Safe In His Arms
Anna J. Stewart
She's pushed everyone away… …but is he her forever? Ex-soldier Kendall craves solitude after a heartbreaking accident, and she finds it in the small town of Butterfly Harbor. That’s until handsome writer Hunter MacBride moves into town with his orphaned niece, Phoebe. Their arrival triggers painful memories for Kendall of the family and life she lost—but Hunter also shows her the promise of a life she could still have, if she’s prepared to take the risk…
She’s pushed everyone away...
...but is he her forever?
Ex-soldier Kendall craves solitude after a heartbreaking accident, and she finds it in the small town of Butterfly Harbor. That’s until handsome writer Hunter MacBride moves into town with his orphaned niece, Phoebe. Their arrival triggers painful memories for Kendall of the family and life she lost—but Hunter also shows her the promise of a life she could still have, if she’s prepared to take the risk...
Bestselling author ANNA J. STEWART was the girl on the playground spinning in circles waiting for her Wonder Woman costume to appear or knotting her hair like Princess Leia. A Stephen King fan from early on, she can’t remember a time when she wasn’t making up stories or didn’t have her nose stuck in a book. She currently writes sweet and spicy romances for Mills & Boon, spends her free time at the movies, at fan conventions or cooking and baking, and spends most every night wrangling her two kittens, Rosie and Sherlock, who love dive-bombing each other from the bed...and other places. Her house may never be the same.
Also By Anna J. Stewart (#u950b5442-1c8e-5ede-bf35-5a1a95028e32)
Return of the Blackwell Brothers
The Rancher’s Homecoming
Butterfly Harbor Stories
Holiday Kisses
Always the Hero
A Dad for Charlie
Recipe for Redemption
The Bad Boy of Butterfly Harbor
Christmas, Actually
“The Christmas Wish”
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Safe in His Arms
Anna J. Stewart
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09748-2
SAFE IN HIS ARMS
© 2019 Anna J. Stewart
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#u950b5442-1c8e-5ede-bf35-5a1a95028e32)
This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:
Change of font size and line height
Change of background and font colours
Change of font
Change justification
Text to speech
It was hard, Kendall thought.
She didn’t want to see a father and daughter curled up on the sofa, reading books and playing board games. She didn’t want to bond over a roaring fire or hot soup or cuddle up against the storm. She didn’t want to remember. Kendall tipped her head back and let the rain fall on her face. She didn’t want to forget. She wanted to just stay here, in this spot, and let the rain and wind take her away.
“Kendall.” Hunter’s hold eased. He stepped back, offered his hand instead. “Please.”
Kendall looked over her shoulder to where Phoebe stood in the window, her tiny nose pressed against the glass in between splayed hands. Kendall couldn’t do this. She couldn’t spend endless hours looking at a little girl who reminded her so much of the daughter she’d lost. She couldn’t...
She took a deep, shuddering breath, looked down at Hunter’s hand.
And placed her trembling one in his.
Dear Reader (#u950b5442-1c8e-5ede-bf35-5a1a95028e32),
From the time Kendall Davidson walked onto the page in Always the Hero, I could not wait to tell her story. Writing about a female veteran of the Afghan war was a responsibility I took very seriously; so seriously, I second-guessed myself, hoping I was doing my fictional military heroine a fraction of the justice so many of our servicemen and servicewomen deserve.
I knew it would require a special man to convince Kendall love was worth taking a chance on, but other than that, he was a blank slate. Correction: I knew Hunter MacBride would need an advantage in his fight to win Kendall’s heart—his niece Phoebe, a child in need of the kind of help only Kendall understands. The more books I write, the more I realize just how resilient the human heart is.
This story, like all the Butterfly Harbor romances, is about the healing power of love and acceptance, friendship, community and hope. Here’s wishing that Kendall and Hunter’s (and Phoebe’s) journey to their happily-ever-after finds a place in your heart.
Anna J
For Aimee Costa-Schmitz.
Cousin by birth. Friend by choice.
Contents
Cover (#u1123fbf8-32f5-58fc-98a3-507ad4c9c5e1)
Back Cover Text (#u55d98956-8e08-5e91-ab89-5d9f4438e61f)
About the Author (#ua0907a6e-d942-55d1-9518-89eafa443646)
Booklist (#u63987ca2-c812-5848-9c5c-a02372c4b28d)
Title Page (#u97a0ba4f-95e6-50a4-bc10-8cbfa072923a)
Copyright (#u20d8315f-1f9d-54f7-a3f8-6436f87d00f4)
Note to Readers
Introduction (#u8e328c0c-f7d1-586c-b006-47f251d1d24a)
Dear Reader (#u7f4363aa-28e3-5ec1-bb40-1bc9e5c5138e)
Dedication (#u8f8e7dfe-8d60-59bb-9a8a-400be3a30210)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue89ef1cd-4cc5-5fa5-b938-c34abe3cecae)
CHAPTER TWO (#u03e446a8-74a0-5e5d-bc24-d451734a2c2a)
CHAPTER THREE (#uef59168b-d9fa-5229-9ff9-f4f2939df55f)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u545c2a3e-6700-5639-974d-e90308287511)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u9721b54b-6055-51d9-9719-583fee5b78a7)
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)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u950b5442-1c8e-5ede-bf35-5a1a95028e32)
“WELL, PHOEBE?” HUNTER MACBRIDE stopped his decade-old motor home at the turnoff for the Liberty Lighthouse. “What do you think?”
Hunter’s seven-year-old niece turned her doll-wide gaze out the bug-and grime-encrusted windshield to get her first glimpse of Butterfly Harbor and California’s historic lighthouse. He powered down the windows and let the roar of the ocean welcome them. The faint sound of rattling pebbles cascading beside the lapping waves and late-winter wind reminded him of the carefree summers he’d spent at his grandparents’ beach house growing up. For the first time in a long time, Hunter felt as if he could breathe.
The coast had always brought him a sense of peace. In his experience, there wasn’t a problem that couldn’t be solved by the roar of the water and the sheer power of Mother Nature crashing against the rocks. He could only hope this place would do the same for Phoebe. It had to. He’d bet everything—including his career—on it.
“I’ve always loved lighthouses,” Hunter said. “Used to explore them whenever I could.” He cast an eye on Phoebe. “Nothing better than climbing to the top, around and around that spiral staircase—”
Phoebe looked at him and frowned, her brows knitting into a perfect V over her little nose.
“That’s right, a spiral staircase.” He wound his finger in a circle and drew it up. “Your mom and I used to have races to see who’d make it to the top first. One time I went so fast I threw up on her.”
Phoebe’s skeptical stare went blank at the mention of Juliana. It had been six months since her parents—Hunter’s sister and brother-in-law—had been killed in a car accident. Six months since he’d become sole guardian to his niece.
Six months since Phoebe had changed from a rambunctious, energetic chatterbox to a child of few words.
Hunter’s heart constricted as he rubbed the back of Phoebe’s hand. Thick dark curls framed her face and tumbled around her shoulders. There were times he swore he was looking into Juliana’s face, but with far wiser and more guarded eyes. What he wouldn’t give to take away the trauma and pain his niece had been through. What he wouldn’t give to have his sister back.
“You want to know a secret?” He leaned close and whispered, “I haven’t eaten a corn dog since.”
Phoebe’s lips twitched.
Hunter’s spirits soared. Earning a smile from Phoebe was tantamount to scaling Mount Everest. She was so guarded now. So controlled. It was all he could do not to jump out of the motor home and do a little dance of joy. Instead he gave her the warmest smile he could and continued his observations.
“I used to call lighthouses soldiers on the hill.” Hunter pointed at the tower stretching toward the sky. “They always look like they’re standing guard. Which they are, in a way. There’s a light up there, in the lantern room just inside the catwalk. It would glow and shine its light into the ocean and guide ships safely to the shore.”
Phoebe pointed to one of the smaller buildings surrounding the lighthouse. From a distance he could see the keeper’s cottage attached to the base with a roof in dire need of repair. Across the way, closer to the cliff line on its own rocky little hill, sat the carriage house that would serve as their home while Hunter researched and wrote the book—literally—on the Butterfly Harbor lighthouse and its restoration efforts to be used for publicity purposes.
He kept a slow pace as he maneuvered his oversize motorized baby down the dirt road. His smile widened as the white cottage with empty, weathered window boxes came into sight. “Yup. That’s our house.”
A quick glance at Phoebe, and he saw her mouth form a perfect O before she bit her lip and sat back in her seat.
“We’re going to have to set up some ground rules, kiddo.”
Phoebe sighed.
“Until I get the lay of this place and figure out where everything is, I don’t want you wandering around on your own. You stick by my side or by the house, okay? Phoebe?” He gave her a look that told her he expected an actual answer. “Either by the house or here in the motor home.”
“Okay.”
“It’s going to take a few days to get used to everything. It’s okay to be scared of new places, Phoebs. But I won’t let anything happen to you. This is our big adventure, right?”
Did she have to look at him as if he was losing his marbles?
“Right. Maybe it’s just my big adventure. Let’s check this place out and find the keeper.” He shoved open his door and dropped to the ground. He grimaced as he realized thirty-two wasn’t nearly as young as it had felt a few weeks ago. Hunter pressed his hands into the base of his spine and arched his back, shook out his legs and tried to remember what it felt like for his toes to move. “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken those last six hours in one stretch.” He swore he even heard the motor home sigh in relief as he slammed the door and headed around to help Phoebe out. First things first, unload then get something to eat. Preferably something that didn’t come out of a box or a can.
As he rounded the front of the white-and-gray motor home, he saw a woman striding around the side of the lighthouse. A woman who made him stop in his tracks. As a photojournalist, he was an observer by nature. He found people fascinating. The way they moved. The way they didn’t. But there was an aura about this woman, a power—the way she stood under the midafternoon sun, her dark hair pulled severely back into a ponytail, wearing worn, snug jeans encasing long legs and a gray sleeveless tank that made him shiver in response.
How was she not covered in goose bumps in this cool ocean air? Because the goose bumps would have been chased off by the muscles on this woman’s arms. Toned didn’t have anything on her. Neither, it seemed, did pain. Even from a distance, he could see the scars. Scars that marred her left arm and shoulder and reached up the side of her neck. Angry scars. But ones that spoke of strength and resilience.
“We aren’t open to tourists.” The woman’s voice danced along the wind, strong, clipped, no-nonsense. She planted her hands on her hips and pinned cool silver-gray eyes on him.
“I know. I’m Hunter MacBride.” He glanced back at the motor home before walking toward her, hand outstretched.
The caution in her eyes as he approached had him slowing.
“We aren’t open to hunters, either.”
Hunter grinned. Was that a joke? “Ah, good to know.” He chuckled and made sure to keep his distance. She was a woman alone out here. He didn’t blame her for being suspicious. “I’m a friend of Gil Hamilton’s from college. He’s hired me to write a book.” He jerked a thumb toward the carriage house. “Said I could stay here while I work.”
“Gil hired you to write a book?” She couldn’t have sounded more dubious if he’d told her he was a fairy-tale prince. “About what?”
“Butterfly Harbor. The Liberty here.” He inched his chin up to get a closer look at the lighthouse tower. “You must be part of the restoration crew.”
“I am the restoration crew.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “Gil didn’t tell me anything about this.”
Hunter winced. This was going so well. “Don’t know what to say. I’m a little earlier than expected. Maybe he hasn’t gotten around to it. You, ah, living in the carriage house?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, great. I guess we won’t be putting you out, then. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“I didn’t throw it.” She looked over his head, scanning the motor home as a door slammed. “You here with your wife?”
“I’m not married.” First time that statement didn’t come with a ping of regret. He was one of those men who’d expected to be married and well into a family the size of a softball team by now. But with his on-the-road job, the right woman had never presented herself. “I can’t just yell hey you, can I?”
“I’ve been called worse. If you’re not here with your wife, who—”
Had Hunter not been watching her, mesmerized with the way the light played against the odd color of her eyes, he would have missed the color draining from her cheeks and lips. Shock drifted across her face before tipping those eyes of hers into pools of misery.
Hunter felt Phoebe grab hold of one of the loops of his jeans as she circled around him. “Well, there’s my girl. Hey there.” He bent down and hefted Phoebe into his arms, not too difficult given she was such a little thing. Her jeans and dark T-shirt were warm from the sun. “This is my niece, Phoebe.” He took a step toward the woman.
The woman took a step back. And stared unblinking at Phoebe.
Unease uncoiled inside him. “Phoebe, this lady is refurbishing the lighthouse. I’m guessing we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”
Phoebe clutched the back of Hunter’s neck and met the woman’s gaze.
“It would help if we knew your name,” Hunter pressed. What was wrong with the woman? Hadn’t she ever seen a single father before? Why was she looking at Phoebe as if she were an alien who’d landed from outer space? Her expression made him grip his niece tighter.
“Kendall,” the woman choked out. “Kendall Davidson.” And with that, she walked toward the keeper’s house, opened the weather-beaten green door and closed it firmly behind her.
KENDALL PRESSED HER back against the closed door and slowly slid to the floor. The scarred wood welcomed her as it always did, with firm support and splinters to spare, absorbing the trembling she had no control over. She drew her knees into her chest so tight and so hard she could barely breathe. She didn’t want to breathe. She didn’t want to feel. She didn’t want to... She squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars. She didn’t want to see.
A tiny sob escaped her lips. She slapped her hand over her mouth and rocked until she banged her head against the door.
In the past six years, Kendall had faced down terrorists in Afghanistan, watched most of her squad get blown into the afterlife and survived thirty percent of her body being lit on fire. She’d walked among others who’d been harmed or killed with bullets and hate, heard the screams of terror and grief of families suffering. Every day she got out of bed was a gift.
But put one little girl in front of her, a little girl with big brown eyes and even bigger dark curls, and Kendall wished Matt Knight had never rescued her from that burning SUV in Afghanistan.
She knew what it was like to be bone-shivering cold. But that wasn’t why her arms and legs were shaking. She couldn’t feel anything—hot or cold—as the image of a little girl in her uncle’s comforting arms burned through her mind.
Even as the thought of another little girl—one she couldn’t save—singed her heart.
Hunter MacBride and his niece, Phoebe. They were going to be staying here. In her sanctuary, where for the last seven months she’d finally found the peace and solitude that had eluded her since she’d come home. Where she’d finally begun to put the past behind her as she fixed the lighthouse and surrounding buildings stone by stone, shingle by shingle.
This Hunter man would have been intrusion enough. Him she could have managed. But the idea of Phoebe popping up around every corner, her laughter coating the air, little girl squeals of excitement and happiness—that was going to take some getting used to. If she ever could.
She rubbed a hand against her chest, hard, shoved herself to her feet and went to the small shuttered window above the mattress in the corner. She lifted up on her toes and popped open the shutter, just an inch or so, and watched Hunter start unloading bags and a backpack. She could hear him humming as he handed a bright yellow bag to Phoebe, who hauled it up the little hill to the carriage house.
The house she’d finished restoring just last month. The only thing left was to fill the window boxes with something bright and cheery like red geraniums, but she figured she’d ask Matt’s wife, Lori, to do that in the spring. Lori Knight could just look at a window box and fill it with color and life, whereas Kendall...well, Kendall killed everything she touched.
“Just leave things by the front door, okay, kiddo?” Hunter called before stretching his arms over his head. He turned suddenly, his brown-eyed gaze landing firmly on the house. Kendall ducked out of sight, both mortified and irritated at her reaction.
She scrubbed at the paint splotches on her fingers to give herself something to do as she waited for them to go inside. Bracing herself, her heart hammering as she listened for Phoebe’s voice, her laugh, an excited squeal at the majestic image of the ocean mere feet away.
Their front door closed. Kendall finally let out a breath that didn’t feel tinged with fear. In the next second, she grabbed her wallet and her sweatshirt and headed out, ready to take the two-mile hike into town at a far brisker pace than usual.
It didn’t dawn on her until she was halfway there that she’d never heard a sound from Phoebe.
Not one little sound.
CHAPTER TWO (#u950b5442-1c8e-5ede-bf35-5a1a95028e32)
FOR ONCE IN his life, Gil Hamilton had not exaggerated. Hunter unloaded the last of his and Phoebe’s bags into the cottage, and only then did he take the time to stop and look around. It was small, cozy, but the perfect size for him and Phoebe. Especially with the two small bedrooms separated by an updated bathroom complete with a claw-foot tub. He’d bet Phoebe could deep dive in that thing.
He thought the white walls would be blinding, but the starkness was broken up with splashes of blues and greens reminiscent of the sea. As promised, Hunter found a desk situated beneath a window that overlooked the ocean and updated outlets in the walls. The perfect writing location once he got his laptop set up.
The kitchen lined the wall closest to the door, a galley style that more than suited their needs for meals at the square table steps away. He found dishes, pots and pans, and plenty of glasses and flatware. What the kitchen didn’t have he probably did in the motor home. A small sofa and two chairs bookended the stone fireplace. The bedrooms each had a small flat-screen television and DVD player, no doubt in preparation for renting this place out to vacationers, Hunter imagined. He’d have to use the motor home for his photography work. He didn’t want to clutter the place with all his equipment. He wanted this place to feel as much of a home as possible. For Phoebe.
Phoebe.
Hunter sighed and dragged his hands through his too-long hair. What was he going to do about Phoebe? She should be in school, something he’d argued extensively about with her paternal grandparents, who had taken serious exception to his being granted custody after their only son’s death. A bachelor father, they’d called Hunter, and a nomadic one at that. As if he was some throwback character from the ’50s incapable of taking care of a child. He’d been as big a part of Phoebe’s life as he could from the day she was born, arranging jobs so he could stay with Juliana while her husband traveled for work. Besides, Hunter was the only family Juliana had. Now Phoebe was the only family he had, and he was going to do whatever it took to give her the best life possible.
He knew he had some serious decisions to make, but his niece was doing okay with her homeschooling. She could read better than he could, and she was pretty good at math. He’d done enough research online to know what she should be studying. Socialization was where she was lacking, and that was top of his list now that they’d be staying put for even a short while. Hopefully there were some kids her age in town who would help bring her out of her shell and have her uttering more than one or two words at a time. And maybe remind her that the world wasn’t a completely bad place.
Maybe he should have consulted more doctors other than the two who had assured him she’d come out of it when she was ready. They’d told him not to push. To let Phoebe move through her grief in her own time. Or maybe he was second guessing himself constantly because he was terrified of the one thing he couldn’t control: a custody battle.
Movement outside the kitchen window, brought his attention to where he could see the lighthouse standing tall and proud against the wind. Kendall Davidson. She reminded him of Phoebe in a way. She wasn’t particularly loquacious. A woman of few and bullet-pointed words. But the way she’d looked at his niece... That expression of hers might very well haunt him for a while. He’d bet she liked her space and the peace and quiet, which was why, when he heard her front door slam, he didn’t venture outside. Instead, he stood at the window and watched as she headed—on foot—down the road he and Phoebe had traversed moments before.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him it had been a long time since breakfast. He’d been so anxious to get here he’d driven straight through lunch. Phoebe—ever reliable, responsible, adult little Phoebe—had shoved an apple into his hand a little over an hour ago before munching on one herself.
“Phoebe! You hungry?”
She popped up in the doorway of her bedroom almost instantly.
“You want to go into town on our bikes or do you want to eat here? Gil told me about a diner that has milkshakes and hamburgers.”
Phoebe’s mouth twisted as she considered. “Strawberry milkshakes?”
“I’d bet on it. Get your coat on, okay? It’s probably going to get chilly. Don’t forget your helmet!”
She disappeared into her room as Hunter stepped outside, scanning the area and deciding once they got back he’d repark the monster in the little grove behind the house. Depending on how long they’d be here, he figured he could buy a cheap secondhand car, but Butterfly Harbor was a pretty small town. Why add to emissions or subtract from his bank account when his feet and bike would do just fine? “All set?” he asked when Phoebe joined him at the monster and hopped on her bike. She gave him a thumbs-up. “Okay then. Our first trip into Butterfly Harbor. Let’s do this, kiddo.”
KENDALL STOOD OUTSIDE the Butterfly Diner, scanning the booths inside for a sign of Mayor Gil Hamilton. After stopping at the still-under-construction town hall, which was scheduled to reopen later this year, she’d been told by his assistant at the temporary offices that he was out and about. Of course he was, Kendall thought. It was, after all, an election year, albeit late March. Now she’d have to trek all over to hunt him down.
She needed to talk to him as soon as possible. She needed him to change his mind and make Hunter MacBride and Phoebe stay somewhere else. She needed her solitude back.
While there were plenty of people enjoying the homemade offerings at the diner, Kendall didn’t find a hint of blond hair and political ego anywhere on the premises. Hands shoved in her pockets, she fidgeted in place, peering at the customers through the large windows.
“Only time you bounce on your toes is when you don’t know what to do.” The friendly male voice from behind her had her turning. “What’s going on, Hacksaw? Take a wrong turn at the hardware store?”
Kendall grinned. There were fewer things on this planet that could make her smile easier than Matt Knight. Make that Deputy Matt Knight, who was looking mighty proper in his khaki uniform. “You seen the mayor anywhere?” she asked.
“Not today. Then again, I’ve been stuck in the office the whole time. First ray of sunshine I’ve seen since I left the house.” He tilted his scruffy chin to the sky and basked for a moment. “Can’t wait for Ozzy and Fletcher to get back from that law enforcement conference so we can resume our regular patrol schedule.”
“Taking double shifts so Luke can be home with Holly more was a nice gesture.” The sheriff, Luke Saxon, and his wife were expecting. Holly owned the Butterfly Diner but was rarely pulling shifts these days.
Matt shrugged. “Least I can do. I’m hoping to garner some goodwill once those twins arrive. Maybe give them a test run.”
Once upon a time Kendall had dreamed of a husband, a family. She and Sam had planned it all out, two point five kids—he’d gotten a serious kick out of the decimal point—beginning with getting married once both their tours ended. But those dreams and plans had died with Sam when he’d been killed during an insurgent attack in Afghanistan. She’d loved Sam. She’d loved only Sam. “You and Lori starting to think about kids?”
“Maybe.” Matt probably didn’t have any idea just how goofy he looked when asked about his wife. Boy, she and Matt had come a long way from sharing those sand-encrusted camps oversees. “We’re exploring our options. Kyle seems to be all for it, which I think is what’s finally convinced Lori it’s time.”
Funny, Kendall thought. Ever since she’d arrived in Butterfly Harbor last fall, she’d heard talk about how Matt had changed Kyle’s life, but the teen he’d adopted had been good for Matt, too. The experience had turned him into the stellar father and parental figure Kendall suspected her friend was always capable of being, despite his own troubled childhood. Add Lori to both their lives and, well, that was as close to a perfect match as Kendall had ever witnessed.
Kendall probably should have reassured him with platitudes and words of encouragement, but neither were her style. Besides, she and Matt knew, better than most, that life was completely unpredictable. Luck and hope had nothing to do with an outcome. It could turn—and devastate—on a dime.
Instead, she cast a forlorn look back into the diner. “I really need to talk to Gil. Any idea where he might be?”
“He and Jake are scouting out locations for the new community and teen center. They could be anywhere. What’s going on?” Matt leaned against the lamppost as if he had all the time in the world.
She appreciated his friendship more than she could say. And he’d slipped right into Butterfly Harbor as if he belonged here—which, after more than three years, he did. The big, burly soldier she’d served with hadn’t brought the darkness home with him, despite the war taking his leg. Sure, he’d had his struggles, but he’d set his mind and gotten what he wanted. Now he was married to one of the nicest—too nice, sometimes—women Kendall had ever met and had adopted a teenage foster kid who was making a name for himself around town as an up-and-coming handyman. She’d even hired Kyle to help out on some of the bigger jobs she’d had with the lighthouse. Life was sweet for Matt Knight. One of the few things that did her heart good.
“Kendall, what’s wrong?” Matt asked again when it was clear she’d gotten lost in thought.
The last thing she wanted was Matt getting involved in her problems. Again. He’d spent most of the last few years looking after her in one way or another. She’d finally gotten on her own two feet, and no way was she turning back now. “You know anything about Gil hiring some guy to write a book?”
“Um, yeah. Something MacBride. Photojournalist from back east. Went to college with Gil, I think. He was looking for a change, and the town council wants to produce a travel book for visitors. Can’t promote the gorgeous place too much, right?”
“Yeah, right.” Kendall winced. Darn it. Not that she expected to hear different. Keeping herself as far away from the town hubbub as possible meant being out of the loop. “The guy’s early, it seems. He’s staying at the carriage house.”
“Up where you are?” Matt’s eyebrows went up. “That going to be a problem? I thought you were living in the keeper’s house.”
“I am. And he is.” Her hands came out of her pockets and started flailing about the way they always did when she was on edge. “It’s just... I’m used to being alone. I like being alone. I need to be.”
“I know you like it, but whether it’s what you need?” Matt shrugged. “Not going to agree with you there. What’s the matter with the guy? Is he a creep? Need me to give him a talking-to?”
Kendall rolled her eyes. “Like I couldn’t handle a creep. And no, I don’t need you to give him a talking-to. I need him to...leave.” Even as she said the words, she spotted two figures—a larger man and smaller girl—riding toward them on bikes. “I can’t believe this. Is he following me? Does he have radar?”
“He’s here? MacBride?” Matt spun around before Kendall could stop him.
“Don’t stare. Oh, shoot, Matt. Behave yourself.”
Matt looked at her over his shoulder, an odd expression blanketing his dark-haired features. “What’s this all about? You’re almost flustered. You don’t fluster.”
“No, I don’t,” Kendall snapped. “But what I don’t need is someone getting in my way up there. I work alone. It’s just how I do things. Can you just help me find Gil so I can explain... Hello.” She locked her lips into a tight line as Hunter MacBride pulled his bike to a stop beside Matt.
Kendall’s heart hammered against her chest as she did everything she could to avoid looking at Phoebe. Phoebe in her little jeans and jacket and cute little shoes and big brown eyes...
“Hello, neighbor.” Hunter unhooked his helmet and draped the band over his handlebars. “Fancy seeing you here. Phoebe and I are dying for some home cooking. Aren’t we, kiddo?” He reached back as Phoebe climbed off her bike and pushed it next to his. “Hi, there.” Hunter turned that million-watt smile on Matt and offered his hand. “Hunter MacBride. You’d be the sheriff?”
“Heaven forbid.” Matt actually shuddered and returned the greeting. “Deputy Matt Knight. Kendall and I go way back. She was just telling me about you.”
“Was she?” Hunter grinned.
Kendall’s stomach did a double tuck drop to her feet. She’d been so distracted by Phoebe earlier she hadn’t registered just how good-looking the man was. Not Hollywood handsome, but head-turning nonetheless. Dark brown hair, amber-specked brown eyes and a dimple in his chin that made her fingers itch to check how deep it went.
He was taller than she was, almost as tall as Matt, and his chest and shoulders were broad enough that she didn’t think Phoebe would feel anything other than safe and protected.
Phoebe. Kendall shifted uneasy eyes to the little girl, who was peeking out from behind her uncle, staring wide-eyed and cautiously at Matt.
“This is Phoebe,” Hunter introduced Matt to his niece. “I’m guessing you’re one of our go-to people if we’re ever in trouble.”
“Absolutely. Nice to meet you, Phoebe. Are you going to be here long?” He glanced at Kendall with an all-too-knowing smile on his face. Kendall recognized that expression. It was one he’d learned from his wife, who had developed a propensity for matchmaking now that she was submerged in happily-ever-after.
“A few months,” Hunter told him. “Depends how long it takes me to write the book on this place. Here, you need help with that?” He reached down and unhooked Phoebe’s helmet.
Kendall kept her eyes pinned on Matt as the little girl pulled her head free and shook out her curls.
Matt’s jaw locked, and Kendall ducked her head. But not before he saw the sorrow she was unable to hide. It was then she knew she wasn’t imagining things. He saw what she did.
Panic and dread piled like rocks in her chest. How was she going to survive this, them, for months?
“Well, aren’t you pretty,” Matt said after he cleared his throat. “I, um, need to get back to the station, but feel free to drop by anytime. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of questions about...”
“I have to go.” Kendall spun on her heel and headed away from them. It didn’t matter which direction she went. She didn’t care. She just needed to get away. From the man who made her think of the future that would never be hers.
CHAPTER THREE (#u950b5442-1c8e-5ede-bf35-5a1a95028e32)
“HOW BIG ARE your milkshakes?” Hunter asked the attentive, sandy-blond-headed waitress once they were seated at a booth. Phoebe had barely glanced at the menu before she’d scrambled onto her knees and looked over the back of the booth to where a group of kids had gathered at the end of the counter.
“Quite big. Big enough to split.” Their server, who wore a pink T-shirt, inclined her head toward Phoebe. The woman’s long ponytail fell over her shoulder as she flipped her pen in her hand, making the small diamond solitaire wedding set twinkle on her finger. “Or I can whip up a mini one just for her.”
Phoebe turned a big-eyed grin back at him, then up at their server.
“Would you like your own shake, sweetie?”
Phoebe nodded.
“Got it. So that’s two burgers, one mini. And two milkshakes. One mini.” She pointed to Phoebe. “Side order of onion rings and...a green salad.” She ticked off the items on her pad. “That do it?”
“And coffee, thanks.” Hunter handed the menus back. “Busy place.” Not overly crowded, but full enough he could tell it was a favorite go-to spot for locals and tourists alike. Not that this time of year was tourist season, but it should be given the beautiful weather. Gil had told him the town was slowly becoming a year-round go-to destination. He liked the throwback feel of the diner, from the black-and-white tile floor to the orange-and-black vinyl stools and booths, no doubt a decorating homage to the town’s namesake monarch butterfly.
Speaking of butterflies. They were everywhere, in every form, dangling from the ceiling of the diner, attached to the walls. Even perched perfectly on the edge of the windowsills. Children’s renderings, artist offerings and even a few scribbles on napkins.
“Saturdays have become nonstop. I’m Paige, by the way. Paige Bradley.”
“Hunter MacBride.” Hunter offered his hand and cast a quick glance at Phoebe. “This is my niece, Phoebe.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Paige looked over her shoulder to the group of surprisingly quiet kids. “My daughter Charlie’s somewhere in that pack. And that’s Simon with the glasses.” Paige shifted toward Phoebe and crouched down, pointing to each child as she referenced them. “There with the brown curls? That’s Marley O’Neill. And Stella Jones. She wears bells in her hair sometimes. She jingles when she walks. Would you like to meet them, Phoebe?”
Phoebe looked at Paige for a long moment before she shook her head and scooted back in the booth.
“Maybe another time.” If Paige was put off by Phoebe’s reluctance, she didn’t let on. She pushed to her feet. “You staying long or just passing through?”
“We’ll be here for a while,” Hunter said. “I’m writing a book on the lighthouse.”
“Oh, you’re the photojournalist we’ve heard about.” Paige seemed to bite the inside of her cheek. “Have you, um, been up there already?”
Sensing where this was headed, Hunter nodded. “We have. Just finished unloading the motor home.”
“Ah.” Paige nodded. “So that must mean you’ve met Kendall.”
“We have had the pleasure.” Questions flooded his mind about the odd, quiet, apparently easy to offend woman. Hazards of the job. He always had questions. But experience had taught him barreling in demanding answers was rarely the way to glean accurate and helpful information. “She seems nice.”
“She is,” Paige said with an apologetic shrug. “She’s just...”
“No need to explain,” Hunter assured her. “We all have our stories. Speaking of which, I’d love to start talking to residents, get a feel for the place. Really get to know what makes Butterfly Harbor tick.”
“Oh, well, I’d be happy to participate, but Charlie and I haven’t been here that long.”
“Long enough?” He pointed to her ring and smiled at the pink rising to her cheeks.
“How do you know this is recent?”
“Intuition. Plus you keep turning it with your thumb, as if you’re still getting used to it. I tend to notice things like that. I bet there’s a great story behind it.”
It occurred to him the book could take a more personal spin rather than having a focus on purely historical information. The lighthouse would be the perfect starting point, but it was obvious there were a lot more stories to be found in this town. More than the buildings and the restructuring—it was about the people, as well.
“Hmm, you could say that. If you’re looking for a newcomer’s perspective, I’m your girl. But Holly, Simon’s mom—she’s the owner—she’s lived here her entire life. As has her father. Holly’s home today, but she should be in for a few hours tomorrow morning. She and her husband are expecting twins in a couple of months.”
“Oh, wow. Well, I wouldn’t want to bother her right away.”
“Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t like to talk to her, though, right? Don’t worry. I’ll hook you up. You have a cell number?”
“Absolutely.” He pulled out his wallet and handed over a business card. “My schedule’s open.”
“Well, I might just be using you in the coming weeks then. Talking to you would be a good excuse to get Holly off her feet if I can’t at least get her out the door. I’ll put your order in with Ursula. She’s our mainstay at the grill. And your shake is coming right up.” She winked at Phoebe.
“Everyone seems so nice here.” Hunter folded his hands on the table and looked across at his niece. “You like it so far?”
Phoebe nodded and rearranged herself on the seat. The top of her chin almost brushed the table, but as was her routine, she placed her napkin to her right and arranged her fork and knife and spoon, making sure they were aligned properly. Above the din of conversation and childish laughter, the milkshake machine rumbled to life. A grumbling voice added to the noise as it echoed from beyond the pass-through window.
“Maybe after lunch we can walk down to the beach,” Hunter suggested. “Get our feet wet in the ocean?”
Phoebe knocked her head to the side. Maybe.
“Or we can take a walk around town. See what stores they have here? Maybe there’s a bookstore.” Hunter grinned when Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I thought that might get your attention. I have to admit, I did a bit of checking, and I know for a fact there is a bookstore. But you know what else it has?” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a secretive whisper. “Cats.”
The skepticism on Phoebe’s face shouldn’t have been possible, not in a child so young. But there it was. She thought he was joking.
“I swear.” Hunter made a crisscross gesture over his heart. “Cats and books. Might be a nice way to spend the afternoon, right?”
“Are you talking about Cat’s Eye Books?” Paige asked. She set a small pink-filled glass topped with a cavity-inducing swirl of whipped cream and a solitary cherry on top on the table and followed it with Hunter’s coffee. “One of Charlie’s favorite places to go. You’ll love it. Both of you. Just be sure you always look up.” Paige laughed at Phoebe’s expression. “You really don’t have to say a word, do you? Your face says it all. Trust me. Look up.”
Phoebe watched Paige walk away before she picked up her straw, unwrapped it and slid it carefully into her glass. Hunter’s heart had become immune to the little daggers of despair that struck whenever he noticed how precise and careful Phoebe was. It was as if she considered everything around her to be temporary. To end at any moment. But pushing her out of her comfort zone, one that seemed to give her some solace and security, didn’t seem right.
“How is it?” he asked after she took a dainty sip.
Phoebe nodded, her lips twitching before she drank again. Then pointed to Hunter’s messenger bag. “Do you want your book?”
Phoebe nodded.
Hunter retrieved the tattered copy of Charlotte’s Web. The same book she’d read over and over for the past six months. The same book her mother had been reading to her just days before Juliana and Brent had been killed. Phoebe settled in, book on the table, fingers pressing the worn pages open, and pursed her lips as she dropped into the story.
Hunter took the time to catch up on his emails before pulling out his own notebook. He’d already taken a few pictures of the town with his phone during their ride into town, initial images that, when assembled, would give him a bit of a roadmap of what to concentrate on when he brought out the big guns. While camera phones were fabulous, they didn’t capture everything for him. Not the way a big, need-two-hands device with a long lens tended to. There was something about hefting that camera in his hands, feeling the weight of it, knowing the power it possessed to capture a moment, a fragment of time that never got old.
He loved the smell of this place. The hot, steamy grill. The promise of fried onions with a hint of bacon. The aroma of coffee wafting its way around the sugary sweetness of a cavalcade of pies lining the case by the register. Made him grateful they had their bikes. Too much time in Butterfly Harbor and he was going to gain fifty pounds.
And that was just the diner. Hearing former celebrity chef Jason Corwin had opened a restaurant at the historic Flutterby Inn, a building he was certain would take days to investigate and photograph to its fullest potential, had gotten his salivary glands going. The restaurant, Flutterby Dreams, wasn’t exactly Phoebe friendly, so he’d have to play that one by ear.
Scrolling through the city’s website, Hunter made note of the different businesses, the mentions of historic buildings that could be contemporaries of the lighthouse. He had a full day planned tomorrow at the library, searching through the archives for any events that might have included Liberty Lighthouse. Phoebe could get started on that new math unit he’d showed her.
He felt she should be back in school by now, but every time he even broached the subject, Phoebe resisted. No doubt the idea of being in a classroom again took her back to that day—the day when the police had come to collect her from school after the accident. Just that morning Phoebe had had parents who adored her, doted on her. Hours later, thanks to a drunk driver, her entire world had vanished.
No wonder she didn’t want to go back. But Hunter knew the time was coming when he wouldn’t have a choice. She couldn’t stay out of school forever. Something Phoebe’s paternal grandparents had begun to convey through their recently obtained lawyer. It was one more strike against him, the first being his job and the fact that he didn’t have a permanent address that wasn’t a PO Box. An uneasy nausea churned low in his stomach. He knew Eleanor and Stephen meant well and that they were concerned about Phoebe—not that they’d shown much interest in her before their son’s and daughter-in-law’s deaths. It hadn’t taken them longer than the reception after the funeral for them to suggest to Hunter that his rootless lifestyle wasn’t conducive to the raising of a seven-year-old. Their claims seemed bolstered by the fact that Phoebe had become withdrawn, but the therapist he’d consulted with shortly after the accident had given him the reassurance that it would just take time and encouragement from him to help her move beyond the loss.
Bringing up her parents in regular conversation didn’t illicit the hostile reaction it once had; Phoebe was getting used to hearing the stories or comments, and while she didn’t necessarily contribute to the conversation, he could see she was listening, processing. All positive steps toward healing.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, he blinked and found Phoebe watching him. Those brown eyes of hers seemed to see so much—far more than his jaded ones ever could.
Hunter gave her one of his trademark “everything’s great” smiles, and she returned to her book. The little tyke picked up on everything. Every mood he had. Every thought that passed through his mind. It was almost... spooky.
“Okay, here you go. One cheeseburger, one mini burger, a side order of onion rings and one green salad.”
Hunter scrambled to clear his stuff off the table as Paige set their food down. Phoebe shifted onto her knees and tucked her napkin into the collar of her shirt.
“Such a little adult,” Paige murmured, then turned surprised eyes on Hunter as Phoebe claimed the bright green tomato-and-cucumber-topped salad for herself. “I’m guessing the two of you have been through a lot.”
“A bit.” Hunter kept his tone upbeat. “But we’re doing okay, right, kiddo?”
Phoebe stuffed a grape tomato into her mouth and gave them both a thumbs-up.
“Yeah, well, you’ve definitely come to the right place. Just keep your eyes open for butterflies, Phoebe. They’re everywhere in this town.”
“Even now?” Hunter slopped ketchup onto his burger. “I thought monarch season wasn’t until—”
“Monarch season is all year round here in Butterfly Harbor. Trust me. It’s the magic of the place. And you know what they say about butterflies and luck, don’t you?”
She’d clearly caught Phoebe’s attention. Paige bent down. “It’s said if you whisper a wish to a butterfly, it’ll carry it on the wind and deliver it. But you have to be very careful and catch a butterfly right here.” She tapped the tip of one finger. “The butterflies will come when the time is right.”
Phoebe’s brows veed. Hunter had no doubt, if she’d been a teenager, she’d have rolled her eyes and muttered a bitter “whatever.” Instead, she smirked and returned to her salad.
“Well, it was worth a shot.” Paige pushed back to her feet. “Butterflies aren’t my specialty. Although my daughter Charlie’s becoming an expert. If you want the real skinny, head up to Duskywing Farm one morning and talk to Calliope Jones. Now she’s magic with those creatures.”
Phoebe stabbed her fork hard into her salad and looked out the window.
“I think we’re a little leery of magic right now,” Hunter explained. “But I appreciate the advice. I’m up for anything since we’re here.”
And if that happened to include a bit of magic, all the better.
KENDALL HAD SPENT the better part of the afternoon searching out Gil Hamilton. Granted, it wasn’t how she’d expected to spend the day, not when she had plastering and sanding to do on the exterior of the lighthouse. But at least, in the meantime, she was able to submit her new order for supplies to Harvey Mills at the hardware store and check the community bulletin board for any side jobs she could knock out quickly.
Abby Corwin’s grandmother Alice, who ran the Flutterby Inn before Abby took over, was looking to do an upgrade on the backyard patio she shared with her roommates before summer arrived full-on. Meanwhile, Mrs. Hastings, the former school principal, wanted shelves built for her dining room. A handful of other tasks ended up in Kendall’s phone, enough that she abandoned her original goal of hunting down the mayor and headed off to make contact with her new clients.
At some point the lighthouse was going to be finished and Kendall would be out of a job—and a place to live. The more money she could bank, the easier it would be when the time came. Not that she charged much beyond supplies, but every penny helped.
In the years since she’d been discharged, she’d lived in her car, in shelters and, for a few months that Matt didn’t know about, on the street. She’d been lost without Sam, without the life they’d planned. It was as if she’d been left utterly rudderless in an unending storm on the ocean. Those days, when the darkness got so bad, when everything above, around and beneath her felt too big to escape, there was little more she could do than just sit and breathe. And even then, breathing was an effort. So where she lived hadn’t meant a lot to her. She could have been in the most palatial of homes, surrounded by the best of friends, and it wouldn’t have made a difference.
But the medication had. Eventually. The therapy had. Somewhat. And she’d vowed to never have another day like those when the darkness had almost won.
Now, she knew as long as she remained in Butterfly Harbor, she would always have a place to rest her head. Or stash her duffel bag. Thanks to Matt, and everyone, in fact. Heck, Matt was even talking about constructing a tiny house for the back portion of his land. Not that he’d said specifically that he was thinking about Kendall. But she knew him well enough to guess the thought had crossed his mind. Matt Knight never did anything randomly. There was always a method to his...madness.
Madness. Kendall almost laughed as she bade goodbye to Greta Bundy, a former council member who was looking to have her bedroom repainted. Her little cottage-style house looked like it had been plucked from the pages of Mother Goose, with the white picket fence, lattice trim around the windows and roof, a lush green lawn and an arched front door that had forest animals carved in the stained redwood.
Kendall wouldn’t wish her familiarity with the opposite of the picture-postcard scene on anyone; it wasn’t as if she wore her issues like a badge of honor or even a shield. If anything, dragging her past with her was part of what kept her quiet most of the time. Not having the ability to see the bright side of anything for so long, she’d learned it was better to simply stay quiet and observe. And gradually, eventually, that silence had, in a way, set her free.
She wasn’t meant for a life other than the one she had now. Simple, careful. Alone. That’s where she had to keep her focus. And leave the past in the past. The panic attacks had subsided, and she knew to plan well ahead of time should any fireworks or other large noises happen around town. And she’d been doing okay. Better than okay. She’d been doing...good.
Until Hunter MacBride and his niece, Phoebe, had arrived.
Kendall stopped walking, that familiar lack of air pressing in on her. The more she tried not to think about the little girl, the more she was all Kendall could think about. Images of another little girl, laughing and tumbling in the air, her face alight with promise and hope despite her family’s difficult circumstances. Until those circumstances were ended. For good.
She needed to get back to the lighthouse. Back to where she felt safe. She could track Gil down later today or even tomorrow. But for now...
No!
Kendall snapped herself free. One hard shake of her head, one forced push of relaxation through her body had her looking at the peaceful sight of the blue ocean mere blocks away. From where she stood at the top of the hill, it felt so close. The water, the crashing waves. The feel of the damp sand between her toes. That was all she needed.
“My kind of therapy, here I come.” Kendall slipped her phone into her back pocket and zipped up her sweatshirt. Keeping the ocean in focus, in sight, in mind, she walked forward.
And longed for peace.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u950b5442-1c8e-5ede-bf35-5a1a95028e32)
“REMEMBER WHAT PAIGE at the diner said, Phoebe.” Hunter pushed open the door to Cat’s Eye Bookstore and ushered her inside. “Look up.”
Phoebe’s chin shot up, and she turned in circles. Hearing Phoebe’s soft gasp before she pointed a finger up at the ceiling had Hunter doing the same. Amid the chin-high polished wooden bookcases filled with tomes, an intricate maze of wide shelves, cubbies and platforms had been built into the walls for three, no, five cats of varying ages to enjoy. A yellow-eyed tabby blinked down at them from its regal perch, reminding Hunter of the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. “Well, hello there.” Hunter couldn’t stop the smile from forming.
“That’s Zacharia.” A man emerged from around the corner, his arms loaded with a stack of hardcover books. “And don’t worry, he’s not a leaper. He prefers to sit and rule over us from above.”
“Good to know.” The last thing Hunter wanted today was for a cat to land on his face. “Paige over at the diner told us to be sure to look up when we came in.” He trailed his gaze around the room, shaking his head at the cats darting in and out of sight. “This is amazing. How many cats do you have?”
“Officially? One. Zacharia there.” As if the books weighed no more than a bag of feathers, he stopped beside them. “We’re fostering four others at the moment. My daughter, Mandy, and I rotate them so they don’t get bored at the shelter. Also gets them acclimated to interacting with people and each other. Sorry. I’m rambling. What brings you by? Anything in particular?” He headed to the new releases table, placed the books he was carrying on the nearest shelf and started reorganizing the selection. “Or just browsing?”
“Phoebe’s in need of some new books.” Hunter took a long moment to appreciate the larger-than-expected store that stood on the corner of Monarch Lane Whispering Wing three blocks from the diner. “And I suppose I am, too. Especially anything having to do with Butterfly Harbor and the surrounding areas. I’m doing research for a project.”
“You must be Hunter MacBride. I’m Sebastian Evans.” The man offered his hand to shake. “Gil said he thought you might be stopping by. Welcome to Butterfly Harbor. And hello to you, too, Phoebe.” He bent down just as Paige had to meet Hunter’s niece eye to eye. “What kind of stories do you like?”
“She reads widely,” Hunter said when Phoebe looked up at him. “And she’s...shy around strangers.”
“Totally understand. Wish my Mandy had been shy at that age. Would have made things a lot easier.” Sebastian laughed. “She’d talk nonstop to anyone and everyone. Still does. That said, she’s thirteen now, so you must be seven? Eight?” he asked Phoebe.
“Seven,” Hunter confirmed.
“Right. I have a special going today on children’s and YA books. Buy three books, get the fourth for free. How about you and your uncle look around for a bit and if you have any questions, you can let me or one of the cats know?”
Phoebe pointed up as a sleek black cat emerged from a cubby.
“That one’s Ruby,” Sebastian told them. “And over there we have Bella. My daughter named her that because she’s so poofy and pretty. Not the sharpest crayon in the box, though. I can’t tell you how many times she’s mistaken a fur ball for a mouse. But a kind soul nonetheless.”
Phoebe looked confused.
Hunter wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a cat with so much fur. Almost pure white with a collar of gray, Bella had bright blue eyes that almost glowed even in the daylight. “What is she, a Ragdoll?” His great-aunt Eunice had had a Ragdoll cat when he’d been growing up.
“We think so. Part, at least. Mandy’s been looking into it. She’s hoping to be a vet, which explains the menagerie around here. The ones you have to look out for are Chuck and Lilith. They’re barely a year old and love little girls especially. Careful or they might try to follow you home.”
Hunter recognized a barely restrained plea when he heard it. “I’m not sure a cat is in the cards for us right now. We aren’t staying very long, and being so close to the cliffs—”
“That’s right. You’re staying up at the Liberty, aren’t you? Mandy and I have been dying to see how it’s coming along, but we’re trying to be patient while Kendall finishes it.”
Phoebe wandered down the aisle toward the children’s section.
“So there’s only one person working on the lighthouse?” Hunter asked.
“Yep. Kendall’s a bit of a one-woman miracle construction crew. Not much she can’t do on her own, but when she needs help, she knows who to call.”
“You?” Hunter picked up a new mystery by one of his favorite authors he hadn’t realized was out yet.
“Oh, no. There’s a reason I own and operate a bookstore. Mandy’s more handy than I am. No, the deputies help Kendall out from time to time, as well. And some of the local teens. And Frankie Bettencourt, of course. You meet Frankie yet?”
“Afraid not. We only just got into town today.”
“Butterfly Harbor’s first female firefighter. Also been a pain in my backside for going on thirtysomething years.”
At Hunter’s curious look, Sebastian grinned. “She’s my best friend’s sister. Twin, actually. Older than Monty by three minutes, but you’d swear it was three years the way she talks. We grew up here together.”
“Then I’m definitely going to want to talk to you in the future. All of you,” he added. “For the book.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.” Sebastian finished adding the new books to the display and moved behind the counter that had a selection of hand-carved wooden bookmarks, hand-turned pens and butterfly-topped pencils. The glass case beneath the register displayed a sign signifying locally made jewelry, some of which were miniature books with real leather bindings. “I know a lot of people haven’t been happy with some of the decisions Gil’s been making, but we can’t argue with results. The town’s coming back to life. Should make a good angle for your book.”
“How close was it to dying?”
“About as close as you’d want to get. A little over two years ago, I was considering leaving. Would have killed me to give up this place. Starting over with a new store in a new town wasn’t financially feasible, not with Mandy so close to college. Gil’s revitalization plans, the building of a new butterfly sanctuary, bringing a national TV crew out here to cover one of our food festivals—it’s all helped. It’s helped a lot. Given us store owners some breathing room.”
“Gil’s never been one to let protests or detractors get in his way.” Not that Hunter knew Gil that well. To say he’d been surprised to get Gil’s call a few weeks back was a massive understatement. He hadn’t seen or heard from his friend in almost a decade, but while Hunter had lost touch, obviously Gil had kept tabs on Hunter and his career.
“We’ll see what happens come election time. If things keep running smoothly, he should keep his job.”
“And if things don’t run smoothly?” Hunter asked.
“Good question.” Sebastian shrugged. “Other than politics or banking, not exactly sure what the Hamiltons are made for.”
Hunter felt a tug on his shirt. When he turned and looked down, he saw Phoebe, clutching a hardbound book against her chest as if it were gold. “What do you have, kiddo?” He bent down, held out his hands and felt his heart break a little more when she handed over a brand-new copy of Charlotte’s Web. Her eyes shone, and it wasn’t the first time he had a difficult time deciphering grief from hope. “Well, this is lovely.” His smile made his cheeks ache. “We can add this to the stack, okay? How about we go explore together? I bet there are some math puzzle books around here somewhere? We’ve been homeschooling,” he explained to Sebastian.
Unfazed, Sebastian tapped his hand on the counter. “Then I have just the thing. Follow me.”
A little over an hour later, the sorrow over Phoebe’s main choice of book had been tempered by the half dozen other books Sebastian had talked her into trying. A few were ones Hunter never would have considered, given they were far above a seven-year-old’s reading level, but Sebastian had sat on the floor with Phoebe and explained each one, encouraging her by letting her know his daughter had loved these books at her age.
The science and math workbooks were a pleasant surprise and included lots of fun experiments they could do together.
“Depending on how fast she goes through these,” Sebastian told Hunter as he accepted Hunter’s credit card, “you might want to start visiting the library. Phoebe’s old enough for her own card.”
Gripping the edge of the counter, Phoebe’s eyes went wide, and she bounced on her toes.
“Won’t that cut into your profit margin?” Hunter joked.
“It’s good business sense. A reader like her is hard to find, and we want to keep readers interested. Alternating between will keep things fresh. You’ll find the library two blocks north from the elementary school.”
“Good to know.”
Phoebe inched closer to him at the mention of school. Hunter laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, their silent sign that he understood and she could relax.
“And, because I expect you’ll be repeat customers, here you go, Phoebe. Your very own Cat’s Eye book bag.” Sebastian placed a few of her books into the drawstring bag, then stepped around the counter to help her slip it on like a backpack. “You bring this with you whenever you come in, okay?”
She nodded so hard she almost tipped over. “Thank you.”
Hunter felt a burst of happiness at Phoebe responding without prompting. She must have decided that Cat’s Eye Books was a safe place.
“You sure I can’t interest you in a cat?” Sebastian asked. “Or maybe two? Two is always better so they each have a companion. I’m sure Chuck is around here—”
“Nice try.” Hunter chuckled and purposely did his best not to look anywhere near Phoebe. A pet might be a good idea, but maybe something smaller. Like a goldfish. “Appreciate your help. And the information. I’ll be in touch about talking to you and Frankie and her brother. I bet you guys can give me some insights into this town few others can.”
“Count on it.”
Hunter held out his free hand once they were back outside. “Well, Phoebs. I have to say that’s the most fun bookstore I’ve ever been to.”
People roamed the street, darting across the road toward the beach. Seagulls cawed in the distance as the scent of briny seaweed coated the air.
“I’d say we’ve had a good first day in Butterfly Harbor. How do you want to finish it? The beach or...”
“Ice cream!” Phoebe tugged hard on his hand and pulled him to the next shop. Harbor Creamery.
“You sure?” Hunter feigned disbelief. “I don’t know. You had a big lunch.”
Phoebe scrunched her face, dragged him closer and jabbed a finger against the menu displayed in the window.
“Oh, they have kiddie scoops.” They also had gelato, which Phoebe pointed to next. Even at seven, she knew his weakness. “Okay, one scoop. But that means broccoli with dinner.”
Phoebe shrugged and led the way inside.
IF KENDALL WAS LUCKY, and had Frankie’s help, she’d get the scaffold erected on the west side of the lighthouse this week. She had a lot of painting to do. As the sun began to dip for the day, Kendall gathered up her tools, stashed them in the rebuilt shed and pulled down her makeshift workstation. Kids got into everything, and the last thing she wanted was anything enticing Hunter’s niece. Hopefully school would keep Phoebe occupied and away from...her.
She didn’t need, didn’t want, a daily reminder of little-girl needs and wants. That everything and anything that went wrong with the world could be solved with a mother’s hug.
She wasn’t a mother, though, Kendall reminded herself. She’d quit that dream when she’d lost Sam. She’d only come close when she’d all but adopted Samira and her family in Afghanistan.
Samira’s father was a translator, looking after his two sons and daughter along with his late wife’s parents. Samira, at ten, had become a bit of a caretaker, always helping her father. But she’d loved soccer. And soon, she and Kendall had a standing practice session that gave both of them something to look forward to.
“Stop it.” Kendall lugged one of her sawhorses back into the keeper’s house when Hunter’s and Phoebe’s bike tires crunched on the dirt and gravel road. Their bike baskets were filled to overflowing, and Kendall noticed Phoebe was wearing a familiar amber backpack. Obviously they’d found their way to Cat’s Eye Books.
Apprehension tugged at Kendall’s stomach as she quickened her pace in the hopes of finishing for the day before Hunter thought to...
“Hello.” Hunter steered his bike to the lighthouse rather than the carriage house and dismounted with that now familiar, friendly, if not quirky grin on his too-handsome face. He engaged the kickstand and plucked a small paper bag out of the front basket.
Because she wasn’t a complete curmudgeon yet, she gave him a quick chin jerk. “Hi.” She pushed the air out of her lungs to dispel the cloud of melancholy.
“This is for you.” Hunter offered her the bag.
She blinked at the bag as if it were filled with snakes. “Why? What for?”
“A peace offering of sorts. And a thank-you. For sharing this with us.” He motioned to the view of the ocean alight with the flame of the sunset.
Kendall needed him to understand she was not up for any social interaction where he or just about anyone was concerned. She shrugged and turned away. “Not necessary. This wasn’t my choice.” And the man whose choice it was had been dodging her all day long.
If anything, her refusal seemed to encourage him. Hunter darted over, stepping in front of her before she reached her door. “It would be rude not to accept. And even though you’re trying your best, I don’t think you’re inherently rude.”
Kendall shot him a humorless smile. “Guess again.”
“I know we’re intruding.” He tried again and moved between her and the refuge she sought. “And if you’re like most people, you don’t like change. But change happens. And we’re here. We need to find a way to get along. If not for each other, certainly for Phoebe. She’s been through enough this year. I don’t want her being scared of the person we live next door to.”
Kendall resisted the pull to look over her shoulder. She would not look. She would not... She glanced back to where Phoebe stood astride her bike, tiny hands clutching the handlebars with white-knuckled uncertainty.
Stiffening her spine, bracing herself, Kendall faced Hunter again, opening her mouth to argue. But when she found herself looking into determined eyes, she saw the one thing she knew she could lose to: a father’s resolve.
Her heart nearly seized. “I like my solitude.” Like? More like she needed it as much as she needed air to breathe and water to drink. Small doses of interaction were fine. Doses of her choosing, but knowing this man and his little girl were steps away from the one place she’d been able to feel free again? Why was the universe playing with her again? “She doesn’t have to be scared. I might not be here much longer, anyway.” It was the first time she’d considered it, dropping everything and leaving town. But avoiding Hunter and Phoebe might be the simpler solution.
“Oh.” He looked surprised at that tidbit of information. “Well, for as long as you are here, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t glower at her.”
Kendall frowned. “Glower? I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.” Something akin to guilt wrapped itself around her.
“Prove it. Accept this from us, please.” He lifted the bag again. “We guessed. Phoebe did, anyway, at the flavor. At least pretend to appreciate it.”
Kendall accepted the package, peeking inside. If she’d had a heart left to break, it might have shattered into a million pieces. “Strawberry.” The tears came, even after all this time. “Thank you,” she finally managed. At his arched brow, she took a deep breath, glared back. Then turned to Phoebe. “Thank you, Phoebe.”
Phoebe’s mouth curved up at the corners before she climbed off her bike and steered it toward the guest house.
“Thank you,” Hunter said. “Have a good evening.”
Kendall nodded, because she couldn’t speak. She waited until she heard the door close behind him before she hauled the sawhorse into the house, set the bag on the table and finished cleaning up outside. When she literally had nothing left to distract herself with, she went inside and dropped the bag of ice cream into the sink.
After taking a shower and changing her clothes, she returned to the one-room dwelling, knotting her shoulder-length hair high on her head. The newly restored electricity and lighting flickered and bathed the space in a dim glow. Even though her stomach growled, she didn’t feel like eating. That said, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and even that had been a scrambled egg and the last of the scones Abby Corwin had sent home with her last week.
Kendall opened the small fridge and stared at the assortment of fresh vegetables and eggs that local farmer Calliope Jones insisted on personally delivering every few days.
Kendall sighed. Salad didn’t appeal. Veggies were never her first choice. She’d eaten enough eggs lately she should be clucking. Surrendering, she plucked up one of the three spoons out of the crooked, handmade mug and pulled the pint of ice cream from the insulated bag.
She popped open the lid and looked down at the creamy, soupy, almost completely melted concoction. One dip of the spoon had her mouth watering. She could smell the fresh strawberries mingling with the cream and sugar. She took a bite and nearly swooned.
She walked over and sat cross-legged on her sleeping bag–covered mattress, making her way through the ice cream one soft, blissful, sorrowful bite at a time.
Closing her eyes, she accepted the truth. Her stay in Butterfly Harbor had come to an end.
“COME ON, PHOEBS. Finish up your breakfast.” Hunter sorted through his satchel to make sure he had everything he needed for the day. After getting into a solid routine over the past week, he was anxious to get to work and put his extensive internet notes to use.
Laptop, map of the town, cell phone. Notepad. His excessive purchases of legal pads probably qualified him for some sort of support group, but there was nothing he liked better than scratching pen or pencil against paper the good old-fashioned way. “Phoebe?”
He glanced over to the table and found Phoebe, Charlotte’s Web open, pushing half a bowl of cereal around in the milk with her spoon. “Not hungry?”
Phoebe shrugged.
“If you’re done, please take your bowl to the sink and rinse it out.” Mornings like this he remembered how his sister had been with Phoebe. His niece wasn’t a voracious eater. There were times she just didn’t want to eat or wasn’t hungry. Juliana hadn’t fretted over it too much. Neither did Hunter.
Phoebe did as he asked then returned to his side, tugged on his sleeve.
“Yeah? What’s up, kiddo?”
She just blinked up at him.
“Well, I need to get a good look at this town, but first I have a meeting with the mayor.” One that had already been rescheduled twice.
Phoebe’s eyes went wide.
It was all Hunter could do not to suggest she not be that impressed. But while Gil Hamilton might not inspire his admiration, their first nights in Butterfly Harbor certainly did. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. He loved the ocean. Always had. And being this close to it, hearing every sound it made, settled his soul in a way he’d been hoping to find.
“Unless you’ve changed your mind about school, looks like you’ll be tagging along with me. Have you?”
Phoebe shook her head.
“Okay, then. Load up that new bag of yours. Choose one of your schoolbooks and one new book we bought at Cat’s Eye. And grab us each a bottle of water from the fridge.” He’d unloaded the last of their gear from the motor home last night. And caught himself once again stopping to look over to the keeper’s house that lay almost dormant against the darkness, its flickering light a reminder of the woman who lived inside.
Hunter had to have been blind not to see the sense of grief that surged into her eyes as she’d looked down at the ice cream. The same grief that flashed the first time she’d set eyes on Phoebe. The possibilities running through his mind about the source made his heart ache for her. Nonetheless, he wasn’t about to enquire further.
She didn’t have to tell him she enjoyed her solitude—that was as clear as a spring morning every time he caught sight of her.
This morning was no different than the past few. He’d purposely tried to keep his distance and certainly didn’t want Phoebe getting under her feet, but honestly, going out of his way to avoid Kendall Davidson was becoming a full-time job. One he didn’t have time for. Not if he was going to get that new book proposal off to his agent and come up with a decent draft of the Butterfly Harbor manuscript for Gil sometime soon.
When Max Miller, literary agent to the semi-famous, had suggested he spread his wings and try his hand at fiction, Hunter had thought the man might have finally slipped his tether to reality. Hunter dealt in facts, facts caught by a camera and detailed by the words that flowed out of him as a result. But the challenge of doing something new had intrigued him. Even better, it excited him. Of course he’d locked in that promise seven months ago; three weeks later his entire life had been flipped upside down. His rather carefree, go-anywhere, film-anything lifestyle had ground to a screeching halt when Juliana and her husband had been killed. Now he was a single father living on the road, taking every freelance job he could in order to build up the coffers he suspected he was going to need in the very near future.
Coffers that could do with the serious dose of coinage a solid new publishing contract could bring.
Hunter’s chest tightened. The money was one thing. Time was another. He was down to one month. One month to deliver a saleable proposal to Max who, now that he was getting up in years and was culling his client list, was getting more difficult to please. So yeah. Hunter had four weeks left. And not a single, solitary idea.
The job offer from Gil had been a lifesaver, and while the project itself was going to take a tremendous amount of work, he knew one thing for certain: Butterfly Harbor could very well be his last chance for inspiration.
Phoebe was struggling with the strings of her new bag, trying to get her arms into them. Hunter quickly got her situated, then himself, and they headed out for their bikes.
Phoebe came to a stop on the top step, thumbs hooked in the straps of her bag. As she did every morning, she watched as Kendall reassembled her sawhorses and worktable and unloaded tools.
Phoebe pointed at Kendall and looked up at Hunter. “Yeah, I see her. Morning, Kendall.” He doubted he’d ever sounded cheerier in his life as he waved at their neighbor.
Kendall gave a quick wave before returning her attention to the plank-and-pipe scaffold erected around the lighthouse.
Why the gesture felt like a massive triumph, he couldn’t say. Still, she’d waved. Progress.
It wasn’t long before they reached the mayor’s office, currently housed in a two-story old saloon-style building that soared to the top of Hunter’s must-photograph list. Butterfly Harbor was fully awake. People strolled up and down the streets. Cars carrying daily tourists slid into parking spots as families and couples unloaded beach chairs, coolers and jackets to keep off the morning chill of California air. Personally, Hunter loved the brisk coastal mornings. It got his blood moving.
His cell phone rang after he’d checked in with Gil’s assistant. Hunter glanced at the screen, felt his body tighten at the familiar number. With Phoebe settled in one of the lobby chairs, he stepped outside to take the call. “Good morning, Lance.”
“Hunter. I believe you were supposed to check in once you and Phoebe got settled.”
Hunter wasn’t a man normally quick to temper, but Juliana’s in-laws’ lawyer had a way of triggering even the most calm of pacifists. “We only arrived in town a few days ago, so you saved me a call.” As if he’d been champing at the bit to report in.
“Is the child adjusting adequately to her new surroundings?”
“Phoebe is doing fine,” Hunter explained. “As the court-appointed social worker stated in an affidavit only three weeks ago.” A social worker he’d driven half a day out of his way to meet with.
“Has she returned to school?”
“Not yet, no.” But she would. Soon. At least he hoped she would. Otherwise her paternal grandparents were going to have even more ammunition to use against him. “But other than that, she’s functioning as she should be and within expected parameters.”
If Lance Dunbar, Esquire, picked up on Hunter’s sarcasm, he didn’t let on. “We would like the address of where you’re staying on record.”
Hunter rattled off the oddly structured address; it wasn’t as if the carriage house at Liberty Lighthouse had a street number.
“And how long will you be staying at this address?”
“For as long as the project takes me,” Hunter said as Gil’s assistant poked her head out of the door to wave him inside. He held up a hand and nodded. “I’d guess about two to three months.”
“And where will you be going next?”
“To be determined,” Hunter said. He could recite these questions in his sleep. When he could sleep. These questions, which were posed to him each and every time he took a new job, were what kept him awake most nights. “There’s a video-chat session scheduled for tomorrow evening with Stephen and Eleanor,” Hunter reminded the lawyer. “Can I assume this is a confirmation call for that?”
“My clients see no use in video chatting with their grandchild who refuses to speak to them. It’s a waste of everyone’s time.”
Hunter cursed himself for not having the forethought to record the call. “They could see her. She speaks just fine.” To people she trusts. When she feels like it.
“As I said, a waste of time. Please be sure to notify us of any location change as soon as it takes place.”
“Noted,” Hunter grumbled into the already-disconnected phone. These conversations were getting more abrupt and more disconcerting. Not for the first time, Hunter wondered how Stephen and Eleanor Cartwright had raised such a likable son. Brent had become one of Hunter’s best friends almost as soon as it became evident he and Juliana were serious. Hunter had served as one of his groomsmen at the wedding, and it had been Brent who had asked Hunter to be Phoebe’s godfather a few seconds after the little girl had entered the world. Losing both his sister and his friend had gutted Hunter, but he hadn’t been able to give in to the grief—not when Phoebe needed him. And she did need him.
No matter what Stephen and Eleanor might think.
Doubt crept in. A very small part of him wondered if she’d be better off with them, living a more traditional life with a home, school, friends, never wanting for anything because she’d have financial security. But then he remembered how Brent’s face would darken whenever the topic of his parents was raised, and how he’d say money didn’t equate with love and if it was the last thing he’d do, he’d raise Phoebe knowing she was utterly and completely accepted.
Which was why, no doubt, he and Juliana had designated Hunter as Phoebe’s legal guardian should anything happen to them.
Shaking off the unease that always descended after one of these calls, Hunter headed inside. “You okay, kiddo?”
Phoebe gave him a thumbs-up without even looking up from her book, the latest How It Works on astronomy.
“She’s good as gold,” the assistant told him. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”
Another thumbs-up. Hunter headed up to the second-floor landing and the mayor’s office.
Had Hunter forgotten about Gil Hamilton in their years since college, it would have all come rushing back the instant he stepped into Gil’s space. The sports awards and medals lined highly polished redwood bookcases. Certificates of achievements, letters of commendation, photographs of Gil and his father shaking hands with some of the biggest political names of the time spoke of a life dedicated to...well, Hunter wasn’t entirely sure what. Clearly Gil had been busy in the last ten years.
But it was the sight of Gil Hamilton himself that had Hunter doing a double take. The man hadn’t aged a bit since they’d graduated college. Same sandy-blond hair, same classic polo shirt and khakis, although Hunter would bet he wore a suit more often than he’d be willing to admit. They’d cut classes a lot to surf, as the beach had only been a hop, skip and a jump from campus, and judging by the look on Gil’s tanned features, including that same self-assured grin, his old friend still found time to catch some waves. Chilly waves, but waves nonetheless.
“Hunter. It’s good to see you.” Gil came around the desk, hand outstretched. “Thanks so much for taking the job. And for going along with my schedule. I didn’t expect it to be so long before we met.”
He returned the greeting, then slung his bag from around his shoulder and set it on the floor next to the chair across from Gil.
“Can I get you coffee? Tea?”
“Ah, no, thanks.” Hunter smiled.
“I appreciate you coming in.”
“No problem. Phoebe and I enjoyed the morning ride.”
“Ride?” Gil’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the sweep of hair that barely missed his eyes.
“Yeah, bikes. Easier to tote around than a car. I left the motor home up at the lighthouse. With Kendall Davidson,” he added just so he could watch Gil’s expression.
As predicted, Gil Hamilton did not disappoint.
“Ah, right. Kendall.” He scrubbed a hand against the side of his neck. “Probably should have given you a heads-up about her.”
“You should have given her one about me and Phoebe,” Hunter corrected. “Look, I’m used to being a surprise to people. Part of the job. But that woman looked positively spooked when we arrived.”
“You’re right. I messed up with that. I’ll head up there and apologize. Easy fix.”
Hunter bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t think anything with Kendall Davidson would be an easy fix, but it would be a testament to Gil Hamilton’s people skills. “She’s interesting. Been here long?”
“A few months. She’s a friend of one of our deputies. Matt Knight. They served in Afghanistan together.”
Afghanistan. Explained the burn scars, Hunter supposed. And probably more. “I met him at the diner our first day in town. Seems like a good guy.”
“He is. So I made up a list of people it would be good for you to talk to about the history of the town.” Gil handed Hunter a file folder. “Most of them have lived here all their lives.”
“This is a start, thanks.” Hunter wasn’t about to tell Gil he preferred to move organically through a place, talk to people on their own, see who they thought was worth his attention. “I know what you’re looking for in this book.”
“Do you?” Gil’s bright eyes dulled a bit. “I don’t want a hatchet job, that’s for sure. It’s mainly for tourists and for promotion. Encourage people to move here. It’s a special place. You know, sell self-published copies in the stores, send them out to the media who might be interested in covering upcoming events or holidays. A press package on steroids.”
Hunter settled back into the conversation he’d been expecting, the same conversation he’d had with countless others in his career. “I don’t go looking for dirt, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I wouldn’t say worried, exactly. The town has a colorful history.”
“If you mean what happened with your father, I already know about that.” And Hunter had no plans to include any of those controversial details in his manuscript.
Gil’s normally open, friendly expression did a vanishing act. “I’m sure you do. This is about the rebuilding of a community, the coming together of a town. The way we’ve banded together and saved it.”
“Then that’s where I’ll start.” He was definitely going to be spending a lot of time at the library. “I appreciate having the place to stay while I’m working. Phoebe loves it up there.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Fine. I think.” They’d discussed, peripherally, at least, Phoebe’s issues since the accident. “Emotionally, she has her good days and her bad. I’d say I was hoping a change of scenery would help, but she gets a lot of that.”
“There’s a lot to be said for silence.”
“True enough.” Hunter’s lips twitched. “Still, I wouldn’t mind hearing a bit more about what she’s thinking from time to time. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s grieving. It’ll take patience on both our parts.”
“Sure. It makes sense.” Gil nodded. “We all handle grief in our own way. She’s got someone who cares about her looking after her. That’s what makes the difference. Still a few months left in the school year in case you’re worried about her not hanging out with kids her own age.”
“That would be nice. But she’s not budging on that.” Hunter shook his head. With respect to that subject, Phoebe had not remained silent.
“Then maybe check the events at the youth center for her.”
“A youth center, huh? Your idea?” Once upon a time Gil had considered running charity organizations for a living—until Gil’s father had gotten wind of that and put his foot down and insisted he follow him into local politics. One thing Gil had always had problems with was stepping out from under his father’s shadow. Even now that Senior had been gone a good few years, Hunter could still see the specter hovering not only in this office, but over Gil himself.
“The former sheriff’s actually. Jake Campbell. He and Luke Saxon, his replacement, worked on the project together. Been doing pretty well so far, well enough that they’re looking for a new, larger space. In fact, they’re also looking for new instructors. If you’re still as handy with that camera as I’m hoping you are.”
“Not a lot of call for photography classes that don’t include a cell phone, but I’ll check it out.” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if the position would pay, but given it was a community center, he already suspected the answer. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t be willing, though. “Well, I’m sure you have a lot of work to get to. I’m heading to the library to get a jump on my research.” Hunter got to his feet.
“Sounds good. Oh, and here. This should help settle you in.” He handed Hunter an envelope. “It’s half up front, as we discussed. Other half on delivery. You said maybe two or three months?”
“Should be,” Hunter confirmed. Gil was right. The check in his hand would absolutely ease a bit of the burden weighing on him. He’d played a bit of hardball with his old friend, but given he’d had to make a cross-country drive to get here, he didn’t feel too guilty about it—and if he had, that phone call from the lawyer would have tipped the balance. “I’ll be in touch in a few weeks to let you know how I’m coming along.”
CHAPTER FIVE (#u950b5442-1c8e-5ede-bf35-5a1a95028e32)
WITH PHOEBE ENSCONCED in bed, Hunter slipped out of the carriage house and closed the door behind him. He found the darkness both captivating and intimidating with only a solitary light burning in the window of the cottage breaking through the night. He shivered against the cold, and considered going back for a sweatshirt, but the ear-thrumming pounding of the waves at the base of the cliffs pushed his discomfort aside. It was too late for coffee if he hoped to sleep tonight, and he was not a tea kind of guy, but a steaming mug of hot chocolate sure sounded good about now. He made a mental note to add some to the grocery list.
His shoes crunched along the gravel path. He was amazed at how the spinning thoughts that kept him awake faded into silence beneath the sound of the ocean breaking against the shoreline.
There was little, he supposed, more powerful than nature at its freest. His fingers itched to return for his camera, but photographing at night took a bit of preparation and planning. As he stood there, above the crashing waves and beneath the steadfast lighthouse that had overseen this shore for longer than he’d been alive, he knew this would be the perfect shot, the perfect image for the story he’d been hired to write. And the emotion he hoped to convey with his words. He stooped down, scooped up a handful of pebbles and let them trickle through his fingers. Hunter could barely hear them drop back onto the ground above the waves, but there was something connective about being out here, in the darkness, seeing this scene in the same way as people had decades before. No blinding lights to distract, no sounds of technology blaring in his ears. Only the water and the rush of wind and the smell of the sea to fill his senses.
He felt her presence before he spotted her, that spark of energy that crackled whenever Kendall was around. Hunter looked over his shoulder as she stepped out of the grove of trees on the far side of the cottage. He couldn’t explain it. He hadn’t tried to, but that energy called to him, perhaps even more strongly than the tide had called to him tonight.
Hunter knew the instant she noticed him. She hunched her shoulders, tipped her chin down and huddled into the thin zip-up gray hoodie she wore, as if she could withdraw like a turtle into her shell.
She could have gone around him; he half expected her to when she missed a step and almost stumbled. But she kept on her path toward the keeper’s house. “Nice night for a walk,” he called out to her when she drew close.
“Yes, it is.” She offered a quick smile before glancing at the carriage house. “Is Phoebe...?”
“She’s asleep. Or she’s supposed to be. I’d lay even odds she’s huddled under the covers with a flashlight and her book.” Growing up, his sister used to do the same thing, which was one reason he didn’t make a fuss about it. “She thinks I don’t know she does that most nights.”
Kendall lifted her face into the moonlight and he caught the flash of what wasn’t exactly humor, but understanding. “She thinks she’s putting one over on you.”
“Probably.” Hunter dusted off his hands and stood. “The last thing I’m ever going to be upset about is her reading.” Even if it was the same book, day after day, night after night. “Do you walk out here every night?”
Hands shoved deep into her pockets, Kendall rocked back on her heels. How was she not shivering to death? he wondered.
“Most nights. I’m not the best sleeper.” She winced as if the conversation took effort. Still, she didn’t seem in too much of a rush to head inside and he took that as progress. “There’s an outlook about a mile and half that way.” She jerked her chin in the direction she’d come from. “I found it a few days after I got here. There isn’t a path or anything to it, it’s just one of those places that helps shake loose the day.”
“Sounds like you had the kind of day I did. My mind won’t turn off.” He didn’t approach her, didn’t make any move other than pushing his hands into his own pockets to stop them from stiffening up. “I met with Gil today. To talk about the book.”
She nodded, looking past him to the ocean beyond.
“We talked about you a bit,” he added.
Now that caught her attention. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he saw the flash of irritation in her eyes, saw her spine stiffen, only to soften moments later. “What about me?”
“Only that our arrival caught you by surprise and that I thought he should have given you some warning. He agreed.”
“Did he?” Kendall’s eyebrows lifted.
“He’ll be by to apologize. He should, anyway. I would if it were me.”
“You’re not Gil Hamilton,” Kendall said with a quick smile. “You were right the other night. I’ve been rude to both you and Phoebe, so it’s me who owes the apology.”
“Accepted.” The unspoken truce between them felt like the biggest hurdle he’d jumped yet. “We don’t want to get in your way, Kendall. I’m just here to do a job and hopefully show Phoebe there’s more to life than grief.”
“I know. It’s just...” She hesitated. “Children make me uneasy. I—”
“You don’t owe me an explanation, Kendall.” Although he was curious. Uneasy seemed an odd term to use. She hadn’t said she didn’t like children, or that she didn’t want to be around them. “On the bright side, you don’t have to worry about Phoebe talking your ear off.” His heart twisted. What he wouldn’t give to hear Phoebe’s nonstop chattering once more.
“Maybe it’s that she just waits until she has something important to say.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “Would you like to continue this conversation inside?” He pointed to the carriage house. “I don’t know about you, but I’m half frozen.”
“No, thank you.” Kendall took a step around him and shook her head. “Maybe another time. I’ve got a big day ahead of me tomorrow and I need to try to get some sleep.”
“Fair enough.” Disappointment he didn’t expect slid through him. He couldn’t explain it, but he liked being around her, liked talking with her. “Maybe next time then. Good night, Kendall.”
“Good night, Hunter.”
“YOU JUST COULDN’T wait for me, could you?”
Kendall looked down from the second story of the scaffold she was building and found Frankie Bettencourt looking up at her, shielding her eyes against the morning sun. A sun that turned Frankie’s tied-down, fire-red hair to a color resembling molten lava. “Sorry. Got an earlier than expected start. Come on up.”
“Surprise, surprise.” Frankie set her coffee cup down, unzipped her sweatshirt and shrugged free, tossing it onto the workbench before she scrambled up the side rungs to join Kendall. “Nice job so far. Feels sturdy.”
They could have been twins, Kendall thought with something akin to humor shifting through her. Jeans, sneakers and tank tops were both their preferred attire. But while Kendall gravitated toward the grays and blacks of the spectrum, Frankie was a rainbow of contradictions. Even the bra strap that peeked out from under her sunshine-yellow tank was fluorescent pink. By comparison, however, Kendall looked as if she needed half a year’s worth of good meals and twice that much sleep. That said, Frankie was toned, muscular and more fit than most athletes. She had to be, given her job as a captain in the Butterfly Harbor Fire Department. She was also a good three inches taller than Kendall. So...maybe the twins idea didn’t fit, after all.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pages/biblio_book/?art=48654982) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.