Butterfly Cove
Christina Skye
Maybe opposites don’t always attract. If they did, architect Olivia Sullivan would have run away with bad boy Rafe Russo when they were teenagers.Instead, Olivia has spent ten years dreaming up designs for a life that hasn’t gone the way she planned. Still reeling from her career’s implosion and her father’s death, Olivia thanks her lucky stars for the support of her three lifelong friends. But this good girl is through sitting on the side-lines.When Rafe returns to the beautiful Oregon coast where they grew up, her former flame ignites a new desire. Now Olivia must take a walk on the wild side to show the new deputy that in matters of love… being bad can feel very good.Freshly back from Afghanistan, rugged ex-Marine and new deputy Rafe is done breaking laws and hearts. He’s always regretted leaving Olivia behind, but now she’s after adventure and he’d better proceed with caution.Because wanting her again might be easy, but fighting for a future together will be his biggest risk yet.
Girl’s gone bad…for the town’s new golden boy
Maybe opposites don’t always attract. If they did, architect Olivia Sullivan would have run away with bad boy Rafe Russo when they were teenagers. Instead, Olivia has spent ten years dreaming up designs for a life that hasn’t gone the way she planned. Still reeling from her career’s implosion and her father’s death, Olivia thanks her lucky stars for the support of her three lifelong friends. But this good girl is through sitting on the sidelines. When Rafe returns to the beautiful Oregon coast where they grew up, her former flame ignites a new desire. Now Olivia must take a walk on the wild side to show the new deputy that in matters of love…being bad can feel very good.
Freshly back from Afghanistan, rugged ex-Marine and new deputy Rafe is done breaking laws and hearts. He’s always regretted leaving Olivia behind, but now she’s after adventure and he’d better proceed with caution. Because wanting her again might be easy, but fighting for a future together will be his biggest risk yet.
Praise for Christina Skye’s
Summer Island series
“Skye perfectly captures the feel and appeal of small-town life...[a] sweetly satisfying romance.”
—Booklist on The Accidental Bride (starred review)
“The Accidental Bride has something for every reader—warmth, humor...and chocolate. I love this book.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber on The Accidental Bride
“Skye manages to keep her complicated plots clicking along like busy knitting needles.”
—Publishers Weekly on A Home by the Sea
“A delightful love story with just enough intrigue and complexity to make it exciting and different.”
—New York Journal of Books on A Home by the Sea
Butterfly Cove
Christina Skye
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
PROLOGUE (#u37d91694-6fd0-56d7-a6cb-34d7b237e71e)
CHAPTER ONE (#ufc03b6de-5654-53b7-8db8-92886e4fb94f)
CHAPTER TWO (#uc6570282-4507-56e5-8462-2aed4e26da3c)
CHAPTER THREE (#u500c73e1-3d99-5d4f-adaf-de66679bfdd1)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ua9152622-e126-5e89-983c-139d5bb69e1f)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ua9d53bb4-d787-571a-bd4f-49d971949d99)
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)
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)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
AUTHOR’S NOTE (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
THE DAY HAD started well enough, with a large iced cinnamon dolce latte with cinnamon sprinkles and a raspberry-walnut scone on the side.
Olivia Sullivan had zipped through morning traffic and was at her drafting desk an hour early. As she finished her scone, she savored the peace and quiet around her. She liked starting her day early. Most of all she liked the quiet time before the hive started to buzz and race with frantic activity.
Twelve minutes after Olivia had finished her newest project, an upscale shopping area and condominium project in a busy Seattle suburb, a man she didn’t recognize walked up to her desk and put a small envelope down in front of her. “Olivia Sullivan?”
“That’s right.”
“This is for you.” The man turned around and walked away before she could ask who he was or why he had left an envelope on her desk.
Olivia looked down and rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache begin. But those were nothing new. For months she had been working ten-hour days and she still had no idea whether she’d be kept on after her one-year assessment was done.
She picked up the envelope and turned it over. She saw a woman across the hall glance across at her uncertainly and then look away.
Olivia suddenly knew what was waiting inside that envelope. She frowned and tore open the cheap paper. She saw a check inside, her salary for the last pay period. The amount was prorated to end exactly at noon that day. Beneath the pay stub with her total accrued hours, Olivia saw a letter typed on company letterhead.
Dear Olivia Sullivan,
Notice of termination is hereby given. Enclosed check will serve as final wages due.
Thank you for your services.
Olivia stared at the impersonal, stamped signature of the company’s president. Thank you for your services?
After eight months of drudgery, this was all she got? Thank you for your services and a pay stub?
She folded and unfolded the sheet, feeling the blood drain from her face. Couldn’t someone have had the decency to sign her letter himself? Was an actual signature too much to ask? Or even a phone call from someone in Personnel?
With shaking fingers she gathered her reference books and papers and drafting pens. Quickly she slid her framed picture of Summer Island into the knitting bag she kept hidden in the bottom drawer. Professional women did not knit in public, at least not while at the office. Knitting needles made people uncomfortable, an employment officer had told her quietly. It had to do with the sharp points and the quick movements.
Olivia grabbed the bag and swung it over her shoulder like a flag of angry protest. Maybe some people ought to be made uncomfortable.
A security guard showed up two minutes later. When you gave someone the boot, the security guard was there to collect their keys and badges and escort them out of the building. Olivia knew the drill.
She had just never expected to be on the receiving end.
Silently she gathered her other belongings and marched outside with her head held high. She met no one’s eyes. She didn’t speak on the way down in the elevator or on her angry walk to her car, where she dumped her box and knitting and then sank into the driver’s seat.
The guard left. But Olivia sat white-faced and shaking, trying to figure out how her life could possibly get any worse, and what she was going to do to dig herself out of the looming disaster that her father had left behind after his death.
And now she had lost her job. Something burned at her eyelids. She gripped the steering wheel hard and told herself to stay strong.
But it wasn’t working. She didn’t feel strong. A wave of panic struck and Olivia closed her eyes, knowing what would come next when her anxiety grew into a sickening wave.
She had to get home.
She had to find the only place where she had ever felt safe and the friends who had been her anchor through uncertainty and pain. Her hands tightened. Summer Island was waiting for her in the mist, golden in the morning sun.
Olivia had driven the road south many times before, but this was different. This time she was going home.
For good.
Oregon Coast
Late afternoon
THIRTY MILES SOUTH of the Oregon border, the fog appeared. Olivia opened her window and drank in the smells of salt and sea, feeling the wind comb through her hair. The sun was gone and shadows touched the coast. Waves boiled up over black rocks where seals and otters fished in clusters.
A small sign pointed out the turn to the coast road. Her heart kicked up as she saw the misty outline of hills and trees ahead.
Summer Island’s only bridge was half-veiled in fog when she turned south and rounded the curve at the top of the island. Olivia looked up, entranced by the big house that glowed in the twilight. Stained glass panels lit the front of the tall Victorian building above the harbor. Freshly painted, the long pier shepherded fishing boats that Olivia knew from childhood.
Princess of Storms.
Sea King.
Bella Luna.
The boats rocked at anchor, secure in the harbor. Warmth touched Olivia at the familiar sight. Summer Island never seemed to change, and she liked that sense of certainty. Slowly she drove along the cobbled streets and turned at the magnificent old building that she and her friends had renovated with loving care.
Imposing in a new coat of paint, the Harbor House gleamed in the twilight, its new windows blazing above the freshly restored porch. Strains of Chopin drifted from the open French doors above the side lawn filled with late-summer roses.
Home.
This beautiful old house with all its vibrant colors and inspiring energy.
Not the big modern house where Olivia had grown up, struggling to make her way through childhood, always too tall and too shy for her critical father. She had never been smart enough to suit her father. He had always expected more and more from her and never showed much real pleasure in any of her accomplishments. He seemed happiest when he was alone, working in his office, a phone in one hand and a keyboard in the other, barking out negotiations for a real estate deal. When he wasn’t working, he liked to give big, elegant parties in the house on the cliffs, gathering smart, sophisticated guests who left Olivia feeling awkward and tongue-tied.
No, her safety lay here in the Harbor House. She had always dreamed about restoring the old rooms with her three oldest friends.
And they had done it. A new wrought-iron sign swung in the wind, a cat holding a ball of yarn. Olivia smiled and grabbed her big knitting bag and suitcase, following the steep steps up to the front porch. At the top she was greeted by shelf after shelf of bright yarns, glowing through the front windows.
Island Yarns.
Her title. Her concept. Her joy. With her job gone, she could finally focus on the new shop. But how long would her money last? And then what would she do, with the employment market for architects so depressed?
The big blue door swung open and her friend Jilly O’Hara looked out. Jilly’s big white dog barked in the doorway as she peered over the porch. “Livie? Is that you?”
Olivia walked up through the twilight past bobbing roses and fragrant lavender and boxes of glowing geraniums. “It’s me. Everything looks wonderful, Jilly. I love that new sign for the yarn shop.”
“Caro and I found it in yesterday’s mail. We’d ordered it weeks ago. Walker helped us hang it. We put out another shipment of yarn today, too.” Jilly frowned at her friend. “I didn’t expect you here until next week. Is everything okay?”
“Just perfect.” Olivia forced a smile to hide her worry.
As always, she smiled brightly and stayed calm; the habit was too old to change now. She kept her smile solidly in place as she swung her bag over one shoulder and turned to study the roses above the pier and the restless sea. “I love this place. It always makes me feel so alive, as if everything is possible.”
Jilly stood beside her, watching a hummingbird shoot over the roses. “Same for me. Even when the house was a wreck and the garden thick with weeds, this view could sweep me away.”
The two women stood for long minutes in the twilight while the sea wind danced through their hair and they savored old memories. Then the hummingbird zipped away and Jilly swung around, frowning at Olivia’s big suitcase. “Why so much stuff for a short visit? Did you finally get a vacation from that slave driver you work for in Seattle?”
“In a manner of speaking. We can talk about all that later. Right now I want to see the new English cashmere. And did that angora-silk blend in the muted colors ever arrive?”
“All present and accounted for. Come and see. I’ll give you the grand tour.” Jilly shot Olivia another thoughtful glance. “After that you can tell me more about this unannounced vacation you’ve gotten.”
“Hmm.” Olivia barely heard her friend. The yarn was calling to her, warm in the glow of the antique chandelier she had restored. The whole shop was bathed in golden light when she walked inside.
Her worries seemed to fall away like racing mist. With a sigh she sank into a pink chintz chair near the small counter. Her hands itched for needles and smooth loops sliding into neat rows. But first there was the new yarn to consider.
Olivia glanced from shelf to shelf. “It’s nice, isn’t it? It’s welcoming, just the way we wanted. So people will come. And they’ll buy, won’t they, Jilly?” Olivia tried to quell the small voices of doubt—the doubt that woke her up at night trembling and gasping for breath. She wouldn’t let it ruin her first view of the finished shop filled with beautiful yarn.
Filled with her dreams.
“Of course they’ll come, idiot. We’ll have to beat them off with big sticks. They’ll be throwing money at us, begging for our yarn.” Jilly pulled Olivia to a corner near the window. “Now explain to me again about this cashmere. If I have to sell it, I need to be convincing, and each of these things costs almost fifty dollars! What kind of person spends fifty dollars for one ball of yarn?”
“I would. So would Caro. You will, too, once you try some.”
“Gateway yarn?” Jilly nodded. “That makes sense. So I let them fondle the cashmere for a while. Then I close in for the final sale. Sure—I can do that.”
Olivia smiled. She could always count on her friend to be practical and grounded. And that was exactly what she needed right now.
CHAPTER ONE
Summer Island
One week later
OLIVIA SULLIVAN HAD no job, not even the remote prospect of a job, but she was holding her worries at bay by staying busy.
In the mornings she helped her friends finish floors, clean walls and sew curtains for the Harbor House. Windows gleamed. Potted flowers beckoned from the new porch and Jilly’s new café was in final testing mode.
After almost two years of renovation work, their grand opening was set in three weeks.
So far Jilly had served up mouthwatering double-chocolate brownies, pistachio-raspberry scones and both regular and vegetarian BLTs with her signature chipotle mayonnaise. Once word got out, the café would be thronged with locals, Olivia knew. And in the spring the tourists would be close behind.
But the café had already become a money drain. As a busy, award-winning chef, Jilly needed a high-tech kitchen, but the equipment upgrades had pushed the Harbor House’s old pipes to the very limit. Jilly’s husband, Walker, had done what he could to improve the plumbing, but a complete overhaul was the only answer.
And a complete overhaul would cost a fortune.
The yarn shop would take time and care to make a profit, too. Olivia planned to work there herself as often as possible, but she wouldn’t take a salary until they were on better financial ground. So she needed a real job. And real jobs in architecture weren’t falling off trees.
She shoved away the old sense of panic and focused on her current errand instead. She was on her second trip to the hardware store that day. The kitchen drains had backed up again.
Out to sea, gray clouds piled up over gunmetal water. Olivia had heard that a storm was headed inland early the next day, and she wanted all her errands done well before the bad weather hit. As a coastal native, Olivia knew that island storms could never be taken lightly. She had vivid childhood memories of blocked roads, mudslides and flooding along the coast.
As she parked at the main square across from the police station, Olivia waved to Tom Wilkinson, the county sheriff.
He crossed to her car, then leaned down with a tired smile. “Glad to see you back, Olivia. How are things up in Seattle?”
“Fine, Tom. Just fine. I’m glad to see you keeping everyone in line here on the island.”
“I try. But these are changing times.” He looked away and rubbed his neck as if it hurt. “So you won’t be here long? Going back to Seattle next week?”
“Not right away. We’ve got loads of work yet to finish at the Harbor House. Our grand opening is right around the corner. I hope you’ll be there.”
“Couldn’t keep me away. Especially if Jilly has BLTs and caramel latte macchiatos on the menu.”
“You can count on it. She’s been making up new recipes all week. You’re going to like what she does with chocolate.” Olivia found it easy to chat with this man who had been part of the town for three decades. With strangers she became awkward, searching for conversation, ultraselfconscious, but not with Tom. He never seemed to judge her or criticize the way her father’s friends did.
“Has the mayor been by to see you yet?”
“No, but I haven’t been home very much. Too busy at the Harbor House.”
“He said he was looking for you. Wanted you to come over for dinner and drinks, I think.”
Olivia was glad she had missed him. She had never felt comfortable with her father’s old friend. The current mayor and his wife seemed fixated on the newest model of Italian sports car or the most fashionable jewelry designers in Seattle. Neither was Olivia’s style. “I guess I should go.” She held up a long handwritten list. “Walker Hale is counting on me to track down snakes and flappers.”
“More kitchen leaks? It’s a good thing that you have Walker to help out with the plumbing. Otherwise that old house could get very pricey.” The sheriff looked back at the police station. “So you’ll be around? Over at the Harbor House mostly?”
“If you want me, that’s where you’ll find me.”
Olivia had a feeling that Tom was going to say something else, but he just nodded. “Better get your errands done soon. That storm looks like it may reach land earlier than predicted. My right knee is aching, so this could be a bad one.” He straightened slowly. “I’ll tell the mayor where you’ll be.”
Olivia hesitated and then shook her head. “Tom, would you mind not doing that? I... Well, I’m going to be busy all week. I really shouldn’t take time off to socialize.”
The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “No time for drinks and chitchat about the mayor’s newest sports car?” He laughed dryly. “No problem. Your secret is safe with me. Now get going. The mayor’s due across the street for a meeting with the town council any minute.”
It was a small act of defiance, but Olivia was glad she had avoided an excruciating night of empty gossip and pointed personal questions. She didn’t want to be rude to her father’s friends, but she had nothing in common with them.
Frankly, none of her father’s friends understood why she was so interested in saving the Harbor House. Several had told her that manual labor was unbecoming to someone in her social set.
Olivia wondered what social set that was. The jobless and nearly broke one?
* * *
THE WIND BEGAN to hiss as Olivia crossed the square beneath leaden skies streaked with angry black.
She had already been to the local hardware store half a dozen times in the past week. Right now she suspected the old Harbor House was their best customer, between paint and yard tools and plumbing supplies. The owner looked up and waved as she loaded her cart with washers and flappers and something called a plumbing snake. While she checked out, Olivia kept looking to the west, where the sky was ominously gray. The first drops of rain hit before she reached her car.
Hail followed, hammering her windshield as Olivia turned onto the coast road. It was times like this that she wished the town council had voted to broaden the road, but there had never been enough money—and too many people wanted Summer Island left unchanged.
More hail struck the glass, and Olivia hunched forward, squinting to see the road. A driver in a small truck pulled closer, blared his horn and zoomed around her into the oncoming lane. She gripped the wheel tightly and let him pass. Even if he was a fool, she wouldn’t be. A sharp turn lay just ahead.
That caution saved her life.
The driver in the truck hit his accelerator, trying to pass an oncoming SUV, but he was too late. Olivia heard the awful whine of brakes as he skidded hard and struck the SUV. Both vehicles spun toward the ocean.
Rocks tumbled as the SUV skidded into the mud. Directly in front of her, Olivia saw a minivan with a school logo half buried in another mudslide. Two adults were at the doors, calming the frightened children.
But the stalled school minivan blocked the road.
There was no room in her lane. Olivia had to make a decision, and she had less than a second to do it. Otherwise she would hit the van.
Lights flickered in the oncoming lane. Olivia prayed she would make the right choice.
She hit her brights twice and turned left. Rain hammered down, and more mud washed off the inland hill. She saw the worried face of the school-bus driver as she passed. Olivia hoped they had called for help, but she didn’t dare dig in her bag for her cell phone. She needed all her attention to keep from skidding.
Headlights loomed out of the sheeting rain. She heard the shrill cry of a siren as she yanked the wheel right, back into her lane. The siren grew louder.
A car shot out of the fog in front of her. With a sickening crunch, metal hit metal. Olivia felt her tires spin wildly and go into a skid.
She was going to die right here. Right in the middle of the coast highway. It just wasn’t fair, because she hadn’t even begun to live. She had responsibilities, friends that would miss her. And somewhere, there might be a man she could love....
Olivia wanted to love someone. She wanted to feel strong arms around her at night and wake up to a warm body wrapped around hers.
Light exploded behind her eyes as something struck her hard from behind. The force of impact spun her car back into oncoming traffic.
Her head snapped forward and her shoulder slammed against the wheel. Through a haze of pain, she saw a police car cut across in front of her. Had she run into it?
The doors swung open and a man climbed out.
The siren seemed to come from everywhere, shrill and high. Lights flashed in front of Olivia’s eyes, leaving her nauseous. Her shoulder was on fire and she couldn’t seem to breathe.
Then she fell into a well of endless pain.
* * *
OLIVIA OPENED HER eyes to searing torment at her neck and shoulder.
Someone was pounding on her car door, trying to get in.
She lifted her hand and even that tiny movement was excruciating. A blurry figure was pointing downward and jamming something into the window.
Olivia gritted her teeth, inched forward and gasped in pain as she managed to unlock the car door. When it opened, she almost plunged to the ground.
Strong arms caught her.
“Are you okay? That was a bad impact.”
The words sounded blurry. They were swallowed up by the banging behind her eyes and the slam of her pulse.
“Need to get you out of this car.”
Strong hands released her seat belt. With an odd sense of detachment, she felt the officer touch her neck, then pull back her hair. Searching for signs of trauma, Olivia guessed. If she remembered that, she hadn’t lost all her faculties.
“Where does it hurt?”
“My neck. I hit my head.” She shivered as rain struck her face. Then Olivia gave a broken laugh. “Everywhere hurts.”
“Let’s get you somewhere safe. I put up some flares to hold traffic. An ambulance should be here shortly.” There was something comforting about his low, husky monotone. It made her feel he wasn’t scared. As if he did this all the time, pulling people out of wrecked cars during a major coastal storm.
“Ready to go?”
Olivia half nodded. She tried to see his face, but it was raining too hard.
There was something else. Something about that voice...
But her head was starting to throb and when he tried to lift her, something in her shoulder popped. A bone shifted and then ground against another joint.
She screamed at the sudden, blinding pain.
Dimly she felt him lean her back against the seat. He crouched beside her and touched her forehead. “You’ve got a dislocated shoulder. I heard that joint give way and I can see its position. I can set it back into place, and since I don’t know how long that ambulance is going to take, I think that would be best—if you agree.”
Olivia could barely understand him. Every fiber of her being was screaming madly from the pain in her shoulder.
“Do you understand? It’s going to hurt, but you’ll feel better. Nod if you hear me and if you agree.”
Olivia locked her jaw and managed one sharp nod of assent.
She hadn’t known it was possible to feel pain like this. It wiped out all her sanity and logic. She had to make it end.
“Do whatever. Just do it now. Make it s-stop.”
“We’ll get you through this.” He leaned closer, his chest against hers. He pulled off her scarf and opened the top of her sweater, touching her shoulder.
Olivia realized he was being as gentle as he could, taking time.
She didn’t want him to be gentle. “Just do it. Do it now. Whatever it takes.”
“Okay.” One strong arm slid around her back and his other hand locked. “This is some heck of a storm. They said to expect rain, but who knew the hillside would collapse. If there’s one thing I hate—”
Olivia’s mind was screaming for him to stop talking and make the pain go away. But she was following his words, slipping in and out of consciousness as he rotated her arm and then raised it, holding its position tightly. He was gentle, but the pain was excruciating, bone slipping against bone.
Olivia gasped and passed out.
* * *
IT WAS GOING to be one of those nights, the new deputy for Summer Island thought.
He got the children off to safety, crowding them into the police cruiser, which he had pulled to the side of the road. Once they and their teacher were safe, he checked on the status of the ambulance and the highway patrol. Neither was due for another six minutes. The first winter storm of the season had left traffic snarled along the coast for forty miles.
Officer Rafe Russo walked to the damaged car and took a deep breath. She looked thinner and more tired than he remembered, but Rafe had recognized her instantly. You never forgot your first love.
He was still shaken at seeing Olivia Sullivan and he was worried about her condition. She was unconscious now. He knew that the pain had been overwhelming. Dislocated shoulders were a bitch, no mistake about it. Rafe had had a few of his own, so he knew what Olivia was going through.
He shrugged out of his sweater and laid it over her for warmth as the temperature dropped. Then he zipped up his jacket and trotted back to the road. At least the flares had done the job. Traffic had slowed to a crawl, and he used another flare to guide cars slowly around the mudslide.
Rain crawled down the neck of his jacket, but Rafe ignored his discomfort. He was used to bad weather, to heat and flies. Afghanistan had taught him to stay focused in all situations.
Off in the distance red lights burned through the rain and he made out the outline of an ambulance. About time. The kids were shaken up. Their teacher was holding it together, but Rafe had learned that she was a diabetic, and she didn’t have extra insulin with her. He had already called in that information to the EMT unit so they would have the meds she needed.
Two more cars crawled past. A state police cruiser appeared. The window came down. “Looks like you could use some help here. I’ll park and take the other side.”
“I’d be glad for it. I’ve had my hands full with the mudslide.” Rafe turned up his collar against the pelting rain. “At least the ambulance is here. I’ve got somebody in my cruiser with a dislocated shoulder. Possible concussion. She needs to be looked at first.”
“I’ll pass that on.” The cruiser angled forward into a spot right behind Rafe’s vehicle.
It was barely 5:15 p.m. on his first day with the Summer Island Police Force.
He had dealt with two accidents. A mudslide. Crank call at the high school and a possible case of identity theft.
It was one helluva homecoming, Rafe thought grimly. He remembered the sound of the collision. At first he’d been angry. Then he had realized the driver was very brave, choosing the only space left to avoid hitting the van full of stranded children.
She’d kept the collision to minimum impact, despite zero visibility in the storm.
But Rafe wouldn’t have expected anything less of Olivia Sullivan. She had always been smart, always been thoughtful and careful. She did the right thing, no matter what. You could count on that.
A flood of other memories returned to haunt him. Rafe’s hands clenched. He didn’t figure well in most of those memories. They had been very close once. He had let her build up hopes that he couldn’t fulfill. In the end he had betrayed her.
Rafe had lived with that guilt every day since.
But now he had a job to do. He couldn’t allow Olivia’s warm breath or the soft, sweet pressure of her breasts against his shoulder to pull his mind away from all the things he had to do to stabilize the accident scene.
He had screwed up more times than he could count growing up as the town bad boy. He had mocked authority, been a petty thief, played hooky from school as often as he could get away with it and broken more than a few store windows. After one brief season as a football hero, he had given up on sports, too. He didn’t care for the male bonding, the authority figures or the relentless schedule.
Which was kind of funny, all things considered, because Rafe had joined the Marines as soon as he could, and that brought him right back to authority figures and relentless schedules.
But the Marines had given him a home, a focus and a discipline in his life. He would still be over in Afghanistan had it not been for the broken arm and shattered wrist from a fuel explosion that had nearly killed him.
When Tom Wilkinson, the county sheriff, had pitched him the offer of a job, Rafe had simply laughed. He was the last person anyone on Summer Island would expect to wear a uniform. But the sheriff had persisted, and he was a hard man to say no to. At one time, his son and Rafe had been good friends in high school. But Tom’s son had been killed in the Sangin Valley, and Tom looked pretty sick these days. Rafe hadn’t gotten all the details, but he gathered the diagnosis was inoperable, slow-growing cancer. Tom was signed up for experimental treatments in Portland, but he was getting weaker.
So Rafe had agreed, even though it was the last thing he’d planned to say. Saying yes had brought him here, with traffic snarled around him on a blocked coast road in a driving rain. It had brought him straight into Olivia Sullivan’s path on his first day of work.
The ambulance team jumped down and raced toward him. “Where’s the patient with the dislocated shoulder? Possible concussion, we were told.”
“I called it in. She’s right there in the backseat of my cruiser. I think she’s unconscious. I used the Spaso technique to reduce the dislocation.”
The two men moved toward the Jeep. “You knew how to do that? You see that kind of thing a lot here on Summer Island?”
“No. I saw it a lot over in Shkin and Kandahar. The Marines give you good field medical training.”
The man nodded. “Ex-Marine? Yeah, that would explain it. Nice job. We’ll take it from here.”
Rafe took a step back as the men stabilized Olivia and lifted her onto a gurney.
She was in good hands now. He told himself he could relax. He’d gotten pretty good dealing with bad traffic over in Afghanistan. At least he could assume that none of the locals were carrying pipe bombs or improvised explosive devices.
As the ambulance faded into the rain, Rafe thought about what Olivia would say when she realized he was back, and whether he could make amends for what he had done to her.
CHAPTER TWO
OLIVIA CAME AWAKE to the sound of rain slapping against windshield wipers. A siren howled. Disoriented, she tried to sit up, only to feel straps holding her in as she jolted back and forth in some kind of truck.
The restraints left her with a feeling of panic and she called out.
“It’s okay, ma’am. You were in a car accident. You need to stay still. We don’t want any more stress on your shoulder until you can be seen by a surgeon.”
Car accident.
Shoulder.
She remembered it all now. Mudslide. The storm. A minivan caught at the side of the road. “The children. Are they okay?” she said hoarsely.
“A-okay. They’re upset, but their teacher did a great job. So did you, ma’am. From what the deputy said, you acted fast. Otherwise you would have plowed straight into them.”
Olivia wasn’t so sure about how fast she had acted or whether it was the best choice. It had been all she could think of.
Her shoulder throbbed, but it was nothing like the agony she had experienced back in her car.
She remembered a man’s low voice. Strong arms had leaned close, locked her tight and gently rotated her arm until the joint popped into place. But there was something else...
Olivia remembered those dark eyes. That hard face. He had changed since she saw him last. He was tougher and older and he had an air of command.
But he was still Rafe Russo.
“Did you say sheriff?”
“Deputy sheriff. He assessed the trauma and relocated your shoulder. In fact, he did a fine job. I don’t think you’re going to need surgery.” The man looked up at the clock on the ambulance wall. “We just got notice of a six-car pileup. We’re going to drop you at the emergency care clinic in town. They’ll take care of you.”
Olivia barely heard, lost in the past. What were the odds that she would have an accident—and Rafe Russo would respond? It was a crazy way to find him after twelve long years.
An IV swung back and forth above her. They must have given her something for the pain. Drowsiness began to creep over her.
“He looks like...Daniel Craig. Rafe, I mean. Always was too gorgeous for his own good. He could have any girl in town.” Olivia frowned. “And he probably did.” Her eyes closed.
The woman in the uniform leaned down beside her and shone a light in her eyes. “No fixed pupils or signs of dilation. She’s stable. That deputy did a good job on her shoulder. And she is right about him. He does look a lot like Daniel Craig.”
Olivia tried to answer, but instead she fell away into dreams...and restless memories.
* * *
HE HAD ALWAYS been a loner, even at nine. Olivia had been fascinated by his sharp eyes and his tough independence. He answered to no one and he was always in or out of a fight. Ever since his father abandoned the family, Rafe had faced life the hard way, rejecting any offer of help. All through junior high and high school he cared for his young brother while his mother worked three jobs, but Rafe’s good traits ended at home.
Smart but doesn’t apply himself.
Bad attitude.
No respect for authority. No plans for the future.
Olivia knew what his teachers said, but she saw a different side of Rafe, one that was bright and eager and learned new things fast. With encouragement, he could do anything he wanted with his life, and she cheered him on with quiet support and occasional study sessions, carefully hidden from her father.
It was one of those study sessions that had nearly cost Olivia her virginity.
They had parked on the wooded cliffs above Butterfly Cove, arguing about the meaning of an English poem that was a major part of Rafe’s senior grade. When Olivia’s book fell, Rafe lunged to catch it, and they had landed in a sprawl against the seat.
One move. One touch.
Rafe whispered her name, and Olivia was swept into a hot, roiling madness that left her shaking and needing more. He had pulled her down across his hard thighs, his fingers sliding beneath her sweater, his lips on her face and then on her suddenly bared breasts.
Caught by desire, Olivia hadn’t understood what happened next. Her body had betrayed her and she had fallen into sunlight, while the heat of his mouth marked her burning skin. Then while pleasure still raced and snapped through her, Rafe had stopped abruptly.
Things had gone no further. Resolutely he had pulled away, straightened her clothes and started the engine. His hands shook as he told her that this could never happen again. She had a future too bright to ruin.
Olivia had argued, but he was coldly determined despite everything she said. Regret had left her aching and uncertain, but Rafe had assured her this was best.
Before she knew it he was gone.
Olivia found out he was working in a restaurant in Portland, but no one knew exactly which one. The next thing Olivia heard, he had joined the Marines.
He had never called, had never written to her. He had broken her heart in the process.
The memories sang through her tangled mind now, joy mingling with terrible regret. As she slid back into troubled dreams, Olivia remembered the heat of his mouth on her skin and the blindness of her desire as if it was only yesterday....
* * *
“WHY ISN’T SHE BACK? She should have been here half an hour ago.” Tall and slender, Caro McNeal paced anxiously.
Lightning cracked overhead. “Maybe there was an accident.” Walker looked up from the box of tools next to the kitchen sink. “It’s pretty bad out there. She probably got stuck in traffic. That coast road always becomes a mess in a storm.”
“But why doesn’t she call?” Caro paced some more. “And why doesn’t she answer her cell phone? I’ve tried her half a dozen times.”
Jilly gripped Caro’s shoulders, slid her into a chair and pressed a steaming cup of herbal tea into her hands. “She’ll be fine. You know Olivia. She’s got the best mind out there. If there was a problem, she took care of it. If she needed help, she’d tell us. Stop seeing problems that aren’t there.”
“She should call,” Caro muttered, then strode off to the window as an ambulance raced past.
Jilly knelt down next to her husband and slid an arm around his shoulders. “Some way to welcome you back from Colorado, Walker. I’m sorry to toss this plumbing thing into your lap, honey.”
“Not a problem. I like to tangle with plumbing now and again. After renovating that house in the mountains, I know a thing or two about flappers and snakes.” He scanned the toolbox and pulled out a long rubber tool. “This should do the job temporarily, but you’ll have to replace those gaskets.”
Walker watched Caro continue to pace anxiously. He gave a little nod at Jilly. “Why don’t you take Caro upstairs to rest. I’ll handle things here. I’ll keep trying Olivia on her cell phone. Maybe you could knock me out a cappuccino before you go.”
“But you’ve been trying to fix that plumbing for hours, honey.”
“And I’m finally making progress.” Walker glanced at Caro. “Go on. She needs to rest and I’ve got to beat some sense into this drain. And you, gorgeous, are distracting me,” he said with a low laugh.
* * *
AN HOUR PASSED. The storm winds continued to pound the coast, and there was still no word from Olivia. Jilly frowned and then dialed the hardware store.
“Yep, Olivia Sullivan was in here, but that was two hours ago. I hear there’s been some kind of mudslide on the coast road. Maybe she got caught in that. Traffic is backed up for miles in both directions. There was a bad accident above Butterfly Cove.”
Jilly fought a wave of panic. “What kind of accident? What happened?”
“Don’t know. Somebody told me a minivan from school was involved, but that’s all they knew.”
Jilly tried her friend three more times and got no answer.
Down in the kitchen, Walker was washing his hands at the sink, looking smug, the way a man did when he had just tackled a nasty plumbing problem.
“You did it?”
“That I did, though the supplies Olivia is bringing back will come in handy.”
Jilly rose on her toes and kissed him deeply. “My hero. But I’m worried. It’s not like Olivia to be out of touch for so long. She’s always hyper-responsible. And she left the hardware store hours ago. I called and checked.”
She took the cup of coffee Walker held out to her. “I’m going to try her cell phone one more time. Then I’m calling the police.”
When Jilly dialed Olivia’s number again, the phone rang twice. There was a click and a man answered. The voice was husky and rough, and he sounded tired.
Jilly frowned. “Who is this?”
The man cleared his throat. “This is Officer Russo. Who am I speaking to?”
Jilly gave a muttered oath. “Rafe? Rafe Russo?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, the party you are speaking to happens to be Jilly O’Hara. Olivia’s friend. Your friend, too, unless you’ve forgotten. Now will you kindly tell me where Olivia is?”
“She’s been in an accident. She’s at the emergency care clinic down on Admiralty Street. But don’t get yourself worked up. She’s stable and she’s going to be fine.”
Jilly’s hand clenched against her chest. “What—what kind of accident? What happened, Rafe?”
“Mudslide on the coast road. She managed to maneuver her car to avoid hitting a minivan full of kids, which was a brave thing to do. In the process, she spun around and slammed into my police cruiser. She got my attention.”
Jilly took a deep breath. “And she’s really okay?”
She squeezed Walker’s hand tightly as he stood beside her, giving silent support.
“I’m not lying, Jilly. Olivia is fine. They are going to keep her overnight for observation. She’ll have to watch that shoulder for a few weeks. No lifting. No quick movements. I just checked with the doctor, and they gave her something to make her sleep, but I’m going to stick around until she wakes up.”
Jilly frowned. Rafe was sticking around, was he? This had promise. Jilly had never found out what had gone wrong between the two of them back in high school, but it looked as if they were going to get a second chance.
“That’s great, Rafe. I’ll come right over.”
“No, you sit tight. The storm is knocking out power lines everywhere. The governor has called an emergency alert. People need to stay off the road tonight so rescue crews can get in and out.”
“Then keep me posted, okay? Have Olivia call me when she wakes up in the morning. And Rafe?”
“Yes?”
His voice was cooler, Jilly realized. He sounded about a hundred years older than he had been the last time she had seen him. Probably war did that to you. “Thank you for staying with Livie. And welcome home. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Hell of a first day back,” Rafe said dryly. “But I’ll take mudslides over IEDs any day.”
CHAPTER THREE
“OLIVIA SULLIVAN? SHE’S right down the hall, Deputy Russo.” The harassed clinic nurse looked up from her computer and nodded at Rafe. “But she’s still sedated.”
“Not a problem. I’ll just look in on her for a few minutes.” Actually, Rafe was relieved by this news. Seeing Olivia again had left him off balance, unprepared for the wave of emotions that had come in the wake of their meeting. He wasn’t sure how she would feel about seeing him again either.
She’d probably throw a shoe at him.
He deserved all that and more.
Rafe opened the door to her room and moved quietly around to her bed. She was still asleep, her breathing slow and regular. An IV line dripped from a bottle over her head and Rafe thought she looked even more beautiful than he remembered.
But tired.
Thinner.
Too pale, and not from the accident.
Why wasn’t she glowing with life, married with three kids and a big house overlooking the cliffs?
Rafe frowned as he watched light play over her pale features. He had thought of her more often than was comfortable since coming back to the States from Afghanistan, but he was a different man from the confused and angry teenager who had run off to join the Marines a decade before. And Olivia had been a huge part of his boyhood. He had trailed home after her in the twilight, curious about the big house where she lived and the important man who was her father. His curiosity had turned into protectiveness when he heard some of the boys say she was tongue-tied and the girls say she was stuck up.
Rafe had figured she was just shy, and he had taken time to draw her out. Over time they had become unlikely friends, arguing over food and books and television shows. And eventually they had become more than friends....
Rafe pushed away the bittersweet memories.
He wasn’t here to stir up the past or pick up where they had left off. The new Rafe played by all the rules. That meant making sure he hurt no one, and he figured the best way to avoid hurting Olivia Sullivan was to stay out of her way.
Except staying away became impossible when their cars had crashed together in the storm. She had been brave to choose a possible accident over a certainty of impact with the stalled school minivan.
Brave but crazy, Rafe thought grimly.
Olivia had always taken her responsibilities seriously. Sometimes he had felt as if he had become one of her responsibilities—a mini-crusade to reform the town ne’er-do-well and see him brought into the fold.
Rafe hadn’t wanted to join the fold, not on Summer Island or anywhere else. He had accepted Olivia’s efforts because for most of his school years he had been crazy in love with her, ready to do anything to get her into bed, with those long, soft legs wrapped around him in blazing passion.
But when the opportunity came, Rafe saw how unprepared she was for sex and the power of her own passion. He had backed off completely. He didn’t ruin innocent girls—and he refused to cause Olivia pain.
He had left Summer Island shortly after that.
He had started to call her many times in the years after he left, but each time good sense had stopped him. What did a smart, beautiful, rich girl like Olivia need with an angry screwup like him? She had never seen his dark streak and his anger. Rafe had made sure of that. But the Marines had pulled that part out of him. They had used his anger, honing his traits of independence and command to make him into a valuable weapon. Rafe had been very good at the jobs they gave him in Korea, Iraq and Afghanistan.
He knew that training made him different now. War had marked him deeply, and sometimes he wondered whether he could ever go back to comfortable civilian life after the things he had seen—and done.
Olivia’s hand shifted on the bed. Rafe moved back as she took a rough breath and opened her eyes, staring around the room groggily.
Her eyes moved. She studied the bed, the wall and then looked at his face, seeming confused.
“Rafe? Is that—really you?”
Rafe felt something tighten in his throat at her question. The sound of her voice still had the power to hit him in the chest like a hot fist. “It’s me. How do you feel?”
“Sleepy. Strange. Drugged, I guess. You were there in the mudslide? That was you in the car I hit, wasn’t it? And then my shoulder—” She closed her eyes, cutting off a sound of pain.
“Take it easy, Livie. You’re doing great. There won’t be any more pain like that.”
“You fixed my shoulder. I remember that.” Olivia’s hand slid out to grip his. “I thought it was a dream when you walked out of the rain. I’m not dreaming, am I?”
Her eyes were unfocused and Rafe figured she was still half-asleep. She probably didn’t have a clue what she was saying. “It’s no dream. I’m right here, Livie. Now get some rest.”
She smiled sadly. “I missed how you say my name. Say it again?”
“Livie.”
“That’s nice. I’m glad you’re here. Don’t go away, Rafe. Not until I wake up. It...might be a while.”
Rafe looked down at their fingers linked on the white hospital bed. He felt a weight at his chest. “I’ll be right here.”
They were going to have to face their past sometime, he thought. They might as well get it over with as soon as possible.
* * *
RAFE WALKED DOWN for a quick cup of coffee and a sandwich from a vending machine. Then he checked in with Tom Wilkinson to be sure things were under control at the station.
Since he was off duty, he figured he would stay with Olivia until one of her friends showed up. Hell, he had nothing better to do.
When he got back to her door, he was surprised to hear the sound of voices from inside the room. Looking in, he saw that she was awake, propped against a pillow, offering knitting tips to three nurses who were admiring a featherlight shawl on her bed.
So she was still a knitter, Rafe thought. Even as a teenager she had been crazy for yarn and fiber. Rafe remembered that she had knit him a hat one year, and it had won a prize at the county fair. He frowned as the rest of the details came back to him. Her father had been angry that she entered the fair without his permission. He had been incendiary when he learned that the hat was a gift for Rafe. But Olivia had refused to relent, determined to give the complex piece of knitting to Rafe. Her father had retaliated by cutting off her allowance and grounding her for a month.
Never one to back down, Jilly had sneaked over at night, climbing up the big oak tree outside Olivia’s bedroom, furious at Olivia’s punishment.
In a rush, Rafe remembered every sharp detail and regretted that he had made trouble for Olivia with her father. It seemed he had a rare ability to screw up her life.
Just then Olivia looked up and her face filled with color. Rafe could see nothing else but her soft mouth and the way her eyes sparkled.
“Feeling better, I see. But I think you should be resting. Sorry to interrupt, ladies.”
The nurses glanced at Rafe curiously, and Olivia introduced him.
The new deputy sheriff.
It still sounded strange to Rafe.
After quick assurances that they would drop by the new yarn shop for lessons with Olivia, the nurses left. Rafe sat down next to the bed and began piling snacks on her tray.
“What’s all this?”
“Lemon snack cake. Chocolate cupcakes. Corn chips. Coke. I figured I’d cover all the bases.”
Olivia laughed and the sound broke over Rafe like a cool rain after a parched summer. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed that laugh.
“You expect me to eat all that?”
“Not immediately. But given the reputation of hospital food, I thought you should stock up.”
Olivia reached for the cupcakes, then stopped with a frown. They had fitted her with a temporary brace, which made using her hand very difficult. “I hate being helpless,” she muttered.
Rafe opened the pastry and set it on the plate in front of her. “It’s only temporary. Have at it.”
“Only if you eat half.”
Rafe shook his head. “It’s for you. All of it.”
“Either we share or I’m not having any.” Her mouth set in a line, and Rafe smiled, remembering how stubborn she could be. “Fine. Half and half. So you’ll be giving lessons at the Harbor House when it opens?”
“As long as enough people are interested.”
“You have three students lined up already. Those nurses were ready to sign up right now.”
“The nurses that were here? Oh, they were nice, but they didn’t come here to learn about knitting.”
“No? It looked that way to me.”
Olivia studied his face and smiled slowly. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” Rafe didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.
“They came here to see you. Word is out that Rafe Russo is back on the island. They came here to check you out.”
Rafe ran a hand over his neck. “That’s crazy.” He stood up, feeling uncomfortable as he paced the room.
“Not at all.” Olivia tilted her head. “You’re a high-profile topic, Rafe. You always will be. You stir up strong feelings, whether you want to or not.” She started to say something else, then looked away.
Rafe wanted to ask her what it was.
But her face had filled with color again and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. “Can I get you anything else before I go?”
She shook her head stiffly.
Rafe wondered what he had done to take the joy out of her face.
“Are you sure? I can stay here until one of your friends comes.”
“There’s no need,” she said quickly. “You probably have a lot of things to do. I don’t want to keep you. It was...nice of you to come by, though.”
Rafe hated this strained formality in her voice. He hated the restless way her good hand picked at the plastic wrapper on her tray.
Most of all, he hated the thought that he had once again done something to hurt her.
* * *
THE CLINIC STAYED busy throughout the night following the storm. Rafe helped out when extra stretchers had to be brought inside and an emergency generator needed to be carried up from the basement. As the night passed, he made occasional trips downstairs for coffee or sandwiches. But mostly he sat in the chair beside Olivia’s bed, watching her sleep.
Thinking about the past and the ways it could tangle up the future.
During that long night Olivia woke twice, staring around her in confusion until Rafe rested a hand on hers.
Each time she sighed and slid back to sleep as if his touch had assured her that everything would be fine.
* * *
WHEN OLIVIA AWOKE around 6:00 a.m, she stared up anxiously. Where was she? And why did her shoulder ache as if it had been hammered?
The storm.
The accident.
Blinking, she glanced across the bed and saw a tall man sitting in the chair nearby. She knew that lean face instantly. So Rafe was still here. It hadn’t been a dream fueled by the medicine they were giving her for her shoulder.
She swallowed hard, unable to take her eyes off his face.
“Hey. You’re awake.”
“You stayed here all night?”
He nodded. “Jilly called you and wanted you to call her this morning. I told her what had happened.”
“I feel strange. Restless. Medicated.”
“How about your shoulder?”
“It’s throbbing, but nothing terrible. Not like in the storm.” She closed her eyes at the memory.
Rafe stood up slowly, looking uncomfortable. “They’ll take good care of you. I don’t want to bother you. I’d better go.”
Olivia hated how much she wanted him to stay.
She glanced up at a knock on the door. “More nurses coming to check out the new deputy? News really does travel fast. Come in,” she called.
But Walker Hale opened the door, studying Olivia with concern. “Hey, Livie. How are you doing?”
“Not so bad. I’m still groggy.” She frowned down at the brace on her shoulder. “Not much driving or anything else for me right now.”
“No worries there. I’m under orders from Jilly to drive you home once your paperwork clears here. We can stop by your house, but Caro and Jilly laid down the law. You’re going back to the Harbor House until you feel better.”
“That sounds nice.” Despite the painkillers and a growing throb at her shoulder, she felt tension fill the room. She glanced from Walker to Rafe. “Sorry. I should have introduced you. Walker, this is Rafe Russo, our new deputy sheriff. He’s the one I ran into in the storm last night. And I mean literally ran into. Rafe, meet Walker Hale. He and Jilly were married in Colorado after they met at a knitting workshop there. We couldn’t have managed all the work on the Harbor House without Walker’s help.”
Olivia forced a smile and tried to ignore the pain radiating from her neck and shoulder. If she thought the tension would fade after the two men were introduced, she was wrong. The cool, assessing stares went on and on.
She tried to sit up, but Rafe leaned over her with a frown. “Don’t move. You know what the doctor said. You’re not supposed to do anything until they check you out. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.”
“What I need is my knitting. Since that’s out of the question for now, I would love a drink of water.”
Rafe found her glass and held it while she drank.
“Thank you, Rafe.” She gave a big yawn. “I guess these painkillers are working.” Her eyes drifted over to the window. “Is it still raining, Walker?”
“Afraid so.”
“More mudslides?”
“Nothing major,” Walker announced. “Most of the big roads are open again.”
“That’s good.” Olivia yawned. “I may slip off now. I can’t seem to stay awake...”
She saw Rafe walk to the window. His face was harder than it had been when he left Summer Island. He was lean and controlled in all his movements.
Olivia saw a thin scar above his right eye. “You have a scar,” she said sleepily. “I don’t remember that.”
“Fuel dump exploded,” Rafe said tersely. “Go to sleep, Livie.”
Olivia had a thousand questions. Had he been happy? Was there a woman in his life?
And the war...
But Olivia was too tired to think straight. Besides, Rafe had cut her out of his life a decade ago with a finality and coldness that still left painful memories. Though he was back, nothing between them had changed.
Olivia had to remember that whatever they’d once had was over.
“Say hi to the nurses,” she murmured as her eyes closed.
“There aren’t any nurses,” Rafe said.
“But there will be...there always are. You still don’t understand, do you?” Before Rafe could answer, she was asleep.
* * *
“WHAT DID SHE mean about nurses?” Walker asked as he closed the door to Olivia’s room.
“Nothing.”
Walker leaned against the door, sizing Rafe up slowly. “You’ve known Olivia long?”
“Since I was nine. We had a little history between us.”
Walker crossed his arms. “I see.” Both men were silent as boundaries were drawn, strengths and weaknesses measured. This was about testosterone and tribe.
Rafe studied Walker. “Marines?”
Walker nodded.
“Same here. I was in the Sangin Valley.” Among other places, Rafe thought.
“Bad?”
Rafe shrugged. No war was good. The valley had been the scene of a dozen firefights, one of which had left most of his platoon dead. It wasn’t the sort of thing you forgot.
Rafe stretched out a callused hand. “So you and Jilly got hitched. That’s good. Nice to meet you.”
“Jilly says you were all pretty close when you were in school. I figure you could tell a few stories about growing up on the island.” Walker gestured toward a vending machine at the end of the hall. “How about some coffee?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Walker glanced at Rafe’s badge as the two men walked down the hall. “So you’re the new deputy. I thought Tom Wilkinson had a hiring freeze in place.”
“He did. But he had an unexpected dismissal. I saw him the day I got back, and one thing led to another. Here I am.”
“You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to be here. I didn’t plan it, but job offers are a little thin on the ground right now. Long-range reconnaissance skills don’t add much to a man’s résumé. But that’s not your question.”
Walker palmed quarters into the nearby machine, dialed up a cup of coffee and handed it to Rafe. “So what is my question, Deputy Russo?”
“What happened between Olivia and me. But you’ll have to ask her about that.” Rafe ran a hand along his neck and frowned. “One thing I can tell you. Nobody expects to see me on the law enforcement side of things. I had a wild and misspent youth on Summer Island.”
“The town’s bad boy?” Walker bought a cup of coffee for himself and walked to the window that overlooked the curve of the sea. Up north rain was still hammering the coast. Rescue crews were working hard to reach isolated communities. “Tom Wilkinson strikes me as a coolheaded man. I doubt he would extend an offer unless you were the best man for the job.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he was desperate.”
Walker’s eyes narrowed. “Desperate how?”
Rafe let out a slow breath. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Ask Tom when you see him next.” He took a drink of coffee. “Thanks for driving Olivia home. I wanted to take her, but I go on duty in forty-five minutes. This storm has left the whole county in a shambles. It’s going to be a busy shift.”
“Doesn’t look like you had much rest last night either.”
“I’ll manage. It’s not exactly Kandahar.” Rafe frowned, staring down at his coffee. “It’s still hard to believe I’m actually home. Sometimes I smell the air and wonder what happened to the dust and the burning gasoline.”
Walker nodded. “Give it time.”
Rafe shrugged. “If you say so. Well, I’d better go.”
Walker tossed away his empty coffee cup. “Why don’t you drop by for dinner tonight. It won’t be fancy. We’re down to the wire, trying to finish the renovations on the Harbor House. The grand opening is scheduled in three weeks, and we’re not even close.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be working late.”
“Then come late.”
Something was happening here, Walker thought. He watched an orderly go into Olivia’s room. He noticed the quick way that Rafe turned to assess exactly who was going in and out of that room.
It was clear that Rafe Russo took his responsibilities seriously. That fit with the stories Walker had heard back in Afghanistan about forward recon teams. A man like that carried a lot of baggage. It was written all over Rafe’s face.
“Thanks, but I’ll pick up something at the diner on the way home. I won’t be off shift until ten.”
“We’ll be up. I’ve got plumbing repairs to finish.”
“I’m pretty good as a second pair of hands on a plumbing job,” Rafe said slowly.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Jilly’s making southwest lasagna with jalapeño corn bread tonight. I put in a request for double-chocolate cake to go with it.”
“You make it pretty damn hard to refuse.” Rafe hesitated, staring back through the door to Olivia’s room, where a nurse had wheeled in a cart full of monitoring equipment.
The frown on his face and the concern in his eyes chased away the last of Walker’s reluctance. “Then don’t refuse. We’ll be up and the food is guaranteed to be good. Jilly’s been testing recipes for a new project. She can tell you about it tonight.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Rafe gave a little nod and headed down the hall.
He hadn’t given a clear answer to the invitation, Walker noticed. There was a whole lot of baggage hidden in those cool, distant eyes.
Walker had heard that recon teams who worked deep behind enemy lines sometimes dug into isolated mountain passes for weeks, forward observers in very dangerous places.
And Walker knew how hard it was to come home from war and try to remember that the world was a good and decent place. The change wasn’t easy. At 3:00 a.m., only ghosts and bad memories kept a soldier company.
Rafe Russo looked as if he had more than his share of both.
* * *
IT TOOK ALMOST an hour to finish Olivia’s paperwork for her release. But she balked at taking a wheelchair. “I don’t need one. I can walk perfectly well.”
Walker shrugged. “The nurse told me it was hospital policy. Something to do with lawsuits.”
Olivia sighed and then sat down carefully. “Fine. My shoulder feels much better already.” She hesitated and then scanned the parking lot. “Rafe left, I guess?”
“He had to go on duty. I invited him over for dinner, though.”
Olivia’s mouth tightened.
“Is that a problem?”
“No. Why should it be?”
“Because he said you two had some history between you.”
“We did. Past tense. He’s free to do whatever he wants.”
Walker rolled her toward his Jeep. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said thoughtfully. “You know, I dislocated my shoulder when I was thirteen, and I didn’t take time to let it mend the way it should have. I still have twinges in cold weather. So take my word for it, follow every instruction. Give yourself time to heal. You can’t cut corners with your health.”
“No work and no knitting,” Olivia said glumly. “I’ll go crazy long before I’m healed.”
* * *
“MORE TEA? HOW about another chocolate scone?”
Olivia smiled at Caro and shook her head. “I’m saving my appetite for lunch. But I could really get used to all this attention,” she joked. She drank in the wonderful aromas that came from the nearby kitchen.
Caro straightened Olivia’s heating pad and draped a blanket over her legs. “Jilly’s got something special planned. She’s been up cooking since dawn. I don’t know where she gets the energy.”
“You know Jilly. She has two speeds—fast-forward and out of control.”
Olivia surveyed the sunny room with quiet pride. The little café next to the yarn shop was almost finished. The freshly painted walls glowed, the old wooden floor gleamed and bright new curtains hung at the windows that overlooked the harbor.
No one would have believed how derelict the place had been. Olivia couldn’t even believe the change herself.
She tilted her head, caught by the smell of spicy soup and fresh bread. Her stomach gave a loud rumble. “If that’s your special chipotle tortilla soup, I promise you my firstborn,” Olivia called to Jilly, who was at work in the kitchen. But it was an easy promise to make. Olivia never planned to have any children.
Right on cue Jilly pushed open the pink café doors, a big tray in her hands. “No need to give up your children. You get this for free. It’s my new tortilla soup variation, but be careful. Those rolls are fresh from the oven and very hot.”
“Be still my beating heart,” Olivia murmured. But she quickly discovered that eating soup with her left hand was not going to be easy, especially with her shoulder in a brace.
Jilly frowned at Olivia’s clumsiness. “Sorry, I should give you a cup. Then you can just drink it.” Jilly carried the big bowl of soup back to the kitchen. “How’s that heating pad? Does it help?” she called over her shoulder.
Olivia nodded. She wasn’t used to being fussed over. She never asked for help unless she had no other option. Growing up, she had learned that displays of affection were frowned upon. She was expected to excel but to do it quietly, and without any assistance.
The one thing Olivia had wanted most as a girl was to earn her father’s love and respect, but that had never happened. She had never measured up to his critical eyes.
Olivia shrugged off dark memories as Jilly breezed back from the kitchen. Steam poured off a big cup of tortilla soup. “So when are you due back in Seattle?”
Olivia winced. She had put off telling her friends that she had been fired. Her job hunt had been going nowhere even before the accident. Once she had learned that no one was hiring locally, she had sent résumés all over the state and turned up two possible openings, but both had been quickly taken. “I have two more weeks. But I may be able to swing some extra time.”
Jilly shot a measuring glance at Caro. “How can you do that?”
“I’ve built up some sick days.” Olivia sipped the hot soup slowly. “This is fantastic, Jilly.”
“You like it?” Jilly glanced again at Caro. “I—that is, we have a question for you. No, let’s call it a proposition. Caro and I have been talking, and Grace agrees. We want to hire you.”
Olivia frowned. “Hire me for what?”
Jilly sat down beside Olivia. “We want you to build a conservatory on the far side of the Harbor House. Your job would be official. We’d be hiring you as our architect of record. You know how hard it’s been to maintain the authentic details of this house during restoration. But with a new conservatory—something bright and welcoming—we could rake in tourists. Then we can add a separate restaurant there, someplace for weekend brunch with a tasteful bar. Every seat would have unmatched views of the coast. With luck, we can book private weddings. That’s where serious money comes in. A yarn shop and a café are nice, but the moneymaker would be the restaurant...and the drinks. I’ve been playing around with recipes, and Grace has already crunched some numbers.”
Olivia stiffened. “How long have you three been planning this? You never consulted me.” She looked away, hurt at being excluded.
“Hold on.” Caro put down her box of cleaning supplies. “You had enough on your plate. Your father’s funeral was barely over when we had all those zoning applications to finish. You handled every one so we could focus on the repairs here. We didn’t want to bother you again so soon. And I only heard about this conservatory plan last week. No one is sneaking behind your back.”
Olivia flushed. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just a surprise.”
Caro sat down beside her. “Jilly and Walker had the idea first. Then Grace found a picture of a garden restaurant in Britain that was just perfect. We were going to discuss all this with you yesterday, but there was the storm and you were hurt. So what do you think?”
“It would be a great way to capitalize on revenues. And structure and design fees would be reasonable.” The renovations had run to twice the estimates. Olivia figured it would take five years to dig their way out of debt, but the women were willing to work hard. The Harbor House was a key part of Summer Island’s history. No way could it be lost, torn down for condominiums or a luxury resort.
And with her job gone, Olivia would have plenty of time to work on a design and then handle the construction plans. “I like the idea. But you don’t need to pay me.”
“Yes, we do,” Jilly said quickly. “You know how the zoning commission puts us through hoops because this is a historic property. It’s not going to be easy to find an exterior design that preserves the historic style while also serving a busy restaurant. You’re going to earn every penny of your salary.”
Olivia knew that was true. Dealing with historical buildings was a huge pain in the neck. They were beautiful outside, but their inner structure was usually a nightmare.
Despite the headaches, Olivia would relish the challenge of the new design. A garden and eating area around the conservatory would be perfect for the coastal location. They could also use the garden plantings to attract the monarch butterflies that migrated south each winter to Pacific Grove and Santa Cruz. Fewer and fewer could be seen near the coast at Butterfly Cove, as available wild land was built up for expensive shore communities.
“It’s a great idea. I’ll help any way I can.”
“What about your job in Seattle?” Jilly drummed her fingers on the table. “You can’t be two places at once. This may be more than we should ask of you, Livie.”
“I’ll make it work.” Olivia took a deep breath. “Now can I have another cup of soup? And this time crank up the heat, will you?”
Jilly gave a wicked smile. “You want hot? I can give you hot.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THREE HOURS LATER Olivia had died—and gone straight to heaven. She was surrounded by a mound of cashmere, silk and merino, each yarn color-coded and separated by weight and fiber, to be displayed on rustic wooden shelves. Olivia had always been very organized, and she liked the security of knowing what was around her and how to find it fast.
Olivia had done a big part of the planning for the yarn shop. She had carefully chosen patterns for sale to reflect all ages and all skill levels. Each pattern was carefully inserted in a plastic folder and arranged by garment type. Her own hand-knitted shop samples were displayed on wooden dowels and antique dress forms. She and Caro had chosen the pink toile wallpaper and the curtain fabric. They had found an antique rug at a flea market in Seattle, and Olivia had brought two antique wing chairs of her own down to the shop on loan.
Now the space was bright and cozy, filled with a sense of welcome and inspiration, ready to become part of the community.
She put down the last ball of alpaca yarn and studied her list of invoices, pleased with the neat rows of numbers and check marks. All the yarn was accounted for. All the shop samples were finished. The yarn store would be ready to open on time, even if the plumbing repairs held up Jilly’s café opening.
She reached down for the file folder with the shop yarn orders and winced as pain shot through her shoulder. The pain reminded her that she had at least a week of rest before she would feel even close to normal.
“Livie, what’s wrong?” Jilly scowled at her. “I told you not to lift anything. That’s what we’re here for. Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I forgot, okay? I was distracted, thinking about the yarn shop and how beautiful it will be. I forgot that I’m a helpless mess.”
“You’re not helpless and you’re not a mess. You did a brave thing in the storm. So stop arguing when we try to help you.” Jilly picked up the box of sorted yarn and carried it to the nearby counter. She read each tag and put the ball in its color-coded shelf. “Besides, the lasagna is almost finished. I also think you should sleep here tonight. We have that spare bedroom nearly finished on the second floor. If you have a problem or need anything, you won’t be alone.” Jilly glanced at her watch. “Now it’s almost time for you to take a pain pill.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, but secretly enjoyed Jilly’s concern. Olivia’s role had always been to handle details quietly. She was usually the organized, capable one who worked without drama or attention.
Jilly crossed her arms, ready for a fight. “Well?”
“Well, it’s a good idea. I’ll stay.”
Jilly looked surprised that Olivia hadn’t argued. Before she could say anything else, car lights swept across the front porch. Jilly smiled. “It’s Walker. Let’s get ready to eat.”
A second set of car lights swept the front of the Harbor House.
Olivia glanced at the door as footsteps hammered across the porch. Walker opened the door and Olivia saw that he was nearly hidden behind a stack of boxes from the post office. “Mail delivery. I’m guessing this is more yarn. Why you would need more yarn is beyond me.”
Olivia stiffened when she saw the tall figure who followed Walker inside, carrying more boxes. She felt heat flood across her face.
Jilly took some boxes from Walker and carried them to the far wall of the yarn shop. “Rafe has been working around the clock. I figured it was our civic duty to feed the new deputy.”
Olivia shifted restlessly. It had been one thing when she lay in the hospital, hazy with pain pills. It was another thing entirely to face Rafe now, clearheaded and acutely aware of their tangled past. The whole thing was awkward—and stirred up far too many emotions better left forgotten.
Rafe put down his pile of boxes and turned slowly, studying Olivia’s face. “Is my being here a problem?” he asked quietly. “If you’d rather I go...”
“No.” Olivia answered in a breathless rush. “It’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You tell me.” Rafe’s voice was rough. “You’re the one who looks like she was just broadsided by a truck.”
Did she really look that way? Or was it only Rafe who could see through her?
Somehow he had always been able to see through her.
“What makes you think you’re so important? I’m hearing a Carly Simon song here.”
The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched. He leaned down, his face inches from her mouth. Slowly he picked up the heating pad that had fallen onto the floor at her feet.
“This isn’t going to do much good on your feet.” The soft fabric curved over her shoulder. Olivia felt the brush of Rafe’s fingers.
That simple touch hit her hard, leaving her breathless and off-kilter. It had always been that way. If Rafe was in the same room, she felt it. As a girl, she hadn’t understood where that kind of desire could lead.
But Olivia was grown-up now. She knew exactly how passion could dull your logic...and open you to heartbreak.
She pushed away a flood of memories. “Is there something I can do, Jilly?” She ignored Rafe. “Maybe I should get the napkins—”
“You just sit there, rest and entertain Rafe,” Jilly called. “Tell him all about the yarn shop. I’m sure he’ll be fascinated by the fiber density and staple count of merino in comparison to alpaca,” Jilly said dryly.
Then she vanished back into the kitchen, rattling pans and laughing with Walker.
Olivia looked down at her hands. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Once she could have spoken about any subject with him.
She cleared her throat. “You must be exhausted from dealing with this storm.”
Rafe rubbed his neck. “One day normal, the next day traffic pileup and roads closed. This one storm could drain half the state’s total winter-road budget.” He walked to the window, studying the sweeping green lawns that led down to the rugged coast. “You four have really made something remarkable here. All I remember about this place is boarded-up windows, weeds in the grass and graffiti on the sidewalk. But you four always did have great vision, didn’t you? You saw what this place could become. That takes guts.”
Olivia felt her jangling nerves relax slightly. “It hasn’t come cheap. The house was in worse shape than any of us realized. Given its historical designation, we’ve been limited in the materials and kind of improvements that we can make. Jilly just told me that she wants to add a conservatory on the south side of the house so she can cater private weddings and have upscale brunches in the summer. It’s a fantastic idea—but it will be difficult to get zoning approval. The neighbors may object to the noise. There are groundwater issues to consider with a new business, and we need to maintain the house’s historic look. It will all be complicated.”
“If anybody can smooth-talk the bureaucrats, it’s you,” Rafe said gravely. “You were always the one to talk your friends out of trouble. You always knew the right words to say.”
Olivia stiffened. For some reason his description made her angry. “You mean, I was the town good girl, so no one could say no to me.”
“That’s not what I meant. I—”
Olivia cut him off. “Isn’t it? Well, let’s get this straight. I did my share of bad things growing up. Jilly wasn’t the only one who got into trouble. You make me sound like a sleazy manipulator.”
Rafe shook his head. “I didn’t mean to. It was a compliment, believe me. It takes skill to calm people down. As I recall, you always had that skill.”
Olivia couldn’t find anything to argue with there. But arguing seemed much safer than letting down her guard. “So what are your plans? I expect you’ll move on to more exciting places like South America or Asia. You always said you wanted to see the world.”
Rafe looked at her gravely. “You remember that?” His voice hardened. “Then you should also remember that I wanted to go to those places with you. That never happened, did it?”
Olivia took a sharp breath. Suddenly the room was filled with memories and unspoken emotions. “Not through any fault of mine.” Olivia stopped right there. The last thing she wanted was to open up old wounds. They couldn’t go back.
Rafe had made that decision over a decade before.
He rested an arm on the windowsill and studied her, eyes narrowed. “What about you, Livie? Did you ever see the world? I seem to recall that Italy was on the top of your list.”
“I got to Italy. It was everything I’d expected. If things had been different...I might have stayed. There was an old olive mill that would have made an amazing bed-and-breakfast. I could have started a lavender farm and maybe raised some sheep.” She stopped, angry at how easy it was for him to draw her out.
“So what happened?” Rafe frowned. “Why aren’t you in Italy right now raising those sheep?”
“Because I have responsibilities. Because I made a promise to my friends and to myself. We’re going to get the Harbor House on its feet as a stable, long-term business. And because—”
She looked away grimly. Her father’s financial choices had crippled her own plans for the future, and she didn’t have all the details yet.
“What else?”
Why was it a surprise that he could read her so easily and knew there was much more that she had not told him? That had always been one of his skills. “My father died earlier this year. You might not have heard. I have his legal affairs to settle. Between that and the Harbor House opening, I won’t be free for any travel for the next couple of years. Pretty boring, isn’t it?”
“Not boring. Not with the right person. With the right person, a little patch of mud can be heaven.”
Olivia caught a breath. Was this the same Rafe talking? He had always been the first to get into trouble. The first to take a dare.
And the first one to leave town, looking for new adventures.
“I guess that’s the problem. Finding the right person isn’t easy.”
Rafe stood up and walked to the row of black-and-white photographs that lined the walls outside the yarn shop. “This looks like Milan. Did you take these?”
Olivia had forgotten about these photographs from her Italian trip. She didn’t want to discuss them with Rafe. There was too much of her heart captured on those carefully processed papers. “They’re mine. Something to remember my trip by.”
“You loved it there, didn’t you?”
Olivia simply nodded.
“I can see it in the light and the way you captured the buildings.” Rafe ran a finger slowly along a photograph of the Piazza San Marco. “I hope you get back one day. I hope that life brings you everything you wished for, Livie. If anyone deserves it, you do.”
Olivia was trying to muster an answer when Jilly emerged from the kitchen with a steaming platter of lasagna. “Come on and eat, you two. Everything is ready. Rafe, help Olivia, will you?” Jilly’s eyes narrowed. “She won’t admit it, but her shoulder is hurting again and she won’t ask for help.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE CONVERSATION FLOWED, punctuated by laughter and occasional arguing. Olivia had to admit that Rafe fit right in. Somehow they gathered up the threads of town gossip and old memories easily; Walker had to laugh more than once at their stories.
She tried hard to relax, but it was impossible. His leg kept bumping against hers and their hands brushed as he poured water for her. Even those small contacts were excruciating to Olivia.
“I was trying to tell Livie how good her photographs of Italy were. She shrugged it off.” Rafe finished a third piece of lasagna and pushed away his plate. He turned around, gesturing at a black-and-white photograph next to the table in the unfinished café. “I’d say that’s the bridge over the Arno.”
“Have you been to Italy, Rafe?” Jilly poured more wine in Walker’s glass and then topped off Rafe’s. “I never knew Italy was on your to-do list.”
“Oh, I had a very long to-do list in those days. I’ve narrowed it down quite a bit since then.” He glanced at Olivia. “I got to Italy once. It was only for a few days, but I managed to work in my own little Roman-history tour.”
Olivia couldn’t process this. Rafe and Roman history? When did that start? “When were you there?”
“After my first tour in Afghanistan, I wanted to kick the dust off my feet. I hit Italy and France. Then a few stops in Asia. I didn’t have anything holding me, so I figured I might as well travel.” There was something hard in his voice. Olivia glanced at Jilly and saw that she had heard it, too.
“Try this, Rafe.” Jilly held out a piece of chocolate-espresso cake with whipped cream.
“Haven’t you heard about high cholesterol?” He shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d better check in with the station. We’re understaffed right now. The lasagna was great, Jilly, but I should get going.”
“You don’t want cake?” Jilly looked stunned.
Rafe shook his head. “Thanks just the same.” He turned his hat in his hands. “You’ve done a great job here with the house. I’m sure you’ll make a big success of it. It strikes me that anything you four ladies agree on turns into a success. You always did stick together.”
He glanced around the room for a moment and Olivia had the odd sense that he was memorizing the details as if he wanted to save them.
But his eyes were cool and distant when he picked up his jacket and strode to the door, and he did not look back.
* * *
JILLY KEPT STARING at the door, confusion on her face. “Was it my cake? Does he have something against chocolate? Who refuses fresh chocolate cake?”
Despite Jilly’s joking tone, the abruptness of Rafe’s departure left them all a little stunned.
“Maybe he was tired.” Walker passed a slice of cake to Olivia and then cut two more pieces. “You heard what he said about being short staffed after the storm.”
Jilly drummed her fingers on the table. “I don’t think that’s it. Didn’t you see how his face changed? He was looking around, measuring everything. I can’t figure out what happened.”
Walker smiled and slid a hand over Jilly’s. “Then don’t try. You don’t have to be responsible for everyone. You don’t have to figure them out or straighten them out. He’s a grown man, honey.”
Jilly huffed out a little breath. “Just as long it wasn’t my cake that sent him off. When people walk out on my food, I get grouchy.”
Walker leaned down and kissed her gently. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll eat mine and his, too.”
Jilly gave a muffled laugh and ran her hands through his hair, whispering softly.
Olivia looked away, happy for them yet embarrassed to be the third wheel. But she figured she ought to get used to it. Being the third wheel would probably be a major part of her future.
* * *
MUCH LATER, AFTER she had awkwardly made her way upstairs, undressed and slid under the covers, Olivia allowed herself to think about Rafe.
Jilly had insisted she take her last pain pill and now she was drifting somewhere between present and past, listening to rain patter on the window.
She couldn’t lie to herself. She still felt the same sensual pull for Rafe. Time had not changed that chemistry. Several times that evening, when they had been talking, Olivia had the sense that Rafe was trying hard to sort out his own memories.
She let her mind drift on, comforted by the murmur of the rain and the sound of the breakers beyond the point.
Olivia told herself that she and Rafe might as well be strangers, but her body did not believe her.
* * *
THE SOUND OF hammering woke her early the next morning. She sat up abruptly and winced in pain from her shoulder.
Slow down, she reminded herself. Displaced joint and torn ligaments, remember?
She blinked as the noise outside grew louder. With small movements she stood up and moved to the window.
A lean body in a black T-shirt and worn jeans perched at the end of a ladder, hammering a shutter in place right outside her window.
Olivia couldn’t look away as the taut muscles at his shoulders rippled. Sweet heaven, he had always had an amazing body. Now it was harder and stronger than ever.
Olivia watched Rafe work, every movement slow and controlled. His palm smoothed the new shutter and eased the wood into place. His broad hands were powerful and confident. Suddenly heat swirled in hidden, warm places that Olivia had almost forgotten.
She forced her eyes away. There was nothing going on between them. Nothing was going to take place between them. She wouldn’t make another mistake in her life.
No matter how tempting it might be.
As if aware of her thoughts, Rafe turned around on the ladder. His cheeks were red from exercise and the cold wind, and Olivia thought he looked younger and less distant than he had the night before.
When he went back to work, she found herself watching him again. Every one of his movements was smooth and methodical, as if he had done this kind of repair before. She had always wondered what he had done after leaving Summer Island. Town gossip had it that he had gone straight into the Marines, but now Olivia wasn’t so sure.
She ran a hand through her hair and winced. Even that small movement sent pain radiating through her shoulder.
There was a knock at her door. Paws raced along the corridor. “Duffy, stay. Are you up, Livie?”
“Sure. Come on in.”
The door opened, and Jilly’s big white dog bounded straight toward Olivia. She put up a hand, afraid he would knock her over, but Jilly’s loud order made the Samoyed freeze in his tracks.
“Duffy, sit.”
Amazingly, the command worked. Clearly, Jilly and Walker had been doing intensive work with obedience training.
Another furry body appeared at the door. Walker’s trained service dog, Winslow, trotted across the room and sat down next to Duffy. Winslow was controlled and well behaved, while Duffy shivered with energy, eager to get up.
The interaction seemed good for both of them. Duffy was learning control, while Winslow got a high-octane friend for long runs on the beach.
Olivia reached down and rubbed Winslow’s ears carefully, then gave the same treatment to Duffy. She was finally starting to feel comfortable around the dogs. “Is your shoulder better?” Jilly looked anxious. “The doctor at the emergency care center said that I should call if the pain got worse. You’re not to lift anything for two weeks. They’ll reassess you after that.”
Two weeks.
Olivia was going to become a lunatic if she didn’t find something to keep herself occupied.
“I’m fine.” Olivia forced her eyes away from the window as Rafe continued to work on the shutter.
“He’s good with a hammer, isn’t he?” Jilly glanced out the window. “He volunteered to fix that banging shutter. No way was I saying no.” Jilly blew out a breath. “So where were we?”
“With me being bored to death for two weeks while my shoulder heals,” Olivia said dryly.
“Why don’t you take your camera and shoot some photographs of the Harbor House. I know you’ve been wanting to make an architectural record of the site, and Rafe was right. Your photographs are amazing, Livie. I think we should blow them up and frame them for the café. They would make a wonderful portrait of the house.”
Olivia couldn’t seem to process the idea. Photography was a fun hobby that she picked up when she had a spare moment, but she’d never taken lessons or worked with any professional.
“Why? I’m not trained.”
“So what? You’re good. And if your shots are bad, you can just erase them. That is the beauty of a digital camera. At least it will keep you busy.”
“My camera is at home. I may not be able to find it.”
Jilly gave a guilty laugh. “Walker and I went over this morning. I grabbed some clean clothes for you, the book on your nightstand and your camera bag from the closet. I almost got your knitting bag, but I figured that would be cruel and unusual punishment, seeing as how knitting is off-limits for at least another week.”
“How can I go without knitting?”
“Stay busy. Use your small digital camera. It’s so light you won’t have any problems.” Jilly continued in a rush, “The nurse at the emergency care center is a knitter. She knew exactly how you feel, but she warned me that it would be a bad mistake. Knitting uses small movements, but it involves your whole upper body. Why risk a setback?”
Olivia sighed. “You’re right. Fine, I’ll try some photos. But I make no promises.”
Olivia listened to the sound of Rafe working at the window next door. “Maybe I’ll go sit on the porch.”
“Perfect. I’ll bring you out a cup of tea and some chocolate scones. Maybe Rafe will be done with the window by then,” Jilly murmured.
* * *
WHEN OLIVIA OPENED her case, the camera battery was charged. She was methodical that way. She put things away clean and ready to use.
The little camera felt good in her hands, and if she was careful the movements caused no pain. Still sitting, she took a dozen surreptitious shots of Rafe as he moved up and down the ladder. Then she forced her attention down to the beach, where the storm surge had deposited chunks of driftwood and dead crabs and fallen seabirds.
Her camera wasn’t high-tech. It fit nicely in the palm of her hand, without big lenses, and it was easy to hold.
The German lenses were very good and Olivia captured the cove in sun and in shadow, with seabirds hovering at the end of the pier and a group of seals riding the surf out beyond the harbor. She liked to work like this, sliding into the zone, unaware of anything around her, becoming an extension of the lens. When she recorded the messy, chaotic, beautiful flow of life around her, Olivia felt safe. She wasn’t sure why, but probably it came from the way she had grown up, working hard but never feeling her father loved or even cared much about her. But behind her camera, Olivia was alive. She defined her world and forced it into clarity. At her drafting table, making complex architectural designs, she felt the same way.
Rafe had moved to the far side of the house now, his hammering muted. According to Jilly, they had lost several shutters and a dozen or so roof tiles in the storm. Given the damage farther up the coast, this was nothing. They had been very lucky.
Olivia felt a pang at her shoulder, but she ignored it. Caro would be over in an hour and Olivia was going to help her organize the new knitting patterns in big binders so all the designs were easy to find and beautifully displayed.
Olivia had taken pictures of some beautiful sweaters while she was in Italy. She wondered how they would look blown up and framed. Or maybe even as sketches for the yarn shop walls.
Then she discarded the idea.
She had no training or special skills, after all. Probably the photos would turn out to be ugly.
“Finish your tea and stop frowning.” Jilly stood at the door to the porch, hands on her hips, frowning. “I hate it when you get that look on your face, wistful and worried. You always looked that way after your father yelled at you for doing something wrong. Except you never did anything wrong. He was just blowing off for no reason.” Jilly caught back a breath and shook her head. They had had this argument before. It never solved or changed anything. Jilly hadn’t liked Olivia’s father.
“I’m perfectly happy. The weather is beautiful and I’m enjoying my camera. For the record, I’m not frowning or looking wistful about anything,” she said flatly.
“If you say so.” Jilly leaned closer. “Rafe looks pretty good in that tight black T-shirt. If I didn’t have Walker, I could be very tempted.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. Jilly was never subtle about anything, even when she made a joke. “It’s nice of him to come and help Walker. Any new problems?”
“The upstairs back bathtub is leaking now. Walker went to get caulking and some kind of rubber gaskets this morning. Frankly, I think we should invest in a hardware store of our own.”
Rafe walked up the stairway below the porch, pulling off his black T-shirt as he spoke. “Jilly, can I take Duffy for a run on the beach? I’m pretty sweaty here, despite the chill. I think the two of us need a swim.”
Sweat glistened on his bare chest and slid slowly down his powerful biceps, and Olivia strangled a sigh at the sight of that tanned, rugged body.
The man was drop-dead gorgeous. Didn’t he realize that?
Olivia could hear the sudden drum of her heart. Rafe had always been good to look at. But now, after hard years of exercise and fieldwork, he had a dangerous, lean body that left Olivia wondering what it would be like to set a match to all that hot, dangerous energy and feel it explode.
She coughed hard, angry at the direction her thoughts had taken.
Rafe stared at the two women. “What?”
“What what?” Jilly muttered.
“Why are you staring at me?” Rafe tossed his T-shirt over his shoulder. “Do I have grease all over me? I wouldn’t be surprised. I don’t think those shutters have been cleaned in fifty years.”
“Nope. No grease. Not a speck.” Jilly shot a covert glance at Olivia. “Go take Duffy for that run. He’ll love it. Watch the current, though. This time of year that riptide can be dangerous.”
“You think I’d forget that? When I was twelve I almost drowned out there,” Rafe said quietly.
Olivia hadn’t known that story. The tides could change quickly out beyond the cove, and there were danger signs posted all around the island, but occasionally swimmers got cocky. Usually they were vacationing tourists, too excited to be near the water to pay attention to the warnings.
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