The Bad Boy Of Butterfly Harbor

“Why else would I have recommended him for the job?”

Holly’s body went cold. “You recommended him? But why— How— Dad!” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shrieked. “I don’t care what he’s done since, Luke Saxon should have a criminal record for what he did to you. And he would have if you had pressed charges. He should have gone to jail. Instead, you let him off scot-free after he almost killed you.”

“He was anything but scot-free.” The chill in her father’s voice was like a slap in the face. “Luke was a good kid caught in a horrific situation. The accident was just that, an accident.”

“He was drunk when he got behind the wheel of his car.” Grief squeezed her heart like a steel fist. “That’s a choice, not an accident.” And that incident was why she’d learned early on not to get in any car with Gray. How many times had they fought over him driving Simon anywhere? How many nights had she lain awake and wondered how many drinks her husband had had in his system the night he’d smashed into the guardrail just off the San Mateo Bridge? “There’s no excuse for what Luke did, Dad.”

“Luke never tried to excuse what happened, even though he could have.”

“All these years and you’re still defending him. And now you’ve given him your job.” Holly slapped a towel against her legs and swung around. “You spent eight weeks in the hospital, Dad. Another three months in a rehab facility, and let’s not forget all the physical—”

“I might be getting old, Holly, but I don’t require you to remind me of the details.” Jake rubbed a hand over his thigh as if trying to get the circulation going. “What I did then was best for everyone, especially Luke. He needed someone to take a chance on him, to push him into a future he couldn’t see for himself. In some ways, the accident was a blessing.”

Holly bit the inside of her cheek. “Some blessing.”

“I have never once questioned your decisions, Holly.” Jake set his glass on the table with a clack. “You and I both know I could have. I’d thank you to extend me the same courtesy.”

“Dad, I—” But she broke off. She’d tried for years to put into words her feelings about those days after the crash. Her father had had weeks to prepare to return to an empty house, but it had been sixteen-year-old Holly who’d watched her mother pack up and drive off after Jake was safely out of surgery. She’d known her parents had been having problems, but she hadn’t realized how bad things were until the pressure of an injured, possibly invalid husband had proved too much for her mother to handle. Holly had been left to pick up the pieces of her shattered family.

“I wanted Luke’s life to mean something other than spending years rotting in a cell that by all rights should have been reserved for his father,” Jake said. “I’m sorry if this offends your sense of justice, but I wasn’t about to watch Luke lose the rest of his life because of one mistake in judgment.”

Holly’s anger struggled against reason. She could feel sorry for the boy, but hate the teenager who had gotten into his car twelve years ago. The man? To be determined.

“I don’t understand how you can be so calm about him taking your job, Dad. It’s the one thing you’ve always counted on.” The one thing keeping him focused and alert and not wallowing in the depression Holly feared would swallow him. Was he as okay with the situation as he seemed, or was this resignation masked acceptance?

Another shrug. “You know what they say. No good deed goes unpunished.”

“Not funny.”

“Holly, you, of all people, know life isn’t fair. And we knew if Gil won the election there was little chance he was going to keep me on as sheriff. I campaigned against him, was vocal in my opposition to some of his plans for Butterfly Harbor. I wanted someone to come in to the sheriff’s department with an objective, fresh eye. Someone who I knew wouldn’t be swayed by Gil or the township. Luke may be many things—may have been many things—but he’s not a pushover. He’ll put the town first. That’s all I want.”

Holly couldn’t wrap her brain around the fact it had been her father’s idea to bring Luke Saxon to Butterfly Harbor. He hadn’t changed, not where it counted. And certainly not enough to change Holly’s mind about him. “But—”

“Enough, Holly.” Jake exhaled slowly. “It’s been a long week and I really did just come for breakfast with my daughter and grandson. Where is the rapscallion, by the way?”

“He spent the night at Abby’s.” Holly smiled at the affection in his tone as she turned the burner on to medium. “I’m picking him up at noon. But I’d love to have breakfast with you.”

“Sounds good.” Jake hoisted himself out of the chair with a wince. “And please, for the foreseeable future, can we drop the subject of Luke Saxon?”

“Sure.” Holly bussed a kiss on his cheek. But as he busied himself emptying the fridge of breakfast contents, she crossed her arms over her chest, as if holding herself together.

All her life she’d watched her father put this town and everyone in it first, and now he was being kicked to the curb for the sake of “progress.” Whether resigned to circumstance or going with the flow, Holly knew, deep down, the loss of his job hurt her father more than he was letting on. He’d been hurt enough for one lifetime, especially by Luke Saxon.

* * *

HOLLY CAMPBELL HAD been right about one thing, Luke thought as he sat staring out his bug-spattered windshield. He was a coward.

Why else would he have driven out of town and spent his first night in a motel, instead of venturing into the house he’d grown up in? The house his mother had died in.

Why else would he still be sitting in his truck thirty minutes after turning off the engine, trying to muster the courage to walk through the front door and confront a past that may as well be a punch to the solar plexus?

Why else—other than cowardice—did Luke feel as if his heart was going to explode out of his chest?

He had yet to shake off the sadness that had descended during his ride through town yesterday, where memories of Butterfly Harbor had assailed him at every turn. Driving past the Tudor homes, cottages and bungalows on Chrysalis Lane had sent him reeling to the nights he’d wandered the streets, gazing into windows to envy families having dinner, watching television, living their calm, normal, peaceful lives.

He’d dreamed of having a house like theirs. A family like theirs. Now so many of those homes that represented every boyhood desire lay dilapidated, abandoned and in foreclosure.

The glossy paint and the brilliant color of lush fauna were nowhere to be seen. Nothing he saw in Butterfly Harbor said “welcome to town.”

Luke had yet to find anything of any kind that said “welcome” at all.

Despite the desolation, Luke had found the open, empty streets more appealing than the run-down two-story gray bungalow sagging in front of him now. And the shed beside it. Luke swallowed hard. The shed that could still trigger nightmares if he dwelled long enough.

Gil hadn’t been kidding when he’d said his father’s house had seen better days. A cool breeze slipped through the truck’s open windows. Panes of glass had been shattered; planks of warped patio board sagged against the side of the house. The half brick, half cobble detailing along the foundation had been worn away by neglect and salt air. The lawn, while short, was sun-dried brown, the unique wheat-colored hue that only resulted from dying earth.

How fitting, given the failing house had never been much of a home.

Funny. He’d been willing to expose himself to hatred and anger by stepping right into Holly’s world with barely a passing thought, and yet here he sat, paralyzed by a house containing memories that couldn’t hurt him.

Luke scrubbed a hand over his chin. Maybe coming back had been a mistake. Trying to make amends for the past felt selfish, but he at least needed to try. Still, it hadn’t taken him long to realize what he’d feared the past twelve years.

Luke didn’t belong in Butterfly Harbor.

The wind picked up and chills erupted along his bare arms. For an instant, he swore he heard the drunken, disparaging cackle echoing so often from his father—as if the old man was relishing Luke’s crisis of confidence. If there was one thing Luke was certain of, it was that Ward Saxon would have taken great pleasure in Luke’s difficult situation.

Eight years in the ground and his father could still chip away at Luke’s self-worth. Luke had been a soldier and a cop, but in his mind, he’d always hear his father beating him down, telling him he’d never amount to anything. That he would always be unworthy of respect, let alone affection.

Darkness crept across his heart, but the bright image of Holly Campbell’s wide-eyed face prevented the depression from completely settling.

While he was grateful for the second chance, part of him regretted running. But he wasn’t running anymore. He and Holly would have to get used to that fact.

He may as well ask for the secret of eternal youth. Where there was hope, even imagined hope, there was the possibility that life could get better. That was something his father would never have understood.

“Enough already.” Luke shoved out of the truck and dropped to the ground, wincing as his stiff muscles protested the sudden movement. His shoulders and back had throbbed all night, but he’d ridden it out, opting for two aspirin rather than the painkillers that scared the crap out of him. The pain would have to be unbearable for him to consider ingesting any substance with a tendency for addiction.

He shuffled his feet, craned his neck as he glanced around the expanse of property. The eerie Sunday-morning silence made him tense, as if the world was about to explode and he was the detonator. He was as far from the main drag of town as one could get and still be called part of Butterfly Harbor. His nearest neighbor lay a half mile down the road, his own house hidden behind a thicket of trees and dense shrubs. One would have to know the house was here to find it. The short driveway was canopied by overgrown redwoods, shaved back to allow cars through.

Luke preferred silence, but here, he knew no one could hear him scream.

Counting the steps it took to reach the porch, Luke stopped at the base of the stairs, his courage fading as the midmorning clouds burned away under the sun’s rays. He’d imagined this moment a hundred times in the past few weeks.

His stomach rolled. He may as well have been chained to the past, unable to break free and take that last step up. And one step inside.

He dropped his head forward as the sick feeling he’d tried to bank washed over him. He was right. Coming here had been a bad idea.

A high-pitched sound caught his ear, a whine followed by a shuffling. Luke inclined his head, listened. There it was again. He bent down as he scanned the ground. A child? A hurt child? Wait. Longer this time, deeper, weaker. And it was coming from under the stairs.

Luke scrambled forward to wrench what was left of the rotting trellis free, and tossed it aside. Black eyes as big as saucers blinked at him. The haggard golden retriever’s face was caked in mud and grime. Vines and weeds were wrapped around its paws and neck.

“Hey, boy.” Luke inched forward, held out a hand for a sniff as he gave the dog a once-over. Yep. Definitely a boy. A cool, damp nose pressed against his palm as the dog issued another whine. “How’d you get in here?” But Luke already knew. He’d wedged himself through the trellis often enough himself as a boy. The dog whimpered. Nudged him again. “Okay, let’s see what’s going on here.” Without moving the animal, Luke reached for the pocketknife he always carried, snapped it open and cut the vines. As he was pulling them aside, he stopped, examined them more closely and felt a bolt of anger strike through him. Those were knots. Hand-tied knots.

As if sensing Luke’s sudden shift in mood, the dog started to tremble. “Shh.” Luke stroked a hand down the dog’s side, soothing him, letting the dog calm him, and waited until the shaking subsided before he cut the remaining ties. The retriever wasn’t an adult, but he wasn’t small, either. As Luke considered his options on how to remove him from under the stairs, the dog scooted forward on his belly, crawling to freedom, before collapsing on the crispy grass with an exhausted sigh. “You must be thirsty.” Luke scratched the dog’s head right between the ears and saw black eyes lift to his, a mixture of gratitude and approval in his canine gaze. “And hungry, too, I bet.”

Another whimper.

“Okay. Give me a minute.” As Luke stood up, the dog’s head popped up. “I’ll be right back.” Mind racing, he jogged to the truck to rummage through the few supplies he’d bought, but nothing that would be good for a dog. And he’d forgotten to buy bottled water. The dog whined and Luke’s heart clenched before he raced up the front stairs and into his past.

CHAPTER FIVE

HOLLY KNEW SHE’D have to get used to seeing Luke around town, but she hadn’t expected to see him again quite so soon. Her break from the diner provided enough time to hop over to the Flutterby Inn and pick up Simon, but as she reached the corner of Morning Dew Drive and Monarch Lane, she spotted Luke’s beat-up red truck parked outside Doc Collins’s veterinary clinic.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She could avoid him by taking the long way around, but that was ridiculous. She couldn’t waste her time going out of her way to avoid something she couldn’t change. She’d have to suck it up and accept Luke Saxon was here to stay. For now, at least.

“Come on, boy,” she heard Luke call as she kitty-crossed the street. The stress in his voice reminded Holly of how she sounded whenever Simon was sick; a half pleading, half desperate cajole that struck against her chest. Except Luke didn’t have a child that she knew of. Dang it. Keep walking.

Curiosity battled her determination to keep her distance. She didn’t want—or need—Luke in her life, and she doubted he’d appreciate her butting into his business, but the next thing she knew, she’d rounded the truck and found Luke squatting beside the open passenger door to the cab. “I promise Doc Collins won’t hurt you.”

“It’s not the Doc Collins you remember,” Holly said as a soft bark came from the truck. “His daughter Selina runs the practice now.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” Luke tilted his chin to look at her. An expression she could only identify as fear clouded his blue eyes. “I found him under the porch of the house this morning. Getting him into the truck wasn’t a problem. Getting him out...”

Holly moved closer and Luke got to his feet. He was filthy, the front of his jeans and T-shirt muddied, his arms caked in dirt, and she saw streaks of grime in his hair and across his face. To his credit, Luke’s concern for the dog had taken over, and Holly could see why.

The golden retriever was stretched out on the cab’s bench seat, making her wonder how Luke had found enough room to drive. Leery black eyes blinked up at her, but the dog soon sighed and rested his head on doubled-up paws. “He’s a beauty.” Under the dirt, she suspected. Holly held out her hand, giving the dog ample time to sniff and accept, but when Holly shifted to pet the dog on the head, she swore she saw Luke’s new companion flinch. “I haven’t seen him around before. He must be a stray.”

“Somebody tied vines around him.” Luke pointed to the divisions in the dog’s fur. “On purpose. I don’t want to force him to do something he doesn’t want to do. I don’t want to scare him any more than he already is, but I need to get him checked out.”

Luke’s anger at what had happened to the dog was clear and eased her resentment toward him. “Why don’t you go get Doc Collins and I’ll stay with him. Maybe she’ll be able to coax him out.”

The relief on Luke’s face had Holly returning her attention to the dog. She didn’t want Luke’s gratitude or his useless apologies. But she could call a truce—for the animal’s sake.

“Thanks.”

When he dashed through the open gate and up the trio of stairs, the dog raised his head, watching every move Luke made before he blinked at Holly. She swore the dog was asking where Luke was going.

“He’ll be back in a second, okay?” She stroked the dog’s neck, not liking the continued trembling she felt beneath her hand. It took a special kind of cruel to impart this kind of injury on an animal or a chi—

The door to the clinic banged open. Both the dog and Holly watched a woman in her late forties lead Luke to the truck. She took off the white lab coat she wore, draped it over the open truck door and pushed wire-rimmed glasses higher on her nose as she bent down beside Holly. “I hear I have a new patient. Hi, Holly.” She repeated Holly’s greeting to the dog, only she didn’t get a flinch in response when she sank her hand into the dog’s shank. “Now, that’s a good boy. How’re Simon’s hermit crabs doing?”

“Better than I’d like,” Holly said and moved aside to give Selina access to the dog. “I’m on my way to pick him up right now. I hope everything’s okay, Luke.” Holly resumed her path to the Flutterby Inn.

“Thank you,” Luke said. “For staying with him.”

“Sure.” Holly hugged her arms around herself as she shivered despite the warm afternoon. Part of her wanted to call to Luke, to ask him to let her know what happened with the dog, but she couldn’t find the words.

She’d seen the same haunted, hurt look before—in Luke’s eyes, years ago. Holly double-timed it up the hill to the three-story Victorian inn, guilt niggling at her insides. As much as she didn’t want the past to matter, there was no escaping it; not when it continued to shape the present. It might not do any good to dwell on how things might have been different, but seeing Luke again made her wonder what might have happened had she ever asked teenage Luke if he needed help.

Instead of pretending he didn’t exist.

* * *

“IT’S AMAZING WHAT the promise of a dog treat will do.” Selina Collins backed away as the dog dropped out of the truck and nuzzled her hand for the hidden prize. Selina opened her palm and let the dog lick up the snack. “Are you okay?” She glanced over at Luke, who was still trying to process the panic that had descended at the house. He hated feeling helpless, hopeless, and for a long moment, he’d been a cop again back in Chicago, reliving those endless seconds when he’d realized nothing could stop what was going to happen. And nothing could alter what had happened. The pain, the suffering. The death. No matter how many times he replayed that day in his mind, he couldn’t change it.

But he could here. He could make a difference in Butterfly Harbor.

“Is he going to be okay?” he croaked, trying to block out the memory of explosions and screams, fire and failure.

“Let’s get him inside and see.” She picked up Luke’s arm and dropped some treats into his hand. “Lead the way. He’ll follow.”

Luke nodded, grateful for the calming effect Dr. Collins seemed to have on both of them. Her peppered blond hair was tugged into a bun, giving her more of a schoolmarm appearance than that of a vet, until she shrugged into her lab coat again. Voilà. The doctor was back.

“I heard Holly call you Luke,” Dr. Collins said. “Would that be Luke Saxon, our new sheriff?”

Luke’s guard shot up as if he’d shoved a shield in front of himself. “Yes.”

Selina closed the door behind her and led the way through the clinic to the exam room. The clinic wasn’t just a vet’s office; it was her home. The dog’s claws click-clacked on the hardwood floor as he trailed behind them—the animal was becoming more animated by the second.

“That would be the Saxons who lived up on Turnpike Lane?”

“What’s left of us still do.” He needed to get used to this conversation, as he was certain to be having it every day for a while. He could only imagine the damage his father had done after Luke left Butterfly Harbor, especially without Luke around to try to clean up his messes. “I still do.”

“Ah.” She patted his arm as she passed and encouraged the dog to join her in an exam room. It was wood paneled and decked out with modern equipment, and posters of various animals and warnings and reminders dotted the soft green walls.

Luke frowned. What did “ah” mean?

“Okay, boy, up.” Selina tapped her hand on the metal exam table.

The dog plopped its butt on the floor and whined up at Luke.

“What?” Luke asked. “Am I supposed to pick him up?” He didn’t think he and the dog had established enough trust for that.

“I don’t think so. Give me a second.” Selina left the room and returned with a solid block of wood. “Up.” She tapped the table again and this time, the dog used the block as stairs, keeping a cautious eye on Luke as he did so. “Well, you’ve got yourself a smart one, that’s for sure.” She began running her hands around the dog’s body, her face losing all expression as she prodded and pressed, poked and checked. “He’s dehydrated, which explains the lethargy. There’s no telling how long he was under your house.” When she turned to the counter, the dog let out a pent-up sigh and lay down, as if he knew what was coming next. Sure enough, Luke winced at the sight of the thermometer in Selina’s hand.

“I know,” Luke said as he moved to the dog’s head and bent down, petting the pooch as the doctor did what was necessary. “It’s undignified, isn’t it?” He didn’t want to think of all the poking and prodding he’d undergone during his lengthy stay in the hospital and then the recovery time in the burn unit.

Undignified was an understatement.

“Is this your first dog?” Selina asked.

“He’s not mine.”

The dog’s eyes brightened and he lifted his chin, ears twitching.

Luke looked to Selina when she chuckled. “He can’t understand me, right?”

“Don’t be so surprised. His temp’s normal, by the way. I can run some blood work to be sure, if it’ll put your mind at ease. And I’ll have my assistant give him a bath, make sure there wasn’t any damage to his skin from the knots and vines. I don’t charge an arm and a leg, so if cost is a concern—”

“It’s not.” Even if it was, he wasn’t going to let this dog suffer any more than it already had, even if it cost him a significant amount of cash. “Have you seen any other animals come in who have been treated this way?”

“No.” Selina’s face slammed shut like a bear trap. “But I’ll be on the lookout for it. I’d like to say no one in this town would ever treat an animal so horribly, but these days—” she shrugged “—who’s to say what goes on behind closed doors?”

Who indeed. “I’d appreciate you letting me know if you see or hear anything.” If he ever did come across the person responsible, he’d be calling on all of his training not to beat the criminal to a bloody pulp.

CHAPTER SIX

BY LATE WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, Holly had gone “mom” deaf to Simon’s “pew-pew-pewing” of make-believe laser guns. Her son’s enthusiasm for 1970s space operas had almost driven her ’round the bend.

Thank goodness her father had stopped by to take Simon with him to his house, where slow-cooked pot roast awaited them all for dinner once she closed the diner.

Angry storm clouds rolled in, tumbling over each other as if in competition to deluge Butterfly Harbor in their rage. If only the forecast had been more adamant about their arrival, she might not have left the house without her rain gear.

Monarch Lane may as well have rolled up for the day, as there was barely a person on the street. Most of the cars were gone, while shop owners and managers closed well before stated times. She’d pushed it too far walking to work this morning in the hopes of burning off some of the worry and concern that refused to abandon her. The fact she’d been wondering about Luke and his new companion didn’t sit well, either. She had enough things on her plate between putting an ad in the paper for help at the diner, keeping the doors open and maintaining a watchful eye on Simon.

She turned off the lights and locked up, twisting her key in the front door. A glance up at the sky had her sucking in a cold breath between clenched teeth. Gray clouds had turned black and rumbled overhead. Fat raindrops plopped on her cheeks as she shivered under her thin sweater and cursed herself for not keeping a spare umbrella at the diner. If she hustled, she could make it to her father’s house—less than a mile away—before it got too bad.