The Bad Boy Of Butterfly Harbor. Anna Stewart J.
me he recommended you.”
“He did. Does it matter?”
Holly pressed her lips into a hard, thin line. “He’s still out of a job. Doesn’t matter who they replaced him with.”
“I’m just icing on the cake, then.” He shifted gears and the truck strained against his order. “I didn’t accept this offer lightly, Holly. I’m well aware of what I left behind and the mistakes I made. Believe me, I didn’t expect anyone to throw a parade when I drove into town. Especially you.”
Holly stared out her window. Until Luke had walked into the diner the other day, she hadn’t realized how much resentment she was still clinging to. She wasn’t ashamed of her feelings—because of Luke she’d nearly lost her father. From her perspective, Luke hadn’t had to witness the aftermath of the accident. He didn’t have to watch Jake suffer through physical therapy, months in the hospital and pain that had followed him every day since. Or watch as her mother got in her car and drove away. “We all make mistakes, Luke.”
“I guess some of us aren’t allowed to learn from them.”
She whipped around to stare at him. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Luke took his eyes off the road and met her gaze. “There’s nothing I can do to change the past, but what happened with your father changed my life.” It was then she saw the mixture of grief and pain in his cool blue eyes. “I need this job, Holly. I hope you can understand that.”
Holly remained silent, mostly because her father had pretty much said the same thing to her. But while Jake Gordon had faith in people’s abilities to change, she knew better. The Luke Saxon she knew was a drinker. Just like Gray. The Luke she remembered was irresponsible, dangerous and unpredictable. Just like Gray. She’d gone down that road before, and she wasn’t one to repeat history, even with a distant acquaintance.
If Holly had her way, there was no reason to have much interaction with Luke from now on. Staying out of rainstorms would be a good start. Staying out of his too-close-for-comfort truck wasn’t a bad idea, either. She could smell the hint of his aftershave. Warm, spicy. Intoxicating.
“Dad’s always been more generous on the forgiveness front than me,” she said to distract—and remind—herself.
“Yeah, well. Then we have something in common after all.” He made a left on Milk Thistle Way as the rain settled into a gentle patter against the windshield. “I’ve never asked for nor expected your forgiveness. How can I when I can’t forgive myself? But at least with me as sheriff, I’ll do my best to respect what Jake’s done during his tenure.” He slammed the gearshift forward and she caught the flinch on his face as if the past were no less painful for him.
They rumbled along the road in silence until he turned and stopped behind Jake’s ancient jeep. Holly stared out at the single-story stone house she’d grown up in. The house that had given her the stability of a loving father and the pain of a mother who had abandoned them. There were times, even as an adult, she couldn’t wait to step foot inside and find herself instantly at home and safe. Not everyone had such stability. She glanced over at Luke and felt a pang of sympathy she wasn’t ready to embrace.
Luke hadn’t had anything close to stable and yet here he sat, with a rescue dog sitting between them as solid and immovable as the past.
“Thank you for the ride.” She hugged her purse against her chest as she shoved open the door. “It was a very sheriff thing to do.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Take care, Holly.”
“Yeah, you, too.” She bit her lip, knowing she should say more. Luke Saxon wasn’t evil. He wasn’t even horrible. He was a man who had made mistakes at an age when stupidity was as commonplace as pimples and overused hair products. She slid out of the cab and gave the dog a final pat. “I’m glad he found you.”
“I found him,” Luke said.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” She closed the door and headed inside, where her father and son—her family—was waiting for her.
“THERE WAS A time I never would have trusted Luke Saxon with power tools.” The deep voice that blasted through the residual roar of Luke’s chain saw the next morning had him turning to face a uniformed deputy lounging against the hood of a patrol car. Arms crossed over a pumped-up chest, dark sunglasses obscuring any hint of expression on his lean, narrow face, the officer tilted his chin down. “Normally we like to be notified before someone goes hacking our trees apart.”
Luke set down the chain saw and stretched his arms in front of him, wincing as the scars along his back tightened in protest. “Fletcher Bradley.” Luke had read up on the meager staff he’d be inheriting at the police station and hadn’t been surprised to find the onetime golden boy of Butterfly Harbor High on the list of employees. Fletch had always talked about being a cop. Looks as though he’d gotten what he wanted. Wiping the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt, Luke let out a long breath. “I suppose I should have called in or stopped by the station, but...”
“You probably would have ended up on hold.” Fletch’s grin seemed strained, kicking up the worry Luke had been tamping down when it came to dealing with his coworkers. “Jake’s been on the phone all morning trying to wrangle up some help from neighboring counties. Great way to spend his last days on the job. Entire area got walloped, but Butterfly Harbor isn’t high on their priority list. I hear Mayor Gil is in a right state over the lack of assistance. Is this the branch that tried to take out Holly Campbell?”
“What’s left of it.” Luke looked at the chunked-up ten-foot limb. He hadn’t realized he’d used the branch—and the opportunity—to take out some of his frustrations at being back in his father’s house. Not that he’d minded having to delay tackling the sorry excuse for a living space. He wasn’t convinced the house was livable at all. Even Cash—the name had come to Luke in the middle of the night—wasn’t overly impressed with his musty lodgings, but the dog had claimed his own space on a new floor rug beside the soot-caked fireplace, before tucking in next to the rickety double bed in Luke’s old room. “Thought I’d haul the pieces for firewood, if that’s okay?”
“More than,” Fletcher said.
“How’d you know I was out here anyway?” Luke didn’t have to look far for his answer. A shadowy figure shifted behind lace curtains in a nearby house. “Mrs. Ellison?”
“She called Myra Standing, who got Oscar to walk over to the station to tell us someone was out here making a ruckus with his chain saw. I think your name might have gotten thrown in there somewhere as a minor epithet.” Fletcher pulled off his glasses and tossed them through the open window of his squad car. “You gotta know coming back here was going to be like kicking up a hornet’s nest of gossip. You can’t blow your nose without someone announcing it in the paper.”
“The sheriff’s desk might not be mine till Monday, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t work that needs doing. But yeah.”
“Tongues are definitely wagging. Most people aren’t sure how to feel about you replacing Jake.”
“You one of those people?” Luke needed to know sooner than later what he’d be facing when it came to his own men.
“Haven’t decided yet,” Fletcher said. “You want some help loading up your truck?”
“How do you know I have a truck?”
All six foot three of Fletch straightened with the cockiness Luke remembered from their high school days. “It’s my job to know.”
Between the two of them it didn’t take long to get the wood taken care of and the branches curbside for the service that would be around in a few days’ time.
“What’s next on your agenda?” Fletcher