Robyn Carr - The Wanderer

From Robyn Carr, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the popular Virgin River novels, comes Thunder Point—the highly anticipated new series that will make you laugh, make you sigh, and make you fall in love with a small town filled with people you’ll never forget.

Nestled on the Oregon coast is a small town of rocky beaches and rugged charm. Locals love the land’s unspoiled beauty. Developers see it as a potential gold mine. When newcomer Hank Cooper learns he’s been left an old friend’s entire beachfront property, he finds himself with a community’s destiny in his hands.

Cooper has never been a man to settle in one place, and Thunder Point was supposed to be just another quick stop. But Cooper finds himself getting involved with the town. And with Sarah Dupre, a woman as complicated as she is beautiful.

With the whole town watching for his next move, Cooper has to choose between his old life and a place full of new possibilities. A place that just might be home.

Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author

and USA TODAY bestselling author

“This book is an utter delight.”

—RT Book Reviews on Moonlight Road

“Strong conflict, humor and well-written characters

are Carr’s calling cards, and they’re all present here....You won’t want to put this one down.”

—RT Book Reviews on Angel’s Peak

“This story has everything: a courageous,

outspoken heroine, a to-die-for hero and a plot that

will touch readers’ hearts on several different levels. Truly excellent.”

—RT Book Reviews on Forbidden Falls

“An intensely satisfying read.

By turns humorous and gut-wrenchingly emotional,

it won’t soon be forgotten.”

—RT Book Reviews on Paradise Valley

“Carr has hit her stride with this captivating series.”

—Library Journal on the Virgin River series

“The Virgin River books are so compelling—

I connected instantly with the characters

and just wanted more and more and more.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author

Debbie Macomber

The Wanderer

Robyn Carr

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To the magnificent Kristan Higgins,

who is beautiful inside and out.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Acknowledgments

Excerpt

One

It took Hank Cooper almost eight hours to get from Virgin River to Thunder Point, Oregon, because he was towing his fifth wheel, a toy hauler. He pulled to the side of the road frequently to let long strings of motorists pass. Just prior to crossing the California/Oregon border, he stopped at a redwood tourist trap featuring gardens, souvenirs, wood carvings, a lunch counter and restrooms. Skipping the garden tour, he bought a sandwich and drink and headed out of the monument-size trees to the open road, which very soon revealed the rocky Oregon Coast.

Cooper stopped at the first outlook over the ocean and parked. His phone showed five bars and he dialed up the Coos County Sheriff’s Department. “Hello,” he said to the receptionist. “My name is Hank Cooper and I’m on my way to Thunder Point following a call from someone saying my friend, Ben Bailey, is dead. Apparently he left something for me, but that’s not why I’m headed your way. The message I got was that Ben was killed, but there were no details. I want to talk to the sheriff. I need some answers.”

“Hold, please,” she said.

Well, that wasn’t what he expected. He’d figured he’d leave a number and eat his lunch while he waited.

“Deputy McCain,” said the new voice on the line.

“Hank Cooper here, Deputy,” he said, and in spite of himself, he straightened and squared his shoulders. He’d always been resistant to authority, yet he also responded to it. “I was hoping to speak with the sheriff.”

“I’m the deputy sheriff. The county sheriff’s office is in Coquille. This is a satellite office with a few deputies assigned. Thunder Point is small—there’s a constable but no other local law enforcement. The constable handles small disputes, evictions, that sort of thing. The county jail is in Coquille. How can I help you, Mr. Cooper?”

“I’m a friend of Ben Bailey and I’m on my way into town to find out what happened to him.”

“Mr. Cooper, Ben Bailey’s been deceased for more than a couple of weeks.”

“I gather that. I just found out. Some old guy—Rawley someone—found a phone number and called me. He was killed, Rawley said. Dead and buried. I want to know what happened to him. He was my friend.”

“I can give you the details in about ninety seconds.”

But Cooper wanted to look him in the eye when he heard the tale. “If you’ll give me directions, I’ll come to the Sheriff’s Department.”

“Well, that’s not necessary. I can meet you at the bar,” the deputy said.

“What bar?”

“Ben’s. I guess you weren’t a close friend.”

“We go back fifteen years but this is my first trip up here. We were supposed to meet with a third buddy from the Army in Virgin River for some hunting. Ben always said he had a bait shop.”

“I’d say he sold a lot more Wild Turkey than bait. You know where Ben’s place is?”

“Only sort of,” Cooper said.

“Take 101 to Gibbons Road, head west. After about four miles, look for a homemade sign that says Cheap Drinks. Turn left onto Bailey Pass. It curves down the hill. You’ll run right into Bailey’s. When do you think you’ll get there?”

“I just crossed into Oregon from California,” he said. “I’m pulling a fifth wheel. Couple of hours?”

“More like three. I’ll meet you there if nothing interferes. Is this your cell number?”

“It is,” he said.

“You’ll have good reception on the coast. I’ll give you a call if I’m held up.”

“Thanks, Deputy...what was it?”

“McCain. See you later, Mr. Cooper.”

Cooper signed off, slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and got out of the truck. He put his lunch on the hood and leaned against the truck, looking out at the northern Pacific Ocean. He’d been all over the world, but this was his first trip to the Oregon Coast. The beach was rocky and there were boulders two stories high sticking out of the water. An orange-and-white helicopter flew low over the water—a Coast Guard HH-65 Dolphin, search and rescue.

For a moment he had a longing to be back in a chopper. Once he got this business about Ben straightened out, he might get to the chore of looking for a flying job. He’d done a number of things air-related after the Army. The most recent was flying out of the Corpus Christi port to offshore oil rigs. But after a spill in the Gulf, he was ready for a change.

His head turned as he followed the Coast Guard chopper across the water. He’d never considered the USCG. He was used to avoiding offshore storms, not flying right into them to pluck someone out of a wild sea.

He took a couple of swallows of his drink and a big bite of his sandwich, vaguely aware of a number of vehicles pulling into the outlook parking area. People were getting out of their cars and trucks and moving to the edge of the viewing area with binoculars and cameras. Personally, Coop didn’t really think these mountainous boulders, covered with bird shit, were worthy of a picture, even with the orange chopper flying over them. Hovering over them...

The waves crashed against the big rocks with deadly power and the wind was really kicking up. He knew only too well how dicey hovering in wind conditions like that could be. And so close to the rocks. If anything went wrong, that helicopter might not be able to recover in time to avoid the boulders or crashing surf. Could get ugly.