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Holly bit the inside of her cheek. “Some blessing.”
“I have never once questioned your decisions, Holly.” Jake set his glass on the table with a clack. “You and I both know I could have. I’d thank you to extend me the same courtesy.”
“Dad, I—” But she broke off. She’d tried for years to put into words her feelings about those days after the crash. Her father had had weeks to prepare to return to an empty house, but it had been sixteen-year-old Holly who’d watched her mother pack up and drive off after Jake was safely out of surgery. She’d known her parents had been having problems, but she hadn’t realized how bad things were until the pressure of an injured, possibly invalid husband had proved too much for her mother to handle. Holly had been left to pick up the pieces of her shattered family.
“I wanted Luke’s life to mean something other than spending years rotting in a cell that by all rights should have been reserved for his father,” Jake said. “I’m sorry if this offends your sense of justice, but I wasn’t about to watch Luke lose the rest of his life because of one mistake in judgment.”
Holly’s anger struggled against reason. She could feel sorry for the boy, but hate the teenager who had gotten into his car twelve years ago. The man? To be determined.
“I don’t understand how you can be so calm about him taking your job, Dad. It’s the one thing you’ve always counted on.” The one thing keeping him focused and alert and not wallowing in the depression Holly feared would swallow him. Was he as okay with the situation as he seemed, or was this resignation masked acceptance?
Another shrug. “You know what they say. No good deed goes unpunished.”
“Not funny.”
“Holly, you, of all people, know life isn’t fair. And we knew if Gil won the election there was little chance he was going to keep me on as sheriff. I campaigned against him, was vocal in my opposition to some of his plans for Butterfly Harbor. I wanted someone to come in to the sheriff’s department with an objective, fresh eye. Someone who I knew wouldn’t be swayed by Gil or the township. Luke may be many things—may have been many things—but he’s not a pushover. He’ll put the town first. That’s all I want.”
Holly couldn’t wrap her brain around the fact it had been her father’s idea to bring Luke Saxon to Butterfly Harbor. He hadn’t changed, not where it counted. And certainly not enough to change Holly’s mind about him. “But—”
“Enough, Holly.” Jake exhaled slowly. “It’s been a long week and I really did just come for breakfast with my daughter and grandson. Where is the rapscallion, by the way?”
“He spent the night at Abby’s.” Holly smiled at the affection in his tone as she turned the burner on to medium. “I’m picking him up at noon. But I’d love to have breakfast with you.”
“Sounds good.” Jake hoisted himself out of the chair with a wince. “And please, for the foreseeable future, can we drop the subject of Luke Saxon?”
“Sure.” Holly bussed a kiss on his cheek. But as he busied himself emptying the fridge of breakfast contents, she crossed her arms over her chest, as if holding herself together.
All her life she’d watched her father put this town and everyone in it first, and now he was being kicked to the curb for the sake of “progress.” Whether resigned to circumstance or going with the flow, Holly knew, deep down, the loss of his job hurt her father more than he was letting on. He’d been hurt enough for one lifetime, especially by Luke Saxon.
* * *
HOLLY CAMPBELL HAD been right about one thing, Luke thought as he sat staring out his bug-spattered windshield. He was a coward.
Why else would he have driven out of town and spent his first night in a motel, instead of venturing into the house he’d grown up in? The house his mother had died in.
Why else would he still be sitting in his truck thirty minutes after turning off the engine, trying to muster the courage to walk through the front door and confront a past that may as well be a punch to the solar plexus?
Why else—other than cowardice—did Luke feel as if his heart was going to explode out of his chest?
He had yet to shake off the sadness that had descended during his ride through town yesterday, where memories of Butterfly Harbor had assailed him at every turn. Driving past the Tudor homes, cottages and bungalows on Chrysalis Lane had sent him reeling to the nights he’d wandered the streets, gazing into windows to envy families having dinner, watching television, living their calm, normal, peaceful lives.
He’d dreamed of having a house like theirs. A family like theirs. Now so many of those homes that represented every boyhood desire lay dilapidated, abandoned and in foreclosure.
The glossy paint and the brilliant color of lush fauna were nowhere to be seen. Nothing he saw in Butterfly Harbor said “welcome to town.”
Luke had yet to find anything of any kind that said “welcome” at all.
Despite the desolation, Luke had found the open, empty streets more appealing than the run-down two-story gray bungalow sagging in front of him now. And the shed beside it. Luke swallowed hard. The shed that could still trigger nightmares if he dwelled long enough.
Gil hadn’t been kidding when he’d said his father’s house had seen better days. A cool breeze slipped through the truck’s open windows. Panes of glass had been shattered; planks of warped patio board sagged against the side of the house. The half brick, half cobble detailing along the foundation had been worn away by neglect and salt air. The lawn, while short, was sun-dried brown, the unique wheat-colored hue that only resulted from dying earth.
How fitting, given the failing house had never been much of a home.
Funny. He’d been willing to expose himself to hatred and anger by stepping right into Holly’s world with barely a passing thought, and yet here he sat, paralyzed by a house containing memories that couldn’t hurt him.
Luke scrubbed a hand over his chin. Maybe coming back had been a mistake. Trying to make amends for the past felt selfish, but he at least needed to try. Still, it hadn’t taken him long to realize what he’d feared the past twelve years.
Luke didn’t belong in Butterfly Harbor.
The wind picked up and chills erupted along his bare arms. For an instant, he swore he heard the drunken, disparaging cackle echoing so often from his father—as if the old man was relishing Luke’s crisis of confidence. If there was one thing Luke was certain of, it was that Ward Saxon would have taken great pleasure in Luke’s difficult situation.
Eight years in the ground and his father could still chip away at Luke’s self-worth. Luke had been a soldier and a cop, but in his mind, he’d always hear his father beating him down, telling him he’d never amount to anything. That he would always be unworthy of respect, let alone affection.
Darkness crept across his heart, but the bright image of Holly Campbell’s wide-eyed face prevented the depression from completely settling.
While he was grateful for the second chance, part of him regretted running. But he wasn’t running anymore. He and Holly would have to get used to that fact.
He may as well ask for the secret of eternal youth. Where there was hope, even imagined hope, there was the possibility that life could get better. That was something his father would never have understood.
“Enough already.” Luke shoved out of the truck and dropped to the ground, wincing as his stiff muscles protested the sudden movement. His shoulders and back had throbbed all night, but he’d ridden it out, opting for two aspirin rather than the painkillers that scared the crap out of him. The pain would have to be unbearable for him to consider ingesting any substance with a tendency for addiction.
He shuffled his feet, craned his neck as he glanced around the expanse of property. The eerie Sunday-morning silence made him tense, as if the world was about to explode and he was the detonator. He was as far from the main drag of town as one could get and still be called part of Butterfly Harbor. His nearest neighbor lay a half mile down the road, his own house hidden behind a thicket of trees and dense shrubs. One would have to know the house was here to find it. The short driveway was canopied by overgrown redwoods, shaved back to allow cars through.
Luke preferred silence, but here, he knew no one could hear him scream.
Counting the steps it took to reach the porch, Luke stopped at the base of the stairs, his courage fading as the midmorning clouds burned away under the sun’s rays. He’d imagined this moment a hundred times in the past few weeks.
His stomach rolled. He may as well have been chained to the past, unable to break free and take that last step up. And one step inside.
He dropped his head forward as the sick feeling he’d tried to bank washed over him. He was right. Coming here had been a bad idea.
A high-pitched sound caught his ear, a whine followed by a shuffling. Luke inclined his head, listened. There it was again. He bent down as he scanned the ground. A child? A hurt child? Wait. Longer this time, deeper, weaker. And it was coming from under the stairs.
