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The Bad Boy Of Butterfly Harbor
Anna J. Stewart


Can people truly change?Two things keep Holly Campbell grounded: her precocious son and preserving her forty-year-old family diner in the face of expansion and change. She doesn't need a blast from the past like Luke Saxon, who's back in Butterfly Harbor after more than a decade away. The hard-luck kid who nearly destroyed her family, leaving her to pick up the pieces, is taking over as sheriff. She can't trust him, even if Luke's ideas for the town's upcoming anniversary seem to show he's trying to give back to their community. Has Butterfly Harbor found its unlikely savior? And has the widowed single mother finally found a man she can believe in, rely on…and love?







Can people truly change?

Two things keep Holly Campbell grounded: her precocious son and preserving her forty-year-old family diner in the face of expansion and change. She doesn’t need a blast from the past like Luke Saxon, who’s back in Butterfly Harbor after more than a decade away. The hard-luck kid who nearly destroyed her family, leaving her to pick up the pieces, is taking over as sheriff. She can’t trust him, even if Luke’s ideas for the town’s upcoming anniversary seem to show he’s trying to give back to their community. Has Butterfly Harbor found its unlikely savior? And has the widowed single mother finally found a man she can believe in, rely on…and love?


“I’m glad we’re finally friends, Luke.”

“Is that what we are?”

“Wasn’t that the word you used? What else would we be?” This was not a road she could go down again. No matter how much she might want to.

Holly inhaled the scent of soap and the barest sweetness of berries. “Luke.” She barely breathed as she blinked and saw his hand come up, felt him cup her cheek in his palm. She leaned into his touch, fought every instinct roaring to life within her. He inched closer, slowly, so slowly she might have screamed in frustration. And then he kissed her. Soft, gentle, a promise, a hint. Nothing more.

“Thank you,” Luke murmured. He pressed his forehead against hers and squeezed his eyes shut, as if he were afraid to look at her.

She felt his warm breath brush against her skin. “You’re welcome.”

He released her and opened the door.

Holly didn’t hesitate. Didn’t stop moving until she was through the yard, past the gate and out of sight.

Only then did she stop to breathe, clutching a fist against her throat, unable to stop the smile from spreading against her still-tingling mouth.

“Friends,” she whispered, even as she thought of—and wanted—more.


Dear Reader (#ulink_00d0baaf-d51c-5c21-b154-ab81f9fbc96f),

Butterflies have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My grandmother, who helped raise me, loved them and always had images of butterflies somewhere in her house and then ours. Now that she’s gone her collection has passed to me, and they have served as inspiration over the years. When the idea of writing a series for Mills & Boon Heartwarming struck, the name of the town presented itself instantly: Butterfly Harbor.

I’m a born and bred California girl. Knowing where your home is, and more important, feeling as if you belong there, is at the heart of The Bad Boy of Butterfly Harbor. Luke Saxon knows coming back to the town he left in disgrace is a risk, but he has debts to pay and a past to face. He’s done running from his mistakes, and while owning up to them might be the hardest thing he’s ever done, he’s ready. Facing Holly Campbell again brings a whole new set of problems, not the least of which are unexpected feelings for the woman whose family he nearly destroyed.

Holly lives and breathes Butterfly Harbor. It’s the only home she wants for her son, but her beloved town is in danger of disappearing unless they all make changes. Seeing Luke again, being forced to deal with the anger that has haunted her for years, isn’t something she ever expected, but from the second he walks back into her diner, Holly knows her life—and possibly her heart—is never going to be the same.

I hope you enjoy this first book in my Butterfly Harbor series. I loved creating this community and bringing the town to life. Most of all, I am so excited to finally put Luke and Holly on their roller-coaster path to the happily-ever-after they both need and deserve.

Happy reading and always be on the lookout for butterflies!

Anna J







The Bad Boy of Butterfly Harbor

Anna J. Stewart






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ANNA J. STEWART discovered romances early in her parochial high school education and from then on knew what she was meant to be: a romance author. An English graduate of California State University of Sacramento, she’s held a variety of jobs, and for the past seven years, she’s been honored to work as New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak’s personal assistant, helping run her annual online auction for diabetes research. In ten years, the auction has raised over $2.3 million. Anna lives in Northern California with an overly attentive and affectionate cat named Snickers.


For my Monterey girls

Judy Ashley, Mary Helfrick and Bonnie Lally

May the wings of the butterfly kiss the sun

And find your shoulder to light on,

To bring you luck, happiness and riches

Today, tomorrow and beyond.

—Irish blessing


Contents

Cover (#u4d4dae17-1ce5-5a94-82ab-a39ea4c886e1)

Back Cover Text (#ud6bf03cd-1314-5d44-b273-8e75d237a419)

Introduction (#u93eb222d-4ec9-5d60-b7f4-fa2577fa02be)

Dear Reader (#ulink_3fc677ae-8a13-5d05-bac9-e2c979ca1f1c)

Title Page (#ud8ba05ac-7a6e-5392-a975-1bde6948cd96)

About the Author (#ub0a3c3f5-f9e9-5594-ac2d-55341259ca56)

Dedication (#u0bb2741e-7403-58df-b61a-afd100cd25bc)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_db65fd88-f228-539a-b4f7-00a14442ff0d)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_d0e1bc4e-3693-53f0-a768-19edc0c26d9c)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_48987fdb-75dd-5624-b741-e0cef0db9f69)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_37879dec-fe21-593d-b34b-89aaf2d534d8)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_7f831e1d-a2d0-516f-b0c0-bf32a251f239)

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_08228a69-540c-5b27-8b2b-319d6386d5d3)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_d5076406-331c-5140-87e1-1ee985992627)

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)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_30a944a5-e514-5a77-8b9a-881067c0f22a)

IF THE HEAVY sigh emanating from her eight-year-old son was any indication, Holly Campbell was in for a very long summer.

“Can’t I please wait for you at home?” Simon’s plea fell on deaf “mom” ears as he turned desperate brown eyes on her. The clasped hands were a nice touch. “I promise I’ll stay off the computer.”

“Depends if you’re ready to tell me why you hacked into our neighbor’s Wi-Fi and changed all their file names.” Holly cleared the last table from the Butterfly Diner’s breakfast rush, balanced plates and coffee cups like an Olympian and set the dish tray to overflowing. “Are you?”

“No.” The surly mumble was tinged with a hint of surrender. Simon spun on the cushioned orange stool in front of the steel-and-Formica counter and knocked his colored pencils to the white tile floor.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Holly said. “Until I feel I can trust you again, you’re stuck with me.” Definitely a long summer.

“How about I tell you how I did it instead?” Simon offered.

As tempting as the offer was, she arched him a warning look.

“It was worth a shot.” Simon’s mischievous expression had its usual effect and pulled free the smile she struggled to hide. Despite Simon’s increasing delinquent tendencies, there were times she loved her kid so much she ached.

“How about you share that information with your grandpa?” Holly wiped down the table and straightened the condiments before checking that the booths were clean. “It would give him something to think about now that he’s about to retire.”

Retire. As if her father had been given a choice. Jake Gordon was being forced out of his job as town sheriff—a job he’d held for the past thirty years—adding another burden to Holly’s shoulders.

The statistics on what early retirement did to some people were staggering, which was why Holly was determined to make her father feel useful. Maybe then she could rid herself of the worry that Jake would slide into old age as effortlessly as falling asleep.

Her father’s situation was one of the myriad of changes the new mayor of Butterfly Harbor had campaigned on. Aside from the plans to build a new butterfly sanctuary to attract visitors, Holly wasn’t looking forward to most of them being implemented. It was only a matter of time before everyone else knew what she’d learned the hard way: change made everything worse.

She took a deep breath and tried to loosen the knots in her chest. The last time she felt this uneasy was two years ago, when the California Highway Patrol officer had knocked on her door to tell her Gray had died in a car accident.

The pang of grief struck first, followed by bittersweet memories of her high-school sweetheart. She missed Gray, the boy she’d loved; the man she’d married. She didn’t miss his drinking. Or the secrets. Or his lies. Her stomach pitched like an abandoned trawler at sea. She especially didn’t miss the lies.

Was that when her problems had begun to snowball? Until Gray died, she’d been managing to juggle pretty well. She’d had to. Gray had become increasingly unreliable with each passing day. She’d finally stopped depending on him for...well, for anything.

She continued wiping down the booths; it was never too early to gear up for the coming lunch rush. She’d always been up for a challenge, but finding the means to keep the forty-year-old diner—her grandmother’s legacy—on track within the guidelines of the mayor’s proposed prosperity plan could prove problematic even for someone as self-sufficient as Holly. Sure, the money would help. Paying for Simon’s much-needed private education was like cement frosting on top of a tooth-shattering cake. And, of course, there was her mortgage to keep up with. Oh, and add keeping her troublemaking son out of trouble for... Holly did the brain-numbing math. A long, long summer.

“Check this out.” Holly rounded the counter and pulled a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of her apron. Simon eyed it as if it was a lit firecracker. “It came from your new school.”

“What is it?” Simon unfolded the paper in the same careful and deliberate way his father would have. The same way they both unwrapped presents. Such attention to detail had Simon mastering a book of origami animals in a matter of days.

“Your summer reading list. We can head over to the bookstore as soon as we close up the diner.” She set a fresh batch of coffee to brew and lined up the empty pots.

“Cool.” He leaned over the counter, grabbed a pen and hunkered over the list, his tongue caught between pressed lips. Gray had his faults, but the time he’d spent reading to their son had instilled a fierce love of books in Simon. Neither of them could have foreseen their boy’s fascination with testing the boundaries of reality, however. Last year she’d found her son taking a hammer to the back of his closet in an attempt to make his way into Narnia. Wondering how he might try to get to a certain magic school had her keeping a close eye on her car.

Holly took advantage of Simon’s distraction and stepped outside for some air and a quick window wipe-down. The sea air still carried the late morning scent of brine-caked seaweed wafting its way down the California coastline. Breathing deep, as if she could wrap her arms around this place, she allowed her gaze to drift over the edge of the Pacific on the other side of Butterfly Harbor’s miniature version of Hadrian’s Wall. The waist-high stone cobble wound its way from one end of town to the other, a break of sorts separating the beach from the narrow main street, which was in need of repaving. Waves crashed onto the shoreline, stumbling over rocks and shells. How she wished she could scuttle about and burrow into the protective sand like the countless hermit crabs Simon insisted on bringing home.

As Holly wiped her rag down the glass on the front door, she caught sight of the crowd headed her way and pushed open the door. “Ursula! The Cocoon Club is here.”

The aptly named group of seniors who had lived in Butterfly Harbor from the time they could crawl gabbed their way inside the diner for their Saturday midmorning outing. Holly caught smatterings of conversations that included family happenings and the upcoming Pig in a Poke BBQ Festival, one of those “new” events the Cocoon Club had been assigned as a test run for the town’s October Butterfly Festival.

These new traditions seemed to be, at least to Holly, overshadowing the town’s 125th anniversary celebration next month.

Holly did a quick wipe of the three hand-carved monarch butterflies fixed atop the frame of the diner door before she followed her customers inside.

“Myra, your new hairstyle looks beautiful.” Holly didn’t bother to hand menus to the four men and three women taking seats at their usual table in the corner of the diner. “Eloise, are you trying a new nail color?”

“Tangerine ice.” Eloise waggled her arthritic fingers. “Matches my hair. You like?”

“Very stylish.” Holly nodded. “Everyone getting their usual?”

Murmurs of assent echoed and Holly jotted down the seven items as her afternoon server breezed through the door for her shift. “Twyla will bring your coffee and tea. And one Dr Pepper,” Holly said as she smiled at Oscar, affectionately nicknamed The Grouch. Put a pair of tongs and a slab of ribs in the man’s hands, however, and he transformed into the Picasso of Pork.

“Same order every Saturday for twentysomething years.” Ursula Stevens, the ex-navy short-order cook and diner fixture grumbled from across the order counter as Holly approached. “You’d think they’d stretch their taste-bud boundaries. I’m an artist, you know.” Ursula’s craggy, cranky face wasn’t softened by the hairnet plastered to her skull.

“As evidenced by your cheeseburger soup.” Holly’s stomach rumbled as if planning its own lunch as she reached for the overstock of napkins for the dispensers before starting on the sugar and sweetener packets. “You make any progress on those new menu ideas? Starting first of the month we’ll be adding those dinner hours.” She understood the need for economic expansion. If the town she loved was going to survive, changes had to be made. But when those changes interrupted her meticulous schedule and eroded the already precious time she had with Simon, she couldn’t help but shift into panic mode. Longer hours meant hiring new staff, staff she couldn’t afford unless they stayed open seven days a week, which cost more money... Holly blew out a frustrated breath. Good thing she didn’t have a life beyond her son and the diner.

“You best be looking to hire me some help, ’cause I ain’t working no fourteen-hour days.” Somewhere between sixty and infinity, the five-foot-nothing Ursula had started working at the diner after Holly’s grandma Ruby had bought the place in the early seventies.

“Way ahead of you.” She’d stalled hiring new staff for as long as she could. She’d have to sit down this weekend and crunch the numbers. She didn’t know how she was going to pay for it...yet. “We’ll figure it out.” Holly didn’t know how to fail and she wasn’t about to learn now.

Twyla, all of nineteen with razor-straight black hair and a penchant for too-tight jeans and too-short crop tops, bounced out of the kitchen tying a black apron around her runway-model-thin waist. Holly gave silent thanks that their recent conversation about appropriate diner attire hadn’t fallen on deaf ears.

“Usual drinks for the club,” Holly told her.

“Got it.” Spinning a tray out from under the counter, Twyla breezed off toward the coffee station.

Ursula’s “harrumph” brought a strained smile to Holly’s face as the bell above the door chimed. “Be with you in a sec.” Holly pushed the order through the window and tugged her hot pink T-shirt down over her jeans as she turned around to greet the next customer.

Holly’s entire body froze as if she’d locked herself in the walk-in freezer.

Then her knees wobbled, but she kept her spine stiff and her voice low as the anger she thought she’d buried over a decade ago rumbled up from her toes. “Luke Saxon.” She shoved her hands into her back pockets and tried not to notice how quiet the diner had become.

“Hello, Holly.” A tight, guarded smile softened dark, angular features. “Good to see you again.”

She pressed her lips together so hard they went numb.

Every town, even Butterfly Harbor, had its bad boy. That boy who wore a black leather jacket and snug jeans to the point of female distraction. The boy who exuded a mind-numbing combination of hostility and romanticized misunderstanding. The boy every girl wanted to date but none dared approach. The boy other boys wanted to emulate, but none thought to befriend. Yeah, there were bad boys.

And then there was Luke Saxon.

And he still wore a black leather jacket and carried himself with a self-assuredness that was both enviable and off-putting. His onetime too long ink-black hair had been shorn into shape, his pasty complexion replaced by what looked like years spent in the sun. The sad stone-blue eyes she remembered in the face of a sullen boy had turned to steel in the span of twelve years. She saw life painted on his handsome face.

He’d grown up. Holly straightened. They both had. While Luke stood before her as a man, she couldn’t help but see the troubled—and dangerous—youth she remembered. His reputation for skirting the thin edge of the law had become legend in Butterfly Harbor.

“I’ll understand if you’d rather I eat someplace else.” The low rumble of Luke’s voice sounded foreign to Holly’s ears and prickled her skin. In her mind Luke was still eighteen, smelling of beer, blood and guilt rather than the intoxicating combination of sea air and orange spice.

“You know what Grandma Ruby always said.” Holly forced the words from her tight throat. “Everyone’s welcome at the diner.” Even you.

“I heard she passed.” Luke pushed his hands deep into his jacket pockets, rocked on his heels as he kept his chin up, his gaze pinned to hers. “She was always very nice to me.”

Holly cleared her throat and wished her grandmother was here right now—she’d always known what to say. “Thanks. You eating alone?” She grabbed a menu out of the cubby at the end of the counter and tried not to notice how her hand trembled.

“No. I’m meeting—”

“Sorry I’m late.” Butterfly Harbor’s new mayor, Gil Hamilton, pushed through the door and swept his long sandy-blond hair out of his eyes. “Hey, Holl. Must be a blast from the past, huh? Having Luke back?”

“Not to stay?” Holly blurted.

“For a while,” Luke said.

“A year, at least.” Gil slapped a hand on Luke’s leather-clad back as Luke winced and stepped to the side, the color draining out of his windblown face. “That’s how long his term will be. This time around anyway.”

“His term?” Holly asked as her stomach churned. “What term?”

“Oh, sorry.” Gil blinked and cringed as if he’d betrayed a confidence. “I thought for sure your father would have told you by now. Luke’s serving out the rest of Jake’s tenure as sheriff.”

“Sheriff.” Holly didn’t recognize her own voice, not hidden under the layers of hostility and anger. “You’re not serious.” When Gil’s only acknowledgment was to grab the menus and head toward a booth at the far end of the diner, Holly swung on Luke. “He’s not serious?”

“Holly—”

“What? It wasn’t enough you almost killed my father all those years ago? You figured you’d come back and finish him off by stealing his job?”

Luke’s steely blue eyes narrowed. “It’s not like that.”

“From where I’m standing it’s exactly like that.” She moved in, keeping her voice low so her customers—so her son—wouldn’t hear. “Go back to wherever you’ve been for the past decade, Luke. We don’t have any use for cowards in Butterfly Harbor.”


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_9a8e8e51-5339-5126-9a72-a49e70c0abd0)

“NOT THE BEST way for her to find out about you returning,” Gil said as Luke slid into the booth across from his new boss. “I guess the past isn’t as forgotten as I’d hoped.”

“You sound surprised.” Watching the eternal Cocoon Club texting away on their phones like overactive teenagers proved the rumor mill in Butterfly Harbor was as reliable as ever. By the end of the day he’d either be welcomed by a cavalcade of casseroles, or run out of town with pitchforks and torches.

He rolled his shoulders, but instead of easing the tension, the action stretched the burn scars on his back so tight he feared his skin might split open. He sucked in a breath, waited the few moments it took for the pain to subside. Maybe the doctor was right. Maybe he’d weaned himself off his pain meds too soon.

The past twelve years meant nothing when faced with the past he couldn’t change. He might have hoped for a more congenial welcome home, but he hadn’t expected it, especially when it came to Holly Campbell.

How could he have expected her to forgive him when he hadn’t been able to forgive himself?

Unwrapping the bundle of flatware on the table, Luke tore bits off his napkin. He’d spent extended time in war zones. He’d put his military training to use with the Chicago Police Department in their bomb squad. He’d been the department’s go-to when it came to potentially explosive domestic disturbances and had overseen rookie training for the explosive disposal unit. He could manage a year in Butterfly Harbor.

Or so he’d told himself on the cross-country drive.

Apparently Holly Campbell hadn’t gotten the memo.

Luke glanced over as she swept out of sight into the kitchen, her shoulder-length brown hair tumbling in waves. She’d been pretty as a girl, but as a woman she was stunning. Like a throwback to the glory days of vaudeville, with her big doll eyes and a small, pert mouth. Her curved, rounded figure set a man to thinking about late-night bonfires and moonlit swims in the ocean.

Luke caught the gaze of the boy sitting at the counter, questioning hostility shining in eyes so familiar he had to be Holly’s son.

“Jake should have told her,” Gil said. “Hiring you was his idea in the first place.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Luke was a big boy. He could take whatever punishment Holly and anyone else in town saw fit to dole out. And if there was one thing Holly Gordon—no, Holly Campbell—excelled at, it was getting her point across. Luke pretended to skim the menu Gil set in front of him.

“To be honest,” Gil said, “I’m surprised you took the job.”

The pencil-thin, raven-haired waitress set a mug and two glasses on the table. “Here’s your coffee, black, and water, no ice. And for you?” She batted mascara-thick eyelashes at Luke as she pulled out her notepad.

“Water’s fine, thanks.” He’d already drunk enough coffee this morning to keep him awake for a week. “I’ll have the BLT, hold the B, no mayo, sweet potato fries if you have them.”

“We do.” She nodded. “Mr. Mayor?”

“Burger, medium and loaded, Twyla. Garlic fries.”

“You got it.” Twyla bounded off to greet a new influx of customers that raised the noise level in the diner.

Luke relaxed enough to take in the polished diner’s surroundings. The space was brighter than he remembered. More welcoming in a way. The stainless steel sparkled and the orange and black hues were a tribute to the diner’s location on Monarch Lane. Classic retro with a twist of home. He flipped over the menu and smiled when he saw the list of Holly’s homemade pies, something she’d dabbled in as a teen, had expanded. Combined with the late-morning aroma of frying bacon and the early-afternoon promise of onions and garlic, the diner felt, and smelled, familiar. “While I’m grateful, I’m not entirely sure why Jake recommended me for the position.”

“When Jake and I discussed his retirement, I asked for names. Yours was the only one on the list.” Gil dumped three packets of sweetener into his coffee. He caught Luke’s arched brow and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know. If this job doesn’t kill me the chemicals will.”

“Your life.” Luke shrugged. “Up to you what you do with it.” A lesson Luke had learned thanks to Jake Gordon, the only man who had ever given a damn about him. He owed Holly’s father more than he could ever repay, and now his debt to the man had increased. Dealing with twelve years of built-up small-town hostility and resentment seemed a small price to pay if he could set things right with Jake once and for all. Besides, it was only for a year. “What else is going on, Gil?”

Gil shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” Luke glanced over his shoulder toward the Cocoon Club and lowered his voice. “Here’s what I know. I know the election was rough on you, and Jake Gordon was one of the reasons why since he backed your opponent. Letting Jake have a say in who replaces him was your way of mending fences. But you still have to prove you aren’t your father’s son, that you’re more than a walking bank account. Now you need to show you care about this town more than how many buildings have your name on the title.”

“You never were one to mince words.” Some of the friendliness disappeared behind Gil’s hawk-like green eyes. “Anything else you want to get off your chest?”

Luke sat back. “I know your dad left you in a heap of trouble when he died last year and you’re still digging out from under. And there’s the baggage that comes with having a real SOB for a father. You figure I can relate. But you’re wrong if you think I won’t give you grief over plans for the town that I believe are out of line as you try to make amends.”

“You might be right.” Gil looked out the window onto the side street as if scanning the empty streets and abandoned businesses. Boarded-up windows. Peeling paint. Crooked signs and broken panes of glass.

Luke had seen it the second he hit town; he’d felt it, heard it, as if the town was crying out in silent agony.

Butterfly Harbor was dying.

“I want to get one thing straight before I pin that badge on. I’m nobody’s tool, Gil. You and the town council hired me to oversee the town’s transition and make sure law enforcement is up to the challenge of taking Butterfly Harbor in a new direction. While I’m grateful for the opportunity, it doesn’t mean I’m going to automatically agree with everything you say.”

“You mean you won’t be shy about telling me when I’m wrong?”

“I mean I’m my own man. Same as you’re trying to be. And don’t act as if we were buddies back in the day. We both know you and I lived in different worlds.”

“Yeah.” Gil let out a sharp laugh. “I guess you would think that. When I tracked you down I asked what you thought about my ideas and you agreed they sounded like positive change. You still think that?”

“I’ve always thought Butterfly Harbor could be more than it is. It’s special.” Yet another reason he’d come back. “It should be shared. Especially if it’s going to survive and thrive.”

“Ah.” Gil nodded, his blond hair brushing against the collar of his red polo shirt. “You did do your homework.”

“I’d have been stupid not to,” Luke said. “So yes, I know the town is hanging on by a fiscal thread. That the previous mayor, one of your father’s best friends, incidentally, overextended its credit and sent property values plummeting. Half the businesses in town can’t afford their mortgage payments because the bank your father owned is about to go under. Crime is on the rise, probably a result of the unemployment rate. The only way to stop Butterfly Harbor from turning into a ghost town is to bring new people and new investors in and entice those who are still here to stay. Yeah.” Luke lifted his water in a mock toast. “I did my homework. And while I might not agree with everything you have planned, I accepted the job for one reason. To help save this town.”

Because when all was said and done, Butterfly Harbor was the only home Luke had ever known.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_58680a35-9ef1-572c-a1ea-8f0bd1dadd16)

“HOLY HAMBURGERS.” ABBY MANNING breezed into the kitchen like a dandelion on the wind as Holly dumped a load of sizzling fries from the fryer into a cardboard to-go container. “Is that who I think it is chatting up Mayor Gil ‘the Thrill’ Hamilton?”

As blond as Holly was brunette, as short as Holly was tall, Abby’s slack-jawed disbelief didn’t come close to registering on Holly’s shock-o-meter.

“If you mean Luke Saxon, you aren’t seeing things.” Holly slopped a ladle full of steaming chili on the pile of fries before topping it with a handful of shredded cheese...and imagined dumping the entire batch in Sheriff Saxon’s lap. “Please tell me you didn’t know he was coming and decided not to warn me.”

“Hey.” Abby’s frown sparked a flame of hurt anger on her face. “Best friends don’t keep secrets like that from each other.” Abby’s long blond curls whipped around pixie-like features as she peered through the open door into the diner.

“Apparently my father does.” How could he not have warned her?

“Your dad probably didn’t want to upset you,” Abby said. “These days anyone brings up what’s going on in town and you heat up like someone’s tossed water on a grease fire. And don’t pretend otherwise. You’ve been a walking hair trigger ever since the mayor and town council proposed their development plans.”

“They aren’t looking at the bigger picture. There’s more to saving Butterfly Harbor than expansion and construction.” The crime rate was exploding, vandalism and break-ins were on the rise and there wasn’t anything for the young people in town to do except wander the streets, bored, and get into trouble, especially now the last arcade in town had closed. She should know. One of the culprits lived in her house. “And FYI, expanding business for those of us who are still here isn’t a permanent or an instant solution.”

“It’s a start,” Abby said. “Look, I get it. It’s a lot to have to consider. More hours, hiring new staff, adjusting your meticulous schedule.” Abby jerked her thumb in the direction of Holly’s work calendar and daily to-do list.

“There’s more to it.” Holly shook her head. “All those strangers coming to town? People who have no idea how idyllic this town is—”

“How idyllic it used to be,” Ursula chimed in as she chopped onions without shedding a tear. “Now it’s small. And getting smaller. Three more houses went up for sale this week alone. We need fresh blood in Butterfly Harbor. It’s either expand or die.”

“Which is why Gil’s ideas might be for the better.” Abby waved an approving hand in Ursula’s direction. “Granted, I didn’t think Gil’s plans would bring Luke Saxon back to town.” She waggled her eyebrows to take the edge off her contrary opinion. “He turned out pretty nice, though.” Abby leaned back and aimed a wide-eyed gaze in Luke’s direction. “Looks as if those rough edges got all smooth and shiny.”

Holly didn’t want to think about how “shiny” Luke Saxon had turned out. It had only been an hour since Luke had walked into the diner—an hour she’d spent scrubbing every pot and pan in the kitchen. Anything to distract herself and put her anger to some use. As if anyone could stay angry for long with Abby around.

Her best friend’s ebullient personality made a fairy-tale princess look depressed, which made Abby the ideal manager of the iconic Flutterby Inn, Butterfly Harbor’s oldest hotel-size bed-and-breakfast. With the exception of their notorious blowup over whether Big Bird or Elmo was the lynchpin of Sesame Street—Holly had sided with the bird—she and Abby had been inseparable since kindergarten.

“If you’re ogling Luke Saxon, you need to get out more.” Holly shoved the takeout container into a paper bag and carried it up to the register before she started a mocha shake. “You want lunch?”

“No, thanks.” Abby sidled up next to her. “Matilda made apple pancakes for our one guest this morning so I snacked on the leftovers. And I take it you don’t want to discuss you-know-who—” The rest of Abby’s observation was halted by Simon, aka you-know-who, as he raced around the counter and wrapped his arms around Abby’s waist.

“Aunt Abby.”

“Hey, squirt.” Abby enveloped Simon’s small frame and squeezed, aiming a look at Holly that ensured a long session of girl talk in the near future. And a very large bottle of chardonnay. “You still grounded?”

“Umm.” Simon blinked up at his mother. “Maybe?”

“Well, I hope not because I’m in desperate need of a movie marathon and a pizza from Zane’s.” Holly was all too familiar with Abby’s modus operandi when it came to giving mom and son a break from one another. “You game, kid?”

Simon’s face scrunched. “Which movies?”

“Your choice,” Abby said. “If your mom says it’s okay.” Abby blinked in Holly’s direction, her lashes fluttering faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

“Is it, Mom?”

“Why do you two always gang up on me?” Holly caught Myra’s signal that indicated the Cocoon Club members were ready for their checks.

“Because it works,” Abby called as she and Simon huddled in front of the cash register. “Come on, Holly.” Abby caught her arm on the way back. “Hasn’t the kid suffered enough?”

“Yeah, haven’t I?” Simon pleaded.

“Don’t push it,” Holly told her son as she rang up the bills. “Dinner and a movie. But that’s it. No side trips to the comic-book store.”

“Aw, Mom.”

“Take it or leave it, bucko.” Forbidding Simon from visiting his favorite store on the planet might be the only weapon she had left in her arsenal when it came to controlling his behavior.

“Fine.” Simon’s dramatic sigh could have won him an award for most put-upon child of the century.

“I’ll pick you up later, okay?” Abby gave Simon another squeeze as he bolted to his seat and flipped open the spiral notebook that never left his sight. “Thanks, Holl. I need a reminder not all members of the male species are cretins.”

Even if Holly had the notion to date again—who had the time or patience?—observing her best friend plumb the depths of the very shallow dating pool would have erased that thought like an out-of-control Etch A Sketch. Thirty might be around the corner, but it was a corner Holly was fine turning on her own. Besides, she had enough emotional baggage on her carousel. She didn’t need to add another 747’s worth. Didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy living vicariously through Abby. “Online date didn’t go so well last night?”

“He was geeky cute. His profile said ‘electronic specialist.’” Abby pouted as she took a seat at the counter while Holly finished up the shake by adding a shot of espresso. “Turns out he’s the maintenance guy for a two-lane bowling alley on the other side of the bay.” She shuddered. “And he wore rented shoes. Ick.” Abby glanced at Simon. “You two doing okay?”

“Oh, peachy.” Holly shoved the ice-cream-and-coffee-filled cup onto the shake machine. While it ran, she knocked heads with Abby. “Having your neighbors threaten to call the FBI on your eight-year-old is every mother’s dream. Who thinks to do something like that? Hacking into their Wi-Fi? Renaming their files after supervillains? Changing their passwords?” Having to explain the situation to Simon’s potential new principal had been as enjoyable as a root canal. How could her son be on a warning before he’d even started classes? “Do not let him out of your sight tonight, Abs. One more infraction and the school’s going to boot him. And no computer. I don’t care what he says.”

“You’ve got to let up on the little guy, Holl. He’s precocious. He’s smart. And he misses his dad. He’s acting out because he doesn’t know how to grieve.”

Holly hesitated. She missed Simon’s father, too. She missed having a partner when it came to raising their boy and making decisions about his future. Not that Gray had been the most reliable when it came to Simon—or anything else. That resentment, along with admitting by the time Gray died there had been little between them other than Simon, added another layer of sadness over the grief. “Grief doesn’t excuse him for committing a felony.”

“You could team up and commit one together,” Abby joked. “Talk about a bonding experience.”

“Not funny.” Holly grabbed a lid for the cup. Fear hovered like a dark cloud overhead. She couldn’t help but think she was screwing up her kid. How could she not, given the less-than-stellar example of absentee motherhood she’d been blessed with? All the more reason she’d do everything she could for Simon. She’d hold together what was left of her family no matter what and she’d never, ever leave him behind. If that meant having to watch him 24/7, so be it. Anyway, she should have known by now not to lose focus. Keeping her eye on the ball was the only way to make sure things ran smoothly. Look away...and disaster struck. “To you, Simon’s your perfect can-do-no-wrong godson. To me, he’s bail waiting to happen.”

“Speaking of bail...” Abby practically hummed. “Hello, Luke Saxon.” She spun around on her stool as Gil and Luke approached the register.

“Abigail Manning. You haven’t changed one bit.”

Holly’s resentment banked at the friendliness in Luke’s tone. Of course he remembered Abby. Everyone remembered Abby. Now that Holly stepped away from the past, she was able to see those smooth edges her best friend mentioned. While she could still see the angry, abused teenage Luke lurking behind those blue eyes, the man standing in front of her seemed weathered and in control of what had weighed him down for so long. Both the easy smile he gave Abby and the guarded but polite glance he aimed in Holly’s direction had her regretting the vehemence of her earlier anger.

“So when do we start calling you Sheriff Saxon?” Abby asked as Gil slid an apologetic look in Holly’s direction, then added the hint of a smile to calm the waters.

“I start next week,” Luke said with a pointed look at Holly. “And even then it’s temporary. I’ll be serving the remainder of Jake’s appointed term.”

“Well, in any case,” Abby said, “welcome home.”

“I appreciate that.” Luke deposited his change in the tip jar on the counter.

“Thanks,” Holly said, finishing up with Gil’s bill. As the two men turned to leave, she picked up the shake and the bag and followed them. “Here.” She held out the paper sack and foam cup to Luke. “Chili-cheese fries, chocolate mocha shake. For later.”

Luke blinked.

“Your usual. From back in the day.” Not at all what she’d planned to say, but at the last second, she shifted her tactics and stopped herself from letting the accusations fly full force. “Just because my father was willing to forgive you doesn’t mean I’m going to. But Grandma wouldn’t have sent you off without dinner on your first night back. So, well, there you go.” When she turned to the counter she avoided Abby’s know-it-all grin by focusing on Simon. Except his stool was empty. Her stomach dropped. “Crap. Where’s that kid gotten to now?”

* * *

“MAYBE I SHOULD have listed Holly under the hazard-pay clause of your contract.” The lines around Gil’s eyes appeared as he squinted against the early-afternoon sun. “She was borderline rude.”

“Rude would have been dumping this in my lap,” Luke said, uncertain how he should feel about the gesture. “Holly’s defending her father, Gil.” Luke stopped beside the dinged-up red pickup he’d bought from a police impound-lot auction last year. “I’m not going to fault her for it.” All these years, he couldn’t comprehend defending his own.

The bag Holly had pushed on him continued to steam as his other hand froze around the milk shake he had yet to let go of.

How much teenage time had he spent in the diner gorging on chili-cheese fries and downing mocha shakes to avoid going home because doing so usually meant his father would be passed out by the time he walked through the door? Those last couple of years before he’d left he’d done just about anything he could think of to avoid his father and the rage. At least in Sheriff Gordon’s holding cell he’d been safe.

His mouth quirked. Holly never would have supplied him with dinner if she knew doing so reminded him of one of the few good memories from his childhood. “Bonus for me. I don’t have to worry about cooking tonight.”

“Must take a lot to tick you off.” Gil gave him a quick salute. “Good thing, given your new job. Oh, hey, I had Emery do some upkeep for your folks’ house. Nothing major. Mowed the lawn, sheared the shrubs, boarded up a few windowpanes to keep the chill out. The place isn’t in great shape—”

“Thanks, Gil.” Luke’s stomach gripped his still-digesting lunch. And here he thought facing Holly or her father would be the hardest part of his return. Going back to the house he’d sworn never to step foot in again... “I’ll catch up with you next week to talk about the department budget.” By then he should have his bearings.

Luke opened the door and leaned in to stow the fries and shake in the cab, and when he stood, he found the boy from the diner right behind him, accusing eyes scrunched, arms crossed over the emblem of his Proton Patrol T-shirt.

Even if Luke hadn’t known the boy’s father growing up, there was no mistaking Grayson Campbell’s son. Gray and Holly had been tied at the hip from the time she was sixteen. She, the knockout golden child of the town sheriff, and Gray, the drama-club president and star pitcher of the baseball team. As far as Luke was concerned, he couldn’t relate.

“You’re the man taking my grandpa’s job.” The accusation cut Luke to the quick, but he had to give the kid credit for confronting him. Few adults would have the nerve to do the same.

“I suppose I am.” Luke braced his arm on the door, giving the boy a chance to purge his grievance.

“But it’s his job. Not yours.”

Luke resisted the urge to squirm. “Does your mom know you’re out here...?”

“Simon.” Simon’s chin went up, his fists tightened. “Simon Grayson Campbell. And you’re Luke Saxon. I’ve heard about you.”

“I’m sure you have.” Luke could only imagine what the little man had heard. “I went to school with your parents. Did you know that?”

“Maybe.” Simon’s eyes reflected surprise and suspicion before grief flashed like a struck match. “My dad died.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Were you friends?” Even with the hostile stare, Luke saw hope searching for a way out.

“Everyone liked your dad.” Because Gray had treated everyone equally. Even the son of the town drunk. But no, they hadn’t been friends. Luke hadn’t had friends. “He was a good guy.”

Some of Simon’s suspicion faded. “I don’t like my grandpa to be unhappy. Mom says losing his job’s made him unhappy.”

“I’m sorry for that.” But he’d given his word to Jake and Gil. The diner door banged open. “I think your mom is looking for you.”

“Simon!” Holly blasted out the door, making her son jump and Luke wince. He knew what it was like to be on the other side of that tone, but at least he didn’t have to worry about this boy’s safety. “Come inside right now.”

“But he knew Dad.” Simon looked at his mom and then did as he was told.

“Hurry. Inside, now.” She pushed him in the door before she faced Luke. “It’d be best if you stayed away from him. From all of us.”

Chills of irritation pricked his spine as his jaw tightened. Did she think he was going to get in his car and run the kid down? “He followed me, Holly.”

“That might be, but next time—”

“Keep a better eye on your son and there won’t be a next time.” When she flinched, he let out a breath and counted to ten. Anger wasn’t going to get either of them anywhere—and he’d rather die than venture into the dark place anger would take him. “I apologize. That was uncalled-for. I was sorry to hear about Gray.”

“Thank you.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and seemed to debate what to say next. She crossed her arms over her chest. When she spoke, he heard the resignation in her tight voice. “You’re really staying?”

“I really am. Better get used to it. Otherwise it’s going to be a very long year for all of us.”


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_66d86ffc-5e84-5959-b67c-e102f3bb1258)

THE SHARP RAP on her back patio door Sunday morning sent flour flying as Holly noted the time on the kitchen clock. Nearly ten already? Where had the time gone? She’d better get a move on. She had to be at the diner by noon to take over for Ursula.

“It’s open, Dad.” The piecrust dough on the kitchen counter screamed for attention, which Holly gladly provided courtesy of her grandmother’s ancient rolling pin.

“Rough week?” Jake Gordon gave a cautionary glance around her yellow-and-blue country-chic kitchen that looked as if a bakery had exploded. Vanilla and hot sugar permeated the air in her storybook cottage house.

Being unable to sleep last night had had her up and working by four this morning. The restlessness seemed to be happening frequently, the more she thought about growing up in Butterfly Harbor and how everything was changing. Now five pies into her baking for the week meant a blackberry, a blueberry lemon and an apple crumb were cooling on the side counter, and two chocolate-mint creams were stashed in the fridge. She’d be lucky if the lemon meringue she was working on now made it past midnight, given her penchant for late-night stress snacking.

“The week was fine.” She pounded the pin against the handmade dough, bringing layers of butter and flour to the surface as Jake strode to the refrigerator. “Yesterday was a bit of a kicker.”

The hand-carved cane aiding her father’s uneven gait struck Holly as ironic, given the man responsible for Jake’s limp had waltzed his way into her diner a little over twenty-four hours ago.

Holly rolled the crust out from the center to the uneven edges of pastry, trying not to give in to the worry bearing down on her. How could he be taking his forced retirement so easily? Even his khaki uniform—the uniform he wore seven days a week because he was always on call—looked as if it was ready to slump into retirement more readily than her father. Thinking of the not-so-far-off day when he’d no longer be wearing his uniform hurt her heart.

“So Luke Saxon’s the new sheriff,” she said when her dad didn’t inquire further.

Had Holly not been watching, she might have missed her father’s split-second hesitation before he twisted off the lid of the orange-juice container and poured a glass. He recovered in true Jake Gordon style, with a shrug of his shoulders and a quirk of his lips, but Holly could see a trace of regret in her father’s assessing gaze.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you gnawing on something you couldn’t change. We both know you can worry something into the ground if you’re given enough notice. Add Luke Saxon to the equation, and I just didn’t have the energy.”

“You’re right.” Holly rolled the dough over the pin and transferred the unbaked crust into a pie tin before downing the last of her coffee. “Having him walk into the diner without any warning made it so much easier.”

Jake hid his wince behind a long drink of juice. “I didn’t think he was due in town yet. Luke always was a fan of the unexpected. Guess some things haven’t changed after all.”

“Huh.” Except Luke was older and more mature, both in stature and in attitude. And while there had been an aloofness about him, there was also a simmering something keeping him front and center in her thoughts. Resignation nibbled at the edge of Holly’s distrust. He said he’d changed, but people didn’t. Not when they said they would; not when she hoped they would. Not even when they promised to, time and time again. She’d dealt with more broken promises than she had broken eggs. Holly separated the half dozen yolks for the lemon-curd filling and dismissed the doubt. “As far as I could tell, nothing about Luke has changed.”

“His employment record states otherwise.” Jake lowered himself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and helped himself to a banana from the blue mosaic fruit bowl she kept filled.

“You’ve seen his record?” She tossed empty shells into the compost bowl on the sink as she pursed her lips to keep the snark to a minimum.

“Why else would I have recommended him for the job?”

Holly’s body went cold. “You recommended him? But why— How— Dad!” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shrieked. “I don’t care what he’s done since, Luke Saxon should have a criminal record for what he did to you. And he would have if you had pressed charges. He should have gone to jail. Instead, you let him off scot-free after he almost killed you.”

“He was anything but scot-free.” The chill in her father’s voice was like a slap in the face. “Luke was a good kid caught in a horrific situation. The accident was just that, an accident.”

“He was drunk when he got behind the wheel of his car.” Grief squeezed her heart like a steel fist. “That’s a choice, not an accident.” And that incident was why she’d learned early on not to get in any car with Gray. How many times had they fought over him driving Simon anywhere? How many nights had she lain awake and wondered how many drinks her husband had had in his system the night he’d smashed into the guardrail just off the San Mateo Bridge? “There’s no excuse for what Luke did, Dad.”

“Luke never tried to excuse what happened, even though he could have.”

“All these years and you’re still defending him. And now you’ve given him your job.” Holly slapped a towel against her legs and swung around. “You spent eight weeks in the hospital, Dad. Another three months in a rehab facility, and let’s not forget all the physical—”

“I might be getting old, Holly, but I don’t require you to remind me of the details.” Jake rubbed a hand over his thigh as if trying to get the circulation going. “What I did then was best for everyone, especially Luke. He needed someone to take a chance on him, to push him into a future he couldn’t see for himself. In some ways, the accident was a blessing.”

Holly bit the inside of her cheek. “Some blessing.”

“I have never once questioned your decisions, Holly.” Jake set his glass on the table with a clack. “You and I both know I could have. I’d thank you to extend me the same courtesy.”

“Dad, I—” But she broke off. She’d tried for years to put into words her feelings about those days after the crash. Her father had had weeks to prepare to return to an empty house, but it had been sixteen-year-old Holly who’d watched her mother pack up and drive off after Jake was safely out of surgery. She’d known her parents had been having problems, but she hadn’t realized how bad things were until the pressure of an injured, possibly invalid husband had proved too much for her mother to handle. Holly had been left to pick up the pieces of her shattered family.

“I wanted Luke’s life to mean something other than spending years rotting in a cell that by all rights should have been reserved for his father,” Jake said. “I’m sorry if this offends your sense of justice, but I wasn’t about to watch Luke lose the rest of his life because of one mistake in judgment.”

Holly’s anger struggled against reason. She could feel sorry for the boy, but hate the teenager who had gotten into his car twelve years ago. The man? To be determined.

“I don’t understand how you can be so calm about him taking your job, Dad. It’s the one thing you’ve always counted on.” The one thing keeping him focused and alert and not wallowing in the depression Holly feared would swallow him. Was he as okay with the situation as he seemed, or was this resignation masked acceptance?

Another shrug. “You know what they say. No good deed goes unpunished.”

“Not funny.”

“Holly, you, of all people, know life isn’t fair. And we knew if Gil won the election there was little chance he was going to keep me on as sheriff. I campaigned against him, was vocal in my opposition to some of his plans for Butterfly Harbor. I wanted someone to come in to the sheriff’s department with an objective, fresh eye. Someone who I knew wouldn’t be swayed by Gil or the township. Luke may be many things—may have been many things—but he’s not a pushover. He’ll put the town first. That’s all I want.”

Holly couldn’t wrap her brain around the fact it had been her father’s idea to bring Luke Saxon to Butterfly Harbor. He hadn’t changed, not where it counted. And certainly not enough to change Holly’s mind about him. “But—”

“Enough, Holly.” Jake exhaled slowly. “It’s been a long week and I really did just come for breakfast with my daughter and grandson. Where is the rapscallion, by the way?”

“He spent the night at Abby’s.” Holly smiled at the affection in his tone as she turned the burner on to medium. “I’m picking him up at noon. But I’d love to have breakfast with you.”

“Sounds good.” Jake hoisted himself out of the chair with a wince. “And please, for the foreseeable future, can we drop the subject of Luke Saxon?”

“Sure.” Holly bussed a kiss on his cheek. But as he busied himself emptying the fridge of breakfast contents, she crossed her arms over her chest, as if holding herself together.

All her life she’d watched her father put this town and everyone in it first, and now he was being kicked to the curb for the sake of “progress.” Whether resigned to circumstance or going with the flow, Holly knew, deep down, the loss of his job hurt her father more than he was letting on. He’d been hurt enough for one lifetime, especially by Luke Saxon.

* * *

HOLLY CAMPBELL HAD been right about one thing, Luke thought as he sat staring out his bug-spattered windshield. He was a coward.

Why else would he have driven out of town and spent his first night in a motel, instead of venturing into the house he’d grown up in? The house his mother had died in.

Why else would he still be sitting in his truck thirty minutes after turning off the engine, trying to muster the courage to walk through the front door and confront a past that may as well be a punch to the solar plexus?

Why else—other than cowardice—did Luke feel as if his heart was going to explode out of his chest?

He had yet to shake off the sadness that had descended during his ride through town yesterday, where memories of Butterfly Harbor had assailed him at every turn. Driving past the Tudor homes, cottages and bungalows on Chrysalis Lane had sent him reeling to the nights he’d wandered the streets, gazing into windows to envy families having dinner, watching television, living their calm, normal, peaceful lives.

He’d dreamed of having a house like theirs. A family like theirs. Now so many of those homes that represented every boyhood desire lay dilapidated, abandoned and in foreclosure.

The glossy paint and the brilliant color of lush fauna were nowhere to be seen. Nothing he saw in Butterfly Harbor said “welcome to town.”

Luke had yet to find anything of any kind that said “welcome” at all.

Despite the desolation, Luke had found the open, empty streets more appealing than the run-down two-story gray bungalow sagging in front of him now. And the shed beside it. Luke swallowed hard. The shed that could still trigger nightmares if he dwelled long enough.

Gil hadn’t been kidding when he’d said his father’s house had seen better days. A cool breeze slipped through the truck’s open windows. Panes of glass had been shattered; planks of warped patio board sagged against the side of the house. The half brick, half cobble detailing along the foundation had been worn away by neglect and salt air. The lawn, while short, was sun-dried brown, the unique wheat-colored hue that only resulted from dying earth.

How fitting, given the failing house had never been much of a home.

Funny. He’d been willing to expose himself to hatred and anger by stepping right into Holly’s world with barely a passing thought, and yet here he sat, paralyzed by a house containing memories that couldn’t hurt him.

Luke scrubbed a hand over his chin. Maybe coming back had been a mistake. Trying to make amends for the past felt selfish, but he at least needed to try. Still, it hadn’t taken him long to realize what he’d feared the past twelve years.

Luke didn’t belong in Butterfly Harbor.

The wind picked up and chills erupted along his bare arms. For an instant, he swore he heard the drunken, disparaging cackle echoing so often from his father—as if the old man was relishing Luke’s crisis of confidence. If there was one thing Luke was certain of, it was that Ward Saxon would have taken great pleasure in Luke’s difficult situation.

Eight years in the ground and his father could still chip away at Luke’s self-worth. Luke had been a soldier and a cop, but in his mind, he’d always hear his father beating him down, telling him he’d never amount to anything. That he would always be unworthy of respect, let alone affection.

Darkness crept across his heart, but the bright image of Holly Campbell’s wide-eyed face prevented the depression from completely settling.

While he was grateful for the second chance, part of him regretted running. But he wasn’t running anymore. He and Holly would have to get used to that fact.

He may as well ask for the secret of eternal youth. Where there was hope, even imagined hope, there was the possibility that life could get better. That was something his father would never have understood.

“Enough already.” Luke shoved out of the truck and dropped to the ground, wincing as his stiff muscles protested the sudden movement. His shoulders and back had throbbed all night, but he’d ridden it out, opting for two aspirin rather than the painkillers that scared the crap out of him. The pain would have to be unbearable for him to consider ingesting any substance with a tendency for addiction.

He shuffled his feet, craned his neck as he glanced around the expanse of property. The eerie Sunday-morning silence made him tense, as if the world was about to explode and he was the detonator. He was as far from the main drag of town as one could get and still be called part of Butterfly Harbor. His nearest neighbor lay a half mile down the road, his own house hidden behind a thicket of trees and dense shrubs. One would have to know the house was here to find it. The short driveway was canopied by overgrown redwoods, shaved back to allow cars through.

Luke preferred silence, but here, he knew no one could hear him scream.

Counting the steps it took to reach the porch, Luke stopped at the base of the stairs, his courage fading as the midmorning clouds burned away under the sun’s rays. He’d imagined this moment a hundred times in the past few weeks.

His stomach rolled. He may as well have been chained to the past, unable to break free and take that last step up. And one step inside.

He dropped his head forward as the sick feeling he’d tried to bank washed over him. He was right. Coming here had been a bad idea.

A high-pitched sound caught his ear, a whine followed by a shuffling. Luke inclined his head, listened. There it was again. He bent down as he scanned the ground. A child? A hurt child? Wait. Longer this time, deeper, weaker. And it was coming from under the stairs.

Luke scrambled forward to wrench what was left of the rotting trellis free, and tossed it aside. Black eyes as big as saucers blinked at him. The haggard golden retriever’s face was caked in mud and grime. Vines and weeds were wrapped around its paws and neck.

“Hey, boy.” Luke inched forward, held out a hand for a sniff as he gave the dog a once-over. Yep. Definitely a boy. A cool, damp nose pressed against his palm as the dog issued another whine. “How’d you get in here?” But Luke already knew. He’d wedged himself through the trellis often enough himself as a boy. The dog whimpered. Nudged him again. “Okay, let’s see what’s going on here.” Without moving the animal, Luke reached for the pocketknife he always carried, snapped it open and cut the vines. As he was pulling them aside, he stopped, examined them more closely and felt a bolt of anger strike through him. Those were knots. Hand-tied knots.

As if sensing Luke’s sudden shift in mood, the dog started to tremble. “Shh.” Luke stroked a hand down the dog’s side, soothing him, letting the dog calm him, and waited until the shaking subsided before he cut the remaining ties. The retriever wasn’t an adult, but he wasn’t small, either. As Luke considered his options on how to remove him from under the stairs, the dog scooted forward on his belly, crawling to freedom, before collapsing on the crispy grass with an exhausted sigh. “You must be thirsty.” Luke scratched the dog’s head right between the ears and saw black eyes lift to his, a mixture of gratitude and approval in his canine gaze. “And hungry, too, I bet.”

Another whimper.

“Okay. Give me a minute.” As Luke stood up, the dog’s head popped up. “I’ll be right back.” Mind racing, he jogged to the truck to rummage through the few supplies he’d bought, but nothing that would be good for a dog. And he’d forgotten to buy bottled water. The dog whined and Luke’s heart clenched before he raced up the front stairs and into his past.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_5ac31119-c484-59a3-ac9d-449bcdfa1f12)

HOLLY KNEW SHE’D have to get used to seeing Luke around town, but she hadn’t expected to see him again quite so soon. Her break from the diner provided enough time to hop over to the Flutterby Inn and pick up Simon, but as she reached the corner of Morning Dew Drive and Monarch Lane, she spotted Luke’s beat-up red truck parked outside Doc Collins’s veterinary clinic.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She could avoid him by taking the long way around, but that was ridiculous. She couldn’t waste her time going out of her way to avoid something she couldn’t change. She’d have to suck it up and accept Luke Saxon was here to stay. For now, at least.

“Come on, boy,” she heard Luke call as she kitty-crossed the street. The stress in his voice reminded Holly of how she sounded whenever Simon was sick; a half pleading, half desperate cajole that struck against her chest. Except Luke didn’t have a child that she knew of. Dang it. Keep walking.

Curiosity battled her determination to keep her distance. She didn’t want—or need—Luke in her life, and she doubted he’d appreciate her butting into his business, but the next thing she knew, she’d rounded the truck and found Luke squatting beside the open passenger door to the cab. “I promise Doc Collins won’t hurt you.”

“It’s not the Doc Collins you remember,” Holly said as a soft bark came from the truck. “His daughter Selina runs the practice now.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” Luke tilted his chin to look at her. An expression she could only identify as fear clouded his blue eyes. “I found him under the porch of the house this morning. Getting him into the truck wasn’t a problem. Getting him out...”

Holly moved closer and Luke got to his feet. He was filthy, the front of his jeans and T-shirt muddied, his arms caked in dirt, and she saw streaks of grime in his hair and across his face. To his credit, Luke’s concern for the dog had taken over, and Holly could see why.

The golden retriever was stretched out on the cab’s bench seat, making her wonder how Luke had found enough room to drive. Leery black eyes blinked up at her, but the dog soon sighed and rested his head on doubled-up paws. “He’s a beauty.” Under the dirt, she suspected. Holly held out her hand, giving the dog ample time to sniff and accept, but when Holly shifted to pet the dog on the head, she swore she saw Luke’s new companion flinch. “I haven’t seen him around before. He must be a stray.”

“Somebody tied vines around him.” Luke pointed to the divisions in the dog’s fur. “On purpose. I don’t want to force him to do something he doesn’t want to do. I don’t want to scare him any more than he already is, but I need to get him checked out.”

Luke’s anger at what had happened to the dog was clear and eased her resentment toward him. “Why don’t you go get Doc Collins and I’ll stay with him. Maybe she’ll be able to coax him out.”

The relief on Luke’s face had Holly returning her attention to the dog. She didn’t want Luke’s gratitude or his useless apologies. But she could call a truce—for the animal’s sake.

“Thanks.”

When he dashed through the open gate and up the trio of stairs, the dog raised his head, watching every move Luke made before he blinked at Holly. She swore the dog was asking where Luke was going.

“He’ll be back in a second, okay?” She stroked the dog’s neck, not liking the continued trembling she felt beneath her hand. It took a special kind of cruel to impart this kind of injury on an animal or a chi—

The door to the clinic banged open. Both the dog and Holly watched a woman in her late forties lead Luke to the truck. She took off the white lab coat she wore, draped it over the open truck door and pushed wire-rimmed glasses higher on her nose as she bent down beside Holly. “I hear I have a new patient. Hi, Holly.” She repeated Holly’s greeting to the dog, only she didn’t get a flinch in response when she sank her hand into the dog’s shank. “Now, that’s a good boy. How’re Simon’s hermit crabs doing?”

“Better than I’d like,” Holly said and moved aside to give Selina access to the dog. “I’m on my way to pick him up right now. I hope everything’s okay, Luke.” Holly resumed her path to the Flutterby Inn.

“Thank you,” Luke said. “For staying with him.”

“Sure.” Holly hugged her arms around herself as she shivered despite the warm afternoon. Part of her wanted to call to Luke, to ask him to let her know what happened with the dog, but she couldn’t find the words.

She’d seen the same haunted, hurt look before—in Luke’s eyes, years ago. Holly double-timed it up the hill to the three-story Victorian inn, guilt niggling at her insides. As much as she didn’t want the past to matter, there was no escaping it; not when it continued to shape the present. It might not do any good to dwell on how things might have been different, but seeing Luke again made her wonder what might have happened had she ever asked teenage Luke if he needed help.

Instead of pretending he didn’t exist.

* * *

“IT’S AMAZING WHAT the promise of a dog treat will do.” Selina Collins backed away as the dog dropped out of the truck and nuzzled her hand for the hidden prize. Selina opened her palm and let the dog lick up the snack. “Are you okay?” She glanced over at Luke, who was still trying to process the panic that had descended at the house. He hated feeling helpless, hopeless, and for a long moment, he’d been a cop again back in Chicago, reliving those endless seconds when he’d realized nothing could stop what was going to happen. And nothing could alter what had happened. The pain, the suffering. The death. No matter how many times he replayed that day in his mind, he couldn’t change it.

But he could here. He could make a difference in Butterfly Harbor.

“Is he going to be okay?” he croaked, trying to block out the memory of explosions and screams, fire and failure.

“Let’s get him inside and see.” She picked up Luke’s arm and dropped some treats into his hand. “Lead the way. He’ll follow.”

Luke nodded, grateful for the calming effect Dr. Collins seemed to have on both of them. Her peppered blond hair was tugged into a bun, giving her more of a schoolmarm appearance than that of a vet, until she shrugged into her lab coat again. Voilà. The doctor was back.

“I heard Holly call you Luke,” Dr. Collins said. “Would that be Luke Saxon, our new sheriff?”

Luke’s guard shot up as if he’d shoved a shield in front of himself. “Yes.”

Selina closed the door behind her and led the way through the clinic to the exam room. The clinic wasn’t just a vet’s office; it was her home. The dog’s claws click-clacked on the hardwood floor as he trailed behind them—the animal was becoming more animated by the second.

“That would be the Saxons who lived up on Turnpike Lane?”

“What’s left of us still do.” He needed to get used to this conversation, as he was certain to be having it every day for a while. He could only imagine the damage his father had done after Luke left Butterfly Harbor, especially without Luke around to try to clean up his messes. “I still do.”

“Ah.” She patted his arm as she passed and encouraged the dog to join her in an exam room. It was wood paneled and decked out with modern equipment, and posters of various animals and warnings and reminders dotted the soft green walls.

Luke frowned. What did “ah” mean?

“Okay, boy, up.” Selina tapped her hand on the metal exam table.

The dog plopped its butt on the floor and whined up at Luke.

“What?” Luke asked. “Am I supposed to pick him up?” He didn’t think he and the dog had established enough trust for that.

“I don’t think so. Give me a second.” Selina left the room and returned with a solid block of wood. “Up.” She tapped the table again and this time, the dog used the block as stairs, keeping a cautious eye on Luke as he did so. “Well, you’ve got yourself a smart one, that’s for sure.” She began running her hands around the dog’s body, her face losing all expression as she prodded and pressed, poked and checked. “He’s dehydrated, which explains the lethargy. There’s no telling how long he was under your house.” When she turned to the counter, the dog let out a pent-up sigh and lay down, as if he knew what was coming next. Sure enough, Luke winced at the sight of the thermometer in Selina’s hand.

“I know,” Luke said as he moved to the dog’s head and bent down, petting the pooch as the doctor did what was necessary. “It’s undignified, isn’t it?” He didn’t want to think of all the poking and prodding he’d undergone during his lengthy stay in the hospital and then the recovery time in the burn unit.

Undignified was an understatement.

“Is this your first dog?” Selina asked.

“He’s not mine.”

The dog’s eyes brightened and he lifted his chin, ears twitching.

Luke looked to Selina when she chuckled. “He can’t understand me, right?”

“Don’t be so surprised. His temp’s normal, by the way. I can run some blood work to be sure, if it’ll put your mind at ease. And I’ll have my assistant give him a bath, make sure there wasn’t any damage to his skin from the knots and vines. I don’t charge an arm and a leg, so if cost is a concern—”

“It’s not.” Even if it was, he wasn’t going to let this dog suffer any more than it already had, even if it cost him a significant amount of cash. “Have you seen any other animals come in who have been treated this way?”

“No.” Selina’s face slammed shut like a bear trap. “But I’ll be on the lookout for it. I’d like to say no one in this town would ever treat an animal so horribly, but these days—” she shrugged “—who’s to say what goes on behind closed doors?”

Who indeed. “I’d appreciate you letting me know if you see or hear anything.” If he ever did come across the person responsible, he’d be calling on all of his training not to beat the criminal to a bloody pulp.


CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_2b4e1c0e-f831-5da6-85b3-c2cba78f6977)

BY LATE WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, Holly had gone “mom” deaf to Simon’s “pew-pew-pewing” of make-believe laser guns. Her son’s enthusiasm for 1970s space operas had almost driven her ’round the bend.

Thank goodness her father had stopped by to take Simon with him to his house, where slow-cooked pot roast awaited them all for dinner once she closed the diner.

Angry storm clouds rolled in, tumbling over each other as if in competition to deluge Butterfly Harbor in their rage. If only the forecast had been more adamant about their arrival, she might not have left the house without her rain gear.

Monarch Lane may as well have rolled up for the day, as there was barely a person on the street. Most of the cars were gone, while shop owners and managers closed well before stated times. She’d pushed it too far walking to work this morning in the hopes of burning off some of the worry and concern that refused to abandon her. The fact she’d been wondering about Luke and his new companion didn’t sit well, either. She had enough things on her plate between putting an ad in the paper for help at the diner, keeping the doors open and maintaining a watchful eye on Simon.

She turned off the lights and locked up, twisting her key in the front door. A glance up at the sky had her sucking in a cold breath between clenched teeth. Gray clouds had turned black and rumbled overhead. Fat raindrops plopped on her cheeks as she shivered under her thin sweater and cursed herself for not keeping a spare umbrella at the diner. If she hustled, she could make it to her father’s house—less than a mile away—before it got too bad.

If only the weather was the reason for the sad empty streets and vacant storefronts. Any tourist passing through town would think Butterfly Harbor had been abandoned. Much like the way Catalina Island shut down in midafternoon, the sidewalks were vacant and the stores were dark. As Holly passed, signs were turned to Closed with a slow-motion attitude that spoke of “why bother?” Things had to get better.

They would. Things just needed a little nudge in the right direction.

The wind picked up and whipped her ponytailed hair around her face. She braced herself for being soaked to the skin before she got anywhere near her father’s front yard.

She increased her pace, hoofing it down Monarch Lane all the way to the abandoned community center that hadn’t seen any activity in years. By the time she crossed the road and headed up the hill, the rain was coming down in plumes, preventing her from hearing anything but the cacophonous drops hitting the cement like tiny jackhammers. The lightning and thunder added their mocking two cents and pounded in her ears.

“Holly!”

Luke’s voice exploded beside her and she yelped. She jumped back and avoided toppling into Mrs. Clancy’s prized flower bed. “What?” She pressed a hand against her hammering heart. “Luke, what the—”

“Get in the truck!” Lightning split the air as the sky thundered.

“Woof!” The sparkling-clean retriever shoved his head between Luke’s arms on the steering wheel.

“I’m not going far.” She regained her footing and started up the hill again, but her father’s house felt miles away. “I’m fine.”

Rain pinged off the roof of his cab as he kept pace beside her. She gnashed her teeth. The last thing she needed was Luke Saxon coming to her rescue. What karmic wrong had she committed—

“You’re headed to your dad’s, right?” Luke called.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. She sped up and crossed the street. How did he know where she was going?

“For the love of—” Luke slammed on the brakes, shoved open the creaky door and got out. A lightning bolt blasted down and struck the oak twenty feet in front of her. “Holly!” The crack and thud of the huge branch had her falling solidly into Luke. His hands gripped her arms, hauling her away from the crackle and pop of power lines as the branch thudded on to the road and settled against the wind. The smell of ozone singed her nose and she choked. “Now will you get in the—”

“Yeah.” She shuddered, her brain going fuzzy as electricity zinged around her. Another couple of seconds and she could have been under that branch. She shrugged off his hold despite the comfort his hands provided. “You win.”

She scrambled around him and pulled open the passenger door, flinging herself inside as a deluge struck and obscured the street from view. Luke’s dog chuffed and blinked at her. Holly’s mouth twisted. Obviously the dog was the smartest of them, never having ventured out of the safety of the vehicle.

Luke slid into the driver’s seat, sending her a look she might have withered under had she been a violet under the too-hot sun. “I see you haven’t lost your stubborn streak.”

She ignored the backhanded compliment. “He cleaned up nicely.” Holly shoved her sopping hair out of her eyes and leaned into the dog that had apparently undergone a self-confidence transplant. He nuzzled her shoulder. The hot, stifling air that circled the cab made it feel as if she’d stepped into a sauna. “I take it he’s yours now?”

“So it would seem. Buckle up.” He jerked his chin toward the seat belt as he put the car into Reverse before heading back toward Monarch Lane.

As if her town wasn’t bleak enough, the storm was going to give them a right walloping. The waves began crashing up against the town wall, sending mist and spray over the road ahead of them.

“What’s his name?” Holly hated the silence pulsing between them.

“He hasn’t told me yet,” Luke said with something akin to a smile on his tight lips. “Doc Collins asked the same thing for his new file, but...” He shrugged and clutched the steering wheel tighter as a gust of wind battered the truck. “Would have been nice to have some warning about this storm.”

Huh. Holly settled in her seat, trying to distract herself with petting no-name fur face, but it wasn’t any use. “I talked to my father. About you and the job.”

“Yeah?” He waited for a decrepit 70s throwback van to pass before he turned left on Wasp Tail Road.

“He told me he recommended you.”

“He did. Does it matter?”

Holly pressed her lips into a hard, thin line. “He’s still out of a job. Doesn’t matter who they replaced him with.”

“I’m just icing on the cake, then.” He shifted gears and the truck strained against his order. “I didn’t accept this offer lightly, Holly. I’m well aware of what I left behind and the mistakes I made. Believe me, I didn’t expect anyone to throw a parade when I drove into town. Especially you.”

Holly stared out her window. Until Luke had walked into the diner the other day, she hadn’t realized how much resentment she was still clinging to. She wasn’t ashamed of her feelings—because of Luke she’d nearly lost her father. From her perspective, Luke hadn’t had to witness the aftermath of the accident. He didn’t have to watch Jake suffer through physical therapy, months in the hospital and pain that had followed him every day since. Or watch as her mother got in her car and drove away. “We all make mistakes, Luke.”

“I guess some of us aren’t allowed to learn from them.”

She whipped around to stare at him. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Luke took his eyes off the road and met her gaze. “There’s nothing I can do to change the past, but what happened with your father changed my life.” It was then she saw the mixture of grief and pain in his cool blue eyes. “I need this job, Holly. I hope you can understand that.”

Holly remained silent, mostly because her father had pretty much said the same thing to her. But while Jake Gordon had faith in people’s abilities to change, she knew better. The Luke Saxon she knew was a drinker. Just like Gray. The Luke she remembered was irresponsible, dangerous and unpredictable. Just like Gray. She’d gone down that road before, and she wasn’t one to repeat history, even with a distant acquaintance.

If Holly had her way, there was no reason to have much interaction with Luke from now on. Staying out of rainstorms would be a good start. Staying out of his too-close-for-comfort truck wasn’t a bad idea, either. She could smell the hint of his aftershave. Warm, spicy. Intoxicating.

“Dad’s always been more generous on the forgiveness front than me,” she said to distract—and remind—herself.

“Yeah, well. Then we have something in common after all.” He made a left on Milk Thistle Way as the rain settled into a gentle patter against the windshield. “I’ve never asked for nor expected your forgiveness. How can I when I can’t forgive myself? But at least with me as sheriff, I’ll do my best to respect what Jake’s done during his tenure.” He slammed the gearshift forward and she caught the flinch on his face as if the past were no less painful for him.

They rumbled along the road in silence until he turned and stopped behind Jake’s ancient jeep. Holly stared out at the single-story stone house she’d grown up in. The house that had given her the stability of a loving father and the pain of a mother who had abandoned them. There were times, even as an adult, she couldn’t wait to step foot inside and find herself instantly at home and safe. Not everyone had such stability. She glanced over at Luke and felt a pang of sympathy she wasn’t ready to embrace.

Luke hadn’t had anything close to stable and yet here he sat, with a rescue dog sitting between them as solid and immovable as the past.

“Thank you for the ride.” She hugged her purse against her chest as she shoved open the door. “It was a very sheriff thing to do.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Take care, Holly.”

“Yeah, you, too.” She bit her lip, knowing she should say more. Luke Saxon wasn’t evil. He wasn’t even horrible. He was a man who had made mistakes at an age when stupidity was as commonplace as pimples and overused hair products. She slid out of the cab and gave the dog a final pat. “I’m glad he found you.”

“I found him,” Luke said.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” She closed the door and headed inside, where her father and son—her family—was waiting for her.


CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_e8ef29ff-a34d-596f-ab28-363b8f9115a4)

“THERE WAS A time I never would have trusted Luke Saxon with power tools.” The deep voice that blasted through the residual roar of Luke’s chain saw the next morning had him turning to face a uniformed deputy lounging against the hood of a patrol car. Arms crossed over a pumped-up chest, dark sunglasses obscuring any hint of expression on his lean, narrow face, the officer tilted his chin down. “Normally we like to be notified before someone goes hacking our trees apart.”

Luke set down the chain saw and stretched his arms in front of him, wincing as the scars along his back tightened in protest. “Fletcher Bradley.” Luke had read up on the meager staff he’d be inheriting at the police station and hadn’t been surprised to find the onetime golden boy of Butterfly Harbor High on the list of employees. Fletch had always talked about being a cop. Looks as though he’d gotten what he wanted. Wiping the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt, Luke let out a long breath. “I suppose I should have called in or stopped by the station, but...”

“You probably would have ended up on hold.” Fletch’s grin seemed strained, kicking up the worry Luke had been tamping down when it came to dealing with his coworkers. “Jake’s been on the phone all morning trying to wrangle up some help from neighboring counties. Great way to spend his last days on the job. Entire area got walloped, but Butterfly Harbor isn’t high on their priority list. I hear Mayor Gil is in a right state over the lack of assistance. Is this the branch that tried to take out Holly Campbell?”

“What’s left of it.” Luke looked at the chunked-up ten-foot limb. He hadn’t realized he’d used the branch—and the opportunity—to take out some of his frustrations at being back in his father’s house. Not that he’d minded having to delay tackling the sorry excuse for a living space. He wasn’t convinced the house was livable at all. Even Cash—the name had come to Luke in the middle of the night—wasn’t overly impressed with his musty lodgings, but the dog had claimed his own space on a new floor rug beside the soot-caked fireplace, before tucking in next to the rickety double bed in Luke’s old room. “Thought I’d haul the pieces for firewood, if that’s okay?”

“More than,” Fletcher said.

“How’d you know I was out here anyway?” Luke didn’t have to look far for his answer. A shadowy figure shifted behind lace curtains in a nearby house. “Mrs. Ellison?”

“She called Myra Standing, who got Oscar to walk over to the station to tell us someone was out here making a ruckus with his chain saw. I think your name might have gotten thrown in there somewhere as a minor epithet.” Fletcher pulled off his glasses and tossed them through the open window of his squad car. “You gotta know coming back here was going to be like kicking up a hornet’s nest of gossip. You can’t blow your nose without someone announcing it in the paper.”

“The sheriff’s desk might not be mine till Monday, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t work that needs doing. But yeah.”

“Tongues are definitely wagging. Most people aren’t sure how to feel about you replacing Jake.”

“You one of those people?” Luke needed to know sooner than later what he’d be facing when it came to his own men.

“Haven’t decided yet,” Fletcher said. “You want some help loading up your truck?”

“How do you know I have a truck?”

All six foot three of Fletch straightened with the cockiness Luke remembered from their high school days. “It’s my job to know.”

Between the two of them it didn’t take long to get the wood taken care of and the branches curbside for the service that would be around in a few days’ time.

“What’s next on your agenda?” Fletcher asked as he slammed the truck bed closed and circled around to the cab. Cash woofed through the open window. “Hey, he looks pretty good for what Doc Collins said he’d been through. Hey, boy. Any idea yet as to who tied him up?”

The internet had nothing on Butterfly Harbor when it came to the information superhighway. After all his years away, he would have to readjust to the small-town rumor mill...and fast.

“No, but I’ll be looking. I saw some other downed trees on my drive over here. Thought I’d go check them out. That okay with you, Deputy?”

“Have at it.” Fletcher nodded. “Come by the station for lunch when you’re done.”

Luke shook his head. “Not my place. Not yet.” The last thing he wanted to do was shove out Jake any faster than he was already being pushed.

“You made it your place by taking care of business.” Fletch headed to his car, gestured to Mrs. Ellison, who had emerged from her front door to stand watching them from her porch, with her laser-beam eyes.

Luke gave a quick wave and hauled himself into the truck before she could ignore him. He looked at Cash. “Well, boy. Guess we’re in this for the long term, huh?”

“Woof.”

“My sentiments exactly. Now let’s see what else is out there waiting for us.”

* * *

“SIMON, STOP STRAGGLING and get a move on.” Holly hurried down Monarch Lane to Stories Unbound, Butterfly Harbor’s independent bookstore. Nose down, she checked her phone calendar. She had fewer than forty-five minutes before Twyla had to leave for a dentist appointment, so getting Simon loaded up with a new stack of books was her first priority.

The hours at the diner were beginning to close in on her, but she didn’t have anyone but herself to blame. “Heads up, Holly!”

“Mom!” Simon gripped the back of her jeans with his hand. “Watch out!”

The enormous piece of plywood crossing her path stopped and lowered as Luke’s surprised face popped up on the other side. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t see you.”

“Then, who—” Holly craned her neck forward and saw Harvey Mills, hardware store proprietor, rushing toward them, his stubby legs tested by the barrel of a belly he carried.

“Everything okay?” Harvey panted as he reached them. “I thought Luke would wait for some help before loading up his truck.”

“What’s going on?” Holly reached behind her to draw Simon against her side. The sheen of sweat covering Luke’s face and the way his hair fell over his startling blue eyes made her stomach flip. Nothing like a bout of activity to remind a woman of a strong, healthy man.

“Couple of blown-out windows thanks to the storm.” Luke hefted the plywood into his arms and hauled it the remaining feet to his truck. “Heard your dad was having problems getting repair help so I thought I’d pitch in. Hi, Simon.”

“Hi.” Holly felt Simon’s grip on her tighten.

“I’ll just...” Harvey gestured behind him, bulging eyes darting between Holly and Luke as if he expected one of them to combust at any minute. “I’ll send Chet out with the dolly and the last of the wood.” He scrambled off.

“Is this your dog?” Simon trailed after Luke and rose up on tiptoe to peer into the truck. Cash shifted seats and stuck his head out of the open driver’s-side window.

“Careful, Simon,” Holly warned. Given Simon’s penchant for hugging most animals, he’d have no qualms about throwing his arms around this one.

“I know, Mom.” She could all but see him rolling his eyes. “What’s his name?” He curled his fingers over the window edge.

“Cash,” Luke said with a grunt as he slid the plywood on top of the others in the truck bed. “Short for Cassius. After Cassius Clay.”

“The boxer?” Holly asked, and her heart twisted as Cash gave Simon’s hand a solid lick. Her son’s smile widened.

Luke nodded. “They’re both fighters. Seemed fitting. I see you weathered the rest of the storm okay.”

“Yeah.” She still had difficulty reconciling the Luke she knew years ago with the man who had returned. The edge was still there, along with the promise of danger, although it was tempered by maturity and control. “Well.” She cleared her throat. “We’re heading to the bookstore, so...”

“Actually, I’m glad you ran into me.” He grinned and made Holly’s heart stutter. “I saw a bunch of kids hanging out around the old community center last night. What can you tell me about them?”

“They’re bored,” Holly said, reluctantly impressed he cared. “Not much left for them to do around town, especially now that the arcade closed.”

“I saw a blond kid, birdlike hair.” Luke waved his hand above his head. “Gray hooded sweatshirt. Seemed like the ringleader.”

“That’s Kyle Winters,” Simon announced as he continued to pet Cash. “He’s always up to something.”

“Like what?” Luke asked.

“He’s mean. He picks on littler kids.” Simon’s face scrunched up. “Knocks them down, throws things at them. One time he even shoved Monty Tillings in his locker. I heard Mellie Sinclair say he smokes pot up in one of the beach caves. I tried to follow him up there one time, but it got too steep.”

“You did what?” Holly turned stern eyes on her son. “I thought we talked about this, Simon.”

“He’s a bad guy, Mom. Superheroes catch bad guys, right, Sheriff Saxon?”

“They do in comic books,” Luke said, obviously trying to walk the thin line between child logic and maternal discipline. “But you should be careful.”

“Kyle was suspended from school last year for threatening one of his teachers,” Holly added in the hopes of veering off the topic of her son’s leanings. “His home life isn’t ideal.” She pinned Luke with a look that she hoped conveyed what she really meant to say. Kyle Winters’s situation at home wasn’t dissimilar to the one Luke had experienced, but while Holly might sympathize, she couldn’t excuse the damage Luke had caused her father. “Kyle’s an instigator. I don’t think he’s a bad kid, just lost. All the more reason for you to stay away from him, young man.” She held out her hand. “Have a good day, Luke.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

“’Bye, Cash.” Simon waved and Holly steeled herself against the sorrowful expression that crossed her son’s face. Something told her he’d be begging for a dog again come dinnertime. “Mom, is Sheriff Saxon the reason Grandpa doesn’t walk right?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“At the diner.” He puffed out his chest. “I hear everything there. So is it true?”

So much for hoping this conversation could wait until Simon was older. She should have realized Simon would be privy to tons of town gossip, but how else was she going to keep an eye on him if she didn’t bring him to the diner with her? “Luke was involved in the accident where your grandpa got hurt, yes.” She dropped her hand on Simon’s shoulder, not wanting to delve too deeply into a topic that could bring up memories of Gray’s death. “It was a long time ago, Simon. Way before you were born.”

“But you’re still angry with him. And now he’s taking Grandpa’s job?” The annoyance in her eight-year-old’s voice twisted her insides into knots not even a magician could loosen. Blast it, the last thing she wanted was for her anger with Luke to trickle down to her son. “That’s not right. I thought sheriffs were supposed to be good guys.”

“Luke didn’t take your grandpa’s job, Simon.” When Simon’s shoulders stiffened, she knew his overactive brain was already spinning. She circled in front of him and stooped down, gripping his little arms in her hands. “Simon, I need you to hear me, okay? What’s happened is because of decisions other people have made, including your Grandpa. Yes, we’re all sad he’s not sheriff anymore, but think about all the extra time you’ll get to spend with him now. You have fun with Grandpa, don’t you? Maybe he’ll even teach you to fish like you’ve always wanted.”

“I like Grandpa being sheriff. He stops bad guys, Mom. Like I want to. And he’s good at it.”

“Well, maybe Luke will be good at it, too.” The idea of Simon chasing bad guys gave her chills. The last thing she needed was for him to launch himself off the top of a building in the hopes he’d fly. She brushed too-long bangs out of Simon’s face and made a mental note to make a haircut appointment for him for next week. “I need your help with this, bud, okay? Grandpa will, too. You have to stay out of trouble and behave. Can you do that for me?”

Simon shrugged. “I guess.”

Those wheels were grinding in his head; she could see them. “We’re in this together, remember? With your dad gone, we have to be a team. And you know how important teamwork is. Just like your superheroes, right?”




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