Книга - Welcome Home, Katie Gallagher

Welcome Home, Katie Gallagher
Seana Kelly


Nobody said a fresh start would be easyA clean slate is exactly what Katie Gallagher needs, and Bar Harbor, Maine, is the best place to get it. Except the cottage her grandmother left her is overrun with woodland creatures, and the police chief, Aiden Cavanaugh, seems determined to arrest her! Katie had no idea she’d broken his heart fifteen years ago…"Kelly’s debut book is smart, sexy, and so much fun. I couldn't put it down."Laurie Benson, Secret Lives of the Ton series







Nobody said a fresh start would be easy

A clean slate is exactly what Katie Gallagher needs, and Bar Harbor, Maine, is the best place to get it. Except the cottage her grandmother left her is overrun with woodland creatures, and the police chief, Aiden Cavanaugh, seems determined to arrest her! Katie had no idea she’d broken his heart fifteen years ago...

“Kelly’s debut book is smart, sexy, and so much fun. I couldn’t put it down.”

—Laurie Benson, author of the Secret Lives of the Ton series


“Chief Cavanaugh of the Bar Harbor Police Department, ma’am.”

He looked down at his portfolio and then back up at me, eyes cold. “You trashed your husband’s car and then ran, is that right?”

I thought it would be different if I left, if I came to the place I’d been the happiest. Even without Gran, I’d imagined being here would comfort me and help me figure out what the hell to do with myself now that I understood what was apparent to everyone else, that my life was a pathetic sham. I leaned forward, dropping my head to the table. Repeatedly. My brain needed a reboot.

A large, warm hand settled on my shoulder, the heat sinking into my bones. I looked up through wet lashes, and I saw it. I knew who he was.

“Aiden?” I sat up straight to better study him. “Aiden Cavanaugh?”

His hand fell away, and I missed its weight and warmth at once. Unbelievable. How the hell had sweet, oddly geeky Aiden Cavanaugh morphed into tall, dark and forbidding?


Dear Reader (#ua0119f64-7923-58ff-b597-fc99d06549e9),

I’m excited—and more than a little terrified—to share with you my debut novel, Welcome Home, Katie Gallagher. At its core, this is a story about second chances, a story about starting over. We all deserve a do-over.

I love writing strong, funny women who fulfill their dreams on their own terms. For instance, when Katie envisioned what her life would be, she never once imagined depression-induced insomnia, being wedged into a battered car with a one-hundred-and-forty-pound dog, grape soda splattered in her lap, a fecund, mushroomy odor she wasn’t entirely certain she could pin on the dog, and a cop tapping at the window. Nope, she sure didn’t see that coming.

But it’s in times like these that we learn who we are. Katie could have stayed with a cheating husband who never looked at her except to find fault. She could have. Or she could have taken his expertly weighted and fitted golf clubs to his beloved BMW. Some of us find clarity through yoga, others through criminal behavior. And, let’s face it, a mug shot is a pretty clear indicator that different choices should have been made.

I hope you enjoy Katie’s fraught journey. Warning: there is a hot, grumpy cop, an adorably massive dog, snickering marmosets, cupcakes, and a woman trying like hell to make a home for herself.

Seana Kelly


Welcome Home, Katie Gallagher

Seana Kelly






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


SEANA KELLY lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, two daughters, two dogs and one fish. When Seana isn’t dodging her family, hiding in the garage and trying to write, she’s working as a high school teacher-librarian. Seana is an avid (who are we kidding? obsessive) reader who is still mourning the loss of Fred Weasley. What the heck, J.K.? If you had to kill off a Weasley, why couldn’t it have been Percy?


For Mom and Dad,

who taught me the importance of

integrity, hard work and storytelling.


Contents

Cover (#u1e0be6db-ce0c-57bd-9a0a-5994081146e0)

Back Cover Text (#u0cf6e390-011e-5456-9d78-509879b342e3)

Introduction (#u1255c08d-de72-502d-bb7c-fb28ea94b8d3)

Dear Reader (#ucebad096-b7a2-5e20-b85a-bb031c42fba5)

Title Page (#uf55efe23-1eb3-5e17-a195-d12a6a60d64c)

About the Author (#u65ed10b5-c24a-531c-92d6-46ca8e00d937)

Dedication (#ub945805d-8d37-5ac7-912e-6228a14a4c1e)

CHAPTER ONE (#u3fa9602f-1e2c-5010-8b1d-2652d3915c88)

CHAPTER TWO (#ub2d75c09-cf97-5c2f-af62-404fc82c0af7)

CHAPTER THREE (#uc6cc6302-83a6-51c8-890f-2c36c15b8be6)

CHAPTER FOUR (#uce329c19-3c71-5878-9ca4-3dce5052cfc7)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u4ee95120-ea9d-5e0e-a21e-6f0174f93284)

CHAPTER SIX (#u03952a22-f20a-52e0-8f3c-d3644c0e7504)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#u2a751882-f18b-53fa-ba1a-77d838bda6ba)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#uce09af34-672f-5d7e-8e1a-fa9a36d39e92)

CHAPTER NINE (#ub04e814e-0430-5777-8044-c4f19d0d0c9c)

CHAPTER TEN (#u5a615023-f543-5563-a595-68f2552a6757)

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)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ua0119f64-7923-58ff-b597-fc99d06549e9)

Kate

YOU DON’T ALWAYS know when you’re having a nervous breakdown. It’s usually later, after being confronted with photographic evidence in the form of a mug shot, that you realize you lost your shit in a truly spectacular way.

The tap of the cop’s flashlight on the driver’s-side window, combined with a soft woof from the back seat, made me jump and splash grape soda down my sweater. I watched it pool in my lap before fumbling with the can. I searched for a napkin.

“Ma’am, could you roll down your window?” The shield on his coat was hard to miss.

Chaucer lifted his massive head, slowly coming to his paws, needing to hunch in order to fit. He sniffed my ear and then looked down into my lap, no doubt hoping I’d dropped something he could eat.

“Shit, shit, shit. Try to look innocent,” I told him as I rolled down the window. I did not need more trouble with the law.

“Ma’am, could you explain why you’re parked in the middle of the road? Are you having car trouble?” His voice was a deep rumble, which was oddly comforting, considering the situation. He leaned down, keen eyes taking in everything. God, he smelled good—warm leather and rich wood smoke overpowering the sticky sweetness of artificial grape.

Towering Maine pines, silhouetted against the predawn sky, swayed in the frigid gusts skating off the ocean. I shivered, wishing I’d worn something more substantial than a thin sweater set.

I’d stopped in the middle of the road because I couldn’t remember whether to continue straight along the cliff-side road or veer inland up ahead. And that question quickly turned into a paralyzing fear that I had no idea where I was going in my life.

“Um, car trouble? No, Officer. I was just thinking.” I hadn’t slept in weeks. What the hell was I supposed to say? I was falling apart, and this was merely a bump in the road of the shit-losing lollapalooza that had become my life?

Seemingly unaffected by the freezing temperature, he cleared his throat and leaned down farther, peering into my eyes. “Ma’am? Are you telling me that you purposely stopped your car in the middle of the road, possibly causing an accident, so you could think? Have you been drinking this morning, or late last night? Taking any narcotics?”

Chaucer wedged his head between mine and the window to get a better look, or more precisely a better sniff, of this potential food giver. I’ll give it to the cop; he barely registered the shock of seeing a hundred-and-forty-pound Newfoundland squished into the tiny back seat of a small sedan.

I tried to push Chaucer back, explaining around his head, “Unless you can get wasted on grape soda, I’m unfortunately sober.” What I wouldn’t give for a vat of margaritas and a big bendy straw.

He wore the same look of arrogant disdain that my husband, Justin, wore whenever I’d done something wrong, something worthy of censure. Ex, I kept reminding myself. On-the-road-to-being ex-husband. He let me know with one cursory glance that he saw through my carefully cultivated, but ultimately lacking, veneer and what he found wasn’t equal to his standards.

The cop rumbled, “Ma’am, can you please explain what happened to your vehicle?” His eyes glinted in the low light.

I was done being patronized, done with the barely veiled condescension. “Look, I’m not drunk, and you need to quit calling me ma’am! I’m twenty-five, for God’s sake, not eighty. ‘Causing an accident’? Seriously? I’ve been sitting here for an hour, and you’re the first car that’s come by!” I threw the door open, trying to tag him in the thigh as I got out.

He moved remarkably fast, sidestepping the initial swing before stopping the door with one hand.

“And—” I turned to look at the dusty, battered car, with its duct-taped rear window and side panels riddled with deep dents. “That? Pfft. They can buff that right out.”

“Ma’am, you need to get back in your vehicle. I didn’t tell you that you could step out.” Steel threaded through his voice now.

Damn, he was a lot bigger than I’d thought. I should have stayed in the car. No. I was done agreeing with men who used their size and authority to cow me. I’d had enough.

“I am not drunk and I’m not a hazard, so leave me the hell alone! And stop calling me ma’am! Twenty-eight is not a ma’am. I’m a miss, damn it! A miss!” I’ll admit I was kind of shrieking there at the end.

The cop raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a rip in the space-time continuum.”

Fine. I was thirty. Whatever.

He took a step back, resting his hand on the firearm secured at his waist. Okay, in hindsight, screaming at a cop probably wasn’t the best way to start putting my life back together, but sometimes it’s hard to stop the scream. After years of quietly acquiescing, the pressure had built. Outrage seeped from the fissures. I’d become a little Chernobyl of screaming, in voice and in deed. I needed to give more thought to the fallout, though.

Chaucer sensed the tension, not that it was hard to miss, leaping over the seat and out the door to stand between the cop and me. I shivered and reached out to weave my fingers through the thick, warm fur of his brown, bearlike head, pulling him toward me. I didn’t want the cop to get any funny ideas about my dog being a threat. Plus, he was an excellent windbreak and space heater.

The sun was starting to rise, dark sky bleeding to red. The cop’s face was turned away from the light, but he looked vaguely familiar—dark hair, light eyes, a strong, square jaw and a crooked nose. I didn’t know him, and yet there was something.

He glared down at me, his jaw clenched. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you and your dog to get back in your vehicle and calm down. You need to give me your license and registration.” He slid the flashlight into his belt and waited for me to decide what to do.

The fight in me died almost as quickly as it had flared. I leaned in past the driver’s door and snaked my arm around to open the back door, as the handle on the outside was missing. Chaucer hopped back in. I dropped into the soggy driver’s seat and reached into the glove box.

I rummaged in drive-through napkins and salsa packets to find the owner’s manual with the registration tucked inside. I handed him that, and then started digging through my bag for my wallet. Hands shaking as the adrenaline waned, I surrendered my license. The quirk of his eyebrow told me that he’d noticed. At least he was no longer clutching his gun, so maybe I’d get out of this without being slammed up against the car and handcuffed. That would be nice for a change.

“I’m going to need you to stay right here while I call this in.” I started to nod, but then he busted out the ma’am.

I stared daggers into the son of a bitch, not that he seemed the least bit concerned. I was almost positive I saw a grin before he turned and walked away.

Part of me was angry, but mostly I was exhausted. I wanted to curl up under one of Gran’s quilts and sleep off the last three months. Hell, the last ten years.

When I had opened Justin’s Visa bill, it had been an accident. Two envelopes were stuck together. I thought I was opening a phone bill, and instead I discovered that my husband was having an affair. It was either that or he really liked to take naps in the middle of the day at the Embassy Suites while wearing expensive lingerie.

I’d thought for a moment there had been an error. The credit card was under his company’s name, but those were charges for hotel rooms, restaurants, jewelry stores... Where the hell were the OfficeMax and FedEx charges?

White noise had filled my ears and my head began to throb. I was pretty sure I’d forgotten to breathe. Right before I’d passed out, I wondered if he’d get in trouble with the IRS, if he’d actually written off his skank-related expenses and whether or not I was in trouble, too, since we’d filed joint returns. Weird, the things you think about as you go under.

When the cop strode back, I took a moment to appreciate the thick, muscular thighs his uniform couldn’t hide. “Chaucer, I’ve recently discovered it’s the little things that make life worth living.” Objectification may be wrong, but it sure was fun. Asshole or not, the man was beautiful.

I turned to the cop and said, “Everything all right, Officer?” I hope, I hope. Last I heard, charges hadn’t been pressed. Or they’d been dropped. One or the other.

He stared, and I felt sweat beading on my upper lip. “Ma’am, there’s a notation on your license about a destruction of property allegation.” He looked significantly at the abused sedan I was driving. “And resisting arrest. Do you know anything about that?”

I rolled my eyes. “Resisting arrest? What kind of whiny cops complain about having their hands slapped? I’d be embarrassed if I were...” I trailed off as I watched his fingers drumming the handle of his gun. “I mean, resisting what?”

“And destruction of property,” he reminded me.

I looked up into his light blue eyes and felt a familiar jolt. “Well, see, I contend that since this BMW is in my name, too, it’s not destruction of property so much as adding air holes to better ventilate my portion of the car. Allegedly.”

He appeared as stern as ever, but I could have sworn the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I see. Do you have a lawyer you’d like to call before you follow me to the station?”

I’d met with a divorce attorney before I’d left California and headed east. She was not going to be pleased with me if I ended up in cuffs again.

“I do, but as she’s on the West Coast, and it’s two in the morning her time, I should probably go it alone, although you can expect to hear ‘I’ve been advised by my attorney to remain silent.’ A lot. I’m sure if she were here, she’d tell me to keep mum.”

The cop’s mood seemed to have shifted. He leaned one arm against the roof of my car, gazing out toward the ocean. While he contemplated life and whether or not he was going to allow me to continue partaking of it, I flexed my superficial, objectifying muscles. His jacket was hanging open, so I could see that those broad shoulders narrowed to a flat stomach. I tried not to look below the waist, but it was right there, framed by his big utility belt. I may have been new to this, but I was a fast study.

He cleared his throat. When I peeked up, he was staring back at me, eyebrows raised. Busted.


CHAPTER TWO (#ua0119f64-7923-58ff-b597-fc99d06549e9)

Aiden

SITTING BACK IN the cruiser, I watched Katie shove her dog’s head out of her lap. Her mouth was moving like she was talking to the damn thing. She glanced up, noticed me watching her and gave me a big, fake smile before finally starting that heap she was driving. She spun it around, kicking up rocks, and then waited for me to lead her to the station.

Unbelievable. Katie Gallagher was back in Bar Harbor. And apparently, she’d become an actual criminal. It had been fifteen years, but looking at her was like a punch in the gut. Katie Gallagher had dominated my puberty, with her curly red hair, big green eyes and that little dimple near the corner of her lower lip. My best and worst memories of adolescence had been connected to her in some way.

Yet she stood there a few minutes ago, glaring at me, and had no idea who I was. I didn’t know if I should be flattered that I bore no resemblance to the creepy little stalker who’d followed her around, or offended that she had no recollection Aiden Cavanaugh ever existed.

I checked the rearview mirror, wondering what the hell she was doing back in Bar Harbor. She and that moose of hers followed closely down Main Street to the station. I picked up my radio. “Heather, can you move all those Halloween decorations out of the interview room? I’m bringing in a suspect for questioning.”

She came back quickly. “Well, sure, Chief, but what should I do with them? Nancy’s coming by tomorrow to pick them up. Do you want we should put them in an empty cell until they’re taken over to Agamont Park?”

Did I? No, damn it. I realized I was doing the professional equivalent of stuffing dirty laundry under the bed when a date came over. Had Alice taught me nothing? Women weren’t to be trusted. This one in particular. Katie’d only been back in my life a few minutes, and I was already falling into that same old morass of lust, stupidity and disappointment. I was an adult and long past chasing after Katie Gallagher.

“Never mind, Heather. Leave it. Shove everything down to the end of the conference table so there’s room to conduct an interview.”

“Sure, Chief, no problem. I’ll get Mikey right on it.”


CHAPTER THREE (#ua0119f64-7923-58ff-b597-fc99d06549e9)

Kate

I TURNED THE CORNER, following the cop toward the small police station on Firefly Lane. Was there ever a street that struck less fear in the hearts of its citizenry? Watch out, buddy, or they’ll drag you to Firefly Lane. Did you hear they busted a crack house on Firefly Lane? I thought a name change was in order, perhaps Gulag Terrace.

Possible incarceration aside, it was good to be back. The town hadn’t changed all that much. The downtown was quaintly charming, vibrant shop fronts lining Main Street down to the water. An older man was hosing down the sidewalk in front of a neighborhood market, carts of fresh fruit and vegetables already flanking the door.

I tapped my fingers on the cold steering wheel. “Think he sells forty-pound bags of dog food in there?” Hopefully that big feed store was still on the other side of town. “We’ll need to find out soon. You’ve almost finished the bag we brought with us.”

Chaucer sniffed around at the mention of food, but when none was forthcoming, he sat back, no longer blocking the rearview mirror.

Stopping at a red light, I caught myself checking out shoes in a store window. What the hell was wrong with me? I was following a cop to a police station to be questioned in a criminal case, but instead of concerning myself with my own defense, I was considering whether or not I should buy a pair of cute new boots with a wedge heel. I was clearly unhinged.

“Look, Chaucer. I had my first kiss in the park down that street.” Michael Emerson. He’d been sweet and shy, smelling of fabric softener and freshly mown grass. Looking around, I began to relax. This was a good decision. I’d done the right thing for once.

I followed the police cruiser into the station parking lot and stepped out of my car. I’d been happy here once. I would be again. I took a deep breath. I’d missed the cold, salty ocean air. I closed my eyes and let the feeling settle. I hadn’t realized how beaten down I’d become, how hollow. Being back in Gran’s hometown made me feel steady and hopeful.

The glowering cop standing by his car took care of that feeling quickly, though. I couldn’t see his eyes through the reflective sunglasses he wore, but I could see the disapproving scowl. Years of a scowl like that had been part of what had beaten me down. I wasn’t bowing to that disapproval anymore. I turned on my heel, jogging around the back of the car. Pressing my key ring, the lock on the passenger side back door popped up. I opened the door for Chaucer.

The cop stepped forward. “Why don’t we leave him in the car while we talk?”

Chaucer stepped down and leaned into me. “Are you kidding? You don’t leave dogs alone in cars. Do you want him dying of heat exposure?” Not to mention the poor pup needed to use the facilities. Hopefully we could make a quick detour to the lawn.

“Well, as it’s in the high thirties with a forecast of getting into the low fifties today, I’m pretty sure he can avoid heat exposure.” He held his hand in front of Chaucer, who sniffed him thoroughly before stepping forward to let the cop pet him. “Fine, you can bring him.” He turned to lead us.

“Right behind you,” I said, as Chaucer and I headed in the opposite direction toward the lawn. The russet colors of autumn dripped from the trees. We walked on stiff, crackling leaves until Chaucer found a perfect spot. During a ridiculously long potty break, I sensed the cop’s eyes on me. It was strangely comforting, like he was watching over me rather than keeping me under surveillance. When Chaucer finally finished, we met the cop at the door to the station.

He’d taken off his sunglasses. “Impressive,” he said, while scratching the top of Chaucer’s head.

“Good morning, Chief!”

He turned to a pretty woman with light brown hair. She was bundled up in a long, ivory sweater coat and was wearing an adorable pair of high-heeled boots that put her close to the cop’s height. He grinned at her, and my stomach fluttered. No, no. Men were strictly verboten, especially the ones who liked to mock and criticize. New me, new choices.

He nodded. “Nancy.”

She was breathless, as though she’d run to catch up with him. She placed a hand on his sleeve. “Chief, I’m so glad I caught you.” She glanced at me. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” She shifted her stance, partially blocking me. “I had a quick question about the festival. I need your opinion...”

Honestly, I stopped listening at that point. I leaned over and whispered in Chaucer’s ear. “He’s distracted. Now’s our chance. You run that way and I’ll run this way. I think we can totally get away if we act quickly.” I glanced around to make sure he was still engaged in chatting up the brunette.

He’d moved away from the woman who was still talking, a hand still on his arm. All his attention was on me; eyes squinted, he was practically daring us to make a break for it. Focus never wavering, he said, “Nancy, I’m in the middle of something. You can discuss all this with Heather. She’ll know the answers better than me, anyway.”

I leaned back down. “Abort. Abort.” Stupid, observant cop.

He moved to the steps of the station house, extending his arm to us. “After you.” As Chaucer and I passed, he gave a low grumble. “Not exactly a criminal mastermind, are you?”

I paused, eyebrows raised in question.

He smirked. “Your plan was ‘run.’ Really?”

I gave him my most dismissive hair flip and walked through the door. I had Chaucer on a leash, but he would have stayed with me, anyway. And honestly, as the dog outweighed me by at least thirty pounds, if he ever wanted to get away, there’s not much I could do. Luckily he was devoted to me, almost as much as he was devoted to never exerting himself.

Inside, a soft, middle-aged woman wearing a headset looked up from her cluttered desk. Her eyes comically rounded at seeing Chaucer walk in.

“Heather, this is Katie Gallagher. We’ll be using the conference room.”

I started at hearing the name Katie Gallagher. The name on my license was Katherine Cady. No one had called me Katie in a long time. Justin called me Katherine, and I insisted that my friends call me Katherine or Kate. I’d refused to be known as Katie Cady. That was too ridiculous, not to mention redundant.

As I walked through the police station, I knew I should be feeling fear, concern, abject terror, something. But I wasn’t. It was like a dream. Weird, bad things kept happening, but they didn’t touch me. I floated through. Maybe I was in shock, or that grape soda was laced with quaaludes. One or the other.

“It looks different,” I observed.

“Make a habit of studying the insides of police stations?” He led me past desks toward a rear hall. A few cops watched my perp walk, or maybe it was the Newfoundland trying to sniff out forgotten food that caught their attention.

“Not a habit so much as a hobby,” I said, studiously regarding the tips of my shoes. My eyes were definitely not drifting up to watch the world-class butt directly in front of me. Nope. “My Gran brought me here when I was thirteen as part of her scared-straight campaign. A couple of kids were busted for pot, and she was certain I was a member of their drug-guzzling gang. Never mind that I had never met any of them, nor had I ever been high.”

“Nor did you realize that drugs weren’t guzzled.” He opened the door to the interview room, which, I must say, was far less frightening than I had been trained to expect watching cop shows on TV. It was a very cozy, pleasant room with an unusually large number of cardboard ghosts and pumpkins strewn across the far end of the table.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, Gran decided it was better to punish me before I did anything, in case she missed it afterward. I spent a Saturday afternoon locked up in a cell back there while Gran sent in random folks she’d found in the shops to come scare me straight with their stories of prison.” Chaucer flopped down on the floor, rested his head on my foot and fell asleep. It had been a big day for him.

“You’re making this up,” the cop said as he sat down.

“No, not at all. It was kind of fun for me. As they told me their stories of depraved incarceration, I tried to identify which shows they were stealing from.” I smiled, remembering. “Mr. Wilson told me he had tunneled out of Shawshank Prison with nothing but a rock hammer. Oh, wait, do I get the same number or a new one?”

His brow furrowed. “Number?”

“For my mug shot. The bottom of the picture. Will I have the same number I did when I was thirteen? Is it like a Social Security number that follows you around, or is it the case number or something?” This was knowledge I hadn’t realized I’d ever need to possess.

“It follows you, but according to your record, you’ve never actually been booked. Unless you have an alias.”

“Oh.” Bummer. I kind of liked the idea of being a hardened criminal, a total badass with a record. I needed a leather jacket and maybe a tattoo—not one of those prissy deals. No dragonflies or mermaids for me. I wanted a skull or tribal pattern around my biceps. I also needed a biceps, preferably two. I was going to go all Sarah Connor, build up my guns and wear tank tops to show ’em off...

“Katie?”

Hmm? “Sorry, what?”

He sighed and tapped the screen on his phone right before a flash blinded me.

“Seriously, with your phone? Is this some kind of pity mug shot?” He was making fun of me. Man, he was going to be sorry when I became a badass. We didn’t forget shit like that.

He smirked and returned the phone to his pocket.

“I wasn’t ready!” Damn, I didn’t scowl or sneer or anything. “Do over!”

“No.” He pulled out a portfolio and opened it. “You haven’t changed,” he said as he stood, removing his jacket before resuming his seat.

“You know me?” I wondered over the planes of his face again. Had I met him when I’d visited Gran all those years ago? I considered the dark hair that curled near his collar, the Paul Newman blue eyes, the tall, muscular body, the cleft in his chin... Wait. The eyes, the cleft...those were familiar.

He tapped his pen rapidly, ignoring my question. “Now, could you tell me why you tortured that poor car?”

I wilted. Why was I the one in the police station? All I did was take Justin’s expertly fitted and weighted golf clubs to his beloved car. I didn’t lie to him day in and day out. I didn’t betray him. Nope. I broke a thing, not a person. Why the hell wasn’t he the one staring down a cop and answering questions?

“I’d really prefer not to, and I don’t understand why I should have to. Taking a golf club to your own property is not against the law. It’s not like I went on a spree and destroyed all the cars in the country club parking lot. It was a surgical strike. I was a Tomahawk missile of tactical fury. And anyway, shouldn’t you have to identify yourself before you start asking me questions?” I clenched my trembling hands in my lap, trying to maintain my new, hard-ass persona.

“Chief Cavanaugh of the Bar Harbor Police Department, ma’am.” He looked down at his portfolio and then back up at me, eyes cold. “You trashed your husband’s car and then fled, is that right?”

I thought it would be different if I left, if I came to the place where I was the happiest. Even without Gran, I’d imagined being here would comfort me and help me figure out what the hell to do with myself now that I understood, what was apparent to everyone else, that my life was a pathetic sham. I leaned forward, dropping my head to the table. Repeatedly. My brain needed a reboot.

A large, warm hand settled on my shoulder, the heat seeping into my bones. A shiver ran through me. I looked up through wet lashes, and I saw it. I knew who he was.

“Aiden?” I sat up straight to better study him. “Aiden Cavanaugh?”

His hand fell away, and I missed its weight and warmth at once. Unbelievable. How the hell did sweet, oddly geeky Aiden Cavanaugh morph into tall, dark and forbidding?

“Wow,” I said. “Look at you with your big-boy muscles and your lumberjack build. You must have had one hell of a growth spurt. I knew there was something familiar about you. It was the eyes. You were always cute but holy shnikies. I’m feeling kind of dirty now for some of the things I was thinking about you up on the cliff.”


CHAPTER FOUR (#ua0119f64-7923-58ff-b597-fc99d06549e9)

Aiden

DISTURBING SISTERLY ATTITUDE ASIDE, it was nice to know that the girl I’d obsessed over as a kid appreciated what she saw enough now to mentally grope me.

I gave myself a mental slap. Women, for more than a couple of hours, were off the table. They couldn’t be trusted, and trust was vital. “Thanks. If we can get back to the destruction of property issue...” I said, and her smile dropped.

She sighed. “He cheated on me. A lot. I moved out, met with a lawyer, but then...” She looked up at me. “Do I have to tell you all this? Can he really have me arrested for beating up his car?” Her bottom lip quivered before she stiffened it.

“If you’re in the process of a divorce and you took a golf club to his things? Yes.”

She looked down into her lap.

“Would he willingly air the dirty laundry to punish you?”

She sat up straight, her head cocked, considering. “No. Image is everything to him. The Asshat used to go shopping with me to make sure I dressed like a successful man’s wife.” She paused, her fingers tapping on the tabletop. “I doubt he’d want his clients to know why I did what I did.” She nodded slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

My hand twitched, wanting to touch her once more. Damn it. I wasn’t going down that road again. Not after Alice. “Are you visiting or planning to stay awhile?”

“I want to stay. I don’t have anywhere else to go. I know Gran’s gone, but I was hoping—I don’t know. I was happy here once.”

I laughed. “You were a menace here once, Katie.”

Outraged, she said, “Menace? I was a sweet and charming addition to this community for two months every summer!”

Choking, I stood. “Sweet and charming? How many Fourth of July parades did you ruin?”

“Enhanced. The word you’re looking for is enhanced.”

Dropping back down in the chair, I fixed her with a stare. “Enhanced? When you stole Old Man Benson’s crickets and released them into the crowd, you believed that it improved their parade-viewing experience?” I paused, considering. “And how the hell did you end up on different floats every year? You were a member of the Kiwanas? The Elks? A volunteer firefighter?”

She laughed, relaxing. “Good times. The kind and trusting people of this community welcomed me with open arms. It helps that they have short memories. Every summer, I’d promise that I’d learned the error of my ways and they’d let me climb on their floats.” She grinned at the table, remembering.

“Crickets?”

“Do you know what he planned to do with those poor little crickets? He was going to skewer them with a fishing hook. I heard him talking to Gramps outside the bait shop. He had a big container of live crickets that he and his buddy were going to use the next day on their fishing trip!” She shook her head. “While they chatted, I grabbed the bin out of the back of his truck and ran to the parade. It was a crime of opportunity. Anyway, I was like seven or eight at the time. Hasn’t the statute of limitations run out on that one?”

“Perhaps. What about the rubber balls?”

She tried to hide her guilty expression. “Who doesn’t like bouncy balls?”

“Off the top of my head, I’d say the guy driving the tractor directly behind your float. When you sent hundreds of bouncy balls in every direction, quite a few bounced into his engine. You broke his damn tractor.”

Cringing, she said, “Not broke. They were able to fix it. I screwed up the parade, though. It took a while to get the tractor moved so the rest of the floats could go by. On the bright side, people had bouncy balls to play with while they waited!”

“Where did you even get hundreds of balls?”

“Brought them with me. It was some kind of ordering mistake at my parents’ university. I think they were supposed to be ordering condoms, but checked the wrong box. I don’t know. I was nine. There were boxes of bouncy balls sitting in the back of the administration building.” She looked at me, wide-eyed. “What was I supposed to do? Just leave them there?”

“Yes.”

“Pfft. I filled my backpack and a plan began to form.”

I shook my head. “Like I said, menace.”

She waved away my concerns. “I worked all summer at Mr. Sheets’s ranch to pay for the tractor repair.”

“You did?”

“Oh, sure.” She grinned. “He was only annoyed with me that first day, though. I went from mucking out the stables and polishing the tools to apple picking and horse brushing. Fun summer.”

Her expression shifted, memories scattering. “I thought—with everything going on—I could start over here.” She shook her head, shrugging. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

I ignored a twinge of sympathy for Katie, closing my portfolio. “You’re going to your grandmother’s?”

“Yeah. She left me her house. Not him, not us, just me.” She clenched her hands in her lap. “I don’t know if that’ll work, though. California is a no-fault, community-property state. My lawyer is—well, she’s doing what she can.” She moved her foot, and her dog groaned at having his pillow taken away. “So, is it okay? Can I go?” She bit her lip, and I looked away.

I stood and moved toward the door. “Yes, but only because charges were never actually filed. I guess your husband forgave you.”

Pushing up from the table, she rolled her eyes. “Sure. We can go with that.”

What did that mean? I put my coat back on and waited for her to collect her dog and bag. “What happened to your hair?”

She laughed, a quick outburst of breath, and shook her head. “I see your skill with compliments hasn’t improved. I believe you once told me I had very straight shoulders.” She walked past me without answering the question.

She had beautiful shoulders—ones I’d wanted to kiss, but hadn’t known how to talk about as a kid. And her hair had been a mass of curls when she was younger. It hung straight now. I followed her back through the station house, scowling when I noticed Mikey, my newest officer, checking out her ass. Her ass was none of my business, but that didn’t keep my jaw from clenching. “Still waiting for that report, Officer.” That did it. Eyes back on his desk where they belonged.

I trailed her through the front door, stopping on the steps. “Okay, fine. Your hair was really curly when you were younger. How can it be straight now?”

“Oh, well...” She spun away from me but not before I noticed a tinge of red touch her cheeks. “I’ve been straightening it for years.”

Hands on my hips, I studied her. Her embarrassment was clear. “Why the hell would you do that?”

She turned back quickly, surprised. “You liked my hair?”

“What’s not to like? It was beautiful. I mean, it’s nice now, but—hell, it’s your hair. Do whatever you want with it.” Damn it, what was it with this woman? I might as well have been eleven again.

She opened the rear door of her car, letting Chaucer trundle back in. She had her back to me when I heard “He didn’t care for it, thought it was too much.” She turned back around, a hand unconsciously smoothing her hair before she dropped it heavily to her side.

“Too much,” she echoed, shaking her head.

“You could shave your head, and you’d still be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”

Note to self—shut up.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ua0119f64-7923-58ff-b597-fc99d06549e9)

Kate

“DID YOU HEAR THAT? He said I was beautiful.” I grinned stupidly, but then remembered. “Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure he also thinks I’m a nutjob.”

Chaucer stood up and rested his head on my shoulder. He rendered the rearview mirror moot, but the weight of his head was comforting. I scratched his ruff. He’d witnessed my humiliation and still loved me.

“Scowling, leering, crying. What do you think, buddy? Could I have added to that fairly impressive list of asinine behaviors? I suppose I could have wet myself. I’ll try to take comfort in the fact that my pants are dry.” Sniffing grape, I added, “You know, mostly.”

I rolled down the windows and breathed deeply, the air crisp and biting. Driving back through the leaf-strewn town, my eyes were drawn to a woman with a stroller. I hugged Chaucer once more, pushing away unwelcome memories, and headed up through the hills.

Gran’s house, a charming stone cottage, was nestled back against the forest. I found it surprisingly easily, my mind no longer consumed with self-doubt, listening instead to the gruff-sounding beautiful echoing through my thoughts.

To one side of Gran’s house, the cliff dropped to a rocky shore below. From the wraparound porch, rolling emerald hills ran down to the town and the harbor beyond. The far side, opposite the ocean, was Gran’s baby, her garden. Hydrangea blossoms floated down like pink snow, settling on the peonies below. At the back of the house, Gran kept a large vegetable patch, preferring the old practice of stepping out the kitchen door to pick the food for that day’s meals.

As I crested the driveway, taking it all in, I worried that in the month since her death, her house had been damaged or broken into. I still couldn’t believe Justin, the selfish bastard, hadn’t told me she’d died until after her funeral.

They’d called the house about Gran, but it was after I’d already moved into my friend Christine’s apartment. Justin had apparently taken the message that Gran was really sick, and that I needed to come now. However, he’d never bothered to pass it along to me.

When the lawyer finally tracked me down through my mom, I’d learned of Gran’s passing and of her bequest. Rage and guilt warred. I should have been there, should have told her how much I loved her before she died. That fuckknob had kept her from me. I’d been ready to tear his balls off when I’d tracked him down at his country club. He was in his car on the phone, turning away from my knock. He thought smugly ignoring me would work when my grandmother was buried without me? I put an end to that shit.

His golf bag and clubs were standing by his open trunk. I grabbed one of his clubs, put all my weight and fury behind it and swung for the bleachers. I’d intended to break his clubs, but instead broke his back window. I stopped and stared at what I had done. Never in my life had I engaged in vandalism. I was a vandal. It felt good. I was terrified of myself, but swung again to check my response. Yep, still felt good.

Years of pent-up frustration and betrayal fueled my frenzy. At some point he jumped out of the car. I heard him yelling, but he was like a yapping dog in a neighbor’s yard. Annoying but easily ignored.

The cops showed up. I never knew if it was the country club who called or Justin. It didn’t matter. One of the officers drew a gun on me. That sobered me up real fast. His partner stepped in front of the gun, telling the other guy to put it away. Good cop asked me questions, looking in my eyes, trying to determine if I was hopped up on PCP. That’s what I assumed, anyway. His expression was a combination of concern and wariness. I would have answered his questions, but I couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in my head.

Bad cop grabbed at my arms. I slapped his hands away, so resisting arrest was added, and I was handcuffed. I don’t remember anything about the drive to the police station. One of them apparently snagged my handbag from my car, so at least I had my ID and phone.

Once we got to the station, bad cop took off to do bad-cop stuff. Good cop told me his name was Officer Kinney. He had dark skin, kind eyes and a soft, deep voice. He let me call my mom for help, but warned me that Justin could still press charges, and that the country club was deciding if they were going to, as well. He said he’d talk to his partner and try to get the resisting charge dropped.

I broke down and told the poor guy everything. I sobbed on his desk. He patted my back reluctantly, but I appreciated it all the same. Mom showed up and drove me back to the country club to pick up my car. It was gone, although Justin’s was still there. I stared at it, shocked. I had broken and dented a gem of Bavarian automotive engineering. Holy crap! I was kind of scary.

I brushed the glass off the seats and drove to the house, wanting to confront the asswipe. I sat steaming in the driveway for an hour, and then rethought my plan. Talking to Justin never helped. I reluctantly went into the house that had never truly felt like mine to pack and leave for good. Justin didn’t come home that night, which made the process easier. I traveled from room to room, picking up a photo here, a book there. Everywhere I looked, I saw Justin’s stamp.

I was done there. I didn’t want to ever see him, or this house, again. I found boxes in the garage and started packing what was mine. The fact that it all fit in the trunk demonstrated how little of my life was actually my own.

Good or bad, my life was my own now. I stopped the car when the drive leveled out. I took in Gran’s house. “Look at it, Chaucer. Isn’t it beautiful?” I closed my eyes and let out the breath I’d been holding. Home.

I parked to the side of the front steps, near a pear tree, and let Chaucer out. I stretched, slamming the car door before sitting on the whitewashed front steps. I inhaled the sharp scents of hemlock and salt water.

Home. “Thank you, Gran. You knew even when I didn’t how much I needed to be here.” Chaucer walked up the steps and lay down on the porch, his front paws and head hanging over the edge.

A moment later, his head popped back up. He found his feet, standing alert and still. I heard it, too. It sounded like it was coming from the backyard. I walked up the last step and followed the porch around the side of the house. White wicker furniture still sat out, facing Gran’s magnificent garden.

Whack. I scanned the tree line, trying to locate the sound. Chaucer stood beside me and gave a quiet woof while looking toward the rear of the house. I saw him, too—a man with his back to us, holding an ax and splitting wood.

Normally, a strange man swinging an ax would be enough to send me scrambling in the opposite direction, but there was something familiar about him. He had a shock of white hair and was wearing a red plaid work shirt. He had strong, broad shoulders, although time had worn away at his posture.

I walked down the side steps, Chaucer at my side. “Mr. Cavanaugh, is that you?”

He spun around, startled and staring, his eyes getting wider. “Nellie?” he asked breathlessly. His hand rose to his chest and rubbed.

“No, Mr. Cavanaugh. Nellie was my grandmother. I’m Kate.” I’d heard before that I favored my grandmother, but the only pictures I had of her were as an old woman.

The poor man dropped down heavily onto the stump he was using to split wood.

I rushed forward, kneeling in the soft, dark soil before him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a start,” I faltered. He appeared pale and drawn, shaky. I feared I’d given him a heart attack. “Can I get you a drink of water, call someone? Anything?”

He reached out and touched the side of my face. “Remarkable...you look like my Nellie...except the hair. She had curly hair, same color, though. Same green eyes.” He shook his head and dropped his hand. “I’m sorry, Katie. Of course, I know who you are. For a minute there, I thought that Nellie had come back for me. Thought maybe I’d died chopping wood and Nellie had come to take me with her.”

“Sir, why don’t we go sit on the porch for a few minutes? I can grab you a glass of water, and we can get reacquainted.” I helped him to his feet and took his arm, surreptitiously lending support. My throat tightened when I felt his trembling hand.

After helping him up the stairs and into one of the chairs that overlooked the flower garden, I excused myself. The front door was locked. I searched my pockets. The lawyer had given me the key. I’d been holding it like a talisman for days.

Once open, I ran through the door, registering dust and leaves. Something took flight, flapping loudly, but I was moving too fast to see what it was. Please, don’t be a bat. Please, don’t be a bat. The kitchen counters and floor were grimy, but the dishes inside the cabinets appeared clean and untouched. I pulled a cup down, filled it quickly, but then my eyes fell on the phone at the end of the counter. I picked it up, got a staticy dial tone and speed-dialed the police station.

“Bar Harbor Police, can I help you?”

“Yes, please. Is Aiden Cavanaugh in? I need to speak with him right away.” My heart raced. Please, don’t let his grandfather die on my side porch.

I heard a click. “This is Chief Cavanaugh.”

“Aiden, it’s Kate. Your grandfather is here. I think I scared him pretty badly. He’s pale and shaky. I’m worried it might be serious. Does he have a weak heart?” Shit, I was rambling. Did I mention the heart thing?

“Kate? Are you at your grandmother’s house?”

“Yeah, I just got here.”

“I’m on my way.” He hung up.

I placed the receiver in its cradle and tried to pull myself together. I picked up the glass, walked back through the house, detouring through the dining room. I yanked repeatedly at the French doors leading to the side porch before they screeched in protest, giving way. Mr. Cavanaugh was right where I’d left him. I handed him the water, and he appeared surprised all over again at my appearance.

“Sorry. You look so much like Nellie, it’s a bit of a shock. Everything, except the hair. I thought you had curly hair, too. I must be misremembering.” He studied me, unsmiling. “I’m seventy-four now. Sometimes my memory fails me.”

“No, it’s not your memory. You’re right. My hair was curly. I straighten it now.” What was it with Cavanaugh men and my hair?

He grimaced and looked away. “Denying the gifts you were given. Make a habit of that, don’t you?”

Right. I had abandoned Gran. “My husband hated it.”

“What kind of an idiot did you go and marry?” He watched me, waiting.

“The controlling kind.”

He shook his head, as though it was no more than he expected. “Did you leave him, too?”

My stomach dropped, thinking of Justin’s betrayal, the women he’d leer at and how he’d wonder aloud why I couldn’t look more like that one, behave more like this one.

I nodded. Yes, I’d left him. Years too late, I’d realized.

He grunted a response.

His color was back, and the tremors seemed to have subsided, thank God.

“Visiting one week a year.” He shook his head, disgusted. “Phone calls and emails aren’t the same thing. You didn’t even come to her funeral. You think I don’t know why she was so sad when she talked about you? She kept asking for you at the end, and you couldn’t be bothered to fly back and let her see you. Hold your hand.”

“You’re right. I let Gran down. She was nothing but loving and supportive to me, and I...” I held my tears in check. Barely. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to me.” Anger threaded through his voice, but his eyes held nothing but pain.

I pulled at the wrist of my sweater. “It was hard.” I didn’t want her to see who I’d become. “My husband needed me.” To cook and clean and throw dinner parties while he cheated on me.

“But you left him?” He shook his head and took a sip of water.

I let out a gust of breath, an almost laugh. “Don’t worry. He has lots of women to console him.”

He pinned me with his gaze. “She didn’t think he was the right man for you, but she never blamed you for choosing to marry him.” He took another sip of water, watching me over the glass. “Your mother wasn’t the attentive, responsible type. Nellie knew that. After your father died, well, it worried her the way your mother neglected you.”

“No, not neglect. I was provided for. Dad’s loss hit her hard. She couldn’t deal with people and emotions after that. Impersonal academics, she could handle.” I caught his eye, not wanting him to think poorly of her. “She’s a brilliant professor. In her personal life...” I shrugged. “She was emotionally absent, I suppose.” Truth was she didn’t know what to do with me. She became flighty and forgetful, so I started doing the shopping and cooking, the bill paying and the cleaning.

He looked away again. “Call it what you want.”

“About the other thing...I didn’t know Gran had passed until after the funeral.”

A car raced up the drive. Oh, right. “Sorry, Mr. Cavanaugh. I was worried about you and called your grandson.” I stood to meet Aiden.

“You gave me a start is all, Katie. I’m fine,” he grumbled as I made my way down the porch.

Heavy footfalls sounded on the front stairs. “We’re over here,” I called. “He’s all right now.”

Aiden came around the corner, concern etched on his face. “Where?”

I stepped out of the way so he could see his grandfather.

“Pops, are you okay?” He strode forward and sat in the seat I’d vacated. “Katie said you were having some trouble.” He leaned forward, studying his grandfather.

“I’m fine. She startled me, looking every inch like her grandmother.” He gave me a disgusted look. “Except for the hair. I thought I was dead. Took me a minute to settle. I’m fine.”

Aiden stood. “How about I take you home now?”

“I don’t need any help getting home.” He spoke grudgingly to me. “I live right through those woods there, over the ridge. I come by most days to tend Nellie’s garden. I don’t go inside, but I take care of her garden. She thought you might be coming soon and wanted it to look nice. That was important to her.” To Aiden he added, “I’ve still got wood to split in the back.”

“Katie can cut her own wood.” At his grandfather’s glare, he added, “Fine. I’ll come back and split the wood myself if you let me take you home now.” Aiden stood in front of his grandfather, blocking my view.

Something must have been communicated silently between the two men, because a moment later Mr. Cavanaugh relented. “All right, I’ll let you see me home.” He stared at me, as though weighing his words. “Nellie would be glad to have you back.” He nodded, apparently feeling as though he’d said what he needed to. “I’m glad you have that dog with you. He doesn’t seem like much of a guard dog, but his size should scare off most thieves.”

Mr. Cavanaugh stood, and Aiden stepped over to take an arm. “What are you doing, boy? I can walk fine on my own.” He stopped, looking at me closely while speaking over his shoulder. “Aiden, what do you think of Katie’s hair?”

If Aiden was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. I felt his gaze move over me. “It’s beautiful, although I liked it better curly.”

Mr. Cavanaugh nodded. “Just so.”


CHAPTER SIX (#ua0119f64-7923-58ff-b597-fc99d06549e9)

Aiden

GETTING POPS IN the car proved more difficult than I’d expected. And not because he was ill. He kept trying to get me to go back, finish splitting the wood. Instead, I drove us down the narrow, graveled road. “Leave it. I’m taking you home.”

There was a disgruntled tsk, and then Pops smacked his fist against his thigh. “I’m done pussyfooting around this. Every time I try to bring it up, you change the subject or leave the room. No more, Aiden.” He paused to gather his thoughts, and I wished I hadn’t offered to drive him home. “You’ve changed. You’re harder, meaner. You told a tiny woman, Nellie’s granddaughter, to chop her own wood. It’s not you, and I don’t like it. Son, I know Alice’s leaving was difficult, but isn’t it better that she did it before you were married?”

“Yeah, Pops. She was nothing if not kind and considerate. I’ll be paying off that not-a-wedding for many years to come. I’m reminded every month as I transfer funds for the altered designer dress, the out-of-season flowers that needed to be flown in, the gourmet food, the banquet room at the Bar Harbor Inn... At least I got to keep the cases of wine. Too bad I don’t particularly like wine. I think she vetoed beer at the reception, so I wouldn’t be left with anything I actually liked.”

Pops tsk-tsked again.

“And, yes, I will return the ring soon.” I squirmed at the thought of everyone in the jewelry store carefully not looking at me as I return a $10,000 ring for the woman who took off a year ago, the day before our wedding. She left me an empty apartment and a note.

“Sorry, Aiden. I just can’t” was all the explanation I’d been given. Sorry, I just can’t marry you? Sorry, I just can’t love you? Sorry, I just can’t stand the sound of your breathing? What the fuck was it that she just couldn’t?

“You’ve been saying that for almost a year, but I can still see that damn box in your pocket.” His fingers tapped on his thigh. “I told you I’d help you pay off that debt—”

“Stop. You’re not paying my damn bills. I was the idiot who thought Alice loved me. The bills are a monthly reminder of why I shouldn’t trust women.” My hands tightened on the wheel.

“You don’t really think that, do you?” Pops actually sounded concerned about my sanity.

“I don’t know. I guess some of them are okay. Mrs. MacPherson, the old librarian, seems pleasant enough.”

Pops tsk-tsked in annoyance again, prodding a grin out of me.

“Well, you know that Katie—”

“Ran out on her husband? Yeah, I’d heard that. Apparently, she wasn’t considerate enough to realize that she just couldn’t before they got married.”

Pops gave me a disgusted look. “That was not what I was going to say. Nellie doted on her—”

“Yeah, and how often did she visit Nellie? I haven’t seen her since she was fifteen. You said she visited, but she was clearly never in town long enough for anyone else to notice. Hell, she didn’t even come to Nellie’s funeral.”

When I pulled up to his front steps, I turned off the engine, rolling my shoulders, to relieve the tightness. “Listen, Pops, I know you mean well, but, no. Stop, okay? I’m not interested in that one.”

“I’m not saying you should be. I’m angry with her for not being with Nellie more, especially at the end, but if what she said was true... Nellie loved that girl to the moon, and I think she’d be mad as hell at me if I didn’t try to help her.” He touched the door handle, but then turned back to me. “You used to be so sweet on her, you couldn’t take your eyes off her.”

“That was a long time ago. People change.”


CHAPTER SEVEN (#ua0119f64-7923-58ff-b597-fc99d06549e9)

Kate

I WANDERED THROUGH Gran’s house. It was exactly as I remembered, but with a new horror-movie feel. Heart pine floors, tall windows overlooking the ocean and town, walls the color of butterscotch, furniture in blues and whites, but all of it was covered in a combination of dust, dirt, feathers and droppings. What the hell?

I walked through the tiny house, terrified of what was living in it. Chaucer sniffed everything. Although he wasn’t barking, he raced from room to room, ears twitching at every skitter and squeak. I prayed I wasn’t in immediate mortal danger. I found three windows that had been left wide-open, their screens chewed and ripped. I guess that accounted for the apparent influx of woodland creatures taking up residence. I closed the windows, but then worried that I’d probably just trapped them in with me.

When I made it back to the living room, I surveyed the mess there. “This is going to take forever.” I just wanted to lie down and sleep for a week. Judging by the beds upstairs, some of my forest neighbors had felt the same way. Looking warily at the couch, I approached it slowly, reaching out and carefully lifting a cushion. Something small and furry with a long tail raced across my foot and down the hall. Chaucer barked and bounded after it. I may or may not have shrieked. I found myself with my back against the front door, watching the room, terrified.

“We’re sleeping in the car!”

I eventually pried myself from the door and went in search of cleaning supplies. I swept and mopped, washed down walls, dragged chewed and soiled mattresses down the stairs and out the front door. The only bright part of my day was finding love letters Gran had exchanged with Mr. Cavanaugh. I had a flash of worry that they’d contain passages more graphic than I could deal with in relation to Gran. Luckily, they were charming and considerate, loving and funny. I sat in the middle of her bedroom, tears streaming down my face, so happy that Gran had had this man in her life, but hollowed out by my own inability to inspire that kind of devotion in another person.

By nightfall, I was sweaty, depressed and covered in substances best not to consider. My last task of the day was to clean the bathroom, and then take a long, scalding shower. I stood under the water, tension leaving my muscles, and I finally let go of what I’d been holding tightly in check. My Gran was dead. She’d called for me on her deathbed, and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there to pray over her grave and say goodbye. I wasn’t there. Instead, I was feeling sorry for myself a country away because I’d chosen to marry a faithless bastard. I was a fuckup, plain and simple. I sobbed against the now-white tiles, drowning in self-loathing.

Cleaned, dried and wearing sweats, I walked back downstairs, Chaucer at my heels. I’d put out his food and water bowls as soon as I’d started cleaning, so at least he’d been fed. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I found a plastic container of granola. It had been gnawed upon, but the rodent hadn’t made it through. I’d already thrown out all the boxes of foodstuffs. They hadn’t survived the critter-pocalypse.

I stuffed a few handfuls of cereal in my mouth and choked. I washed it down with tepid tap water, while dreaming of mashed potatoes. Maybe some baked mac and cheese. I needed comfort food, stat! Instead I ate another handful of granola and called it good. My stomach hurt. Apparently, it was disgusted with me, too.

I’d found some blankets in the upstairs linen closet. Gran’s water and electricity were still working, so I’d been able to wash them. I knew I’d freeze, sleeping in the car, without something to keep me warm. I considered sleeping on the living room floor, with Chaucer curled up next to me, but then I thought about all the creatures still hiding somewhere in the house, and me sleeping down where they’d have easy access to my face. Just nope.

Chaucer followed me outside. I moved the front seats as far forward as they would go. Chaucer took the back seat, as he had every time he got in. I felt bad making him sleep on the floor of the car, but I did put a blanket down first to cushion it. I lay across the back seat, one blanket cocooning me, while another served as my pillow. I fell asleep with a hand on Chaucer’s head.

Sometime later, I was jolted out of sleep by a bark and a bang. Again, I might have shrieked. A flashlight beam cut through the pitch-black. I sat up, plastered against the far door, the blanket pulled up to my nose. Chaucer’s deep bark boomed in the too-small car. The light spun and illuminated a hideous face. That time I knew I’d shrieked—I was aware of it at the time in a huh-I-didn’t-realize-that-I-actually-made-that-sound kind of way.

He put his fingers over the top of the flashlight and then pointed it at himself again. Without the under glare, he wasn’t hideous, just really freaking annoying.

“What the hell, dude? Is this your thing? Do you sneak up on people in the middle of the night, peeking in windows, trying to scare the crap out of them?”

“Why are you sleeping in your car? It’s thirty degrees, and this back window has holes in it.” His voice was a rumble in the dark, clearly audible through the cracked and broken windows.

“It’s brisk. Chaucer and I sleep better with an open window.”

He grumbled something I didn’t hear. “Katie, why aren’t you sleeping in the house?”

“It’s infested. Rodents, bats, who knows what else. I cleaned all day, and I’m not even close to done.” Wait a minute. “Why do you care? I’m on my own property.” I checked my watch. “And it’s four in the morning. Why are you even here, freaky stalker cop?”

More grumbling. I’m pretty sure I heard some cussing, too. “I’m not stalking you. I got into the habit of driving by Nellie’s house to keep an eye on it over the last few months. I forgot about you until I saw the car. Then I saw the mattresses and junk on the porch. I got out to investigate and saw you, sleeping in your beat-to-shit car.”

Humph. “A likely story.”

I think he was grinding his teeth now. Weird sound. “One more time. Why are you sleeping in your car? If the house isn’t habitable, why didn’t you go to a hotel?”

“Hotels are expensive, genius. I’m just going to go back to cleaning when I wake up, which is apparently now, fricking Nosy Parker.” I pulled the blanket tighter around myself.

He turned, and his flashlight beam lit up the porch and house. “How did animals get in?”

I blew out a breath. “Three windows were left open, the screens chewed through. From the looks of it, they had quite the kegger.”

“I didn’t think to check all the windows. When Nellie got sick, Pops moved her into his house so she wouldn’t have to climb stairs, and so he’d be there when she needed him. Her house has been empty for months.”

The night was becoming more gray than black, allowing me to see the annoyance written all over his face. “Do you want me to go in? Try to get rid of whatever’s taken roost?”

“No, thanks. Bye now!” My stomach chose that moment to rumble. Chaucer shifted, putting his head in my lap to investigate the sound.

More swearing. “Have you eaten?”

“You bet. See ya!” The damn cop would not take a hint.

He started to back away, thank goodness, but then stopped. “I can come back with my pickup. Take all that stuff to the dump for you.”

I leaned forward again, trying to get a better look at his expression. “Why would you do that? You don’t like me, remember?”

“I don’t care enough to not like you. Anyway it’s Nellie I’m thinking about.” He exhaled sharply. “I should have checked the windows. I’ve been driving by every day to check on her house and never once thought about the inside.”

He turned back to me. “Listen, don’t let Pops know, okay? He’s been killing himself tending the garden for her. Just...don’t tell him. Okay?”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll go get my pickup now. Can you pull out anything else that’s been destroyed? And I’ll haul it all away. He may stop by to check on the plants. I don’t want him seeing any of this.”

“Okay.”

He jogged back to his cruiser and left without another word.

“I guess we’re getting started early this morning,” I said to Chaucer.

I fed him with what was left in the bag of dog food. “We need to go shopping today, buddy.”

I cleaned out the rest of the pantry and then the closet under the stairs. Most of the jackets and things that were hanging had been shredded, as though something was searching for food. One looked in decent shape, so I put it aside to wash.

There was a box on the floor that squeaked. I dragged it out of the closet and quickly stuffed a stray scarf into the hole that had been chewed in the side. If there was a nest of rats in the box, I didn’t want to know anything about it. Ever. I hauled it out to the porch, and then pushed it to the extreme end, wanting it as far away as possible. I pretended not to hear the scratching coming from inside. Nope. I didn’t hear a thing.

I stuffed all the sheets and towels that had been used as varmint beds into a large garbage bag, and threw it down the stairs. After I’d gone through the closets and tossed everything that had been gnawed or defecated on, I went back downstairs and stared at my nemesis, the couch. That rat had probably come back during the night, burrowing into the soft, warm couch, laughing its little rat ass off at my sleeping in the car. I wasn’t letting that asshole win. That couch was out of here. I didn’t care if I lived on lawn furniture for the next year, I wasn’t settling for a rat’s sloppy seconds.

I glared at the piece of furniture another minute, and then started pushing it toward the door. Chaucer hopped up on the couch, because rides are fun, and let me struggle to get the damn thing across the room.

“Not helping, buddy,” I gasped. He grinned at me and rolled over.

“Need some help?”

My heart seized. For one terrifying moment, I thought the rat was taunting me. Aiden stood in the doorway, watching me. I looked down at Chaucer who was still pretending to sleep. “Some guard dog you are.” His rear paws kicked into the air.

Aiden didn’t wait for an answer. He walked in, nudged me out of the way and pushed the couch across the floor, Chaucer and all. At the doorway, he tipped my dog out and looked at me. “Can you get the other end, help me get it out?”

As long as he was going to do all the heavy lifting, fine by me. I climbed over the end, leaned down to grab the couch arm and yelled, “Pivot!”

Staring at me a beat, he shook his head. “I can’t decide if you’re insane or...”

I raised my hand in the air. “Oh. Oh. I know!”

Rolling his eyes, he shoved the couch out the door. He pushed it all the way down the porch steps, dragging it up into the bed of his truck. When he was done, he jogged back up the steps and picked up a mattress, shouldered it back to the truck and tossed it in.

I watched as he did the same with the other mattress and the bags of chewed-up linens. When he went for the rat box, I felt the need to advise caution. “You’ll want to be very careful with that box. You may hear squeaking and scratching. Ignore it. And for goodness’ sake, do not open the lid!”

When he studied the box warily, I knew we were on the same page. He glanced at me and then at his truck bed. “Is this all of it?”

“Nope.”

“Then why are you just standing there watching me?” He placed the rat box securely in a corner, where it wouldn’t be jostled. Smart man.

“It’s fun to watch other people work. Duh.” I walked back in the house to see what I had missed.

“Insane!” he shouted from the front yard.

“Pfft. As if.” I walked through the living room, dining room, kitchen and bath on the first floor. I would need to mop the floors again, but just about everything seemed to be cleared out.

“Are we done?” Aiden was back in the doorway, looking at the empty rooms.

Pointing at the squashy chair, I said, “I haven’t had the nerve to check that yet.”

He strode over to the chair and cautiously lifted the cushion, looking underneath. When he jumped and threw the cushion, I screamed and ran for the porch. I was hiding around the corner when I heard his booming laugh. Bastard.

Strolling back in, my arms crossed, I said, “Hilarious.”

Chuckling, he put the cushion back. “Good news. You have somewhere to sit.”

“Yay, me.” I looked around the empty rooms, wondering if I’d be able to sleep in that chair. “I couldn’t lift the box springs upstairs. Getting the mattresses down just about killed me.”

He looked me up and down. “How did you get the mattresses down the stairs and out the door?”

“Terror is a great motivator.”

He jogged up the stairs. “Okay. Two box springs coming down.” When he returned a few minutes later, he said, “You’re going to want to pick up some traps. Oh, and don’t go in the bedrooms for a few minutes.”

“What? Why?” It’d probably be easier to just sell the house and start again.

“No reason.” He tossed a box spring onto the tower of crap in his truck. When he came back in, he detoured by the dining table, picked up two empty garbage bags and checked the gun in his holster.

“What the hell is up there?” That settled it. I was living in my car.

He trotted down a few minutes later, two big bags held tightly in his hands. I swear I saw one of them move.

“What is it?” I backed away as he went out the door, placing them gently in the back of his truck, before holding them down with a box of shredded books. “Seriously, Aiden. You have to tell me. I’ll never sleep again. And how do you know there aren’t babies or eggs or some other smaller version of those things that are going to grow up and bite my head off?”

He watched me panic, backing farther away from the house. His lips twitched, and I stopped. What. The. Hell. He turned his back on me, shoulders shaking.

“You’re screwing with me?” I screeched. I stalked across the yard and proceeded to smack every inch of him that I could reach. “You ass! I was planning to spend the next few years living in my car because of you!”

The bastard was laughing so hard, he had a difficult time fighting off my slaps. Finally, he grabbed both wrists and held them together in front of me. “This position probably feels pretty familiar, huh?”

I glared. I couldn’t move my arms, so I kicked him.

“No kicking. Or slapping. You already have a record of accosting police officers. I’d hate to have to lock you up again.”

As a child, he’d been a hero, facing down bullies. As an adult, it looked like he’d become one. “That hurts,” I said, voice low and expressionless.

He loosened his grip immediately and began rubbing my wrists with his thumbs. I could feel tears gathering. I wouldn’t look at him. I pulled my arms away and strode back into the house, slamming the door after me. I realized too late that Chaucer was still sitting on the porch. My dramatic exit lost a few points when I had to open the door and call him in.

Aiden

I KEPT CHECKING my rearview mirrors to make sure nothing was slipping off the truck. I couldn’t believe it had never occurred to me to check inside Nellie’s house. Pops hadn’t stepped foot inside since she got sick. I doubt he’d change that status today, but I didn’t want him to know what we let happen.

Walking through the place, it didn’t feel like Nellie’s anymore. Her furniture was missing. Her walls were dirty. The paintings and photos had been taken down. It was a shell. Nellie was absent, and the loss of her hit hard.

Honk. I turned to see Nancy driving in the other direction, waving at me. I lifted one hand in acknowledgment. Nancy was a mistake. I’d been paying for that lapse in judgment ever since I’d slept with her. Once. Almost year ago now. She wouldn’t leave me alone. Every time I turned around, there she was, talking too close and touching my arm. I needed to figure out what to do.

And why was Katie back in Bar Harbor and sleeping in her car? When I saw furniture piled up on the porch, I’d thought Nellie’s place was being robbed. It wasn’t until I’d driven close enough to see her trashed BMW that I’d remembered.

I was sorry to have scared her, but why wasn’t she at a hotel? That house wasn’t going to be livable for a while. The floors would need to be stripped, sanded and resealed. The walls and ceilings would need to be painted, furniture replaced. But before any of that could happen, she’d need an exterminator. I saw enough movement walking through that house to know she had a major infestation problem. I heard scratching in the ceiling, too. She probably had raccoon or opossums living up there. What’s she going to do? Sleep on the floor through all that? Nah. She found herself a rich husband, trashed his $60,000 car and then made jokes about being arrested. It was all a big joke to her. She’d figure things out.

A twinge of regret poked at me. I didn’t mean to hurt her wrists, though. I was just playing around.

Huh. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d played.

She was fighting back tears at the end. Was I being a dick, or was she just not used to being teased? Oh, hell. It was done, and I wasn’t seeing her again, hopefully. What difference did it make?

Still. Even after all these years, looking at her took my breath away. Four in the morning, hair sticking out in every direction, scared out of her wits, blanket pulled up to her nose, and I wanted to drag her into my arms and kiss her senseless. Oh, fuck me.


CHAPTER EIGHT (#ua0119f64-7923-58ff-b597-fc99d06549e9)

Kate

SITTING AT THE freshly washed worktable with a notepad and pen, I wrote a list of what I needed for my new life.

1) NO MEN! My life will be greatly improved by their absence.

2) A clean, animal-free (except for Chaucer) house.

3) Food.

4) Money to buy aforementioned food.

Sighing, I considered my needs. I needed Gran to forgive me for not being here when I should have been. One week a year hadn’t been enough. I hadn’t fought Justin the way I should have, the way Gran would have for me. I needed...

5) Forgiveness. Someday.

6) Better decision-making skills!

Seriously, was I absent from school when they taught that unit?

6b) Stop making fear-based decisions!

After Dad died and Mom fell apart, fear had consumed me. I no longer ran toward what I wanted. I ran away from what I feared. Dad was gone. There one minute and gone the next. Stroke. Anyone at any time could disappear, and I’d be left alone. I’d trailed after Mom, doing everything I could think of to keep her afloat. I couldn’t lose her, too. I think that was how Justin wormed his way into my life. He seemed solid and dependable, protective. It took me too long to realize that controlling and protective were two very different things. And solid? Dependable? Not so much.

7) A job. To get money. To buy food.

Doing what, though? I’d only ever done research work for Mom. Cleaning out her office, grading undergrad tests, returning books to the library. Hmm, I did pretty much the same for Justin, minus the research, tests and library. I ran errands, cooked, cleaned, paid bills. Did anyone in town need a personal assistant?

8) Cleaning gloves.

The mold in Gran’s fridge had been epic.

9) Traps, big and small.

Crap, I was going to have to throw out critters stuck in traps, wasn’t I? I thought longingly of the car. Maybe I really should live in the car.

10) Dog food.

11) Every cleaning and disinfecting product they sell.

12) A sleeping bag.

13) A dog bed.

14) A pillow.

15) Chocolate, lots of chocolate.

16) Toilet paper.

17) Shampoo and conditioner.

18) Razor blades.

19) Chips, every kind of chip.

As the list got longer, one thing became very clear. Starting completely from scratch was impossible. Oh, and ten years of having my every move and meal monitored had turned me into an irresponsible teenager given a hundred bucks for food on a weekend her parents were away. Ice cream was a perfectly acceptable dinner, right?

Once I’d completed my list, I collected my dog and headed for town. “Listen, buddy, you have to stay in the car while I shop. Don’t try to hot-wire it and leave me stranded, okay? That is not good puppy behavior.” I left Chaucer with a large rawhide stick and went in.

The pile in my cart grew quickly, becoming precarious. The contents of said cart also put me on the receiving end of some strange looks, but if they thought I was an exterminator with an eating disorder, then who was really hurt? Ten years of low-fat, high-protein, low-carb organic with a side of steamed vegetables may have made me healthy, but it definitely hadn’t made me happy. I figured it was time to give high-fat a try. One hundred million obese Americans couldn’t be wrong.

Third in line at the checkout stand meant I could do a little people watching, all in the name of acclimatizing to my new environs, of course.

20) Wear more plaid.

21) Get good, warm boots.

Shit, I needed clothing for snow. I’d never lived where it snowed. My cold-weather gear was already at its warmth limits, and it was only October.

The cashier was working a sister-wife vibe, but if she liked long-sleeve, high-neck chambray dresses with World War II hair, who was I to comment?

Three-hundred sixty-two dollars and fifty-nine cents of traps, poisons, bleach and junk food sat on the counter, waiting to be bagged. I felt a strange mixture of horror, embarrassment and pure pleasure. Until sister-wife swiped my card and it was declined.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, the card isn’t going through. It says I should confiscate it.” She was gleefully apologetic.

He’d canceled my credit card, the Nutsack. Sure, why not? It wasn’t like I was the one who had cheated. Fidelity should be punished.

I handed her my debit card. There was roughly eight hundred dollars in my checking account. She swiped it, and I waited to see if he was angry or if he truly hated me. Her computer buzzed. I recognized the schadenfreude making sister-wife’s eyes bright while the enormity of what was happening rolled over me. My husband of ten years wanted me broke, unable to care for myself or for the dog he hated. He wanted me... What, on the streets? No, he wanted me to come crawling back to him, to apologize, to suffer for having embarrassed him. Forget about love. Would he treat me this way if he even liked me? I was having a humiliating revelation while sister-wife looked on, taking notes for the retelling.

“I see,” I said, and I guess I did. I saw exactly what I meant to him. I checked my wallet. I had eighty-seven dollars in cash, but I still needed to pick up Chaucer’s food. That meant I had about forty-five dollars I could spend here. Apparently I was also going to need to start selling blood.

I looked up at the annoyed cashier, and then back at the four people waiting in line. Sweat broke out on my forehead.

22) Find a hole. Jump in.

The woman second in line checked her watch. I wanted to run to my car and hide, but I needed traps and food. I stood up straighter and powered through.

“Sorry, everyone. I’ll just be a few more minutes.” My heart raced, pounding in my ears as everyone watched me figure out how to pay for three hundred dollars’ worth of groceries with forty dollars.

Sister-wife watched, but didn’t offer any help. I kind of hated her. “I’m sorry. I’ll need to put a lot of this back.” I pulled out the traps, the big bottle of discount spray cleaner—I could probably cut it with water to make it last longer—the jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. I pushed the bags of chips and cartons of ice cream, the pasta and vegetables, all down to the end of her counter.

“I’m sorry. I can’t get those things today.” I gestured to my much smaller pile. “Could you ring me up for just these items?”

She sighed heavily and turned back to the computer. “I need to void out your original order first.” She hit a few buttons and a long tape spit out. She paused and looked at me before she started scanning. “Can you keep an eye on the total as I go? Let me know if I need to stop?”

My eye twitched. A bead of sweat ran down my spine. I nodded.

After another sigh, she began scanning. She did it slowly, checking after each item to see if she should keep going. The people in line shifted, looking around as though trying to will another checker to appear.

My revised total was forty-one dollars. I paid and left as quickly as possible without actually running.

I put the grocery bag in the trunk and then sat in the car for a while, breathing deeply and wishing I could take back the last twenty minutes of my life. If I’d checked my accounts this morning, I would have known what he’d done. I leaned back and let the tears go. Thirty years old and I couldn’t pay for my own damn groceries.

Chaucer leaned over the seat, resting his head on my shoulder again. After a minute, he licked my face. “You’re right. Humiliating, but in the grand scheme of things, not important. I’ll call my lawyer. Let her deal with it.” I glanced at the front windows of the stores around me, looking for a help-wanted sign. “In the meantime, I need to find a job. Kibble doesn’t grow on trees, you know.” I wiped my face and sat up straight. “Enough of that.” I had responsibilities, and feeling sorry for myself wasn’t one of them. “Let’s go see if that feed store is still across town.”

Once we were back on the road again, I looked in the rearview mirror at my poor boy, falling off the seat, trying to figure out how to turn around in a space that would have been difficult for a dog half his size. From California to Maine, he’d been uncomfortably squished in the back seat with nary a whimper or whine. I needed to do a better job of taking care of my family. “Someday, I’ll get us a big rig, one with snow tires, four-wheel drive and a roomy back seat. Okay?” He sniffed my ear in agreement.

The feed store was right where they’d left it, so once I’d wedged a forty-pound bag of kibble into the passenger seat, I pulled out my phone to call my lawyer. No service. It went right to an emergency screen, allowing for a 911 call. That Shithead had turned off my phone, as well.

I dropped it back in my purse and started the car. “Let’s go for a walk, okay? I think we can both use one.”

This was good. It was. He was forcing me to start over fresh.

I parked on Main. I figured we could window-shop on our way down to the harbor. We’d just started walking when Chaucer pulled on his leash, which was very unlike him. I looked across the street and saw Aiden. He was talking to the tall, cool brunette who liked to rub his arm. See? She was doing it again. Chaucer wanted to go to him, but I held him firm.

Turning away from Aiden, I pretended to look in the store window; Chaucer sighed and flopped down at my feet to wait. The butthead probably thought I was an idiot, crying over ouchy wrists. I looked past his reflection into the store and saw it was empty, and not a store at all but a little restaurant.

I may not be able to do much, but I could cook. I may never have finished college, and I may have few marketable skills. I may not have held a job since before I was married, but—wait, what was my point? Oh, right, I’m an unemployable loser. Good pep talk. Maybe I’ll go into motivational speaking.

I stared in the window, dreaming of opening my own breakfast diner—the colors I would paint, the items on the menu, the name. It was all so much stuff and nonsense, but it felt wonderful and I was reluctant to walk away. The placard in the corner of the window said the location was to lease, and it gave an agent’s name and number. Although I recognized it as foolishness, I copied the number on an envelope in my bag before tugging on the leash, letting Chaucer know our walk was continuing.

“Look at the big, lit-up elk. Moose? Deer... What the hell is that on the roof? Moose, definitely a moose. Think they let doggies in their shop? Probably not. Too bad. I could really use a shot glass with a cartoon lobster on it. Come on, baby, we’re almost to the water.”

The ocean was only a block away. The air was ripe with the tang of the sea. Chaucer shook himself and began to pull again. Newfoundlands were water dogs. If I let him, he’d run to the water’s edge and jump without a second thought. It was one of the reasons I’d decided to come to Gran’s house. I knew Chaucer would love living by the sea.

Main Street gave way to an expansive view of the Atlantic, blue gray as far as the eye could see. Fishing boats dotted the water along the horizon, their labor and strain taking on a romance with the distance. A masted schooner sat close to shore. Chaucer yearned for the water and gave a little whine.

“Oh, all right. But don’t you dare shake all over me,” I said, as I leaned over to detach the leash. When he looked up at me, I gave him the go-ahead sign. He barreled over the brick walkway and went flying into the ocean. I followed at a much slower pace, bursting out laughing when he belly flopped. I made my way to the dock and sat to watch my baby frolic in the waves.

The wind was icy off the water, but I was hard-pressed to call Chaucer back to me. The punishing winds cleansed as they tore through my clothes and hair. I closed my eyes, felt the cold of the frigid rocks below me seep into my bones and let the ocean winds blow away the uncertainty and humiliation that filled me.

A furry lick on my cheek made me open my eyes. I grinned up at him and then shot to my feet, backing up quickly. “No. Wait. You promised!” He started to shake, sending water flying. Within seconds I was drenched and sputtering, water dripping off my face. Chaucer laughed at me, as only dogs can when they know they’ve gotten you good.

“All right, funny boy.” I attached his leash. “There’s a sunny park across the street. After we dry, we’ll go eat. Okay?”

Agamont Park was alive, tall trees showing their fall colors, a bright white gazebo overlooking the harbor, an ornate fountain surrounded by benches. I looked with longing at the mothers and small children playing near the fountain. I wanted children. I wanted them so badly it was an ache that seemed to crush me some days. Justin had refused, had been refusing for years. After one particularly ugly confrontation on the topic, I’d been informed that he had no desire to watch me get fat and that I hadn’t convinced him that I could be entrusted with the care of a child. Perhaps with a nanny...

I’d adopted Chaucer the following week. Justin was angry and indignant that I would do something so ill conceived and irresponsible. Poor Chaucer had had to deal with my babying while Justin had wavered between pretending Chaucer didn’t exist and railing against the dog hair on his slacks.

I lay down in the soft grass, Chaucer reclining next to me. I secured his leash under my butt and then around my arm so if he got any ideas about chasing squirrels, he’d have to drag me with him. I watched a red dragon kite trace a figure eight in the sky before multiple sleepless nights finally caught up with me, and I dozed off.

A throat clearing woke me a little while later. When I opened my eyes, a large black shape loomed, silhouetted against the sun. I flinched and shaded my eyes, squinting against the glare. I felt a tug on my arm. I looked up and found Chaucer standing behind me.

“Ma’am, we received a report of a vagrant with a large bear frightening small children.”

I knew that deep rumble. “Seriously? You’re rousting me again?”

He squatted down so I could see the glint in his eye. “Did you shower in your clothes?”

Chaucer responded by sniffing Aiden’s ear, and I’ll admit it—if you’re not prepared for it—it can be an odd experience. Let’s just say that Aiden wasn’t prepared. He flinched, losing his balance and ended up dumped on his ass. It made me smile. “Good boy,” I said, ruffling the fur behind my baby’s ear.

Aiden pulled his sunglasses down his nose, his narrowed gaze studying me over the rims. “You make a habit of napping in public parks, ma’am?”

Today was just getting better and better. “Have we not discussed my feelings about being addressed as ma’am? I’m pretty sure we have. And does your doctor know you’ve gone off your lithium? Regular use of the proper medication can make these mood swings a thing of the past.” I stood and adjusted Chaucer’s leash. “Officer, you have a good day now.”

Something inside me rebelled against the idea of turning tail and running. No more fear-based decisions. I was divorcing constant disapproval. I didn’t need to invite more in.

He stood, still staring at me over his dark lenses, a strange expression on his face.

“Let me ask you something,” I said. “Was this necessary? I’m pretty sure I wasn’t breaking any laws here. Couldn’t you have just said, ‘Hi, Katie, how’s it going today?’ Are you under the impression that I miss the disdain, the mocking?”

Hurt flashed through his eyes before he pushed the glasses back up his nose into place.

“You’re wrong.” I turned around and made my way across the park and up Main Street. I chanced a look back as I crossed the road. He still stood in the park, his hands at his hips and head bowed.

It’s number one on the list for a reason—no men. They’re nothing but trouble.

As I continued back through town, I knew it was still a jewel—sidewalks bustling, people browsing and sightseeing—but it had lost some of its luster. We walked toward the car and the vacant restaurant. What was I thinking? I didn’t know the first thing about opening a diner or running a business. Stupid.

We’d almost passed it when I noticed the front door was ajar. I pushed it, and it swung open freely. I’d planned to close the door, make sure it locked, but I was drawn in. Instead of doing a good deed, I decided to trespass. Just more of my good decision-making skills at work.

“Hello?” I waited a moment. “Is anyone in here?” I stepped forward, Chaucer at my heels. “You left the door open. Hello?” Chaucer didn’t see the need to stand by the door, so when he tugged at the end of his leash, I dropped it, letting it slide along the floor behind him.

I followed my pup’s lead and wandered in. The space was empty but completely realized in my mind. I stood in the middle of the room, looking out the big, front windows, imagining that this would be my view every day. I’d cook back there, bring plates of food to people seated around this room and occasionally I’d pause, right here, to gaze out the window and watch the world of Bar Harbor stroll by.

Looking up, I imagined adding tin ceiling tiles, painting them a soft white, with a large, crystal-laden chandelier hanging in the center of the room. Black wrought iron tables and chairs, reminiscent of a Parisian café, and dark, red leather high-backed benches lining the walls completed the picture.

I was just settling into the daydream when I heard a shout from the back. Chaucer trotted toward me from the kitchen area, looking innocent and just as confused as I was by the shout. “Yeah, not buying it for a minute, buddy.”

I took a tentative step forward, unsure if I should apologize for trespassing with my big, scary dog or run like hell before anyone saw me. I heard heavy footsteps and a deep voice grumbling. Chaucer didn’t seem at all concerned, so I stayed where I was.

A huge mountain of a man walked out of the kitchen, stopping short when he saw us. He appeared to be close to my age, with short brown hair and golden brown eyes. “Oh.” He scratched his head. “I thought I saw a bear cub.” He leaned down, extending a hand for Chaucer to sniff. “This makes more sense.” He looked over at me and stared. “Well, hello.” He grinned and his face lit up. Dimples. My kryptonite.

23) If at all possible, find a hunky guy with dimples for making out.

“Sorry. I saw the door open, and I intended to close it, but then, well, it just looked so cute in here. I wanted a closer look. I’m really sorry we barged in and that Chaucer startled you.”

He crouched down, giving Chaucer a good strong rub. “Is that your name, buddy? Chaucer? Now, this is a good-sized dog—my size.” He whispered, “Those little, yappy ones make me nervous.” Standing, he extended his hand to me. “Bear.”

I shook it. “Bear?”

He shrugged broad shoulders, and a faint red tinge colored his cheeks. “Levi Berenson. My friends just call me Bear, for obvious reasons.”

“Kate Gallagher.” I was getting a crick in my neck from looking up at him. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall and was built like a linebacker.

“It’s nice to meet you and Chaucer.” He studied me. “So, what brings you in? Were you looking for someone?” He stepped away from me so I didn’t have to strain to look up.

“Nope. Just being nosy and daydreaming.”

He tipped back on his heels, nodding. “I have a healthy respect for daydreaming. I’m a contractor, and without daydreams, I’d be bored stiff most of the day.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Come on, then. You should see it all.”

I followed him back. Oddly enough, it never occurred to me to be nervous around a man who could break me in two without even trying.

Walking through the open doorway, he said, “This is the kitchen. It was remodeled a few years ago.” He tilted his head. “By me. It’s a good setup, and all the appliances still work great. I wanted to open up that wall there. Make it a half wall between the kitchen and the wait station and lunch counter. The previous tenants didn’t like the idea, and the owner was fine with whatever they wanted.”

He gestured to his left. “This is the walk-in cold box and the reason I’m here today. The previous tenants complained about spots getting warm in here. I’d just started checking it out when this guy wandered in and sniffed my leg.” His hand dropped to Chaucer’s head and began petting.

Leaning forward, I peeked around the corner into the cold room.

He laughed. “I promise not to lock the door on you. Go on in, if you want.”

I stepped back, looking at him warily. “Yeah, I’m good right here.”

He chuckled again and shook his head. “Okay, let’s continue our tour. Pantry’s over there.” He pointed to the right. “Storage closet over here.” He motioned again. “Dumpster and additional parking through the back door.” He opened the back door and stepped out. “I always thought this would make a great patio dining area.”

“Yeah, I can see why. The Dumpster is lovely. If they painted some flower vines around the graffitied profanity, it would really romance up the place. Good call.” I kept a straight face as I nodded, studying the area.

“A smart-ass, eh? Good to know.” Grinning, he stepped back inside. “Come on, funny girl. Tour’s over. I need to get back to work.”

As we walked through the kitchen, I detoured by the stove. It was a gorgeous Viking industrial-grade range. “Ooh, so pretty,” I whispered. I ran my fingers lightly over the knobs, wishing I could cook on a range like this.

“Should I leave you two alone?”

I turned, finding Bear watching me, his eyes bright with humor. “Um, yeah, if you could, that would be great. I have knobs to turn, buttons to push, maybe even some cavities to explore.”

Bear choked out a laugh. “I like you, Kate, and your little dog, too.” He paused, looking at me thoughtfully. “Gallagher? As in Nellie Gallagher?”

“Yes. Did you know Gran?”

He shook his head, his hands on his hips. “Figures. The first woman I’ve met in far too long, that I’d like to get to know better—” he stepped closer, only an arm’s length away “—a woman I’d love to take to dinner tonight, is related to the only woman I’ve ever wanted to marry.”

I laughed. “Don’t you think my grandmother was a little old for you?”

“Nope. My devotion couldn’t be swayed by a little thing like forty years.”

Gah! Dimples again. He was killing me. “I hope you didn’t let Mr. Cavanaugh hear you say things like that. He could still whoop your butt, boy.” I leaned back against the stove.

“Don’t I know it. Luckily, he was secure in her love and wasn’t threatened by my pining for his girl. For some reason, she preferred that old coot.” He turned and walked back toward the dining area. “No accounting for taste.”

Chaucer and I were right behind Bear when I saw the front door open. “Bear! You working today?” Aiden walked in, taking off his sunglasses. “Oh, there you are. Listen, can you stop by Pops’s place later today? He wants a glider on his back porch, thought maybe you could build him—”

Chaucer walked around Bear, his leash still sliding along the floor behind him. Aiden stopped midsentence, pointed, questions written all over his face. Bear crouched down, getting Chaucer in a headlock and thereby revealing me, not that I was hiding or anything. “Hey, Aiden, have you met Chaucer?” He looked over his shoulder at me. “And this is his mom, Kate. Kate was just considering going out to dinner with me. Maybe if the chief of police could let her know I’m not going to tie her up and feed her to hungry cats, she might be more likely to agree.”

Aiden stared, his face entirely blank.

I walked over to grab Chaucer’s leash and to get the hell away from Officer Buttmunch. “Thanks for the tour, Bear. I’ll let you get back to work.”

Bear looked up at Aiden, waiting for him to speak. Aiden was still silent as I walked out the door. When we got back to the car, I let Chaucer in first before settling in behind the wheel.

Bear hurried out and leaned against the passenger door. He raised his eyebrows, waiting. I turned the key and lowered the window.

“Sorry. I have no idea what that was about with Aiden, but I really am a nice guy. Promise.” He bent down, resting his forearms on the edge of the door. Chaucer leaned forward and licked Bear’s face. Bear chuckled. “Thanks, buddy.” Turning back to me, his warm brown eyes were hopeful. “Can I talk you into dinner tonight?”

Strangely enough, even though men were strictly verboten, I wanted to say yes. Then again, dimples were on my to-do list. “That sounds lovely, but I’m going through a divorce right now. I think the timing is—”

“Perfect.” He grinned and I felt a flutter. Damn dimples. “It’s just dinner. We’ll talk. We’ll eat. I promise not to propose. It’ll be good. What do you say I pick you up at seven?” He stretched his arm through the window, hitting the button to lower the rear-door window. He moved back to Chaucer to give him a full-body rub through the window. “Later, little bear cub. Feel free to come visit me anytime.” He stepped back to the front window and leaned down. “So, make any decisions yet?”

* * *

WHEN CHAUCER AND I returned home, I curled up on the one chair left in the living room and tried to erase the day’s events by slipping into a coma. It worked for about two hours, until the house phone woke me up. I went to the kitchen and warily picked up the receiver. Don’t be Justin.

“Kate? Are you there?”

Damn! I’d forgotten. “Hi, Mom. Yes, I’m here.” I hopped up on the counter, feet dangling and banging against the cupboards.

“My goodness, I’ve been worried sick. You said you’d call when you arrived. I haven’t been able to get a hold of you for days. Your cell is disconnected. What’s been going on?”

“Sorry. The drive was really long and exhausting. I finally arrived before dawn two days ago.”

“Oh, well, good.” The worry faded from her voice. Mom couldn’t hold on to strong emotions anymore. They ran like water through her fingers.

“I didn’t realize Justin had disconnected my phone until this morning.” Shoot. “I’d better call Christine, too. She was checking in daily. I assumed I hadn’t heard from her because she was busy.” Could I still get to my contact info? I didn’t know anyone’s phone number by heart.

“Well, that’s done. You’re there. That’s all that matters. So, is her house just as you remembered? It’s strange, isn’t it, how much our perceptions can alter our memories? The house probably seems much smaller than you thought it was as a child. Since you were smaller, the house seemed bigger...”

Honestly, I zoned out a little. I’d already heard Mom’s theories on perception versus reality many times. I knew she was trying to cope with her worry by burying it under cold, theoretical questions.

Still, I only had four dollars to my name. I needed help. “Mom,” I interrupted. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Oh, of course, dear. I’m sorry. I lost track.”

“No, it’s fine.” I felt like I was standing in that checkout line all over again, everyone watching while I counted out pennies. Gah! I did not want to do this! “Mom, I need some help. Justin closed down my credit and debit cards. Would you be able to loan me some money—just until I get a job and can pay you back?”

“Oh, honey. I can’t believe he did that! Did you call your lawyer? He doesn’t have the right to do that!” She sighed, anger fading. “I could send my graduate students over to beat him for you. Shall I do that, dear? One of them is quite large.”

I gave a wheezy laugh. “Thanks, Mom, but I don’t think we need more people arrested.”

“Some of these boys are very big and strong. They could follow him, wait until he’s alone and then jump him. Who would ever suspect a couple of archeology grad students? It’s a perfect crime!”

I laughed. It felt good. “That’d be a pretty quick line to draw, Mom. Grad student to adviser to me.”

“Oh, you.” She chuckled. “I thought it was a good plan.” Sighing, she said, “Of course I’ll send you money. Is a check okay? Or should I wire the money to you directly?”

Hmm, good question. “How about a check, Mom? I’ll need to go into town and open a checking account, anyway.”

“Okay, dear. I’m writing it as we speak. I’ll have one of my students run over to the post office for me. I have a class starting in a few minutes.” She paused. “I love you, sweetie. Hang tough. You’ll make it through this. You’re made of much stronger stuff than me. You’ll be just fine. I promise.”

My throat constricted at her absolute faith in me. I wasn’t sure I shared her confidence, but it helped me sit a little straighter. I didn’t even realize how crushing the pressure was until it had eased some. “Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.”

I hung up and looked down at Chaucer, who was lying on the floor in front of me. “Okay, buddy. It’s time to hunt us some critters!” I hopped down, and pulled the traps and peanut butter out of a bag on the counter. “Everybody likes peanut butter, right?”

It’d be my luck to end up with a house full of pests who suffered from nut allergies.


CHAPTER NINE (#ua0119f64-7923-58ff-b597-fc99d06549e9)

Aiden

FUCKING BEAR. I turned away from the diner window. I was not going to watch him flirt with Katie. Especially since I’d already witnessed him getting her to laugh.

The door opened behind me. “What the hell was that? You are the world’s shittiest wingman! I have a gorgeous redhead—and you know how I feel about redheads—standing here, with the greatest dog I’ve ever met, and you can’t be bothered to tell her I’m not an ax murderer? What good is having a cop friend if he can’t reassure beautiful women to take a chance on me?” He paused and studied me for a second, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve been playing poker with you for ten years. I know that face. Are you interested in her?”

I wanted to punch that grin off his face. “Don’t be stupid. Of course not.”

Bear dropped his hands from his waist, staring at me in disbelief. “You can look at that woman, who by the way is very funny, and say of course you’re not interested? Trust me, if there’s anyone being stupid around here, it ain’t me.” He headed back to the kitchen and then stopped. “Seriously, Aiden. Do you want me to back off? It’s been a year and you haven’t dated.”

“I date.”

“If we’re using the word date the way prostitutes do, then sure.”

I considered how hard I’d need to punch him to dump him on his ass. “I’m not interested in Katie Gallagher.”

Bear just stared and then broke out the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen. “Good.” He turned and went back to work.

I left Bear and walked toward the station, trying hard not to think about Katie and failing miserably. I’d been in love with her since that first summer she’d visited her grandmother. She’d been six years old, and she’d shone like she’d swallowed the sun. Her hair had been a curly fire floating around her head, and her light green eyes had glowed as though lit from within. Freckles dusted her nose and cheeks. I saw her across the church, sitting with her grandmother, and—even at five—I was a goner.

I’d scooted to the end of the pew and started to make my way to her when I felt my dad’s massive mitt grab the back of my T-shirt, dragging me back to my place. She and her grandmother were sitting in a shaft of mottled light from the stained glass above them. I spent the rest of Mass staring at her.

After the service, my parents had stopped to talk with Nellie so I studied Katie up close. She looked exactly like a fairy should. She wore a white sundress, butterflies fluttering all over it with a matching butterfly headband, pulling her corkscrew curls back from her face. I remember trying to peek behind her, looking for her wings.

In the summers that had followed, my obsession with Katie Gallagher grew. She was the one against whom all others were measured and found wanting. The summer she turned fifteen everything changed. I’d finally built up the courage to ask her out, and before the words could leave my mouth, she walked off, laughing about my being a little kid. It crushed me. And then she left, never spent another summer with us. The last thing she ever said was “Him? Come on. He’s a little kid.” It took me a couple of years before I gathered the courage to ask another girl out. Then years later, Alice came along and finally cured me of romantic love.

These days I dated. I had fun. But I didn’t involve my heart or my trust anymore.

I’d just sat down at my desk when Heather’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Chief, you have a call on line two.”

“Chief Cavanaugh.”

“Hello, this is Justin Cady. I’m told you interviewed my wife, Katherine Cady.”

“Yes.”

Silence filled the line. He waited for me to elaborate. As I wasn’t going to do that, I let the silence stretch.

He cleared his throat. “Can you give me the phone number of our house up there? I can’t find it in any of the paperwork.”

I knew Nellie’s number by heart. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t give out that kind of information over the phone. Why don’t you contact your wife?”

He grunted. “Have you seen what she did to my car? I’m trying to avoid the psycho.”

“Then why would you—”

“It’s for my lawyer. He needs to get an appraiser out there.”

“Appraiser?” This was not good. It would really hurt Pops to have Nellie’s house sold.

“We’re divorcing. Obviously. That house is the only thing of value my wife has. Real estate prices are good up there, but I’ve never seen what kind of condition the place is in.”

Because he’d never visited. Interesting. I tapped my pen on my open notebook. “I see.”

He paused. “What?”

I shook my head, pointlessly. “Nothing. You and your wife can do whatever you choose with the house. I’ll just be sorry to see more changes. I knew Nellie Gallagher. Quite well.”

“Oh, then you can tell me what I need to know.”

I made a noncommittal hum. “I’ll let your lawyer fill you in. House appraisal isn’t in my skill set.”

“Which leads me back to the phone number.”

“And me back to advising you to contact your wife.”

“Ex.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Have you at least seen the car? Is it as bad as I remember?” There was a whine in his voice I empathized with. Half the car was a beauty.

“Probably worse. It doesn’t take long for exposed metal to rust up here.”

I heard a strangled scream. “Fine. Screw her! She’ll see what I can do when I’m motivated.”

“I’d also advise you not to threaten someone while talking to a cop.”

“Not a threat, a promise.”


CHAPTER TEN (#ua0119f64-7923-58ff-b597-fc99d06549e9)

Kate

BEAR ARRIVED EXACTLY at seven. Chaucer barked once to alert me and then stood by the door, tail wagging. But I was busy panicking. What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to go on a date? “No men” was the first item on my to-do list. My divorce wasn’t final yet. I had already proven to have poor decision-making skills. What was I doing? It had been over ten years since I’d been out on a date, out with a man other than Justin. Granted, Bear seemed nice, was wicked hot and Chaucer loved him, but I couldn’t shake this nervous, unsettled feeling, two parts great and three parts wrong. Maybe I could call in sick. Through the door. Just shout “I’m sick!”





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