Welcome Home, Katie Gallagher

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

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

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.