Safe In His Arms

She popped open the lid and looked down at the creamy, soupy, almost completely melted concoction. One dip of the spoon had her mouth watering. She could smell the fresh strawberries mingling with the cream and sugar. She took a bite and nearly swooned.

She walked over and sat cross-legged on her sleeping bag–covered mattress, making her way through the ice cream one soft, blissful, sorrowful bite at a time.

Closing her eyes, she accepted the truth. Her stay in Butterfly Harbor had come to an end.

“COME ON, PHOEBS. Finish up your breakfast.” Hunter sorted through his satchel to make sure he had everything he needed for the day. After getting into a solid routine over the past week, he was anxious to get to work and put his extensive internet notes to use.

Laptop, map of the town, cell phone. Notepad. His excessive purchases of legal pads probably qualified him for some sort of support group, but there was nothing he liked better than scratching pen or pencil against paper the good old-fashioned way. “Phoebe?”

He glanced over to the table and found Phoebe, Charlotte’s Web open, pushing half a bowl of cereal around in the milk with her spoon. “Not hungry?”

Phoebe shrugged.

“If you’re done, please take your bowl to the sink and rinse it out.” Mornings like this he remembered how his sister had been with Phoebe. His niece wasn’t a voracious eater. There were times she just didn’t want to eat or wasn’t hungry. Juliana hadn’t fretted over it too much. Neither did Hunter.

Phoebe did as he asked then returned to his side, tugged on his sleeve.

“Yeah? What’s up, kiddo?”

She just blinked up at him.

“Well, I need to get a good look at this town, but first I have a meeting with the mayor.” One that had already been rescheduled twice.

Phoebe’s eyes went wide.

It was all Hunter could do not to suggest she not be that impressed. But while Gil Hamilton might not inspire his admiration, their first nights in Butterfly Harbor certainly did. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. He loved the ocean. Always had. And being this close to it, hearing every sound it made, settled his soul in a way he’d been hoping to find.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind about school, looks like you’ll be tagging along with me. Have you?”

Phoebe shook her head.

“Okay, then. Load up that new bag of yours. Choose one of your schoolbooks and one new book we bought at Cat’s Eye. And grab us each a bottle of water from the fridge.” He’d unloaded the last of their gear from the motor home last night. And caught himself once again stopping to look over to the keeper’s house that lay almost dormant against the darkness, its flickering light a reminder of the woman who lived inside.

Hunter had to have been blind not to see the sense of grief that surged into her eyes as she’d looked down at the ice cream. The same grief that flashed the first time she’d set eyes on Phoebe. The possibilities running through his mind about the source made his heart ache for her. Nonetheless, he wasn’t about to enquire further.

She didn’t have to tell him she enjoyed her solitude—that was as clear as a spring morning every time he caught sight of her.

This morning was no different than the past few. He’d purposely tried to keep his distance and certainly didn’t want Phoebe getting under her feet, but honestly, going out of his way to avoid Kendall Davidson was becoming a full-time job. One he didn’t have time for. Not if he was going to get that new book proposal off to his agent and come up with a decent draft of the Butterfly Harbor manuscript for Gil sometime soon.

When Max Miller, literary agent to the semi-famous, had suggested he spread his wings and try his hand at fiction, Hunter had thought the man might have finally slipped his tether to reality. Hunter dealt in facts, facts caught by a camera and detailed by the words that flowed out of him as a result. But the challenge of doing something new had intrigued him. Even better, it excited him. Of course he’d locked in that promise seven months ago; three weeks later his entire life had been flipped upside down. His rather carefree, go-anywhere, film-anything lifestyle had ground to a screeching halt when Juliana and her husband had been killed. Now he was a single father living on the road, taking every freelance job he could in order to build up the coffers he suspected he was going to need in the very near future.

Coffers that could do with the serious dose of coinage a solid new publishing contract could bring.

Hunter’s chest tightened. The money was one thing. Time was another. He was down to one month. One month to deliver a saleable proposal to Max who, now that he was getting up in years and was culling his client list, was getting more difficult to please. So yeah. Hunter had four weeks left. And not a single, solitary idea.

The job offer from Gil had been a lifesaver, and while the project itself was going to take a tremendous amount of work, he knew one thing for certain: Butterfly Harbor could very well be his last chance for inspiration.

Phoebe was struggling with the strings of her new bag, trying to get her arms into them. Hunter quickly got her situated, then himself, and they headed out for their bikes.

Phoebe came to a stop on the top step, thumbs hooked in the straps of her bag. As she did every morning, she watched as Kendall reassembled her sawhorses and worktable and unloaded tools.

Phoebe pointed at Kendall and looked up at Hunter. “Yeah, I see her. Morning, Kendall.” He doubted he’d ever sounded cheerier in his life as he waved at their neighbor.

Kendall gave a quick wave before returning her attention to the plank-and-pipe scaffold erected around the lighthouse.

Why the gesture felt like a massive triumph, he couldn’t say. Still, she’d waved. Progress.

It wasn’t long before they reached the mayor’s office, currently housed in a two-story old saloon-style building that soared to the top of Hunter’s must-photograph list. Butterfly Harbor was fully awake. People strolled up and down the streets. Cars carrying daily tourists slid into parking spots as families and couples unloaded beach chairs, coolers and jackets to keep off the morning chill of California air. Personally, Hunter loved the brisk coastal mornings. It got his blood moving.

His cell phone rang after he’d checked in with Gil’s assistant. Hunter glanced at the screen, felt his body tighten at the familiar number. With Phoebe settled in one of the lobby chairs, he stepped outside to take the call. “Good morning, Lance.”

“Hunter. I believe you were supposed to check in once you and Phoebe got settled.”

Hunter wasn’t a man normally quick to temper, but Juliana’s in-laws’ lawyer had a way of triggering even the most calm of pacifists. “We only arrived in town a few days ago, so you saved me a call.” As if he’d been champing at the bit to report in.

“Is the child adjusting adequately to her new surroundings?”

“Phoebe is doing fine,” Hunter explained. “As the court-appointed social worker stated in an affidavit only three weeks ago.” A social worker he’d driven half a day out of his way to meet with.

“Has she returned to school?”

“Not yet, no.” But she would. Soon. At least he hoped she would. Otherwise her paternal grandparents were going to have even more ammunition to use against him. “But other than that, she’s functioning as she should be and within expected parameters.”

If Lance Dunbar, Esquire, picked up on Hunter’s sarcasm, he didn’t let on. “We would like the address of where you’re staying on record.”

Hunter rattled off the oddly structured address; it wasn’t as if the carriage house at Liberty Lighthouse had a street number.

“And how long will you be staying at this address?”

“For as long as the project takes me,” Hunter said as Gil’s assistant poked her head out of the door to wave him inside. He held up a hand and nodded. “I’d guess about two to three months.”

“And where will you be going next?”

“To be determined,” Hunter said. He could recite these questions in his sleep. When he could sleep. These questions, which were posed to him each and every time he took a new job, were what kept him awake most nights. “There’s a video-chat session scheduled for tomorrow evening with Stephen and Eleanor,” Hunter reminded the lawyer. “Can I assume this is a confirmation call for that?”

“My clients see no use in video chatting with their grandchild who refuses to speak to them. It’s a waste of everyone’s time.”

Hunter cursed himself for not having the forethought to record the call. “They could see her. She speaks just fine.” To people she trusts. When she feels like it.

“As I said, a waste of time. Please be sure to notify us of any location change as soon as it takes place.”

“Noted,” Hunter grumbled into the already-disconnected phone. These conversations were getting more abrupt and more disconcerting. Not for the first time, Hunter wondered how Stephen and Eleanor Cartwright had raised such a likable son. Brent had become one of Hunter’s best friends almost as soon as it became evident he and Juliana were serious. Hunter had served as one of his groomsmen at the wedding, and it had been Brent who had asked Hunter to be Phoebe’s godfather a few seconds after the little girl had entered the world. Losing both his sister and his friend had gutted Hunter, but he hadn’t been able to give in to the grief—not when Phoebe needed him. And she did need him.

No matter what Stephen and Eleanor might think.

Doubt crept in. A very small part of him wondered if she’d be better off with them, living a more traditional life with a home, school, friends, never wanting for anything because she’d have financial security. But then he remembered how Brent’s face would darken whenever the topic of his parents was raised, and how he’d say money didn’t equate with love and if it was the last thing he’d do, he’d raise Phoebe knowing she was utterly and completely accepted.

Which was why, no doubt, he and Juliana had designated Hunter as Phoebe’s legal guardian should anything happen to them.

Shaking off the unease that always descended after one of these calls, Hunter headed inside. “You okay, kiddo?”

Phoebe gave him a thumbs-up without even looking up from her book, the latest How It Works on astronomy.

“She’s good as gold,” the assistant told him. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

Another thumbs-up. Hunter headed up to the second-floor landing and the mayor’s office.

Had Hunter forgotten about Gil Hamilton in their years since college, it would have all come rushing back the instant he stepped into Gil’s space. The sports awards and medals lined highly polished redwood bookcases. Certificates of achievements, letters of commendation, photographs of Gil and his father shaking hands with some of the biggest political names of the time spoke of a life dedicated to...well, Hunter wasn’t entirely sure what. Clearly Gil had been busy in the last ten years.

But it was the sight of Gil Hamilton himself that had Hunter doing a double take. The man hadn’t aged a bit since they’d graduated college. Same sandy-blond hair, same classic polo shirt and khakis, although Hunter would bet he wore a suit more often than he’d be willing to admit. They’d cut classes a lot to surf, as the beach had only been a hop, skip and a jump from campus, and judging by the look on Gil’s tanned features, including that same self-assured grin, his old friend still found time to catch some waves. Chilly waves, but waves nonetheless.

“Hunter. It’s good to see you.” Gil came around the desk, hand outstretched. “Thanks so much for taking the job. And for going along with my schedule. I didn’t expect it to be so long before we met.”

He returned the greeting, then slung his bag from around his shoulder and set it on the floor next to the chair across from Gil.

“Can I get you coffee? Tea?”

“Ah, no, thanks.” Hunter smiled.

“I appreciate you coming in.”

“No problem. Phoebe and I enjoyed the morning ride.”

“Ride?” Gil’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the sweep of hair that barely missed his eyes.

“Yeah, bikes. Easier to tote around than a car. I left the motor home up at the lighthouse. With Kendall Davidson,” he added just so he could watch Gil’s expression.

As predicted, Gil Hamilton did not disappoint.

“Ah, right. Kendall.” He scrubbed a hand against the side of his neck. “Probably should have given you a heads-up about her.”

“You should have given her one about me and Phoebe,” Hunter corrected. “Look, I’m used to being a surprise to people. Part of the job. But that woman looked positively spooked when we arrived.”

“You’re right. I messed up with that. I’ll head up there and apologize. Easy fix.”

Hunter bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t think anything with Kendall Davidson would be an easy fix, but it would be a testament to Gil Hamilton’s people skills. “She’s interesting. Been here long?”

“A few months. She’s a friend of one of our deputies. Matt Knight. They served in Afghanistan together.”

Afghanistan. Explained the burn scars, Hunter supposed. And probably more. “I met him at the diner our first day in town. Seems like a good guy.”

“He is. So I made up a list of people it would be good for you to talk to about the history of the town.” Gil handed Hunter a file folder. “Most of them have lived here all their lives.”

“This is a start, thanks.” Hunter wasn’t about to tell Gil he preferred to move organically through a place, talk to people on their own, see who they thought was worth his attention. “I know what you’re looking for in this book.”

“Do you?” Gil’s bright eyes dulled a bit. “I don’t want a hatchet job, that’s for sure. It’s mainly for tourists and for promotion. Encourage people to move here. It’s a special place. You know, sell self-published copies in the stores, send them out to the media who might be interested in covering upcoming events or holidays. A press package on steroids.”

Hunter settled back into the conversation he’d been expecting, the same conversation he’d had with countless others in his career. “I don’t go looking for dirt, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wouldn’t say worried, exactly. The town has a colorful history.”

“If you mean what happened with your father, I already know about that.” And Hunter had no plans to include any of those controversial details in his manuscript.

Gil’s normally open, friendly expression did a vanishing act. “I’m sure you do. This is about the rebuilding of a community, the coming together of a town. The way we’ve banded together and saved it.”

“Then that’s where I’ll start.” He was definitely going to be spending a lot of time at the library. “I appreciate having the place to stay while I’m working. Phoebe loves it up there.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Fine. I think.” They’d discussed, peripherally, at least, Phoebe’s issues since the accident. “Emotionally, she has her good days and her bad. I’d say I was hoping a change of scenery would help, but she gets a lot of that.”

“There’s a lot to be said for silence.”

“True enough.” Hunter’s lips twitched. “Still, I wouldn’t mind hearing a bit more about what she’s thinking from time to time. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s grieving. It’ll take patience on both our parts.”

“Sure. It makes sense.” Gil nodded. “We all handle grief in our own way. She’s got someone who cares about her looking after her. That’s what makes the difference. Still a few months left in the school year in case you’re worried about her not hanging out with kids her own age.”

“That would be nice. But she’s not budging on that.” Hunter shook his head. With respect to that subject, Phoebe had not remained silent.

“Then maybe check the events at the youth center for her.”

“A youth center, huh? Your idea?” Once upon a time Gil had considered running charity organizations for a living—until Gil’s father had gotten wind of that and put his foot down and insisted he follow him into local politics. One thing Gil had always had problems with was stepping out from under his father’s shadow. Even now that Senior had been gone a good few years, Hunter could still see the specter hovering not only in this office, but over Gil himself.

“The former sheriff’s actually. Jake Campbell. He and Luke Saxon, his replacement, worked on the project together. Been doing pretty well so far, well enough that they’re looking for a new, larger space. In fact, they’re also looking for new instructors. If you’re still as handy with that camera as I’m hoping you are.”

“Not a lot of call for photography classes that don’t include a cell phone, but I’ll check it out.” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if the position would pay, but given it was a community center, he already suspected the answer. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t be willing, though. “Well, I’m sure you have a lot of work to get to. I’m heading to the library to get a jump on my research.” Hunter got to his feet.

“Sounds good. Oh, and here. This should help settle you in.” He handed Hunter an envelope. “It’s half up front, as we discussed. Other half on delivery. You said maybe two or three months?”

“Should be,” Hunter confirmed. Gil was right. The check in his hand would absolutely ease a bit of the burden weighing on him. He’d played a bit of hardball with his old friend, but given he’d had to make a cross-country drive to get here, he didn’t feel too guilty about it—and if he had, that phone call from the lawyer would have tipped the balance. “I’ll be in touch in a few weeks to let you know how I’m coming along.”

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