Butterfly Cove. Christina Skye

      CHAPTER THREE

      “OLIVIA SULLIVAN? SHE’S right down the hall, Deputy Russo.” The harassed clinic nurse looked up from her computer and nodded at Rafe. “But she’s still sedated.”

      “Not a problem. I’ll just look in on her for a few minutes.” Actually, Rafe was relieved by this news. Seeing Olivia again had left him off balance, unprepared for the wave of emotions that had come in the wake of their meeting. He wasn’t sure how she would feel about seeing him again either.

      She’d probably throw a shoe at him.

      He deserved all that and more.

      Rafe opened the door to her room and moved quietly around to her bed. She was still asleep, her breathing slow and regular. An IV line dripped from a bottle over her head and Rafe thought she looked even more beautiful than he remembered.

      But tired.

      Thinner.

      Too pale, and not from the accident.

      Why wasn’t she glowing with life, married with three kids and a big house overlooking the cliffs?

      Rafe frowned as he watched light play over her pale features. He had thought of her more often than was comfortable since coming back to the States from Afghanistan, but he was a different man from the confused and angry teenager who had run off to join the Marines a decade before. And Olivia had been a huge part of his boyhood. He had trailed home after her in the twilight, curious about the big house where she lived and the important man who was her father. His curiosity had turned into protectiveness when he heard some of the boys say she was tongue-tied and the girls say she was stuck up.

      Rafe had figured she was just shy, and he had taken time to draw her out. Over time they had become unlikely friends, arguing over food and books and television shows. And eventually they had become more than friends....

      Rafe pushed away the bittersweet memories.

      He wasn’t here to stir up the past or pick up where they had left off. The new Rafe played by all the rules. That meant making sure he hurt no one, and he figured the best way to avoid hurting Olivia Sullivan was to stay out of her way.

      Except staying away became impossible when their cars had crashed together in the storm. She had been brave to choose a possible accident over a certainty of impact with the stalled school minivan.

      Brave but crazy, Rafe thought grimly.

      Olivia had always taken her responsibilities seriously. Sometimes he had felt as if he had become one of her responsibilities—a mini-crusade to reform the town ne’er-do-well and see him brought into the fold.

      Rafe hadn’t wanted to join the fold, not on Summer Island or anywhere else. He had accepted Olivia’s efforts because for most of his school years he had been crazy in love with her, ready to do anything to get her into bed, with those long, soft legs wrapped around him in blazing passion.

      But when the opportunity came, Rafe saw how unprepared she was for sex and the power of her own passion. He had backed off completely. He didn’t ruin innocent girls—and he refused to cause Olivia pain.

      He had left Summer Island shortly after that.

      He had started to call her many times in the years after he left, but each time good sense had stopped him. What did a smart, beautiful, rich girl like Olivia need with an angry screwup like him? She had never seen his dark streak and his anger. Rafe had made sure of that. But the Marines had pulled that part out of him. They had used his anger, honing his traits of independence and command to make him into a valuable weapon. Rafe had been very good at the jobs they gave him in Korea, Iraq and Afghanistan.

      He knew that training made him different now. War had marked him deeply, and sometimes he wondered whether he could ever go back to comfortable civilian life after the things he had seen—and done.

      Olivia’s hand shifted on the bed. Rafe moved back as she took a rough breath and opened her eyes, staring around the room groggily.

      Her eyes moved. She studied the bed, the wall and then looked at his face, seeming confused.

      “Rafe? Is that—really you?”

      Rafe felt something tighten in his throat at her question. The sound of her voice still had the power to hit him in the chest like a hot fist. “It’s me. How do you feel?”

      “Sleepy. Strange. Drugged, I guess. You were there in the mudslide? That was you in the car I hit, wasn’t it? And then my shoulder—” She closed her eyes, cutting off a sound of pain.

      “Take it easy, Livie. You’re doing great. There won’t be any more pain like that.”

      “You fixed my shoulder. I remember that.” Olivia’s hand slid out to grip his. “I thought it was a dream when you walked out of the rain. I’m not dreaming, am I?”

      Her eyes were unfocused and Rafe figured she was still half-asleep. She probably didn’t have a clue what she was saying. “It’s no dream. I’m right here, Livie. Now get some rest.”

      She smiled sadly. “I missed how you say my name. Say it again?”

      “Livie.”

      “That’s nice. I’m glad you’re here. Don’t go away, Rafe. Not until I wake up. It...might be a while.”

      Rafe looked down at their fingers linked on the white hospital bed. He felt a weight at his chest. “I’ll be right here.”

      They were going to have to face their past sometime, he thought. They might as well get it over with as soon as possible.

      * * *

      RAFE WALKED DOWN for a quick cup of coffee and a sandwich from a vending machine. Then he checked in with Tom Wilkinson to be sure things were under control at the station.

      Since he was off duty, he figured he would stay with Olivia until one of her friends showed up. Hell, he had nothing better to do.

      When he got back to her door, he was surprised to hear the sound of voices from inside the room. Looking in, he saw that she was awake, propped against a pillow, offering knitting tips to three nurses who were admiring a featherlight shawl on her bed.

      So she was still a knitter, Rafe thought. Even as a teenager she had been crazy for yarn and fiber. Rafe remembered that she had knit him a hat one year, and it had won a prize at the county fair. He frowned as the rest of the details came back to him. Her father had been angry that she entered the fair without his permission. He had been incendiary when he learned that the hat was a gift for Rafe. But Olivia had refused to relent, determined to give the complex piece of knitting to Rafe. Her father had retaliated by cutting off her allowance and grounding her for a month.

      Never one to back down, Jilly had sneaked over at night, climbing up the big oak tree outside Olivia’s bedroom, furious at Olivia’s punishment.

      In a rush, Rafe remembered every sharp detail and regretted that he had made trouble for Olivia with her father. It seemed he had a rare ability to screw up her life.

      Just then Olivia looked up and her face filled with color. Rafe could see nothing else but her soft mouth and the way her eyes sparkled.

      “Feeling better, I see. But I think you should be resting. Sorry to interrupt, ladies.”

      The