Safe In His Arms
- -
- 100%
- +
Maybe he should have consulted more doctors other than the two who had assured him she’d come out of it when she was ready. They’d told him not to push. To let Phoebe move through her grief in her own time. Or maybe he was second guessing himself constantly because he was terrified of the one thing he couldn’t control: a custody battle.
Movement outside the kitchen window, brought his attention to where he could see the lighthouse standing tall and proud against the wind. Kendall Davidson. She reminded him of Phoebe in a way. She wasn’t particularly loquacious. A woman of few and bullet-pointed words. But the way she’d looked at his niece... That expression of hers might very well haunt him for a while. He’d bet she liked her space and the peace and quiet, which was why, when he heard her front door slam, he didn’t venture outside. Instead, he stood at the window and watched as she headed—on foot—down the road he and Phoebe had traversed moments before.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him it had been a long time since breakfast. He’d been so anxious to get here he’d driven straight through lunch. Phoebe—ever reliable, responsible, adult little Phoebe—had shoved an apple into his hand a little over an hour ago before munching on one herself.
“Phoebe! You hungry?”
She popped up in the doorway of her bedroom almost instantly.
“You want to go into town on our bikes or do you want to eat here? Gil told me about a diner that has milkshakes and hamburgers.”
Phoebe’s mouth twisted as she considered. “Strawberry milkshakes?”
“I’d bet on it. Get your coat on, okay? It’s probably going to get chilly. Don’t forget your helmet!”
She disappeared into her room as Hunter stepped outside, scanning the area and deciding once they got back he’d repark the monster in the little grove behind the house. Depending on how long they’d be here, he figured he could buy a cheap secondhand car, but Butterfly Harbor was a pretty small town. Why add to emissions or subtract from his bank account when his feet and bike would do just fine? “All set?” he asked when Phoebe joined him at the monster and hopped on her bike. She gave him a thumbs-up. “Okay then. Our first trip into Butterfly Harbor. Let’s do this, kiddo.”
KENDALL STOOD OUTSIDE the Butterfly Diner, scanning the booths inside for a sign of Mayor Gil Hamilton. After stopping at the still-under-construction town hall, which was scheduled to reopen later this year, she’d been told by his assistant at the temporary offices that he was out and about. Of course he was, Kendall thought. It was, after all, an election year, albeit late March. Now she’d have to trek all over to hunt him down.
She needed to talk to him as soon as possible. She needed him to change his mind and make Hunter MacBride and Phoebe stay somewhere else. She needed her solitude back.
While there were plenty of people enjoying the homemade offerings at the diner, Kendall didn’t find a hint of blond hair and political ego anywhere on the premises. Hands shoved in her pockets, she fidgeted in place, peering at the customers through the large windows.
“Only time you bounce on your toes is when you don’t know what to do.” The friendly male voice from behind her had her turning. “What’s going on, Hacksaw? Take a wrong turn at the hardware store?”
Kendall grinned. There were fewer things on this planet that could make her smile easier than Matt Knight. Make that Deputy Matt Knight, who was looking mighty proper in his khaki uniform. “You seen the mayor anywhere?” she asked.
“Not today. Then again, I’ve been stuck in the office the whole time. First ray of sunshine I’ve seen since I left the house.” He tilted his scruffy chin to the sky and basked for a moment. “Can’t wait for Ozzy and Fletcher to get back from that law enforcement conference so we can resume our regular patrol schedule.”
“Taking double shifts so Luke can be home with Holly more was a nice gesture.” The sheriff, Luke Saxon, and his wife were expecting. Holly owned the Butterfly Diner but was rarely pulling shifts these days.
Matt shrugged. “Least I can do. I’m hoping to garner some goodwill once those twins arrive. Maybe give them a test run.”
Once upon a time Kendall had dreamed of a husband, a family. She and Sam had planned it all out, two point five kids—he’d gotten a serious kick out of the decimal point—beginning with getting married once both their tours ended. But those dreams and plans had died with Sam when he’d been killed during an insurgent attack in Afghanistan. She’d loved Sam. She’d loved only Sam. “You and Lori starting to think about kids?”
“Maybe.” Matt probably didn’t have any idea just how goofy he looked when asked about his wife. Boy, she and Matt had come a long way from sharing those sand-encrusted camps oversees. “We’re exploring our options. Kyle seems to be all for it, which I think is what’s finally convinced Lori it’s time.”
Funny, Kendall thought. Ever since she’d arrived in Butterfly Harbor last fall, she’d heard talk about how Matt had changed Kyle’s life, but the teen he’d adopted had been good for Matt, too. The experience had turned him into the stellar father and parental figure Kendall suspected her friend was always capable of being, despite his own troubled childhood. Add Lori to both their lives and, well, that was as close to a perfect match as Kendall had ever witnessed.
Kendall probably should have reassured him with platitudes and words of encouragement, but neither were her style. Besides, she and Matt knew, better than most, that life was completely unpredictable. Luck and hope had nothing to do with an outcome. It could turn—and devastate—on a dime.
Instead, she cast a forlorn look back into the diner. “I really need to talk to Gil. Any idea where he might be?”
“He and Jake are scouting out locations for the new community and teen center. They could be anywhere. What’s going on?” Matt leaned against the lamppost as if he had all the time in the world.
She appreciated his friendship more than she could say. And he’d slipped right into Butterfly Harbor as if he belonged here—which, after more than three years, he did. The big, burly soldier she’d served with hadn’t brought the darkness home with him, despite the war taking his leg. Sure, he’d had his struggles, but he’d set his mind and gotten what he wanted. Now he was married to one of the nicest—too nice, sometimes—women Kendall had ever met and had adopted a teenage foster kid who was making a name for himself around town as an up-and-coming handyman. She’d even hired Kyle to help out on some of the bigger jobs she’d had with the lighthouse. Life was sweet for Matt Knight. One of the few things that did her heart good.
“Kendall, what’s wrong?” Matt asked again when it was clear she’d gotten lost in thought.
The last thing she wanted was Matt getting involved in her problems. Again. He’d spent most of the last few years looking after her in one way or another. She’d finally gotten on her own two feet, and no way was she turning back now. “You know anything about Gil hiring some guy to write a book?”
“Um, yeah. Something MacBride. Photojournalist from back east. Went to college with Gil, I think. He was looking for a change, and the town council wants to produce a travel book for visitors. Can’t promote the gorgeous place too much, right?”
“Yeah, right.” Kendall winced. Darn it. Not that she expected to hear different. Keeping herself as far away from the town hubbub as possible meant being out of the loop. “The guy’s early, it seems. He’s staying at the carriage house.”
“Up where you are?” Matt’s eyebrows went up. “That going to be a problem? I thought you were living in the keeper’s house.”
“I am. And he is.” Her hands came out of her pockets and started flailing about the way they always did when she was on edge. “It’s just... I’m used to being alone. I like being alone. I need to be.”
“I know you like it, but whether it’s what you need?” Matt shrugged. “Not going to agree with you there. What’s the matter with the guy? Is he a creep? Need me to give him a talking-to?”
Kendall rolled her eyes. “Like I couldn’t handle a creep. And no, I don’t need you to give him a talking-to. I need him to...leave.” Even as she said the words, she spotted two figures—a larger man and smaller girl—riding toward them on bikes. “I can’t believe this. Is he following me? Does he have radar?”
“He’s here? MacBride?” Matt spun around before Kendall could stop him.
“Don’t stare. Oh, shoot, Matt. Behave yourself.”
Matt looked at her over his shoulder, an odd expression blanketing his dark-haired features. “What’s this all about? You’re almost flustered. You don’t fluster.”
“No, I don’t,” Kendall snapped. “But what I don’t need is someone getting in my way up there. I work alone. It’s just how I do things. Can you just help me find Gil so I can explain... Hello.” She locked her lips into a tight line as Hunter MacBride pulled his bike to a stop beside Matt.
Kendall’s heart hammered against her chest as she did everything she could to avoid looking at Phoebe. Phoebe in her little jeans and jacket and cute little shoes and big brown eyes...
“Hello, neighbor.” Hunter unhooked his helmet and draped the band over his handlebars. “Fancy seeing you here. Phoebe and I are dying for some home cooking. Aren’t we, kiddo?” He reached back as Phoebe climbed off her bike and pushed it next to his. “Hi, there.” Hunter turned that million-watt smile on Matt and offered his hand. “Hunter MacBride. You’d be the sheriff?”
“Heaven forbid.” Matt actually shuddered and returned the greeting. “Deputy Matt Knight. Kendall and I go way back. She was just telling me about you.”
“Was she?” Hunter grinned.
Kendall’s stomach did a double tuck drop to her feet. She’d been so distracted by Phoebe earlier she hadn’t registered just how good-looking the man was. Not Hollywood handsome, but head-turning nonetheless. Dark brown hair, amber-specked brown eyes and a dimple in his chin that made her fingers itch to check how deep it went.
He was taller than she was, almost as tall as Matt, and his chest and shoulders were broad enough that she didn’t think Phoebe would feel anything other than safe and protected.
Phoebe. Kendall shifted uneasy eyes to the little girl, who was peeking out from behind her uncle, staring wide-eyed and cautiously at Matt.
“This is Phoebe,” Hunter introduced Matt to his niece. “I’m guessing you’re one of our go-to people if we’re ever in trouble.”
“Absolutely. Nice to meet you, Phoebe. Are you going to be here long?” He glanced at Kendall with an all-too-knowing smile on his face. Kendall recognized that expression. It was one he’d learned from his wife, who had developed a propensity for matchmaking now that she was submerged in happily-ever-after.
“A few months,” Hunter told him. “Depends how long it takes me to write the book on this place. Here, you need help with that?” He reached down and unhooked Phoebe’s helmet.
Kendall kept her eyes pinned on Matt as the little girl pulled her head free and shook out her curls.
Matt’s jaw locked, and Kendall ducked her head. But not before he saw the sorrow she was unable to hide. It was then she knew she wasn’t imagining things. He saw what she did.
Panic and dread piled like rocks in her chest. How was she going to survive this, them, for months?
“Well, aren’t you pretty,” Matt said after he cleared his throat. “I, um, need to get back to the station, but feel free to drop by anytime. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of questions about...”
“I have to go.” Kendall spun on her heel and headed away from them. It didn’t matter which direction she went. She didn’t care. She just needed to get away. From the man who made her think of the future that would never be hers.
CHAPTER THREE
“HOW BIG ARE your milkshakes?” Hunter asked the attentive, sandy-blond-headed waitress once they were seated at a booth. Phoebe had barely glanced at the menu before she’d scrambled onto her knees and looked over the back of the booth to where a group of kids had gathered at the end of the counter.
“Quite big. Big enough to split.” Their server, who wore a pink T-shirt, inclined her head toward Phoebe. The woman’s long ponytail fell over her shoulder as she flipped her pen in her hand, making the small diamond solitaire wedding set twinkle on her finger. “Or I can whip up a mini one just for her.”
Phoebe turned a big-eyed grin back at him, then up at their server.
“Would you like your own shake, sweetie?”
Phoebe nodded.
“Got it. So that’s two burgers, one mini. And two milkshakes. One mini.” She pointed to Phoebe. “Side order of onion rings and...a green salad.” She ticked off the items on her pad. “That do it?”
“And coffee, thanks.” Hunter handed the menus back. “Busy place.” Not overly crowded, but full enough he could tell it was a favorite go-to spot for locals and tourists alike. Not that this time of year was tourist season, but it should be given the beautiful weather. Gil had told him the town was slowly becoming a year-round go-to destination. He liked the throwback feel of the diner, from the black-and-white tile floor to the orange-and-black vinyl stools and booths, no doubt a decorating homage to the town’s namesake monarch butterfly.
Speaking of butterflies. They were everywhere, in every form, dangling from the ceiling of the diner, attached to the walls. Even perched perfectly on the edge of the windowsills. Children’s renderings, artist offerings and even a few scribbles on napkins.
“Saturdays have become nonstop. I’m Paige, by the way. Paige Bradley.”
“Hunter MacBride.” Hunter offered his hand and cast a quick glance at Phoebe. “This is my niece, Phoebe.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Paige looked over her shoulder to the group of surprisingly quiet kids. “My daughter Charlie’s somewhere in that pack. And that’s Simon with the glasses.” Paige shifted toward Phoebe and crouched down, pointing to each child as she referenced them. “There with the brown curls? That’s Marley O’Neill. And Stella Jones. She wears bells in her hair sometimes. She jingles when she walks. Would you like to meet them, Phoebe?”
Phoebe looked at Paige for a long moment before she shook her head and scooted back in the booth.
“Maybe another time.” If Paige was put off by Phoebe’s reluctance, she didn’t let on. She pushed to her feet. “You staying long or just passing through?”
“We’ll be here for a while,” Hunter said. “I’m writing a book on the lighthouse.”
“Oh, you’re the photojournalist we’ve heard about.” Paige seemed to bite the inside of her cheek. “Have you, um, been up there already?”
Sensing where this was headed, Hunter nodded. “We have. Just finished unloading the motor home.”
“Ah.” Paige nodded. “So that must mean you’ve met Kendall.”
“We have had the pleasure.” Questions flooded his mind about the odd, quiet, apparently easy to offend woman. Hazards of the job. He always had questions. But experience had taught him barreling in demanding answers was rarely the way to glean accurate and helpful information. “She seems nice.”
“She is,” Paige said with an apologetic shrug. “She’s just...”
“No need to explain,” Hunter assured her. “We all have our stories. Speaking of which, I’d love to start talking to residents, get a feel for the place. Really get to know what makes Butterfly Harbor tick.”
“Oh, well, I’d be happy to participate, but Charlie and I haven’t been here that long.”
“Long enough?” He pointed to her ring and smiled at the pink rising to her cheeks.
“How do you know this is recent?”
“Intuition. Plus you keep turning it with your thumb, as if you’re still getting used to it. I tend to notice things like that. I bet there’s a great story behind it.”
It occurred to him the book could take a more personal spin rather than having a focus on purely historical information. The lighthouse would be the perfect starting point, but it was obvious there were a lot more stories to be found in this town. More than the buildings and the restructuring—it was about the people, as well.
“Hmm, you could say that. If you’re looking for a newcomer’s perspective, I’m your girl. But Holly, Simon’s mom—she’s the owner—she’s lived here her entire life. As has her father. Holly’s home today, but she should be in for a few hours tomorrow morning. She and her husband are expecting twins in a couple of months.”
“Oh, wow. Well, I wouldn’t want to bother her right away.”
“Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t like to talk to her, though, right? Don’t worry. I’ll hook you up. You have a cell number?”
“Absolutely.” He pulled out his wallet and handed over a business card. “My schedule’s open.”
“Well, I might just be using you in the coming weeks then. Talking to you would be a good excuse to get Holly off her feet if I can’t at least get her out the door. I’ll put your order in with Ursula. She’s our mainstay at the grill. And your shake is coming right up.” She winked at Phoebe.
“Everyone seems so nice here.” Hunter folded his hands on the table and looked across at his niece. “You like it so far?”
Phoebe nodded and rearranged herself on the seat. The top of her chin almost brushed the table, but as was her routine, she placed her napkin to her right and arranged her fork and knife and spoon, making sure they were aligned properly. Above the din of conversation and childish laughter, the milkshake machine rumbled to life. A grumbling voice added to the noise as it echoed from beyond the pass-through window.
“Maybe after lunch we can walk down to the beach,” Hunter suggested. “Get our feet wet in the ocean?”
Phoebe knocked her head to the side. Maybe.
“Or we can take a walk around town. See what stores they have here? Maybe there’s a bookstore.” Hunter grinned when Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I thought that might get your attention. I have to admit, I did a bit of checking, and I know for a fact there is a bookstore. But you know what else it has?” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a secretive whisper. “Cats.”
The skepticism on Phoebe’s face shouldn’t have been possible, not in a child so young. But there it was. She thought he was joking.
“I swear.” Hunter made a crisscross gesture over his heart. “Cats and books. Might be a nice way to spend the afternoon, right?”
“Are you talking about Cat’s Eye Books?” Paige asked. She set a small pink-filled glass topped with a cavity-inducing swirl of whipped cream and a solitary cherry on top on the table and followed it with Hunter’s coffee. “One of Charlie’s favorite places to go. You’ll love it. Both of you. Just be sure you always look up.” Paige laughed at Phoebe’s expression. “You really don’t have to say a word, do you? Your face says it all. Trust me. Look up.”
Phoebe watched Paige walk away before she picked up her straw, unwrapped it and slid it carefully into her glass. Hunter’s heart had become immune to the little daggers of despair that struck whenever he noticed how precise and careful Phoebe was. It was as if she considered everything around her to be temporary. To end at any moment. But pushing her out of her comfort zone, one that seemed to give her some solace and security, didn’t seem right.
“How is it?” he asked after she took a dainty sip.
Phoebe nodded, her lips twitching before she drank again. Then pointed to Hunter’s messenger bag. “Do you want your book?”
Phoebe nodded.
Hunter retrieved the tattered copy of Charlotte’s Web. The same book she’d read over and over for the past six months. The same book her mother had been reading to her just days before Juliana and Brent had been killed. Phoebe settled in, book on the table, fingers pressing the worn pages open, and pursed her lips as she dropped into the story.
Hunter took the time to catch up on his emails before pulling out his own notebook. He’d already taken a few pictures of the town with his phone during their ride into town, initial images that, when assembled, would give him a bit of a roadmap of what to concentrate on when he brought out the big guns. While camera phones were fabulous, they didn’t capture everything for him. Not the way a big, need-two-hands device with a long lens tended to. There was something about hefting that camera in his hands, feeling the weight of it, knowing the power it possessed to capture a moment, a fragment of time that never got old.
He loved the smell of this place. The hot, steamy grill. The promise of fried onions with a hint of bacon. The aroma of coffee wafting its way around the sugary sweetness of a cavalcade of pies lining the case by the register. Made him grateful they had their bikes. Too much time in Butterfly Harbor and he was going to gain fifty pounds.
And that was just the diner. Hearing former celebrity chef Jason Corwin had opened a restaurant at the historic Flutterby Inn, a building he was certain would take days to investigate and photograph to its fullest potential, had gotten his salivary glands going. The restaurant, Flutterby Dreams, wasn’t exactly Phoebe friendly, so he’d have to play that one by ear.
Scrolling through the city’s website, Hunter made note of the different businesses, the mentions of historic buildings that could be contemporaries of the lighthouse. He had a full day planned tomorrow at the library, searching through the archives for any events that might have included Liberty Lighthouse. Phoebe could get started on that new math unit he’d showed her.
He felt she should be back in school by now, but every time he even broached the subject, Phoebe resisted. No doubt the idea of being in a classroom again took her back to that day—the day when the police had come to collect her from school after the accident. Just that morning Phoebe had had parents who adored her, doted on her. Hours later, thanks to a drunk driver, her entire world had vanished.
No wonder she didn’t want to go back. But Hunter knew the time was coming when he wouldn’t have a choice. She couldn’t stay out of school forever. Something Phoebe’s paternal grandparents had begun to convey through their recently obtained lawyer. It was one more strike against him, the first being his job and the fact that he didn’t have a permanent address that wasn’t a PO Box. An uneasy nausea churned low in his stomach. He knew Eleanor and Stephen meant well and that they were concerned about Phoebe—not that they’d shown much interest in her before their son’s and daughter-in-law’s deaths. It hadn’t taken them longer than the reception after the funeral for them to suggest to Hunter that his rootless lifestyle wasn’t conducive to the raising of a seven-year-old. Their claims seemed bolstered by the fact that Phoebe had become withdrawn, but the therapist he’d consulted with shortly after the accident had given him the reassurance that it would just take time and encouragement from him to help her move beyond the loss.
Bringing up her parents in regular conversation didn’t illicit the hostile reaction it once had; Phoebe was getting used to hearing the stories or comments, and while she didn’t necessarily contribute to the conversation, he could see she was listening, processing. All positive steps toward healing.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, he blinked and found Phoebe watching him. Those brown eyes of hers seemed to see so much—far more than his jaded ones ever could.
Hunter gave her one of his trademark “everything’s great” smiles, and she returned to her book. The little tyke picked up on everything. Every mood he had. Every thought that passed through his mind. It was almost... spooky.
“Okay, here you go. One cheeseburger, one mini burger, a side order of onion rings and one green salad.”
Hunter scrambled to clear his stuff off the table as Paige set their food down. Phoebe shifted onto her knees and tucked her napkin into the collar of her shirt.