she turned away and stared furiously in the opposite direction. Out of the corner of her eye she soon caught sight of him in his dinghy, rowing with powerful strokes to overtake the sailboat. She sighed with relief when he reached it.

      Soon he returned with it in tow. Determined to ignore him, she was sitting on a rock with her knees drawn up to her chin. Although she knew the accident was her fault, she resented his attempt to humiliate her. His sharp tongue made her think of Roger Whitman but he lacked the senator’s poise and polish. No doubt he would swagger up to her now and deliver a lecture on the importance of responsibility. Just let him try, she thought, tossing her hair across her shoulders in a gesture of defiance. She was ready to answer his insolence with some of her own.

      As the bow of his dinghy hit the shore, he leaped onto the white sand in one smooth motion. He had taken off his wet T-shirt and now wore only cutoff denims. She stole glances at the muscles in his broad shoulders and taut calves, which were straining as he hauled her sailboat onto the beach. Grudgingly she admitted to herself that under different circumstances she would have found him attractive.

      Turning to her, he said, I’ve brought you a peace offering.

      Don’t expect me to fall down and kiss your feet, she said, rising from her perch on the rock.

      I’m much more democratic than that. I’ll settle for a simple thank-you. For the first time he smiled at her.

      Refusing to be won over, she said, That’s more than you deserve after your behavior to me.

      A look of frustration replaced his smile. I admit that I lost my temper earlier, he said, gesturing with his hands.

      Maybe there’s some hope for you after all. She moved past him to reclaim her boat. At least you know when you’ve acted badly.

      What did you expect after running into me?

      Sensing she had him on the defensive, she continued, I expected you to behave like a decent human being, but apparently that was hoping for the impossible.

      When he observed her trying without success to push the sailboat back into the water, he went over to help. As it slid into the water, she hopped aboard.

      Can’t we at least part on friendly terms? he asked, watching her hoist the sail.

      All I want is a parting, she replied as the boat edged away from him.

      With a shrug of resignation he climbed into the dinghy and began rowing away from the island. Suddenly she wheeled the sailboat around and made a pass across his bow. My name’s Julie Hartwell. Send the bill for your rod and reel to me at Lantern Lane, she called. I’ll be glad to reimburse you for your lost toys. Then she sailed toward the mainland.

      Her anger was still visible when she entered The Gull’s Way, her father’s rambling summer home. The slamming of the door startled her father, who was poring over the financial pages of the newspaper. What’s the matter? he asked, looking up at her over his bifocals.

      I had an accident with my sailboat, she blurted out, slumping down onto a rattan sofa. The hull’s cracked,

      That can be easily repaired. He put his paper aside and looked at her with concern, asking, Are you okay?

      Yes, I'm fine she assured him, running a hand through her tousled hair, except for my wounded pride.

      Now that will be more difficult to fix, he replied, looking relieved.

      It was my fault, she admitted. I ran into some fisherman’s rowboat. But I wasn’t prepared to deal with his nastiness.

      You could hardly have expected him to praise you, he observed.

      "No, but never in my life have

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