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Small-Town Homecoming
Lissa Manley
A Home to CherishTen years ago, Curt Graham left his hometown in disgrace. Now Curt returns to Moonlight Cove for a fresh start and to reestablish family ties. The pretty owner of the inn where he's staying is exactly the kind of woman he needs. But Jenna Flaherty is waiting for the perfect man. Curt knows he'll never be that. When the little boy Jenna babysits needs Curt's help, he's surprised to discover he's a good father figure–and that he harbors a wish to have a home of his own. Now if only he could convince Jenna he'd make her a wonderful husband.Moonlight Cove:A beachside town where love and faith blossom.


A Home to Cherish
Ten years ago, Curt Graham left his hometown in disgrace. Now Curt returns to Moonlight Cove for a fresh start and to reestablish family ties. The pretty owner of the inn where he’s staying is exactly the kind of woman he needs. But Jenna Flaherty is waiting for the perfect man. Curt knows he’ll never be that. When the little boy Jenna babysits needs Curt’s help, he’s surprised to discover he’s a good father figure—and that he harbors a wish to have a home of his own. Now if only he could convince Jenna he’d make her a wonderful husband.
Moonlight Cove:
A beachside town where love and faith blossom.
“Are you nervous?”
“No,” she replied very quickly, in what sounded like a strangled voice.
She was nervous. Obviously so. Interesting. “It’s just a guitar lesson,” Curt said. “Nothing more.”
She nodded. “I know that.”
“So just relax and let me do the teaching.” He settled his arm around her slender shoulders, and the scent of her fresh-smelling shampoo wafted his way, filling his senses with the sweet aroma of Jenna.
He resisted his first urge, which was to lean in and breathe deep.
“Now, I’m going to show you the chord.”
She nodded, just a single upward motion of her head.
“Now strum,” he instructed.
Awkwardly, she ran her fingers across the strings over the sound hole.
“Wow,” she said, strumming again.
“It sounds pretty good!” A moment later, she turned, her mouth curved up into a brilliant smile. About six inches from him. She froze, staring into his eyes, clearly surprised to find him so close.
His heart thundered in his chest and he couldn’t for the life of him look away from those beautiful, emerald-shaded eyes of hers.
LISSA MANLEY
decided she wanted to be a published author at the ripe old age of twelve. After she read her first romance novel as a teenager, she quickly decided romance was her favorite genre, although she still enjoys digging into a good medical thriller now and then.
When her youngest was still in diapers, Lissa needed a break from strollers and runny noses, so she sat down and started crafting a romance and has been writing ever since. Nine years later, in 2001, she sold her first book, fulfilling her childhood dream. She feels blessed to be able to write what she loves, and intends to be writing until her fingers quit working, or she runs out of heartwarming stories to tell. She’s betting the fingers will go first.
Lissa lives in the beautiful city of Portland, Oregon, with her wonderful husband, a grown daughter and college-aged son, and two bossy poodles who rule the house and get away with it. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, crafting, bargain hunting, cooking and decorating.
Small-Town Homecoming
Lissa Manley


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Judge not that you be judged. For with that judgment you pronounce, you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get.
—Matthew 7:1–2
This book is dedicated to Shana Asaro. Thank you for all of your hard work on my books. I’ll miss you.
Contents
Chapter One (#u5b51b8d9-d0c4-55cf-9ac7-7665939bba0e)
Chapter Two (#ub87a56c6-6064-5faf-892d-c42a26c6b8bb)
Chapter Three (#u468982b6-4738-5391-a924-ccf658079cb8)
Chapter Four (#ub380b045-038e-5372-af3f-6b4dfd8374ec)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo),
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Curt Graham pulled Old Green up to the curb in front of the Sweetheart Inn, cut the engine and climbed out of the pickup. He breathed deep, enjoying the familiar salty tang in the ocean air. Given he’d left Moonlight Cove in disgrace ten years ago, it was hard to believe he was back where he’d grown up. Hopefully for good, although he had no illusions about the difficult road he’d chosen by returning.
He paused for a moment and looked up at the puffy clouds scudding across the late-afternoon sky.
Please, Lord, help me to continue in my recovery by making good choices, and give me the strength to face the many mistakes I made in the past.
He stepped forward and opened the iron gate guarding the front yard, casting his gaze over the white Victorian-style home, noting that the place was in need of a new coat of paint and fresh gingerbread window trim. But the house was beautiful, and if he remembered correctly, had been run by an old couple since long before he’d been born.
He closed the gate and headed up the concrete pathway that led to the front steps of the Sweetheart, his gaze lingering on the bright red roses still blooming in the front yard. Summer typically came late to the Washington Coast, if at all, really, and many flowers were still in bloom, even in mid-September.
As he went up the wooden stairs, he saw that a wide front porch wrapped around the front of the house and a gliding rocker sat at an angle in one corner, flanked by two padded outdoor chairs. Red flowers in pots sat clustered by the painted railing. Looked like a good place to relax, although with the temperatures dropping as summer gave way to fall, hanging out on the porch in the evening would be mighty chilly very soon.
Just as Curt hit the top of the stairs, the wide wooden front door flew open and a dark-haired boy of about six, maybe seven, blasted out, full speed ahead. Luckily he saw Curt and deftly dodged him before he trucked down the stairs without missing a step.
A feminine voice rang out from the house. “Sam Waters, come back here this instant!”
Giggling, the boy kept going when he reached the bottom of the stairs and ran around the front corner of the house.
Curt paused by the porch railing and debated going after the kid, but before he could get in gear to do so, the front door banged open again and a pretty young woman with curly red hair came barreling out.
She put on the brakes when she saw Curt, windmilling her arms, and barely managing to stop before she ran fully into him.
“Oh. Sorry. Um...” She cast her gaze around, then looked at him with flashing green eyes. “Did you see where he went?”
“Around the corner,” Curt said, pointing in the direction the kid had gone.
“Okay, thanks,” she said, bestowing him a crooked smile. “I’ll be right back.”
He watched her go, admiring her slender curves as she quickly descended the stairs and took off in the direction Sam had gone.
“Sam, don’t do this again,” she called, her voice ringing with frustration. “Remember we talked about this after yesterday’s incident? You promised you wouldn’t misbehave today.”
Curt stood by the railing, listening, then slowly went down the stairs, curious about what was going on with the boy and the attractive young woman.
Just as he reached the grass, she screamed, “Don’t you dare!”
That sounded serious. His protective instincts—and curiosity—surging, Curt took off, rounded the corner of the house and ran into the backyard.
His gaze zeroed in on them, facing off in the far back corner. Sam held the end of a nozzled garden hose in one hand and was pointing the “weapon” toward the young woman, who had one hand out as she inched closer to Sam in a half crouch.
“I mean it, Sam....” she said.
Sam’s face was lit by a mischievous smile that, in Curt’s opinion as a formerly ill-behaved boy, didn’t bode well for her. Nope.
Figuring he could diffuse the situation—somehow—Curt kept moving toward the dueling duo, noting as he did that Sam wasn’t fazed in the least, and was moving forward, hose held out in front of him.
Curt turned his attention to her again. She shook a rigid finger at Sam. “Do. Not. Spray. Me. With. That. Hose.”
“Hey, bud,” Curt shouted, waving his arms. “Put down the hose, okay?”
Curt drew alongside the woman. She threw him a grateful look.
“Who’re you?” Sam called, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m Curt Graham.”
The boy shrugged as if to say, “Big deal, your name means nothing to me.”
“I’m checking in here,” Curt said by way of an explanation. Maybe he could distract the boy by talking long enough to nab him.
The woman threw him an apologetic look. “Jumping right into the fun stuff, huh?”
“Right.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Curt saw Sam moving closer, presumably to strike, up close and personal. Curt turned to face the threat; he could take this kid, no problem. Working out was part of his recovery, so he was fitter than he’d ever been, right? This little kid was no match for him.
Curt held up his hands. “Sam—”
Before he could get any more words out, Sam raised the hose and pointed it directly at the woman’s face. Curt was sure he saw the kid’s finger tighten on the nozzle trigger.
Instinctively Curt pushed the woman behind him and then he rushed Sam, hoping to catch him and wrest the hose away before he could inflict any liquid damage. Only to be met with an icy-cold blast of hose water right in the kisser.
* * *
Jenna Flaherty widened her eyes and squawked as her handsome, dark-haired new guest took a hard spray of water intended for her directly in the face. But the torrent of water didn’t seem to deter Mr. Graham. He just kept moving toward Sam, his arms in front of him, trying to dodge the spray.
Sam shrieked and kept backing up, wildly shooting water as he went, holding the hose with both hands.
She watched in an odd kind of fascination as her rescuer determinedly picked up the pace, putting his long legs to work. Sam’s eyes widened and his feet got tangled up in each other, and he stumbled and lost ground, fast. But his finger somehow kept pressing the nozzle trigger and the water kept pummeling Mr. Graham. Jenna had no idea how he wasn’t inhaling oodles of water.
With a growl, Mr. Graham lunged at Sam, who dropped the hose as he tried, too late, to escape the much larger, stronger man. Mr. Graham managed to catch Sam around the waist and haul him up against his wide chest.
Sam flailed his legs. “Put me down!” he screamed.
“Not happening,” Mr. Graham said, his coffee-colored eyes glinting in the sun. He shook the water out of his face as he hugged Sam against him to keep control of the squirming boy. “No way am I taking more water up my nose.”
Mortified, Jenna ran forward. “Sam, stop this nonsense at once!”
Sam had trouble with impulse control—a hallmark symptom of his ADHD—so his behavior didn’t surprise her. Especially since she’d been his after-school day-care provider for almost a year, and was well aware of the challenges Sam faced, what with his dad in prison and his mom juggling two jobs to make ends meet.
But the last thing she needed was to lose a client because of Sam’s behavior. Business was down at the Sweetheart, and with her bank account depleted by the costly repairs Grams had put off and that were now Jenna’s responsibility, she needed every penny of income she could get just to keep the place afloat.
Mr. Graham looked at her over Sam’s head, then jerked his chin toward the hose. “You might want to get that thing while you can.”
“Oh, yeah.” She went over to the hose bib and turned the water off at the source. Picking up the nozzle, she dragged the hose over and put it under a large rhododendron bush, where Sam would have a harder time getting to it.
“Let me go,” Sam whined, trying in vain to pry Mr. Graham’s well-muscled arm loose from its seemingly iron grip around Sam’s waist.
Setting her jaw, she headed in their direction. As she neared, she couldn’t help noticing that being blasted by a torrent of water hadn’t detracted from Mr. Graham’s good looks one bit. His short dark hair stood on end, but with his tall build, lean but muscular physique and matching dark eyes, he was one good-looking guy, indeed.
She shoved that rogue thought aside, her ire at Sam rising again. But she tamped it down, reminding herself that she needed to be firm yet loving with the boy. Sam was going through a rough time and needed levelheaded discipline like nobody’s business.
“Mr. Graham will put you down as soon as you calm yourself, Sammy.” She looked at Mr. Graham, nodding slightly. “Right?”
He nodded back, clearly getting her drift. “Right. But no more funny stuff, bud. This kind of behavior isn’t cool.”
Sam quit squirming and went still in Mr. Graham’s arms. “Yeah, I guess.”
Mr. Graham lowered him to the ground, but kept his hands on the boy’s narrow shoulders while he leaned sideways to look him in the eye. “I want a promise that you’re going to behave.”
“All right, I promise,” Sam grudgingly said.
“Good deal.” Mr. Graham let go of Sam’s shoulders and stepped back as he wiped the water from his face, though he’d probably have to change clothes, Jenna thought. His short-sleeved light blue polo shirt and jeans were soaked.
Sam skittered sideways, out of the man’s reach, but otherwise stayed put and kept his promise. For now. She knew better than anyone that Sam had a hard time staying out of trouble.
Relieved that the garden hose crisis had passed, Jenna stepped forward and extended her hand to Mr. Graham. “Belatedly, I’m Jenna Flaherty, owner of the Sweetheart Inn.”
He wiped his hand on his jeans and held it out, engulfing her hand in his large grip. “Yes, we talked last week. Nice to meet you. As I said before, I’m Curt Graham.”
“I recognize you,” she said, details coming together in her mind.
He cocked his head to the side. “Really?”
“Yes, you used to live in Moonlight Cove, right? I spent summers here at the Sweetheart with my grandmother and grandfather, Jean and Silas Marton.” Every teenage girl in town had been aware of the Graham brothers. Though she was a few years younger than Curt, she’d eventually been old enough to appreciate him when she’d seen him in town during the summer. Of course, she’d been much too shy and awkward to ever speak to him.
“I remember your grandparents,” Curt said, nodding slowly. “Your grandpa drove a big black Caddy, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did. He loved that car.” It had just about killed Jenna to have to sell it to a collector a year ago to pay for a new roof for the inn.
“They ran this place for years, didn’t they?”
She nodded. “They started it back in the sixties.” They’d put years of hard work and sweat into running the inn. Her chest clutched a bit. “My grandpa died three years ago, and I moved down here to help Grandma with the place.” A massive heart attack had killed Gramps instantly. Grams had never really been the same—losing her partner after so many idyllic years of marriage had devastated her.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. How’s your grandma doing?”
“Not so well.” Jenna sighed shakily. “She has some pretty severe dementia, and I had to move her into a nursing home three months ago.” The horrific disease had robbed Grams of the ability to care for herself, and with the inn to run, Jenna had had no choice but to move her to a skilled-care facility.
“Oh, that’s rough,” Curt said, his eyes soft. “My grandpa died of complications from Alzheimer’s.”
“So you know how difficult it is.” Putting her grandma in a home had been the hardest thing Jenna had ever had to do. “But she’s happy there, and gets excellent care. I visit every Sunday.” Thankfully, due to Gramps’s careful investing, Grams had the money to pay for her care. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had the head or the heart for maintaining the inn in the past few years, so that responsibility had fallen to Jenna when Grams had signed over the deed to the inn a little over a year ago.
“I’m sure you did the right thing.”
“Thanks.” Jenna wasn’t so sure, but she was trying to deal with all that had happened, and was determined to make a success of the Sweetheart.
Shifting gears, she moved her gaze to Sam, who stood nearby, fidgeting. She gave him a stern look. “Sam, is there something you need to do?”
Sam blinked, looked around, then glanced down at his wet T-shirt. “Change clothes?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “How about you apologize to Mr. Graham?”
“Oh, yeah.” Sam hunched his shoulders and looked at the grass at Curt’s feet. “Sorry I got you wet.”
“You need to look him in the eye when you apologize,” she reminded Sam. She did her best to instill manners and respect in Sam.
He huffed but complied, looking up—way up—at Curt. “I’m sorry I got you wet.”
“Mr. Graham,” Jenna reminded.
“Who else would I be talking to?” Sam said.
Jenna held on to her patience with a thin thread. “No, you need to say, ‘I’m sorry I got you wet, Mr. Graham.’”
Sam rolled his eyes, then stopped himself and looked at Curt again, a smidgen of contrition shining through. “I’m sorry I got you wet, Mr. Graham.”
Curt smoothed his damp hair back. “Well, I was a boy your age once, so I know all about being wild.” He smiled at Sam. “And a little water never hurt anyone. But you need to listen to your mom when she talks to you, okay?”
Sam scrunched his face up. “She’s not my mom.”
Jenna stepped forward. “I take care of Sam after school.”
“Ah, I see,” Curt said.
“Why don’t we go inside, and you two can change and we can get you checked in, Mr. Graham.”
“Call me Curt.”
“Okay.” She gestured to the house. “If you guys want a snack, you can have a slice of— Oh, no! My pies!”
She took off at a run, went up the back stairs and flung open the screen door that led to the kitchen. The second she entered the house, a burning smell drifted her way.
She raced across the kitchen, noting that the oven timer had gone off while she was out on garden hose patrol. Praying she could salvage the desserts, she grabbed an oven mitt off the counter and yanked the oven open. Hot, acrid smoke wafted out.
With a muttered exclamation, she pulled out the rack. The trio of pies sat on the cookie sheet she’d baked them on, only they looked more like blackened lumps of dough than anything remotely edible. She should have known better than to leave the ancient oven unmonitored. The appliance was touchy about maintaining an even temperature, and until she could afford to replace it with a newer, more reliable model, she had to keep a close eye on everything she baked. And a new-model oven would come after a new porch, fresh exterior paint and a new furnace. The list was endless. The money was not.
Sighing, she set the cookie sheet on the stove. She regarded the ruined pastry, shaking her head. She’d followed Grams’s dog-eared recipe to a T, and had wanted these to be as sigh-worthy as Grams’s pies had always been. Instead, Jenna had ended up with ugly blobs of black dough that were far from the ideal she wanted to uphold.
Her grams’s pies always turned out bakery perfect.
She threw the mitt on the counter, then turned and saw Sam and Curt heading into the kitchen, Sam in the lead.
Curt’s eyes went to the pies. “Oh, wow.” He came over and stood next to her, gazing at the burned mess, his hands on his narrow hips. “Guess you didn’t catch them in time.”
“Nope,” she replied, trying to ignore how his damp hair was drying all wavy and touchable. “They’re ruined. Guess I have some more baking to do.”
He furrowed his brow. “They look fine to me. Nicely browned, in fact. That just adds flavor. I’d eat them, no problem.”
“You would?”
“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “Pie is pie.”
She liked his laissez-faire attitude, but too much was at stake for her to share his outlook. “While I appreciate your willingness to eat burned dough, these aren’t up to snuff.” She sighed.
He regarded her, his long-lashed brown eyes steady.
Her heartbeat skipped and she stepped back automatically.
“Hmm. I know what we have here,” he said with a tiny smile.
“You do?” Somehow she was able to make her voice steady when her pulse was going through the roof.
“A perfectionist, perhaps?”
Sam chimed in. “Yeah, Miss Jenna likes everything to be just right.” He frowned. “She makes me redo my homework all the time.”
“Yes, I’m a real slave driver in the homework department,” she said, infusing some dry levity into her voice.
“What’s a slave driver?” Sam asked, his nose scrunched up.
“Someone who makes little kids do homework,” Jenna explained. She’d majored in education, and knew that if Sam fell behind now because of his focus issues, he might never catch up. Early elementary education set the groundwork for the rest of a child’s schooling.
“Sounds like Miss Jenna is just trying to help you out,” Curt said. “And that’s good for you. School is important.”
“Exactly,” Jenna said, giving Curt a grateful look. “And sometimes striving for high ideals is necessary.” She’d know, being the only unperfect person in a family of perfect people, the one who’d always had to work harder for everything.
“I think Miss Jenna should take all the time she needs to make the pies up to her standards.” Curt turned dark eyes her way.
“Thank you. And I need these to be perfect because two of them will be for a wedding reception I’m catering here tomorrow. I have to remake them.” She made all of her dough from scratch, so the process wasn’t as quick as unrolling premade store-bought crust. “I’ll do that later tonight.”
“Remember, I have the play at my school tonight,” Sam piped in, plopping down in one of the kitchen chairs next to the small table set in one corner. “You promised you’d come.”
She arranged her face in a serene expression; she had forgotten about the play, not that she’d let Sam know that. “And I never break my promises, so I’ll be there.” It would be a late night. Unless... She looked at her watch. Still relatively early. “Maybe I could get them done now, before dinner.”
“I thought we were going to work on my model car,” Sam said, his voice bordering on a whine.
Where was her brain? “Oh, yeah, we were. No problem.” She wasn’t about to flake out on Sam, not when so many other adults in his life had done so. Even if it meant staying up late to remake her pies. “Go get it out of your backpack, and we’ll get right on it.”
Curt looked back and forth between them, both brows raised. “Model car?”
“Yeah!” Sam said, jumping from the chair. He puffed out his chest. “I bought it with my own money.”
Jenna smiled. Sam had saved for months to buy the model kit.
“Cool, dude,” Curt said, nodding. “I built a few models in my day.”
Sam’s eyes went wide. “You did?”
“You bet. I’ve always been into cars.”
“You wanna help me?” Sam said.
Jenna held out a hand. “Sam, Mr. Graham just arrived. I’m sure he has other things to do.”
Curt turned his long-lashed eyes her way.
She forced herself not to stare.
“Actually, I don’t start work at the Sports Shack until tomorrow,” Curt said. “So after I get changed, I’ll have plenty of time to help him.”
She blinked, a bit taken aback by his offer. “He just sprayed you in the face with a garden hose.”
Curt shrugged one broad shoulder. “No harm, no foul.” He scruffed Sam’s head. “Besides, he apologized. So no hard feelings.”
Wow. What a generous offer. “Well...”
“And if I help him with the model,” Curt said, continuing, “you’ll have time to get your pies in the oven, and everyone’s happy.”
“I don’t want to impose,” she said, holding back out of courtesy, even though letting him take over with the model car project would help her out. She had a lot on her plate these days. Actually, her plate was overflowing. But she’d deal. She’d promised Grams she’d keep the inn going, and she would, no matter what.
Besides, Flahertys never failed.
“It isn’t an imposition.” Curt looked at Sam. “It’ll be fun. I haven’t built one of those models in years.”
“Are you sure?” Jenna asked, touched by his generosity. “Because I can fit the pies in later tonight.” She was used to working odd hours.
“I’m sure.”
“Please, Miss Jenna,” Sam said, bouncing up and down. “I really want someone who knows what they’re doing to help me.”
Her resolve frittered away. How could she refuse Sam, especially when she knew he’d craved interaction with adult men ever since his dad had gone to prison? Sam needed a role model, for sure.
Of course, she was assuming a lot about Curt Graham being an appropriate role model, and, obviously, she didn’t know him at all. But she knew his brother Seth, and he was a good man. A great man, actually, with a wonderful family of his own. Besides, Sam and Curt would be right here with her the whole time. She could supervise.
“All right, then,” she capitulated. “I’ll bake while you guys work on the model.”
Sam whooped. “Yippee! I’ll go get it.”
“Hold on, cowboy. You need to go change your clothes first,” she reminded the boy. “Do you remember where we put your change of clothes, in the closet down the hall?”
“I remember.” Grinning, Sam ran out of the kitchen, then skidded to a halt and turned in the arched doorway that led to the formal dining room and living room. “I’ll meet you back here, Mr. Graham, okay?”
Curt saluted. “Okay. See you back here in a few.”
Sam took off again, and Jenna heard his footsteps clomping on the hardwood hallway that led to the closet.
She turned her gaze to Curt. “Are you sure about this? You must be tired after driving in from...” Oh. She had no idea where he’d come from.
“L.A., but I overnighted in Portland, so I only drove a couple hours today. And I’m not tired at all. But I am wet,” he said, gesturing down to his damp clothes. “I’ll go grab my stuff and get changed, and then Sam and I can get busy on his project.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth, bemoaning her absent brain again. “Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry. I kept you in here, talking, in wet clothes.”
He shook his head, his brown eyes glinting. “No worries. I’m tough.”
Yes, she could see that. Tall. Strong-looking. Tough for sure. And handsome with his dark curly hair and café au lait eyes. Something fluttered in her chest and she recognized the feeling for what it was—she was attracted to Curt Graham. No doubt about it.
She cleared her throat, a bit dismayed by her reaction. “Well, thank you for your offer. I really appreciate it, and I’m sure Sam does, too.”
Curt pointed toward the front of the house. “Let me go get my luggage. Where should I take it?”
Oh, yes, another detail forgotten. Curt Graham had her flustered, indeed. “I’ll meet you at the front door and take you up to the Carnation Room.”
“Great,” he said, heading out the same archway Sam had gone through. “I’ll be right back.”
Jenna watched Curt go, appreciating his lean yet broad-shouldered frame and his decidedly masculine, confident way of moving. He definitely was nice to look at. She shook her head and tried to reel her interest in, forcing herself to recall her last relationship during her senior year in college.
Garrett had had the same kind of confidence as Curt, and had been fun-loving and thoughtful, too. She’d gone with her heart 100 percent and had flung herself into a relationship with him. But she’d been wrong in the end about him. And she’d come away with a broken heart and one more reason to believe that she wasn’t good enough.
She’d learned then and there that she needed to be cautious in love. Thoughtful. Picky. She wholeheartedly believed in the romantic gold standard she saw in her parents’, brother’s and grandparents’ marriages. She wanted what they had. Desperately.
She headed out to the foyer, reiterating her mantra: when I fall in love, I will not settle for anything less than a man who will make all my dreams come true. Curt seemed good at a glance, but only time would tell the story about him she needed to hear.
Until then, she had to keep her interest in him under tight control. And her gaze away from those gorgeous brown eyes of his.
Chapter Two
“So, do you have any kids?”
Curt looked at a bright-eyed Sam perched on the edge of the chair next to him. Man, Sam was a curious little guy. So far he’d asked Curt where he lived, what kind of car he drove and if he had a dog because he, Sam, loved dogs and wanted one of his own—the bigger the better—but his mom wouldn’t let him have one because they had a cat instead.
“Nope, no kids.” Curt liked children well enough, but having his own seemed unlikely. Maybe way, way down the road. His goal now was to mend fences and put order into his life.
He picked up the bottle of model glue and handed it to Sam. “Now, I’m gonna hold these two pieces, and you’re gonna put some glue where they meet, all right?”
“’Kay.” Sam took the glue and waited for Curt to get the two pieces into place. “Why don’t you have kids?”
Curt picked up the pieces and held them out, touching. “’Cause I’m not married,” he said, going with the easy answer rather than the one that would require any explaining.
Sam cocked his head to the side. “Why not?”
Curt frowned and then looked over at an apron-clad Jenna as she pulled the remade pies out of the oven, noting the delicate curve of her chin, rosy cheeks and the lovely shade of her large green eyes. Boy, she was pretty.
She set the pies on the counter and then shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile, as if to say, “Yeah, he’s curious. Deal with it.”
“Put the glue right there,” Curt said, stalling while he tried to figure out what to say.
Sam bent over and very carefully applied some glue where Curt had indicated, his brow creased. When he was done, he sat back. “So?”
“So, what?” Curt said, very carefully setting the glued pieces down. Maybe Sam would forget the question.
Sam sighed. “So, why aren’t you married?”
No such luck. Curt looked back at Jenna with a “rescue me” look. She pressed her lips together, shot him a quick, furtive glance, and then in what seemed like a very deliberate manner, set about running water into the sink without looking his way again. No help there. Was she enjoying seeing him on the spot? Or...waiting for his answer?
“Um...well, I haven’t met the right person,” Curt said. True enough—the wild crowd he’d hung out with in L.A. hadn’t been into much beyond scoring their next hit. Committed relationships had been few and far between. But he wasn’t sharing those details with the kid.
“What about Miss Jenna?” Sam asked. “She’s not married, either.”
Curt raised a brow and looked at Jenna. She was washing a mixing bowl with such intense care it seemed as if it were made of spun glass rather than stainless steel. “Really? Well, then, maybe I’ll ask her out.”
The bowl fell into the sink with a clank and her wide-eyed gaze flew his way. “What?”
He just smiled innocently. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“What’s turbinout?” Sam asked.
Curt leaned back against the ladder-back of his chair. “It’s when someone returns what they’ve been given.”
Sam scowled. “Like if I gave a Christmas present back to Santa?”
“Yup, kinda like that,” Curt said.
“Oh. That’s bad,” Sam said. “But what does that have to do with you and Miss Jenna going out on a date?”
Jenna sputtered, glaring at Curt. “Sam, he’s just joking. He and I aren’t going to go out on a date.”
“Oh.” Sam’s shoulders hunched as he fiddled with the tube of glue. “My mom goes out a lot. Maybe you can go out with her, Mr. Graham.”
“Well, thanks, Sam, but I’m not going to have time to go out while I’m here. I’m going to be working for my brother.”
“Who’s he?” Sam asked.
Curt picked up the model’s directions. “His name is Seth and he owns the Sports Shack.”
“Oh, yeah. I know him. I went there to get my stuff for baseball.” Sam smiled. “He’s nice.”
“He has a little boy just about your age.”
“What’s his name?”
“Dylan,” Curt said, looking for the car’s hood piece.
Sam put the tube of glue down. “Dylan’s lucky he has a dad. My dad’s in jail, but my mama says he’s getting out soon.”
Curt’s heart lurched and he looked to Jenna.
She nodded solemnly.
“Oh, wow, Sam. I’m sorry.” Curt knew how rough it could be for a kid to grow up with bad parents. Emotional neglect had been part and parcel of his childhood, and had left profound scars. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
“Hey, lookee, Mr. Graham,” Sam said, holding his fingers up. “I glued my fingers together!”
“What?” Jenna came running. “Let me see.”
Sam held up both hands. Curt bent closer to look at the same time Jenna did and they almost bumped heads. Curt backed off a bit, but her flowery-smelling hair hung down in front of him, surrounding him in a soft shampoo cloud.
Sure enough, Sam had glued his two forefingers together. “Er...yep, you sure did,” Curt remarked.
“Oh, no, Sam.” Jenna put her hands on her hips. “This stuff is permanent.”
Sam’s eyes went huge.
Curt squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry, bud. I can unstick them.”
“You can?” Jenna asked.
“Sure. Do you have any nail polish remover?” Curt asked Jenna.
“Yes, I do. I’ll go get it. Sam, stay put,” she said with a pointed finger. She turned and left the room.
“Are you sure you can unstick me?” Sam asked, looking worried that he was going to walk around with his fingers stuck together. “I’m a tree in the play tonight, and I have to be able to wave my arms.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll fix it right up.”
Jenna returned, a small bottle in her hand. “Here we go.” She handed it to Curt and then went over and got a paper towel. “You sure this will work?”
“I’m sure. I stuck my fingers together all the time when I was a kid, and so did my brothers. We figured out soon enough how to take care of it.” He unscrewed the lid of the remover. “A bit of this and you’ll be good as new.”
It took a few minutes of gentle work, but soon enough Sam’s fingers separated. “See?” Curt said. “Unstuck.”
“Thanks, Mr. Graham,” Sam said, examining his fingers. “That stuff is strong.”
“Yeah, it is. My brother Seth and I once glued the toilet seat down with this stuff. My dad had a fit over it, too.” Dad had stomped around for days after that prank, and had picked a fight with Mom over the whole thing. Somehow that had turned into a battle of epic proportions, with Dad sleeping on the couch for weeks and Mom sobbing behind closed doors.
That was the way things usually went in the Graham household during Curt’s childhood. Fight. Make up. Fight again. Until Curt spent some time in his friends’ houses, he’d thought all parents were in a constant war. Turned out it was just his.
That had been a significant turning point in his life. Unfortunately, he’d turned the wrong way.
And now, not surprisingly, his parents were divorced. Mom had done well. Dad? Curt wasn’t exactly sure.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Jenna said to Sam. “This glue is for car models only.”
“Right,” Curt said, trying to sound stern, hoping he hadn’t inadvertently given Sam any ideas. “Models only.”
“Yoo-hoo, I’m back,” a female voice called.
Curt turned and saw a little gray-haired woman toddling into the kitchen, a huge pink purse slung over her shoulder. She wore a powder blue pantsuit with thick-soled snow-white tennis shoes and sported bright red lipstick on her thin lips.
Curt rose.
“Miss Landry, you’re back,” Jenna said. “Join us.” She pulled out a chair.
As she moved toward the chair, Miss Landry’s gaze landed on Curt. “Well, who is this?” She slowly sat in the chair, holding her purse across her body as if it held the crown jewels.
Jenna made the introductions. “Miss Eileen Landry, this is Mr. Curt Graham, our new guest.” Jenna regarded Curt. “Miss Landry has been staying with us while she is in town visiting her ill sister.”
Curt held out his hand. “Good to meet you, ma’am.”
Miss Landry took his hand in her tiny one. “Yes, it is.” With shrewd blue eyes she looked him over from her perch on the chair. “My, aren’t you a handsome fellow.”
Her directness took him by surprise. “Um...thank you.”
She turned sharp eyes to Jenna. “I assume you noticed, my dear.”
Jenna stilled. “Er, well, of course.” She smiled brightly as she went to the stove, seemingly studiously avoiding Curt’s gaze. “Can I get you some of that chamomile tea you like so much?”
“That would be wonderful,” Miss Landry said. “Then I’m going to go take a little nap before dinner. I wore myself out shopping on Main Street. Of course, the exercise does me good, but I’m old, and I am a bit weary.”
“Do you have anything that needs to be brought in?” Curt asked at the mention of shopping. “My mom never returned from shopping without at least one bag.”
“Why, yes, I do, actually.” She slid a set of keys attached to a stretchy thing off her slender, age-spotted wrist and held them out to Curt. “The bags are in the trunk.”
Curt took the keys, then crooked a thumb over his shoulder, looking at Sam. “You want to help me, bud?”
“Yes!” Sam said, springing to his feet. “Can I push the button that opens the trunk?”
“You bet,” Curt said.
Miss Landry patted her purse, regarding Sam. “I have some candy in here. You can have a piece when you get back.”
“Okay,” Sam said, tugging on Curt’s elbow. “Let’s go!”
He and Sam went out to Miss Landry’s car, a huge baby blue boat of a luxury car, circa 1995. He noted that light blue seemed to be a theme with her.
Sam gleefully pushed the button on the fob and the trunk popped open. He and Curt grabbed the bags in the trunk and carried them back into the house, setting them at the base of the oak staircase near the front door.
Curt followed a skipping Sam back into the kitchen.
“Excellent work, young man,” Miss Landry said to Sam. “Here’s your reward.” She handed Sam two snack-size candy bars.
Sam took the candy.
“What do you say, Sam?” Jenna asked.
“Thank you,” Sam said dutifully.
“Would you like some, Mr. Graham?” Miss Landry asked.
“I never turn down chocolate.”
Miss Landry dug two more pieces of candy out of her cavernous purse and handed them to Curt. “So, Jenna told me you grew up here in Moonlight Cove.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Curt said, leaning a hip against the counter as he unwrapped the candy bar. “I’m here to run the Sports Shack for my brother Seth, while he and his family are in Seattle getting a new store set up.”
“It’s too bad you couldn’t stay at his house.” Miss Landry turned to Jenna. “No offense, dear.”
“None taken,” Jenna said.
“I would have,” Curt replied, “but while Seth and his family are gone, they’re remodeling the house to add a bedroom for their new baby girl, and to bump out the kitchen, too. With construction going on, it made more sense to stay here.”
“Ah, I see,” Miss Landry replied, nodding. “So, what took you away from this lovely burg, in the first place?”
Miss Landry’s question hit him like a bullet and filled him with dread. Of course, he was going to have to explain things to people. But he couldn’t just blurt out the truth. It wasn’t as if he could say, “Oh, well, yes, I ran around town as a surly teen, creating trouble, crashed my motorcycle while drunk, and left with my tail between my legs and now I’m back ’cause I’m clean after three tries in rehab and I want to start over.”
He settled for part of the truth. “I’m a musician, and I went to L.A. to play in a band.” The heady lifestyle of L.A. had called to him. Especially after what happened with Dad.
“Hmm.” Miss Landry’s eyes sparkled. “A musician. I went steady with a musician once. He played piano.” She opened a candy bar. “What do you play, dear?”
“Guitar.”
Miss Landry nodded approvingly. “Excellent. An artist. And handsome. And single, I presume?”
Curt could only nod.
“Just as I thought—no ring.” Miss Landry slanted a glance at Jenna, who was checking the pies on the counter. “Are you paying attention, Jenna?”
Curt’s jaw fell. Miss Landry wasn’t wasting any time at trying to get him and Jenna together, was she? He’d have to keep his eye on her. She was sharp and dating wasn’t on his to-do list. Staying on the straight and narrow and proving himself capable was.
“Why, Miss Landry, are you matchmaking?” Jenna said without missing a beat.
“Well, maybe just a bit,” Miss Landry said with a sheepish smile. “I don’t want someone as lovely as you to be alone forever.”
“What makes you think I’m going to be alone forever?” Jenna asked, taking the teapot off the stove.
Curt’s ears perked up.
“Well,” Miss Landry said, “if you don’t come up with a more realistic checklist for the man you want, you’re never going to find him.”
Curt frowned. Jenna had a man checklist?
“I like to think I can keep my list and still find love eventually,” Jenna said, pouring boiling water into the flowered mug she’d set on the counter.
Apparently, she did. Huh.
“We’ll see,” Miss Landry replied with a quirk of her lips.
Jenna’s comment reminded Curt that with his troubled history, he wasn’t sure any woman with any kind of checklist would be interested in him. No way. The scars of his past ran deep and would be hard—perhaps impossible—to overlook. And with small-town gossip at work, it wouldn’t be long before Jenna knew all about his checkered past—or maybe she already did. His gut clenched at that idea.
Miss Landry turned to Curt. “So, what do you do for a living, aside from working with your brother? Music still?”
He geared himself up for giving his rehearsed answer. “I’m between jobs right now, and I want to eventually go to school to become a therapist.” He owed his life to his drug counselor, Marv, and wanted to help others in the same way someday.
“Oh, excellent. Very noble of you,” Miss Landry said with a warm look. “There’s always a need for compassionate listeners and advisers.”
“Well, thank you.” Curt figured it was about time he did something worthwhile with his life.
“Do you plan on staying in Moonlight Cove permanently?” Miss Landry asked, surreptitiously handing Sam another candy bar under the table. She winked at the boy. He grinned, showing he was missing his two front teeth.
“I hope to,” he said, giving the easy answer. But in a small town like Moonlight Cove, people often didn’t forgive and forget. He’d need both and was worried neither was possible. “Seth knew I was looking for something here in town, so he offered me the store job to get me started. My goal is to get a permanent job at my brother’s store, and go to community college part-time to work on my psychology degree.” He definitely had a lot of hard work ahead of him. He liked to think he was ready for the challenge. Or as ready as he’d ever be.
“And do you have family besides your brother still in town?”
Jenna brought a steaming cup of tea over and set it in front of Miss Landry.
“Thank you, dear,” she said to Jenna.
Curt hesitated, not sure how much to share about his dysfunctional family. Old habit, one he was going to need to break. Somehow.
“Forgive me,” Miss Landry said before he responded. “I’m way too nosy for my own good.”
“No, no problem.” He was going to have to get used to fielding questions like this, and to talking about his family; there would be no running from people’s interest here. “Yes, my parents are still in town. My younger brother, Ian, lives in San Diego.”
“So your family called you back?” Miss Landry asked.
“In a way. Seth and his wife, Kim, visited me in L.A., and I met my niece and nephew for the first time. I realized how much I was missing by being away.” That realization had surprised him; it had been a long time since he’d actually longed for the connection of family. Interesting how being clean had cleared his mind and made him want things that had never seemed important before.
“Ah, so you have a young niece and nephew. No wonder you returned,” Miss Landry said.
“I’m looking forward to being in their lives.” He liked the fact that Dylan and Charlotte viewed him with a clean slate. A small thing, Dylan’s and Charlotte’s rosy views of him, but he was holding on to it like a lifeline. He desperately wanted to be good Uncle Curt, someone whom his niece and nephew could look up to in the future without the shadow of his bad choices shading their opinion of him.
He wanted that fresh start.
“Excellent. Children are such a blessing, though I was never fortunate enough to have any.” She stirred some sugar into her tea. “So you said your parents are still in town?”
His shoulders tensed. “Yes, they are.”
“Well, I’ll bet they’re thrilled to have you back.”
Mom, yes. Dad? Not even close. He thought Curt was a worthless loser, and while that opinion hurt, Curt knew he’d earned the attitude with his bad choices. No doubt about it—he had a hard road ahead proving his dad wrong.
But Curt wasn’t going to dump details of his and his dad’s dysfunctional relationship on Miss Landry. He barely knew her, and he sure didn’t want to shock her, or lower her opinion of him. Though...he had to keep in mind what Marv had drilled into him—that Curt had to own up to his past behavior to move beyond it. He’d have to ease into that approach; his shame still had the upper hand a lot of the time.
So, for now, he simply said, “Well, I haven’t connected with them yet, so that remains to be seen.” He did his best to sound relaxed when he was anything but. He and his dad hadn’t spoken since Curt left town.
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll welcome you back with open arms,” Miss Landry said with a knowing nod. She patted his hand. “What parents wouldn’t?”
Curt’s gut pitched. His parents wouldn’t. Well, not Dad anyway. Mom had always been more forgiving, and they’d talked weekly for the past few months. Curt only hoped he had the courage to deal with his dad—and the Graham family’s problems—while continuing to make good choices that would keep him on the path he’d mapped out.
Apprehension formed a knot in his chest. His resolve would be tested soon enough; he had no place to hide as he’d had in L.A. He was bound to run into Dad sooner rather than later. Curt preferred later. Or never, actually.
There would be no running for cover this time, no distance to soften the harsh reality that hung over the Graham family like a sickening haze. And that fact had him worried more than anything else he’d had to face since he’d OD’d and looked death straight in the eye.
Chapter Three
With nervousness eating away at him, Curt opened the door to the Sports Shack and stepped inside. The bells above clanged as the door swung closed behind him. Instantly, the smell of sporting goods—leather and rubber and something indefinable yet totally distinctive—hit him.
He paused and breathed deep, taking it all in, feeling as if his new life was actually starting. He’d saved himself from his messed-up old life, and he only wanted to see it in his rearview mirror.
Excitement bubbled inside, warring with gut-munching apprehension. This store would be his “home” for the next month—and maybe longer if things worked out the way he wanted.
He focused on the excitement, choosing to savor the moment, which had been so long in coming. There had been times in the past ten years he actually thought he’d die before he ever returned to Moonlight Cove, much less actually set foot in Seth’s store. Curt had burned a lot of bridges in his life—demolished them, actually—and this opportunity meant everything.
Seth was counting on Curt. He couldn’t screw this up.
Setting his shoulders, he moved forward. “Seth?” he called. “You here?” They’d made plans to meet at 9:00 a.m., before the place officially opened, so Seth could train Curt in the ins and outs of the daily running of the store.
Seth came out of his office at the back. “Bro!” He waved and headed toward Curt.
Curt felt something ease inside of him at the sight of his brother. He and Seth, and Ian, their younger brother, shared a bond not only as brothers but as survivors of the dysfunctional Graham household. Few others understood the scars their childhood had caused.
“It’s good to see you!” Seth said, embracing Curt.
Curt hugged his brother back. “You, too,” he said, choking up a bit, barely able to get the words out.
Seth let him go and pulled back, his blue eyes piercing. “Hey, now. Are you going all emotional on me?”
“Maybe a bit,” Curt said sheepishly. “I’m beginning to appreciate how good it is to have family around to support me.” In the past, family had meant trauma, stress and fighting.
“You haven’t had that in a long time. It’s been a rough road,” Seth stated.
“More like jagged.” Full of potholes and backsliding and enough excuses to fill a dump truck. “I finally feel like I’m on a smoother path.” Not perfect. But better. Rock bottom had had a way of making him appreciate that like never before.
Seth went behind the counter. “I hope so.” He gave Curt a solemn look. “I’d like my brother back.”
A lump sprouted in Curt’s throat. “Me, too.” He and his brothers had been close growing up, and Curt had always looked up to Seth, the oldest. “I...need to apologize.”
“As part of your recovery?” Seth asked.
“Yes, that.” There was so much more, though. “But also because...well, you did your best when we were in high school to keep me on the straight and narrow.”
“You were hanging out with a bad crowd, making bad choices, and I was worried. Especially when I found the drugs in your drawer.”
Curt flinched. “Not my finest moment.” He remembered the day during his junior year of high school that Seth, a senior, had showed him the drugs he’d found and confronted Curt about his wild behavior. Regret burned a hole in his gut. His life had been a series of bad moments. “I know I told you this when you visited L.A., but I have to say I’m sorry again. And that I’m going to stay clean. I want to turn my life around.”
A year ago, Curt had ended up in the hospital from an overdose. The E.R. doctor had told him that if he kept abusing drugs, he’d die sooner or later. Probably sooner.
Terrified of dying, Curt had gone directly into an inpatient drug treatment program, and had then moved into a halfway house run by a local church charity. The best life decision he’d made until that point. His life had been littered with bad choices.
Finding God hadn’t been one of them. The Lord had saved Curt, and he would never forget that God hadn’t judged him. He had forgiven him completely, and now Curt was trying to forgive himself and move on to a better life.
“Look how far you’ve come,” Seth replied, pressing his hand to Curt’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, bro.”
Curt’s eyes tingled. He couldn’t remember anyone ever being proud of him. Certainly not himself. “Don’t be, yet. My recovery journey isn’t complete. Be proud of me when I prove to you that I’m staying clean.” For once he needed to show others he was reliable, in control and sober. He desperately wanted to be a good Christian man, hard worker and the kind of person who put his family first, no matter what. He alone was responsible for that.
A pair of pretty green eyes came to mind. Jenna. Look what she’d accomplished on her own, all for the sake of her grandparents’ home, because of her staunch love for them. She was a perfect example of the kind of person he hoped to emulate—
The bells over the door rang.
“Uh-oh,” Seth said under his breath but loud enough for Curt to hear. “Brace yourself, bro.”
Curt frowned, the bottom of his stomach sliding sideways. He froze, his eyes wide. “Why?”
“Because Dad just walked in, and from the looks of the glower on his face, he’s on the warpath.”
His shoulders bunching, Curt turned. He steeled himself to see the man he hadn’t laid eyes on in more than twelve years. After Curt had rammed his motorcycle into a tree, Dad had come to the hospital to tell him not to bother coming home, seeing as he was now a druggie with a record. Worse yet, by virtue of her dead silence, his mom had agreed. It had been a cruel blow to an eighteen-year-old Curt, and he’d never really been the same since.
Angry and hurt, Curt had done just as his dad had asked. He’d gone to live with a friend until he healed, and then he’d left town, sure news of his accident would spread and everyone in town would be judging him and talking about him. He’d told himself he didn’t need his family or Moonlight Cove.
Hitting the lowest point of his life recently changed everything.
Sure enough, his dad stood there in the store entryway, looking tired and bitter. Old, too. He’d gone completely gray and had put on a paunch that stretched his dingy shirt tight over his middle. As usual, he was dressed haphazardly in too-short pants, mangled, mud-spattered tennis shoes that looked as if they’d been made when dinosaurs roamed the earth and a beat-up bright orange fishing vest. His face was tanned to a leathery finish by all his hours spent in the sun—while fishing, Curt presumed, if tradition held true—and deep wrinkles fanned out from his eyes and across his forehead. An oncologist’s field day.
“Heard you were back in town,” his dad said by way of a greeting. He had his face pressed into a tight scowl. A perpetual scowl, if Curt remembered correctly, usually accompanied by harsh words and follow-up criticism.
Curt inclined his head to the left. “Yes, I got in yesterday.” He was determined not to let his dad throw him into a tailspin. Duking it out verbally with Dad wouldn’t accomplish anything, and Curt was trying to prove himself a changed man. And that meant approaching Dad with a cool, calm demeanor that wouldn’t ruffle his highly ruffable feathers.
Although it might throw his dad to discover Curt wasn’t going to be his verbal sparring partner anymore. They’d always had a contentious relationship; Curt had been the son his dad was never happy with. Growing up, disappointment had been Curt’s middle name.
His dad came closer, his jaw noticeably tight. “Where are you stayin’?”
“At the Sweetheart Inn.”
“He’s here getting caught up on details before Kim and I leave for Seattle tomorrow,” Seth interjected.
His father shook his head and looked at Seth. “I still think you’re crazy for bringing him on. As the guy who started this business, I know this place needs someone responsible.”
That fire-tipped arrow hit home with perfect accuracy, zinging a familiar lance of pain through Curt’s gut.
“He’s been clean for six months, Dad,” Seth said.
His dad snorted. “So he says.”
Curt saw red tinged with the shadows of his misspent past. “It’s true,” he forced the words out. “Rehab took.”
“How many other times have you relapsed?” Dad asked.
A rock lodged in Curt’s throat. “Three.”
Dad flung his hands up into the air. “See? It won’t last. It never does.”
“Maybe you ought to give him a chance,” Seth replied quietly. “He’s worked really hard to get here, and we’re his family. We need to support him in any way we can.”
Curt met Seth’s gaze and nodded his appreciation.
His dad scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Family didn’t mean anything to him when he ran around town, drunk and stupid, getting arrested, treating other people like dirt. He brought shame down on the whole Graham family.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I acted out to get your attention?” Curt said in a low, raspy voice. “You and Mom were so busy fighting, you didn’t pay any attention to us kids.” As soon as the words were out, he regretted saying them. Old habits pushing through again.
“Oh, so now you’re blaming me and your mom for your crummy choices?” his father said, his blue eyes blazing. “You never did want to take responsibility for your own behavior, Curt. Never.”
Curt felt the old resentment building, a tide of anger that manifested itself as a burning wall inside of him. The urge to lash out was strong—overwhelming, actually—and Curt opened his mouth to blast his dad with both barrels.
But then he realized that would be something the old Curt would do. He didn’t want to be that man anymore. Couldn’t be if he wanted to build a new life. So he stuffed the vitriol and remembered what Marv had taught him:
Own your behavior.
You cannot fix what you do not acknowledge.
The only thing you can control is your own reactions.
“You’re right, Dad,” he said, keeping tight control on his tone. “I do need to take responsibility for my behavior.”
His dad pulled in his stubbly chin, frowning, clearly flummoxed by Curt’s statement.
Curt went on, “I made bad choices, ones I regret. But I want to change that pattern, and that’s why I’m back in Moonlight Cove. I want to be a different man, one who can be counted on, one who my niece and nephew will look up to.”
“So we’re all just supposed to forgive and forget?” his dad asked, his eyes narrow. “Is that what you’re expecting?”
“That’s what I was hoping for,” Curt replied, hating the hesitation in his voice. He’d always felt unsure around his father and it looked as if that emotional reaction hadn’t changed. His heart sank. Another daunting challenge to face and deal with. There were so many pieces to be put together in the puzzle of his new life that he could barely keep track of them.
“You always did wish for the moon.” His dad shook his head. “All those dreams of being a musician, when you could have just been content to work at the store.”
“That was your dream, Dad, not mine,” Curt replied. This was an old bone between them—his dad had wanted Curt and his brothers to work in the store, expecting that one of them would someday take over. They’d had this argument in so many ways over the years Curt had lost count.
“Yeah, you’ve told me that before.” His dad ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking on end. “You didn’t want anything to do with the Sports Shack, and what did you do with your life instead? Wasted it on drugs.”
Seth stepped into the fray. “Hey, now—”
Curt held up a rigid hand. “No, I’ve got this.” While he appreciated Seth speaking up on his behalf, Curt had learned that he needed to fight his own battles—without drugs to numb him or give him false bravado.
Seth deferred and stepped back, allowing Curt a moment to rein in his temper. Getting angry would only fuel the fire. And prove to his father that he, Curt, was still a hothead. No matter what his dad threw out, Curt had to stay in control of his emotions, even though his gut was churning and he could feel his pulse beating in his head.
“You’re right, I did waste my life on drugs. You think I don’t know that?” He took a deep breath. “But now I’m looking for a fresh start, and I’ve taken the steps necessary to make that happen.”
“Fresh start?” His dad gave a derisive laugh. “There is no such thing as a fresh start in life, or I would have made one years ago.”
Yeah, Dad had never been able to rise above his hardscrabble childhood as an orphan. In fact, he seemed bent on perpetuating the negative cycle of his youth. Or maybe he just didn’t know how to break the circle.
“That’s your perspective, and you’re entitled to it,” Curt said. “But I have a new view on life, new goals, and I’ll do whatever necessary to achieve them. I have hope that people will see that I’ve changed.”
His dad snorted, then shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to keep on hoping. I’m not going to let you off the hook, and nobody else in this town is, either. The sooner you realize that, the better.”
Curt’s shoulders went heavy. He did his best not to give in to the downward pull, and tried to stand tall. But after so much time spent crawling through life, remaining upright and strong was hard. Especially when he had his dad shoving him down. But no one had said returning to Moonlight Cove would be easy. “You’re entitled to your opinion. I only have control over my own actions, so that’s the way I’m rolling.”
“Good luck with that,” his dad said, giving a mock salute. “You’re gonna need it.” He turned his attention to Seth, dismissing Curt as if he were a fly on the wall. “Did you get that fishing gear I ordered?”
Seth gave Curt a half-apologetic, half-questioning look, as if to ask if Curt wanted him to intervene.
Curt shook his head ever so slightly. No. He appreciated his brother’s willingness to defend him, but nothing Seth could say to Dad would make any difference.
Seth frowned, but then turned his attention to his dad. “Yeah, I did. It’s in my office.” He gestured sharply to the far wall. “Follow me.”
Without a glance toward Curt, his father trailed Seth to the back, leaving Curt alone. With a heavy sigh he leaned his arms on the front counter and put his head in his hands. Dad’s attitude stung. A lot. He had zero faith in Curt, and had made it clear he wasn’t going to overlook what Curt had done in the past.
Though Curt hadn’t really expected anything resembling true forgiveness, he’d nurtured a kernel of optimism that Dad had softened his stance in the past ten years. And that perhaps the townspeople would be able to forgive Curt’s past sins. His dad didn’t think that was ever happening.
Maybe Curt had hoped for too much. He’d torn a path of destruction through town during his teen years and the damage couldn’t be repaired. Maybe he’d always be a pariah: the middle Graham boy who’d barely made it through high school, caused trouble, and had almost killed himself one night twelve years ago while driving drunk.
Suddenly a vision of Jenna rose in his mind’s eye. What would she say if she found out the truth about him, assuming she didn’t know already? Would she look at him with derision in her eyes, ticking off his faults one by one as she went down her perfect-man checklist?
Probably.
A crater formed in his belly.
Another quandary circled around his brain like a poisonous snake. Had coming back to Moonlight Cove been one giant mistake that would be more easily left behind than dealt with?
Right now, he was very afraid all of the above was true and that starting over in Moonlight Cove—and hoping for love someday—was an unattainable dream that would never come true. No matter how hard he tried.
Chapter Four
Wincing, Jenna moved a rented chair into place on the patio and then slowly straightened, stretching her aching lower back. She’d been on her feet since dawn, and had been bending, lifting and carrying in preparation for Phoebe Sellers and Carson Winters’s wedding reception in a few hours. Jenna was exhausted.
But she had an event to cater—a paying proposition—which was a good thing all around, and could help generate more event business if the bride and groom were pleased and spread the word. That would be gold in a small town like Moonlight Cove.
So she wouldn’t complain—at least not out loud. Besides, her aches and pains were nothing a few aspirin and a hot bath wouldn’t help. Later. Much later. She still had a long, busy day ahead of her and probably wouldn’t even be finished cleaning up until almost midnight.
Thankfully, the weather had cooperated and they’d be able to go with plan A and have the main part of the reception outside, a risky proposition for the Washington Coast. Phoebe would be thrilled.
Jenna glanced at her watch. Just after noon. The reception started at four o’clock. And she still had tons to do—final food prep, making the flower arrangements, setting the tables. Finishing on time would be close, but she’d make it. She had to. No matter how tired and achy she felt. No one in the Flaherty family relaxed until all of the work was done.
“Hey, looks like you could use some help.”
Her heart gave a little blip. She turned and saw Curt stepping onto the patio. He’d left this morning saying he had a meeting with Seth at the Sports Shack, and hadn’t been back until now.
“You’re a guest.” She adjusted the chair’s position. “You don’t have to help.”
He grabbed one of the chairs and put it next to one of the round, tablecloth-covered tables she’d set up. “Things would go a lot faster this way, and you might be able to rest your back if I help some.”
She looked at him sideways. “How did you know my back hurts?”
“As someone who’s had back problems, I homed right in.” He demonstrated, cringing and then stretching. “Hallmark move for an achy spine.”
His perceptiveness threw her a bit. He was very observant, and that, for some reason, made her a bit uneasy. She recovered and cocked her head to the side. “You don’t look like you have back problems.”
“Looks are deceiving,” he said cryptically. “I injured my back in a motorcycle accident twelve years ago, and it periodically acts up.”
“Wow. Motorcycle accident?” She smoothed out a wrinkle on one of the cloths. “That sounds pretty serious.”
“It was. I broke a vertebra and wonked up my spine pretty good, and broke some ribs and my leg.” He looked away, but not before she saw a glimpse of a shadow in his eyes. “Spent almost a week in the hospital.”
Her hands stilled on the table as horror stabbed through her. “Oh, no. That sounds awful.”
“It was,” he said quietly. “I left town soon after.” Again, she sensed distinct sorrow simmering beneath his surface, a thread of angst that pulled at her.
“Why?” she asked, giving in to her curiosity. “I mean, I would think you’d want to be near your family after such a traumatic event.”
He paused with a chair in his hand. “You’d think so. But my family isn’t like most families, and...well, my dad and I had a falling-out after the accident, and I decided I needed to leave Moonlight Cove.”
Sympathy tightened her heart. “Oh, that must have been a hard decision.”
“Yes, it was difficult,” he said with thin lips.
She sensed more to the story, but she didn’t want to pry. He was a guest, after all, and if he wasn’t sharing, there had to be a reason. “You’ve recovered, I take it, except for your back?”
“For the most part,” he said in a tone that, again, made her think he wasn’t giving her all the details. Not that he should. They hardly knew each other. “So, you want me to just put the chairs around the tables?”
“You really don’t have to help.”
“I appreciate your concern, but my back is fine most of the time now, as long as I keep active. And this is my last day until I start working, so you might as well take advantage and put me to work.”
She chewed on her lip. Point taken. And, really, at this stage, another pair of hands would be a blessing. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“I wouldn’t offer if I did.” He looked at the chairs stacked by the deck railing. “I’ll unload all of those and you can go do something else.”
“Deal.” She gave him a grateful look. “And thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He went to the chairs. “Oh, how’s Miss Landry?”
She hadn’t been at breakfast this morning.
Jenna straightened an already straight sapphire-blue tablecloth. “She still has a headache, so she’s spending the day in her room.”
“Do you think I should go check on her?” He pointed toward the house.
“No, I just did, and she’s comfortably reading a gossip magazine.” Jenna stood back to make sure the tablecloth was hanging evenly. “She loves those things, the trashier the better.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” he asked, grabbing another chair. “She’s quite a character.”
“She was thrilled when I gave her a magazine stash a past guest had left.”
“I only hope I’m half as with it as she is when I get old.” He put the chair in its spot.
“Amen,” Jenna said. “I’ve seen what age can do to a person.”
“Your grandma?”
She nodded. “Yes. She was a real go-getter in her younger days, and after Gramps died, she just seemed to wither away.”
“Broken heart?” Curt asked softly.
Jenna’s own heart gave a little shudder; lost love hurt. “Probably.” She went over to get another chair from the stack. “They were inseparable and had a perfect marriage. I think she gave up in a way, after he died.”
“Here, I’ll do that,” he said, grabbing the chair she was going for. “Give your back a break.”
In answer, a sharp twinge zinged up her spine. She twitched, grimacing, and then rounded her back, trying to ease the ache there. She’d really overdone it. “Okay, okay, you’re right, my back is mad. I’ll let you do that for me.” It was actually nice to have help, a treat for the day, given she usually had to do all the work herself.
He shooed her away. “Go do something else, and when I’m done here, you can put me to work with other chores.”
She capitulated, “Okay, I’m going to go arrange the flowers.”
Turning, she headed into the house, and then went to the attached garage, where she’d stashed the flowers she’d picked up at the local florist, Penelope’s Posies. Meg Douglas, the owner and daughter of Penelope Douglas, the woman who’d originally started the store, had kindly agreed to order the flowers for Jenna at a heavy discount.
The yellow mums, stephanotis, white carnations, dark blue irises and ivy had filled the garage with the wonderful fresh scent of flowers. Jenna inhaled deeply, loving the aroma. She’d always been fascinated with flowers, and if she hadn’t ended up as owner and proprietor of the Sweetheart, or a teacher, she’d have become a floral designer. Or maybe a personal chef. Creating things had always appealed to her. She was definitely the only right-brainer in the family; Mom, Dad and her brother, Scott, were much more left-brained.
She went to work on Gramps’s old workbench, which ran the length of two sides of the two-car garage. She’d been up late last night setting out the lovely cut-glass vases Phoebe’s mom, Grace, had culled from her extensive collection of crystal to be used for the reception.
With necessary efficiency, Jenna went about cutting the flowers and greens to the appropriate lengths. Then, she did her favorite part—arranging the flowers in the containers she’d filled with water earlier. She hummed under her breath as she worked, determined to enjoy the peace and quiet while she had the chance.
As she worked, her thoughts drifted to Curt. He’d been through a lot, and she sensed an untold sad story that beckoned her in a way she didn’t quite understand. She knew he’d moved away because of a falling-out with his dad, but what had he done in L.A. for twelve years? Why wasn’t an attractive, nice guy like him married?
That question brought her up short. What was it about him that sucked her in and made her want to know everything about him? Well, besides his good looks and the intriguing shadows of his past she saw in his eyes—
“I finished the chairs.”
Squawking, Jenna jumped, almost knocking over one of the vases. She reached out to steady the teetering vase. “Oh, goodness, you scared me!” she said, her heart pounding.
“Sorry, I didn’t think I was sneaking up on you,” Curt said, moving around the front end of her car.
She put the greenery she’d been working with down. “You weren’t. I was just lost in thought.” About you.
He moved his gaze over her flower-making supplies. “Wow, you’ve got quite the little florist operation out here.”
“Yep, this is where the magic happens.” She determinedly directed her attention back to the arrangement she was working on, sliding some ivy into it with shaking hands.
“I didn’t realize you were doing so much for the reception. Flowers, food, all the details.”
“I offer a menu of items that clients can choose from, and Phoebe liked my ideas so much she opted to have me do just about everything for the reception.” Jenna liked to provide as much as possible because it was more lucrative to her bottom line, and lately, with the inn needing so many repairs, the bottom line was important.
“I really don’t know how you do all of it.” He shook his head. “You make me feel very lazy.”
“Trust me, lazy isn’t bad. I’d like a lazy day and I don’t see one on my schedule anytime soon.”
“Why don’t you have any help running this place?”
“I can’t afford help.” She clipped a flower. “I toyed with the idea of hiring someone to do the cleaning—what a relief that would be—but I haven’t been able to find the extra money in the monthly budget.” Besides, she needed to do this on her own; Mom would be able to run this place with one hand tied behind her back. Jenna had to do the same.
He frowned and came closer. “Is business that bad?”
“Not exactly.” She cut the stem off a carnation, trying to keep her eyes on the bouquet. “Business is so-so. But the inn has required a lot of expensive maintenance lately, and the repairs I’ve had to do have drained my funds in a major way.”
“So you own this place?”
“Yeah, Grams signed over the deed to me a year ago.” She gave him a little grin. “I was thrilled.”
“Have you always wanted a career running a hotel?”
“No, I went to school to become a teacher.” She tilted her head sideways and looked at her handiwork. “I had dyslexia as a kid, and always wanted to help kids with learning problems.”
“Oh. Wow.” He put his hands in his pockets. “And yet here you are, running an inn.”
“Well, I spent summers here growing up, and I always loved the place. It was more like a second home than an inn.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, mainly because I was out of the shadow of my brother, Scott.” She sighed. “He never met an A he couldn’t achieve, a sport he couldn’t master or an award he couldn’t win.” Mom and Dad had always been the same way. Overachievers one and all. Jenna had high standards to live up to.
“Ah, one of those.”
“Uh-huh.” She fluffed the bouquet. “So, when Gramps died, Grams had a hard time running the place on her own, and I hadn’t been able to get a teaching job since graduating from college, so I came here to help her.”
“Did you know then that the place needed so much work?”
“No, not really. I mean, I knew it was hard work—I saw my grandparents run it for years. But I didn’t have a clue to the precarious position the business was in.”
“Would that have changed your mind?”
“No,” she said. “Keeping the business in the family was just the right thing to do. And I couldn’t imagine turning it over to strangers. Some of my happiest memories took place here, in this house.”
He cast his gaze around. “When was the house built?”
“It was constructed in 1928. Grams and Gramps bought it in 1960 and totally refurbished it themselves.”
“It has to be expensive to maintain.”
“It is. Especially since Grams didn’t have the head or the heart to maintain it properly after Gramps’s death.” It had made Jenna so sad to see Grams give up on life once she was alone. Though in a way, Grams’s fading after Gramps passed was a testament to their extraordinary relationship.
“And you never considered selling it?” Curt asked, leaning a hip against the workbench. “From a business standpoint, it might make more sense to get out from underneath the burden of keeping this place going.”
She shook her head. “I promised Grams I wouldn’t. I’ll never forget the day she realized the truth of her own health situation.” Jenna swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “She took my hand and begged me to keep the inn afloat, no matter what. How could I say no?” Her dad had pushed for Jenna to take over, too. Jenna could hardly refuse him.
“And...you’re the kind of person who never breaks a promise, right?” he said softly.
She liked that he saw that in her; she strived to be dependable and steady. She’d never won an academic award or scored the winning goal in a soccer game, but she could be counted on in tough times. “I try to be.” She tilted her head to the side and regarded the bouquet in front of her. Needed more mums.
He looked at the bouquet. “It looks great. In fact,” he said, scanning all of her creations, “they all look great.”
His praise warmed her up inside. “Thanks.”
“What else can I do?” He fidgeted. “I’d rather stay busy.”
“Well...they all still need bows.” She grabbed the spool of sapphire-blue ribbon Phoebe had picked out. “Wanna help?” Another set of hands was a luxury she should take advantage of while she had the chance.
“Ah, so you’re a risk taker, too.”
She drew her eyebrows together. “How so?”
“I have no idea how to tie a bow, so you’re taking a big risk asking me to help.”
“Ah.” She saw where this was going. “Well, I know how and it’s easy. I’ll show you.”
“I’ll give it my best shot,” he said with a rueful smile. “Hopefully you won’t regret it. I’ve never been really crafty.”
“Are you underestimating my skills as a teacher?” she asked in mock seriousness, dropping her chin.
He held up his hands. “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good,” she said. “Let me tie one so you can see the general method, and then you can try, all right?”
“Sounds like a plan,” he replied. “Tie away.”
Explaining as she went, she unwound some ribbon and then set out to make a multilooped florist bow, going slower than normal so he could see how it was done. Loop, twist, loop, twist, until she had a pretty bow. Then she attached a pick with wire and put the whole ribbon concoction into one of the floral-filled vases, positioned just so, with the tails of the ribbon trailing down the front of the vase.
“Ta-da!” she said with a flourish. “A lovely bow to grace a lovely bouquet to grace a lovely reception table.”
He regarded her with doubt in his eyes. “You actually think I can do this?”
“You can do anything you set your mind to.” Words to live by in Jenna’s family.
“I’d like to believe that.”
She handed him the ribbon. “Don’t worry. I’ll help with the first one.”
“Okay. I’ll give it a shot.” His shadowed jaw set with determination, Curt took the ribbon and started looping and twisting as she’d showed him.
After a few tries, he sighed. “This ribbon is slippery,” he said after he’d started over twice. “I can’t hold on and twist at the same time.”
She moved closer, so she was almost touching his elbow. “Put your hand like this,” she said, taking a hold of his left hand to adjust the angle. Instantly, tingles traveled from where their hands met up to her arm, and straight to her stomach. A whiff of his spicy aftershave hit her in a wave, all masculine and fresh-smelling. Her breathing went all funny.
“Oh, okay,” he said, adjusting his grip on the bow.
Trembling, she let go and moved back, needing space. “So make your loop and twist...”
His brow furrowed, he did as she instructed, but after two twists, the whole thing fell apart. “Oh, man, this is harder than it looks.”
“It just takes a little practice,” she replied. “Here, let me show you again.” She took the ribbon from him, being careful not to make contact with his hand. She had to maintain control.

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