CHAPTER1
Brogan Rafferty had a vague idea of how life should be. He hadn’t ever lived it, but in his mind a picturesque image always formed: family, a small cozy home, people working together in love and loyalty … an ephemeral dream he’d never been able to grasp. He’d given up wanting it a long time ago.
But now, everything was different.
As he drove through Bramble, Kentucky, the old image materialized. Granted, the sun had just set and a rose hue bathed the houses, streets, and even the numerous trees, making everything prettier than it might otherwise be.
What really struck him was the quiet. There were no shouts, no sirens, nothing breaking—or blowing up. The few people he saw—walking together or sitting on porches—spoke quietly while smiling.
Driving slowly, he made note of the old-fashioned houses with vividly painted trim and bright front doors, lights shining from the windows. Unlike the settings familiar to him, no two houses were the same. The styles, sizes, and colors all varied.
Porch swings and window boxes filled with spring flowers were a popular theme. Birds and squirrels played in massive trees. Brogan came to a stop when a deer bolted out in front ofhim, froze, then leaped away to disappear into the foliage. Wildlife was always a good sign of peace and tranquility. “This is the right place for us, Sugar. I can feel it.”
From the back seat, the baby made sucking noises as she feasted on her fist. Hopefully, he’d find the right address soon. She needed to be fed, and probably needed a fresh diaper, too.
Of all the things he’d survived in his lifetime—first as an emancipated youth living on his own, later getting through BUD/S and all the specialized training that followed, and then barely surviving an ambush and life-threatening injuries in northern Africa—caring for his tiny, precious cargo was the most challenging, and by far the most rewarding.
The mid-May weather was pleasantly warm, and spring rains had turned the grass and trees a lush green. Wildflowers grew in patches along the wooded side of the road, and occasionally on the other side, where he noted a few houses.
The farther he drove, the fewer houses he saw and the more natural the landscape became, until the road ended in a T and he had to choose left or right. Shortly after turning, he located the lake house.
The sight of the tiny place, set near the water and well-tended, immediately warmed him. The glow of the sunset reflected over the rippling surface of the lake. All around them, flickering fireflies began to appear. Only a few at first, then more and more.
Who knew something as simple as fireflies could envelop him in a sense of rightness? He wasn’t a man to indulge indecision. He evaluated, planned, and then acted. The fact that he was now responsible for such a vulnerable little life had made everything different. These days, he constantly second-guessed himself, but this, the decision to come here, the plans he’d put into place, they were right. They had to be.
This was the perfect starting point for a new and better life.
He would not fail.
Gravel crunched as he pulled his black SUV into the driveway next to an older pale blue minivan. The baby was fussing in earnest now. Brogan would rather listen to his own bones breaking than hear that tiny baby girl cry. Nothing shredded his heart the way she did.
After hurriedly parking, he rushed to the back door, opened it, and reached for her. Getting her out of the car seat took him a moment, and then he had to grab up the diaper bag.
She was soaking wet, which meant his shirt was now soaked, too.
Fortunately, it was a warm evening, though he wasn’t sure if it’d be too cool for a baby with a wet bottom.
“Shh, easy now, Sugar. I got ya.” Thank God he had a bottle ready to go. One armed, he opened the back of the SUV, shook out a blanket, and settled her on her back. “Gotta get ya dry first.”
“Excuse me,” came a soft, quiet voice.
Brogan glanced up and spotted a slim blonde on the walkway. Keeping his palm on the baby’s belly so she couldn’t roll, he slowly straightened.
Pixie Nolan. Yes, he was here to see her—it was the main reason Bramble had seemed fated to be his new home. He’d thought to have a day or two, perhaps a week to figure out how he wanted to approach her.
Time to improvise.
Her gaze went over him, and when she looked up again, her blue eyes were comically wide. “You’re Mr. Rafferty?”
“Yes, ma’am. Cort Easton is expecting me.”
Though she continued to stare, her smile was shy and sweet. “Cort is also my landlord. His flight plans changed, and he and his wife had to leave a day early for a vacation. He asked me to give you the keys when you arrived.”
Unexpected, but still, he could handle it. “Thank you.”
“I, um …” She laughed at herself. “Sorry, I don’t mean to gawk, but you’re really tall.”
True, enough. At six-foot-five, he stood above many people. “Might seem so with you being so …” Calling her short might be insulting, so he substituted, “Petite.” She couldn’t be more than a few inches over five feet, with a delicate build that made it difficult to believe she was a mother.
