How do you save a hero?

Workaholic Cricket Shaw is a darn good lawyer—until a controversial case compromises both her ethics and her career. A long weekend in Temptation Bay, Rhode Island, for her high school reunion is the perfect escape. Sand between her toes, the sun on her skin...and a ruggedly mysterious former navy SEAL.

Except Wyatt Covack is much more than Cricket ever imagined. He’s still tormented by the lives he was responsible for and lost. The connection between them seems to take on a life of its own, a current that resists all logic. But the only way Cricket can save her SEAL is by letting go of the life she’s fought for...

“Where to?”

Wyatt and Cricket stood midway between the elevators and the outdoor deck.

“My suite?”

“Sure?”

She nodded.

He kissed her lightly, quickly. “I need to get that wine.”

She held him even as he tried to make a break for it. “That’s what room service is for.”

“Is that all?”

“For now,” she said, pulling him along until she could hit the button to go up. His arm slid just above her waist, his fingers gliding on her bare skin.

She shivered at the feeling, and when she opened her eyes, he was staring at her with so much longing it stole her breath away...

Dear Reader,

After writing over sixtysomething books for Harlequin, here it is, my very first Superromance. I have to say, it’s been a total joy to write. I loved delving so deeply into the relationships, fell madly in love with Wyatt, wanted to be just like Cricket, and I absolutely want to move to Temptation Bay...this week, please?

I got so involved in this story that I dreamed about these characters, thought about them at inconvenient times (while watching a movie—that I actually liked) and now that I’m not writing it anymore, I miss them like crazy. I keep calling my dog Baby Girl, have made myself a lobster roll because I couldn’t bear not to and, well...I truly do hope you enjoy Wyatt and Cricket’s story.

All my best,

Jo Leigh

The Navy SEAL’s Rescue

Jo Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JO LEIGH is from Los Angeles and always thought she’d end up living in Manhattan. So how did she end up in Utah in a tiny town with a terrible internet connection, being bossed around by a houseful of rescued cats and dogs? What the heck, she says, predictability is boring. Jo has written more than sixty novels for Harlequin. Find her on Twitter, @jo_leigh.

To my editor, Birgit Davis-Todd.

We’ve been partners in this journey since 1997, and we’ve worked on Temptations, Blazes, Intrigues, special series, online reads and now Superromance. She’s been my advocate, my sounding board and my trusted advisor, which makes me the luckiest Harlequin writer ever!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“MS. SHAW, YOUR weekly delivery is here. Should I send Arnold to your office?”

At the sound of Felicity’s voice coming from the intercom Jessica looked up from her laptop. Ignoring her assistant’s blatant attempt to get a rise out of her, she said, “I believe you still have tip money in the envelope I left with you.”

“I do. So would you prefer he leave the flowers with me?”

Jessica sighed. “Please.” A headache threatened from reading briefs most of the day and she wasn’t in the mood for her assistant’s teasing. Not just that, but encouraging Arnold in any way wasn’t a good idea. Ever since he’d become Jessica’s regular deliveryman, he’d had a crush on her. If you could call it that—the guy had to be in his late twenties. It hadn’t turned into anything...it wasn’t as if he was stalking her. But six months of trying to engage with her was too long.

A few minutes later she heard a light knock at her door.

“Come in, Felicity.” Jessica stood and moved last week’s flowers off the corner of her desk.

The door opened and the young woman entered, holding a glass vase filled with cheery yellow daffodils and pale green chrysanthemums. Huh. Interesting choice for the middle of June in Chicago. It did the trick, though, and boosted Jessica’s spirits.

“Sorry about earlier,” Felicity said, setting down the bouquet. “I shouldn’t have been joking around today of all days.”

“Why? Because I had only four hours sleep last night and I’m cross-eyed from reading briefs? Or did something happen that I don’t know about?”

“No.” Felicity smoothed her blue skirt. It was unusual to see her without a blazer. She tended to mimic Jessica in her manner of dress and hairstyles: conservative suits, hair pulled back in a neat twist or upswept. The staff often referred to her as mini-Jessica, only Felicity was a blonde and Jessica had dark hair. “It’s been raining steadily since this morning. You’re usually in a funk on gloomy days.”

“Am I?”

“Maybe subdued is a better description.” Felicity shrugged. “I’ve always assumed it made you a little homesick.”

Jessica supposed that was partly true, although the weather in Rhode Island could get cold and nasty in the winter. Still, the pleasure of growing up with sand between her toes, the sun’s warmth on her skin and the tangy smell of salt in the air wasn’t something one could easily forget.

And her dad of course... Ronny still lived in the old beach shack they’d shared for ten months out of each year until she’d left for college. As long as the surf was up he was out there on his board, along with his groupies who worshipped him. To pay the bills he gave surfing lessons to tourists or took groups out on fishing charters. But only when he absolutely had to. He was a true free spirit, her dad. For him, there was no place on earth that could top Temptation Bay. Some days she tended to agree with him.

The moment she sat down, her gaze caught on the wastebasket under her desk, where just this morning she’d dropped the invitation to her fifteen-year high school reunion. She regretted making the decision not to attend the event. She’d vacillated for over a month about whether or not to go. Most of the girls she’d hung out with at Roger Williams Prep had gone off to college, then moved on just as she had, and she would’ve loved to see them. Catch up on what everyone was doing with their lives. But in the end her workload had made the decision for her.

Her career ran her life. Not that she was complaining. Being recruited by a prestigious firm like Burrell, Scoffield and Schultz right out of law school had been crazy lucky as well as a personal victory.

“So...” Felicity nodded at the flowers Jessica had moved to the credenza. “Are you going to take those home? They still look fresh and pretty.”

Jessica laughed. How many times had they done this dance? “Take them,” she said.

“Excellent.” Felicity scooped up the vase quickly. “By the way, still no card.”

Jessica already knew that, and the tiny amused satisfaction she got out of keeping the secret that she sent the flowers to herself wasn’t a big deal. In fact, the truth was so much more mundane—she loved getting flowers so it was a treat she indulged in. When the office staff assumed she had an admirer, she’d let them.

Felicity shook her head on the way to the door. “You’d think just knowing you have a secret admirer would be enough to discourage poor Arnold.”

“Hey, about that...” Jessica picked up her mug, then remembered she’d thought about getting a refill an hour ago. “Don’t tease him anymore.” She held up a hand at the first sign of protest. “I know you don’t do it openly, but I don’t want this thing with him escalating.”

Felicity nodded thoughtfully. “May I get you some coffee? I can make a fresh pot.”

“Thanks, but I need to move.” She arched her back and glanced at the time. “Oh, great, I missed lunch.”

“I have some yogurt in the fridge.”

“No thanks.” Stretching her neck from side to side, Jessica followed her assistant out of the office and headed for the break room. She hadn’t actually felt hungry until she realized she hadn’t eaten. If she could manage to leave at a decent hour—anytime before seven would do—she’d pick up dinner from Max’s Take Out.

The whole floor seemed quieter than usual. Which was saying a lot. At least now she’d acclimated to the atmosphere at the firm. Being one of the top fifty law practices in the country, the attitudes and mores of the senior partners were still nestled in the stuffy long ago. Which included not rubbing elbows with the lowly associates.

At first she’d been put off. After all, she’d graduated third in her class at Yale. She was a damn good contract lawyer. Despite her skill and commitment, moving up in the firm was a slow and opaque process. But all in all, she liked it here. Everything was very...tidy. Organized and compartmentalized.

“Hey, Jessica.”

Grant Herbert, who was a junior partner and quite a few rungs above her on the ladder, called out from his office, and while he wasn’t actually her boss, she often worked on projects for him. Grant was a friend. Sometimes a little more than that. And he had an amazing office with a window view of Lake Michigan. While it wasn’t the Atlantic Ocean, it made her think of home.

In fact, her gaze was drawn instantly to the glorious reds and oranges of the late afternoon sun, fighting to make it through the dark clouds coming in from the lake. She let out a breath, and felt her mood lift just looking at it.

“Someday, you’re going to come in here and look at me the way you look out that window.”

She smiled, knowing he understood that at work, it was all work, and nothing more.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“I was about to call you,” he said, leaning back in his leather chair, looking a little too handsome with his shirtsleeves rolled up on his toned arms. His dark hair could have been longer, but at least the top was at the stage where she could tell he’d been running his fingers through it. “You working late?”

“I was hoping to leave before seven.”

“How about we order in some sushi? I’d like to talk to you about Burbidge.”

“Has something happened?”

He nodded. “And it’s a doozy. You want your regular?”

“Sure. Anything else going on? It’s too quiet around here.”

“Big meeting upstairs.”

“Ah.” She should’ve guessed. The top floor was occupied by the senior partners and two conference rooms that looked more like penthouses. “I’m surprised you aren’t up there.”

“I was.” Looking grim, he rubbed a hand over his face. “How long before you finish up?”

“An hour?”

“Good. I’ll have Gretchen order the sushi now before she goes home.”

Jessica hurried back to her office, her curiosity flying high. Their client, Alan Burbidge, was one of their biggest assets. His billable hours made up a large percentage of the firm’s income. He dealt primarily in real estate, although he owned over a dozen companies, from manufacturing to insurance to media outlets. A good deal of Jessica’s workload consisted of reviewing contracts and cases for Burbidge, her current focus on a lawsuit that was pending over a violation of Title II of the Hart-Scott-Rodino Antitrust Improvements Act of 1976. It was interesting, and had led her to a great many precedents for both sides. But it was hard to believe anything could be a doozy about this particular case.

Yet Grant had looked worried, even though he didn’t rattle easily. So something was definitely brewing. Having landed Burbidge’s subsidiary accounts had put Grant on the fast track to senior partner.

After forty minutes she called it quits, too jumpy to stay focused. She quickly cleared her desk and headed back to Grant’s office. The scent of soy sauce and vinegar hit her before she stepped inside his office, making her stomach rumble.

“Hope you don’t mind but I need to take a few bites,” she said, grabbing her bento box before she sat across from him. “I haven’t eaten today and I’m starving. So, what’s this all about?”

Instead of answering her, he got up and closed his door. Unusual. When he took his seat, he opened both bottles of Kirin beer. “Burbidge Jr. has done it again.”

Jessica moaned. “Oh, God. What this time?”

Grant’s expression told her this wasn’t just another DUI. “He’s been accused of rape.”

She set down her dragon roll. “No. Please tell me Burbidge doesn’t want us to make this disappear.”

“He does. And he’s adamant about it. Threatened to walk away from the firm if we don’t provide a winning defense.”

“I’m surprised he isn’t demanding we get the charges dropped.”

“Oh, that’s his first preference.”

Losing his business would be a huge price to pay, but letting a rapist off the hook, especially one with money, happened far too often. To be any part of that kind of travesty was unconscionable. “I don’t know how I feel about this. I mean, the poor girl—”

“He’s still entitled to a defense.”

“Do you—does anyone know if he actually did it?” She studied Grant’s face, but couldn’t read him. “Personally, I think the kid is narcissistic and stupid enough to admit it if not brag about it...at least to his daddy’s attorneys.”

Grant shrugged. “If it’s at all possible there’s DNA evidence, he’ll claim it was consensual. I’m not a defense attorney, but that’s how I’d advise him.”

A chill ran down her spine. “You were, though. Early on.”

“Yeah, for about a year after I passed the bar. That’s it.”

“Who’s being assigned as lead counsel? David Crawford?” Jessica didn’t care for the newest senior partner, mostly due to his reputation for being ruthless. But with his win record, he seemed the logical choice.

“Look, Burbidge isn’t being entirely rational at the moment. He seems more concerned that Sanford is going to be branded as a rapist.”

Jessica searched Grant’s eyes, wondering if he’d purposely ignored her question, which wasn’t like him. “Great. That means he’ll do anything to avoid a trial. Has he suggested paying off the victim yet?”

“I understand this is a sensitive topic. Just don’t forget we’re still his attorneys. It’s not our job to pass judgment. Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

“Not having to work with rapists is one reason I never wanted to be a criminal attorney. And we both know he’s got the wherewithal to manipulate anything that can be bought.”

“There’s no wiggling out of that. Two witnesses have come forward. Money alone won’t let him walk.”

“So, what then?”

“Burbidge is handpicking a legal team that he thinks can pull this off.”

“Wait. You mean, personally? He’s choosing who’ll be—”

Grant nodded. “I told you he isn’t being rational.”

“You’ve known him for a long time. Can’t you reason with him?”

Grant set his beer down and leaned forward. “He wants both me and you as co-counsel.”

Jessica lurched back in her chair. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke. He specifically asked for you.”

“What part of me not being a criminal attorney doesn’t he understand?”

“I’m not one, either. But he trusts me. And he insists on you.”

“Well, you’ll just have to work harder to get him to see he’s being an idiot.”

Grant’s temper bled through, but only for a second. “Naturally we won’t tackle this alone. Crawford will be lead in every way that counts. And Lister and Ulrich are joining the team.”

Jessica stared at the man she thought she knew. Did he really think she’d want any part in this? “Why on earth would Alan Burbidge ask for me? I’ve hardly had any personal interaction with him. But I have dealt with Sanford Burbidge a number of times, as you know. What I haven’t mentioned is that twice he’s bordered on inappropriate.”

“Well, damn.” Grant stared blankly past her for a long while, then he leaned forward, his elbows on his shiny teak desk. “Alan thinks you’ve got the right stuff to handle a jury. Possibly because Sanford put a bug in his ear, but that’s immaterial because he’s already hired Roger Eastman—arguably the best jury consultant in Chicago—and they came back with a profile that fits you to a T.”

“I understand why they’d want a woman at the defense table for a rape charge, but it’s a moot point, anyway. The prosecutor’s office would have a field day with me at the table. For God’s sake, I’m a contract attorney. Even if I did agree to join the team, I’m not equipped for the job. There are excellent women criminal lawyers in the firm, so asking me is ridiculous. I’m not getting on board with this, Grant.”

“I hear you. I do. I told Crawford you would strenuously object, but he wasn’t particularly interested in your moral objections to the case.”

“That’s too bad. I won’t do this.”

Grant pushed his uneaten sushi aside before he got up so he could sit in the second visitor’s chair. He caught her gaze and held it. “I’m having to do a lot of thinking about this myself. But the reality is, Burbidge is going to get what he wants, even if it means finding another firm. And if he walks over this, you and I will be out on our asses. No question.”

“I can live with that.”

“Really? Just think. It would mean giving up everything you’ve been working for since you started here. You’re a step away from junior partner. You know this would do it. Having Burbidge request you personally is huge. The partners would owe you big-time. It could mean the difference between a good career and sky’s the limit.”

“And it wouldn’t do you any harm, either.”

He didn’t even blink. “True. It’s a lot to consider. You won’t walk away with sterling references either. You’ll be considered a problem, not a team player.”

“It sounds as if you’ve already made a decision.”

“I’ve got a lot of years and sweat invested in this firm. Not to mention the chunk I fork out for child support and alimony every month. I know it sucks, but part of this job means representing causes that aren’t our own.”

“I’m not judging you,” she said, although she was disappointed. But she did understand. Her own predicament was less clear-cut. “So I’m not only supposed to help the bastard get off scot-free, when I’m not even qualified to be anything more than window dressing, but be blackmailed into doing it?”

“The partners have to protect the firm’s reputation. They can’t let Burbidge jump ship. If he goes, that will send a signal to other clients. Major clients.”

She felt sick. The scent of the sushi was making her stomach churn. It would be a crushing blow to lose this job, to get a bad name so early in the career she’d worked hard for, but how could she do anything else?

“Listen,” he said. “I know your reunion is coming up this weekend.”

“I’m not going.”

“I think you should. Get out of here. Take a long weekend. Think it through. You know I’ll stand behind you on this, whatever you decide.”

“Will you?”

“I won’t throw you under the bus. But this is too important not to consider all the angles. Take my advice. A break would do you good. Think about your options. I’ll get the firm to pay for the weekend.”

“No, you won’t. I don’t want their money, not for this.” She stood up. “Keep me in the loop, Grant. Seriously. I’ll need to know if anything changes.”

“Of course.”

She turned to go.

“Don’t forget your food.”

“I seem to have lost my appetite,” she said and didn’t look back.

Chapter Two

“SEASIDE ON THE BLUFF, eh?” Joseph, the white-haired cab driver, asked. They’d just left the airport, and Jessica was still in the midst of a silent battle between ethics, duty and career. “It used to be a small hotel, nothing like the fancy resort it is now. Back then Temptation Bay was just a small village of fishermen that had sprung up in the 1800s. They caught and sold fish from one generation to the next, that’s it. Until two brothers—Angus and I forget the other one’s name—they hated fishing and got tired of seeing so many tourists bypass the village to go to other seaside towns like the Cape, so they built the hotel sometime in the 1920s.”

She sighed. It was clear the taxi driver had a spiel he always gave, probably had one for each of the key destinations along the Rhode Island coast. It was clever, though, a way to entertain the tourists for extra tips. Of course she could recite the entire story of her town and then some. In fact, she knew the second brother’s name was John. But frankly, she preferred to let the driver gab for the next ten miles, so she didn’t have to talk.

“Some folks thought the brothers were crazy, but I think they were smart.” Joseph touched a finger to his head. “Temptation Bay has everything Cape Cod has and more. Like the sunken pirate treasure off the shores south of the village. Some people don’t believe there were any pirate ships that sailed up this far but no one knows for sure. Anyway, the brothers built their little hotel on the bluff and suddenly tourists started coming to Temptation Bay.”

Well, Joseph had gotten most of that right. At least that was the story she’d heard from Ronny and the fishing families. As for the treasure, that had been causing arguments since she was a little kid. Everyone seemed to have a great-uncle or cousin who had found booty washed up on shore.

“Eventually, some big-shot investor bought the hotel and turned it into a five-star resort and the village expanded with lots of fancy shops and seafood restaurants. A few are rated five-star, too. Some people come here just to eat. How about that?”

“Huh.” Jessica made the appropriate noise, not surprised he’d left out the part that all wasn’t smooth sailing in Temptation Bay. The village had also transformed into a thriving art colony, with pricey cafés and upscale shops. Not everyone wanted to share their slice of paradise with outsiders, and the beautiful beach town quickly became divided into the old and new. And while a few more hotels and B&Bs had sprung up, thankfully, the shoreline remained mostly pristine.

The cab stopped in front of the towering resort where a uniformed attendant was quick to open Jessica’s door. “Good afternoon,” he said with a friendly smile. “Welcome to Seaside on the Bluff.”

“Thank you.” She paid Joseph with an extra ten for the tale, and grabbed her small carry-on and leather garment bag before climbing out.

The young man looked alarmed when the cab pulled away from the curb. “Don’t you have more luggage?”

Shaking her head, she inhaled the familiar scent of the ocean, felt the salty breeze stir her hair. “Just these.”

Another employee hurried over with a large cart and she let him take both bags from her. She could’ve easily carried them herself, but she didn’t like denying them the tip. On the other hand, maybe she wasn’t doing them any favors.

Tourist season was in full swing. Three cabs had lined up at the curb and most of the other carts were loaded down with luggage. She’d been lucky to get a room at the last minute. It was a pricey suite she wouldn’t necessarily have booked, but she had to admit, the idea of getting a massage and soaking in a jetted tub sounded like heaven.

“I’m Hector,” the husky young man told her and started pushing the cart toward the glass doors. “Are you here for the reunion?”

“Yes, I am.” She glanced around at the busy port cache and dug into her purse. “Look, my bags are light, and I see you’re busy. I’ll probably end up bumping into people and—”

Ignoring the five-dollar bill she tried to give him, Hector shook his head. “For you, I have all the time in the world,” he said, his grin growing wider as he gestured for her to lead the way through the open glass doors.

She didn’t know what he meant by that, but she preceded him into the stunning, open lobby with a killer view of the ocean. It had been updated since she’d last seen it, although the same beautiful hardwood floors were polished to a shine, and the stark white reception desk with the old-fashioned wooden pigeonhole room slots was still there. The furniture was more elegant—suede chairs and couches, all variant colors of the sand and rock of the landscape, were placed in perfect groupings with convenient, antique tables and plenty of room to maneuver. Stunning bouquets led the eyes from one gorgeous view to the next.

Most of the chairs were occupied with people sipping cocktails and chatting away. She assumed a number of them were here for the reunion, though she hadn’t recognized anyone yet.

Luckily, only two guests were waiting at the front desk. Jessica’s gaze returned to the blue sky and even bluer water, and she had the sudden urge to kick off her flats, make a dash to the shoreline and dig her toes into the warm sand. Soak up enough sunshine to get her through a Chicago winter. More than once Ronny had told her the ocean flowed through her veins. And that she’d be back sooner than she’d thought...that she’d always come back.

By the time she turned to Hector he’d passed the cart to another bell attendant and was holding her things in his large, tanned hands.

“So I’m guessing you’re from Temptation Bay,” he said. “Went to school here.” It was a statement, not a question. “Your family, did they live at Waverly Hills?”

Jessica laughed, unsure if she should be insulted. But in truth her bloodline extended to both sides of the track. Her dad’s clan were townies, less charitably known as the fish people. Ronny came from a long line of fishermen who’d settled on the coast generations ago. The hill people were newbies, relatively speaking, and consisted primarily of wealthy tourists who’d bought prime land atop the bluffs and built second homes.

Ultimately, some of the families made Temptation Bay their permanent residence. Jessica’s grandparents might’ve followed suit, if their only daughter hadn’t announced that she wanted to marry Ronny, a local surfer, who, despite his two championship titles and his big heart, they could never see as anything but a beach bum.

Much as Jessica adored her dad, she knew her grandparents hadn’t been completely wrong. The next week they’d sold their gorgeous vacation home sitting high on the bluff and returned to Connecticut. Of course that hadn’t stopped their headstrong daughter.

At eighteen, Victoria Danes had returned to Temptation Bay two weeks later, on her own for the first time, armed with determination and confidence born from a healthy sense of entitlement. The next day she and Ronny were married on the beach, the water lapping at their bare feet. By most accounts Jessica was born eight months later, give or take. The marriage had barely lasted two years after that.

Noticing Hector’s odd look, she pulled herself back to the present. It took a moment to remember his question. “Any chance you know a local surfer named Ronny? He has a shack on the beach near the old docks.”

“Sure, I know him,” he said, grinning. “Everybody knows Ronny.”

“He’s my dad.”

Hector’s dark eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “No kidding.”

“No kidding.” She moved closer to the front desk when she realized a couple had slipped in ahead of her because she hadn’t been paying attention. “What about you? Your family lives here?”

He nodded, still looking puzzled. “How long have you been away?”

“Hmm...” It wasn’t a simple answer. Home every summer while she was in college. Three years of law school hadn’t given her much leisure time. Then while waiting to take the bar, she’d spent a month abroad with her mom and husband number four. “Not counting visits, about ten years.” Jessica wondered if he could hear the defensiveness that had crept into her voice. Probably not. Although Hector had somehow managed to identify her as a local in a matter of minutes, whereas Grant knew so little about her that he’d had the gall to ask her to help free a rapist.

Generally she wasn’t quick to judge someone. But after being subjected to Sanford Burbidge, she wouldn’t put anything past him. The guy was a sociopath. She pitied his defense team. Which would not include her and she sure as hell didn’t need a weekend away to think about it. Although, the idea of starting over with a tainted reputation sticking to her like a shadow made her want to cry.

Luckily, that didn’t make her any less glad to be here. She hadn’t realized just how much she needed this trip home.

“So, you must surf, right?”

“I used to.” She’d been pretty damn good, too. “But like I said, it’s been a long time.”

“I bet once you get back on that board you’ll rock.”

Jessica laughed. “I doubt I’ll be putting it to the test,” she said, estimating Hector to be in his midtwenties, about ten years younger than herself. So it wasn’t a surprise that she didn’t recognize him. It still made her a little sad, though. It wasn’t so long ago that she’d known just about everyone who lived on the other side of town.

She stared past him at two women across the lobby waving frantically at her. The glare was awful with the bright sunlight flooding in. Perhaps she wasn’t the intended...

Ginny?

“Oh, my God, it’s Ginny Landry,” Jessica murmured, waving back.

Harlow was with her...a little slimmer, quite a bit blonder. At least she was pretty sure it was Harlow, another member of their high school gang—the Fearless Four as they’d called themselves. But Ginny was the only classmate Jessica had seen since they’d graduated because Ginny still lived in Temptation Bay. Ironic since of all of them, Ginny had been on the fast track to become a concert pianist just like her late mother. But life often didn’t turn out as expected. Jessica could attest to that.

It was her turn at the front desk. She stepped up and motioned for Ginny and Harlow to wait, just as a woman dressed in a black uniform brought them drinks.

Check-in went smoothly, and when Hector told her he’d leave her bags in the suite so she could meet her friends, Jessica was grateful he hadn’t ditched her when she’d given him the chance.

She tipped him well, and was about to veer toward the bar, but curiosity stopped her. “How did you know I’m from here?”

“Easy,” Hector said, grinning. “You’ve got that laid-back beach vibe.”

Jessica laughed. “Boy, would my coworkers disagree.”

Of course the reunion was a big clue. He’d probably used the line on all of the attendees to boost his tips.

She sighed at her own cynicism. Laid-back. Right.

Ginny and Harlow were waving again, as if she hadn’t seen them. The lobby and bar were really jam-packed. Not a single empty table or seat, except for the one Ginny had a chokehold on.

Jessica wove her way through the crowd, smiling and nodding, recognizing a few faces but unable to come up with names.

“I should’ve known I’d find you guys near the booze,” she said as she reached them, momentarily losing her breath when Ginny abandoned the chair and pulled her into a huge hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ginny said. “I couldn’t believe it when I got your email yesterday.”

“Ditto for me. Now, quit hogging her.” Harlow was the athlete. Always in motion and winning awards. She’d almost made it to the Olympics before her life had been hijacked by injury. Clearly, she hadn’t let it stop her from staying in great shape.

Jessica grunted. “Okay, you have to let me breathe,” she said when they locked her in from both sides. “Seriously.”

Laughing, Ginny backed off first. “We better grab our seats. Where’s Ronny? Did he just drop you off and leave?”

“He had a charter today. Some guys hired him to take them past Block Island to fish for marlin.” Jessica smoothed her white linen slacks before sitting. “I didn’t want him to lose the business. He had an accident that put him out of commission for a couple weeks, so I took a cab.”

“What happened?” Ginny asked, sinking onto her chair.

“It was a loose board on the old dock. I’ve asked him a hundred times to get the harbormaster to make some repairs.”

“I thought he might have cracked up the Jeep again.”

“He had a car accident? When?”

“Maybe four months ago? I ran into him at the drugstore. He was filling a prescription, but I don’t think he was hurt too badly.”

“So why didn’t he tell me?”

Ginny gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t look at me,” Harlow said. “I just arrived from LA this morning. Oh, hey, there’s our waitress. Cricket, what do you want?”

Jessica stared at her friend, then burst out laughing.

The other two exchanged puzzled looks. “What?”

“No one’s called me Cricket in a really, really long time.”

Harlow frowned. “What are we supposed to call you?”

Jessica thought back to when she’d gotten the nickname, well before she’d started kindergarten. Maria and Stella had sold their husbands’ catches every morning, come rain or shine. They were always first to set up at the fish market and had bonded over both being married to men named Jimmy. Since Jessica had just seen Pinocchio, she’d thought they were talking about Jiminy Cricket, and she’d gotten all excited, hopping around in her tie-dyed sundress, barefoot as always, and that was it. Cricket had followed her onto the beach and into her classrooms. Even her mother, who was mortified at first, had come around when she realized how much it suited her. Although once Jessica had gone to college, she had let go of bare feet, high school mischief and her nickname.

“I have to admit,” Ginny said. “The first time I read one of your emails I thought who the hell is Jessica?”

Harlow nearly spit out the sip she’d just taken. “Jessica? Yeah, I kind of remember a teacher calling you that once.” She shook her head. “Sorry. Not me. I can’t call you that. Too weird.”

Jessica grinned, feeling truly at ease for the first time in forever. She’d needed this break. She needed them.

“To the resurrection of Cricket,” Ginny said, holding up her glass.

“Ditto.” Harlow held up her drink.

Jessica—no, Cricket let the name sink in deeper. Since she had only a white napkin sitting in front of her she waved it over her head like a flag of surrender, though she would’ve preferred a drink. “Cricket it is.”

* * *

WYATT COVACK HEARD his phone beep and hoped like hell it was part of a dream. He grabbed the extra pillow and just as he was about to put it over his head he heard the second ring. Cursing, though not loud enough to drown out the third beep, he opened one eye. The alarm clock was a red blur but he finally made out the three and the one. That’s all he needed to see to make him want to punch the wall.

Who the hell was calling him? Just about everyone he trusted with his cell number knew he’d worked until 5:00 a.m. and then hadn’t hit the sack until eight. The bar had closed at one but trying to win his two hundred back from that lousy cardsharp Bobby Cappelli had been damn hard work, and Wyatt dared anyone to tell him otherwise.

He’d left his phone on the kitchen counter, all the way on the other side of the cramped apartment. The place wasn’t very big, but trying to navigate past all the crap he’d left lying around was like crossing a minefield. Maybe worse.

As if the universe decided to prove the point, his bare right foot landed on something sharp. A pain shot up his leg. Dammit to hell. One of Josh’s Lego pieces. He swore the kid was out to kill him. Nerve clusters made the bottom of a person’s feet vulnerable. A ruthless target if you needed to extract information without leaving obvious marks. Made it a popular torture technique.

Wyatt winced. He hated that he knew that, and a lot more, all remnants of his former life. He’d heard time would eventually blunt the memories...reduce the flashbacks. If guilt didn’t punch his ticket first.

Before he made it to the phone the caller was sent to voice mail. He squinted at the call log. Sabrina. Oh, man. If she was calling in sick again, he was gonna...

He actually didn’t know what he was gonna do.

Sabrina was his backup. None of the other waitresses could handle running the bar in his absence. Most of them were kids who attended the local community college, a couple considered themselves artists and sold their work at street fairs. But waiting tables paid the bills. Especially during tourist season.

Most nights he was behind the bar, pouring drinks and filling pitchers, occasionally breaking up fights, and making sure last call didn’t stretch past one o’clock. But there were times when he had to just plain get away. Away from people. From responsibility. Get away from himself when he could manage it, which usually meant getting shit-faced. Other times he borrowed Marty’s chopper. Flying into the clouds had a way of letting him feel weightless and unburdened. And then there were those times when Becky needed him to watch the kids. Sweet-tempered, obedient Rose and Josh, the little terminator.

He rubbed his gritty eyes and waited for his vision to clear. Next he’d probably get a text from Sabrina. Best-case scenario, she’d be late. Worst-case? She was sick, again, and didn’t know how long she’d be out. He was beginning to think he should have a little man-to-man talk with her worthless boyfriend. Wyatt got the feeling the dumb bastard was responsible for most of Sabrina’s absences. That wasn’t what bothered Wyatt the most. Normally he wouldn’t think of butting into someone’s private life. But she was a nice girl who deserved a lot better than an abusive drunk.

On cue his cell signaled a text.

Just as someone knocked at his door.

“Are you kidding me?” he muttered and threw in a curse.

Another loud bang.

“Hold on, for crying out loud,” he yelled and glanced at the text, then searched the floor for his jeans.

When he’d bought Sam’s Sugar Shack two years ago, he’d left everything intact—the funky decor, the staff, the pseudo uniforms, which amounted to very short denim cutoffs and a cropped T-shirt with the bar’s logo. In good conscience he had offered to get rid of the Hooters look, but the waitresses shot it down. Better tips. Who was he to argue?

Hell, he’d hadn’t even changed the name of the place, which every local seemed to have a strong opinion about. The purchase price had included the apartment above it. Never having had a conventional job before, it seemed like a major win.

Big mistake. It made him too accessible.

He couldn’t even get away with turning off his phone. If he didn’t answer, someone always came knocking. Usually over something stupid. Civilians were a bunch of damn crybabies.

He pulled on his jeans and opened the door.

“Hey, boss. Sorry to bother you but—” Tiffy’s gaze froze on his bare chest. He was pretty sure she wasn’t admiring his pecs, although he did keep in shape. She was staring at the scars left by a pair of particularly nasty knife wounds.

He rubbed his stubbled jaw, using his arm to obstruct her view. “You were saying?”

“Oh, um, right. We’re really getting slammed downstairs and Cara and Viv are both late. Well, we knew ahead of time Cara was going to be late because she has an appointment with—I guess it doesn’t matter. Anyway, if you could come in early that would be totally awesome.”

“Early?”

“Yeah, um, like now?”

Wyatt sighed. “I gotta take a quick shower and I’ll be right down.”

Tiffy was still staring at his chest as he closed the door.

Chapter Three

CRICKET STOOD ON the balcony of her suite, inhaling the salt air and feeling it cleanse the body and soul of Jessica and her problems. At least for the moment. This far up the coast you couldn’t smell the fish market. As a kid she’d rarely minded the odor, though sometimes if the temperature climbed too high in the peak of summer, the stink could get to anyone.

One of the advantages of the resort sitting on the bluff was being able to look down at the clear, beautiful water. She could make out the green roofs of the bungalows that had been a recent addition to the resort. Her first choice would’ve been to stay in one of them so she could be right on the beach. But there were only a half dozen available and they’d been booked quickly.

She glanced at her watch, startled that a whole hour had slipped by. With barely enough time to change her clothes, she had fifteen minutes to meet Ginny at Sam’s Sugar Shack.

After hurriedly changing into tan capris and a casual blouse, she rode the elevator down to the “beach and pool level” below the lobby, hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone. Something was clearly bothering Ginny and they didn’t need old classmates inviting themselves along. After all these years and having seen each other only twice, Jessica was glad her old friend felt she could confide in her.

The second before she hit the beach, she kicked off her sandals. Feeling the warmth of the sand and the cooling breeze made it a whole lot easier to shift gears now that everyone would be calling her Cricket. She’d laughed when she picked up her nametag earlier. It had been a hard transition in college becoming Jessica, but since she’d decided early that she wanted to study law, she needed a serious name. But nobody here knew her as an attorney. Even her dad called her Cricket occasionally, but mostly he called her Baby Girl.

After a ten-minute walk, Sam’s came into view. Shading her face from the bright sunlight, she saw Ginny standing at one of the tall umbrella tables outside, wearing a green sundress, which showed off her stupidly perfect arms and the legs that had made half the boys in school walk around with books in front of their jeans. When a couple leaving the bar caught Ginny’s eye, she waved and disappeared inside. The place was probably as packed as the resort bars. Cricket quickened her pace. Hopefully Ginny was able to grab a table. It would be more private and comfortable talking inside.

Removing her sunglasses, she hesitated at the door, letting her eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting.

“Over here.”

She followed the voice and saw Ginny sitting at a small table for two in the corner. It was slightly out of the way and couldn’t be more perfect. All except for the donkey piñata hanging over the wicker chair Cricket sank onto. No, not wicker, more like straw, firm enough to poke her behind. She doubted investing in a few cushions would’ve broken the new owner.

When she saw the pink-and-green Hula-Hoops hanging on the back wall, she grinned. “Oh, my God. This place hasn’t changed one bit. I wonder if they still have Hula-Hoop contests for free drinks.”

Ginny glanced up at the large piñata over Cricket’s head. “I don’t know if I trust that thing.”

“So, you left this chair for me?”

“Well, yeah. I have a kid, you don’t. And you’re an attorney. You can sue without it costing you.” Ginny barely got it all out without laughing.

They were both cracking up and pointing out the strange assortment of hanging decorations. Aside from piñatas of all types, there were also dangling skateboards, a couple of bikini tops, several license plates and a group of visors with dumb sayings. And then Ginny looked at the hula girl bobblehead sitting in the middle of their table. With a flick of her long elegant fingers she set it in motion and they laughed until they both had to wipe away tears.

Sniffling, Cricket moved in for a closer look at the hula girl. “Is that thing glued to the table?”

“I think so.”

“For God’s sake, who would steal that?”

“Oh yeah, you’ve definitely been away too long.”

Cricket glanced around, saw the coast was clear and bowed her head to use the hem of her shirt to dab at her nose and eyes. “Do not make me laugh like that again.”

“It felt good, didn’t it?” The trace of wistfulness in Ginny’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Look, I’m sorry for pulling you away from everyone,” she said. “It isn’t fair, I know, but I figured it would be harder to find time toward the end of the weekend.”

“Oh, please. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Cricket did a quick survey of the place and thought she recognized a woman in an absurdly short skirt downing shots at the bar. “Could just be me, but I have a feeling we’re going to be pretty sick of some of these people by Sunday.”

“It’s not just you.” Ginny’s smile softened the worry lines between her brows. “Does everyone drink so much at reunions?”

“Beats me. I’ve never been... You must’ve come to the ten-year. It was at the hotel, wasn’t it?”

“I’d planned on it but Tilda was sick and I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

“Isn’t your dad—?”

“Tilda and I are living in the family home. He’s still in his apartment in Providence.” Ginny shrugged. “It’s for the best. He’ll never accept Tilda or forgive me for not wanting to spend my life playing a piano.”

“It must hurt, though.”

“No, actually, I’ve let it go. I don’t think he ever recovered from my mom’s death, and he never will. It’s sad, and if I thought I could help him I would. But honestly, I think there’s a part of him that blames me. After all, she died giving me life.”

“Of course he doesn’t blame you.” Cricket knew Ginny’s dad. Robert Landry was a well-known attorney, and not just in Rhode Island. “That’s completely irrational.”

“Oh, and you have two perfectly rational parents?”

Cricket let out a strangled laugh. “Good point.” She reached for a glass that wasn’t there. “Did anyone ask if you wanted a drink yet?”

“They probably figured we’ve had our limit.”

“Probably.” She leaned to the side, scanning the room for a waitress. And found someone so much better. “Oh, hello. Did you see the bartender? Nice. Despite the fact he looks as if he just rolled out of bed.”

Ginny looked over her shoulder. “Despite? I think he looks yummy just as he is. I wonder if he’s the owner.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m guessing he’s midthirties? Most of the employees are barely legal drinking age.”

“True. He’s not messing around, either. He’s really whipping out those drinks.” She liked his lean, athletic build, the broad shoulders that filled out his wrinkled T-shirt. Even from clear across the room she could see the play of muscles across his back as he turned and grabbed a bottle off the shelf.

He startled her by swinging a sudden look in her direction. “Sorry,” he called out. “Be right with you.”

Cricket felt the heat surge up her throat to her face. How had he known she was—?

“Was he talking to you?” Ginny asked, turning her head for another peek at him.

“I guess so. Was I that obvious?”

“He probably thinks you’re impatient for a drink.”

Cricket could only hope. “Tell me what you wanted to talk about,” she said, giving her complete attention to her friend.

“Actually, I need your advice on something.”

“As an attorney or a friend?”

Ginny looked surprised, and Cricket couldn’t explain what prompted her to make the distinction. “Both I hope.”

“Okay, I’ll be happy to do what I can.”

“It’s about Tilda. Or more to the point, about her father.”

“Wait. Is this a custody issue?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” Ginny sighed. “I really don’t know.”

Cricket drew in a deep breath and leaned forward. “First off,” she said, “you should know that family law isn’t in my wheelhouse. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help in some way. Even if it turns out I recommend someone good for you to contact.”

Ginny nodded. “I understand.”

“Has Tilda’s father been in her life at all?”

“No.”

“Did you name him on the birth certificate?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Does he even know she exists?”

“Not really.”

Cricket leaned back and smiled. “You’re going to have to tell me a bit more about what’s going on. Does Tilda want to search for him? Is that what’s bringing all this up?”

“No, but I expect she will soon.” Ginny shrugged. “If for no other reason than she’s getting to be at that age, you know?”

“How old is she now?”

“Fourteen. I have pictures if you want to see them later,” Ginny said, grinning proudly.

“Your daughter’s a teenager? How is that even possible?”

Ginny chuckled. “You never were very good at math.”

“All right, come on, let’s see the pictures.” Cricket thought back to her first visit home after graduating from college. She’d run into Ginny at the local supermarket. It had startled her to discover Ginny had a kid, which certainly explained why she’d left Julliard. All Cricket had been able to think was how horrible it must be for her. Her friend had shown so much promise. And Ginny was a smart girl, it seemed impossible that she’d have unprotected sex. Yet she couldn’t have planned the pregnancy either...

Ginny handed over her phone. “Scroll through as many as you want. I’ve got a million of them.”

Cricket smiled at the dark-haired preteen striking a goofy pose. The girl didn’t resemble Ginny, but maybe the father. “She’s a doll,” Cricket said, continuing through the photos. “She seems to have such a sweet disposition.”

“Ah, you must be looking at the ones before she hit puberty.”

“Ha. I bet she’s not half as bad as we were.”

Ginny sniffed. “As you, maybe. I was a good kid.”

Cricket glanced up and glared. Then she sighed. “Okay, you’re probably right.”

“Probably?”

“All right already.” Cricket couldn’t resist a few more pictures as it occurred to her that she was actually feeling a twinge of envy. Where was that coming from? She hadn’t thought much about kids, not for a while. That’s why she’d been okay hooking up with Grant. Her whole world was her job, although that might be changing in the very near future.

Just as she was about to hand over the phone to Ginny, a deep, raspy voice stopped her short.

“Sorry for the wait, ladies. What can I get you?”

Cricket looked up into a pair of gray eyes. He was even better looking up close. His jaw was dark with stubble, which normally would’ve been a turnoff for her. But with his lean, tanned face and firm mouth, faintly curved as he held her gaze, he was the best-looking man she’d seen in a long time.

Ginny cleared her throat. “I’ll have a frozen margarita, easy on the salt.”

He turned a smile at her. “Got it,” he said before looking back at Cricket. “And you?”

“Um, I guess the same.”

His sudden frown came out of nowhere. He whipped a look toward the entrance. “Hey, what are you doing here?” he barked at two young kids who’d just stepped into the bar. “Back up. Now. Both of you.”

“Mom said you’re supposed to watch us.” The boy tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, his gaze bouncing from one colorful papier-mâché animal to the next. He pointed at the blue pig. “Is that pintana new?”

“That’s not how you say it,” the little blonde girl, who looked to be about seven or eight, told the boy. “It’s called a pinta.”

“Rose, Josh...” The man gave them a stern look. “What did I just say?”

“That we can have an ice cream cone?” The girl flashed him a dimpled smile that he seemed to be having trouble ignoring. Guess who had Daddy wrapped around her little finger?

“If you’re good, and you listen, then maybe.” He gestured toward the door. “Now, scram.”

Josh wrinkled his freckled nose. “But...”

“I mean it. You go around to my office and stay there till I tell you otherwise. Nothing less than a real emergency, like we talked about.” He swore quietly under his breath. “Damn kids... I’m gonna lose my liquor license.”

“What’s a licker li—”

“Come on, Josh.” A waitress cut him off and grabbed his hand. “Rose, you, too, let’s go,” she said, leading them outside.

“Thanks, Tiffy,” he called after them, then rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. Just as he turned back to Cricket and Ginny, a tall, slim woman with strawberry blond hair rushed in.

“Oh, my God, Wyatt, I’m so sorry. We were on our way over and I turned my head for only a second—”

“It’s fine, Becky. I know how it is. Tiffy is taking them around to my office.”

“I saw her. Look, I’ll only be gone a couple of hours...” She trailed off, studying his face. “Did you forget? You did, didn’t you? You said you’d keep an eye on them while—”

“I didn’t forget,” Wyatt said.

Cricket was willing to bet the farm he was lying, but he was damn good at it, she’d give him that.

“I thought you were off today,” the woman, probably his ex-wife, looked confused.

“I was. We got busy. Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure they have dinner.”

Becky made a face, clearly not thrilled with his offer.

Wyatt gave her a wry smile. “Believe me, I’m not gonna do that again. Now, go.” He turned to Cricket. “Sorry about all this. Tell me again what you wanted. It’s on the house.”

At this point she wasn’t sure she remembered. “Tell you what,” she said with a slow smile, “why don’t you surprise me?”

He raised a questioning brow. “You sure?”

“Positive.” His dark good looks accompanied by that sexy rasp in his voice were enough to send a little shiver down her spine. When was the last time that had happened? God, she really hoped Becky was an ex.

“Uh-oh. That sounds too much like a dare,” Ginny said, laughing. “Bring her a margarita. You can surprise her another time.”

Cricket glared at her. “What are you, my mother?”

“I know you, Cricket. We have a function to attend tonight, and you aren’t weaseling out of it. You promised to be my date.”

She knew what Ginny was getting at. Frank Geary, who had more money than brains—or anything else including class—was one person neither of them wanted to see. As luck would have it, he was hosting the welcome reception in a couple of hours and Ginny didn’t want her using the excuse she was sick.

“Cricket? That’s your name?”

“No,” Cricket said and Ginny said, “Yes.”

“Interesting.” He extended his hand. “Wyatt.”

Cricket responded in kind, liking his firm grasp, then felt greedy and petty when he let go to offer his hand to Ginny. It hadn’t even occurred to Cricket that her friend might share an interest in the guy. Although she seemed to have a lot on her mind concerning her daughter. And here Cricket was flirting instead of being the friend Ginny needed.

“Coming right up with those margaritas,” Wyatt said, and turned with a grimace at the high-pitched voice of the kids coming from somewhere in the back.

“Hubba hubba,” Ginny said, the second he was out of earshot.

“Are you interested?”

Ginny frowned. “I meant for you.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nooo...” Ginny shook her head. “I have enough on my plate.”

“Yeah, let’s get back to your custody question. Look, you don’t have to tell me who Tilda’s father is... Or you can. I won’t lie, I’m curious as all get out.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Okay, that helps.” Cricket smiled sheepishly. “Me anyway. But you’re probably wondering if he has any rights.”

“He can’t prove anything without a DNA sample. Do you think the court might compel me to provide one? I mean, he can’t just make demands because we had sex a couple of times.” Ginny worried her bottom lip. “Right?”

Another high-pitched screech cut through the bar noise. It sounded like Josh again.

Standing behind the bar making the drinks, Wyatt just shook his head.

Ginny chuckled. “Aren’t you glad you missed all that?”

Something twisted inside Cricket. “You say that like I’m over the hill. I might still have kids.”

“Really?”

“You never know.” She shrugged, shocked to realize it wasn’t just envy niggling at her. Much worse, longing tugged at her from both sides.

Chapter Four

AFTER KEEPING UP with a steady crowd all evening, Wyatt was ready to sit down with a cold one himself. In between mixing a Long Island Iced Tea and a gin and tonic, he looked over at table seven to see if the preppies were still there. If they were still called preppies. Brand-name clothes, tidy hair and smug laughter spelled prep school at the very least. The short guy wore a designer golf shirt and loud pants. Yep. Reunion attendees, all three of them, products of Roger Williams Preparatory Academy. He’d bet his lucky charm on it, or had he lost that to Bobby last night, too?

Huh. Sounded familiar.

Checking his pocket, he felt the Leatherman tool. Hell, maybe he’d be better off getting rid of it. His life had been anything but lucky in the last few years. Although the fact that he was still alive might be argued as a win, but not by him.

Slamming the brakes on his dark thoughts, he set the finished drinks on Lila’s tray, and took a moment to rub his gritty eyes.

She stopped flirting with the old guy at the end of the bar and swept up her order. “Thanks,” she said, giving him a sexy smile and a toss of her long blond hair. “After I deliver these, you want some help behind the bar?”

He shook his head. “I’m good. Just worry about your tables.”

“I only have three, so I can easily cover the beer tap, too.”

“No thanks.”

Her lips pursed in a pout, a very fetching pout. But no way he was going anywhere near that. Not just because she was an employee. Sexy, persistent Lila was built like a wet dream, but being in the vicinity of twenty-two, she made him feel a hundred years old. Hell, being with anyone that young would just exhaust him.

On the other hand, looking wouldn’t kill him. He watched her curvy hips sway in rhythm with the jukebox music as she made her way around a rowdy group of surfers from Australia.

“Hey, Covack, you up for another game later?”

He turned just as Bobby pulled out a stool and dropped his car keys on the bar. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here, Cappelli.”

“What? You don’t honestly think I cheated.” Bobby chuckled. “Come on. Why would I waste the energy?”

Ignoring him, Wyatt wiped down the bar. Arnie was sitting two stools down, crying in his beer over his lousy morning catch. A lot of the older fishermen frequented the bar when there weren’t too many tourists crowding the place.

Arnie glanced up and pushed his empty mug forward.

“You got a ride home tonight?” Wyatt asked him.

The old man nodded. “Left the truck with Thelma.”

Wyatt believed him and poured him a refill. Arnie was one of the more responsible drunks.

“The trouble with you is, you think you’re good at poker,” Cappelli said. “But you stink, and I don’t mind taking your money while you try proving otherwise.”

“Yeah, keep it up. Like I don’t already wanna throw your ass out.”

Grinning, Bobby pulled out a wad of cash, half of which had been in Wyatt’s pocket last night. “Give me a Scotch,” he said, peeling off a twenty. “In fact make it Glenfiddich. I’m feeling flush tonight.”

Wyatt flipped him off.

Cappelli laughed and swiveled around to survey the room. “Dude, you need to do something with this place. It doesn’t just look like it belongs in a trailer park, it would have to be a condemned trailer park.”

Yeah, most of the piñatas were old and faded. He’d been told on more than one occasion the dangling bikini tops were offensive. Maybe. But most of the locals thought they were funny and part of the landmark bar’s signature. “The place has character.”

“Sure, if all you care about is the local crowd.” Cappelli appeared to have caught a back view of Lila leaning over a table and suddenly he had no more opinions to share.

Good.

The newest hire, Shelly, stood at the end of the bar waving an order ticket. Wyatt nodded as he poured the jerk’s Scotch. Not that he’d admit it, but Cappelli had a point. Wyatt had been thinking along those lines as he watched tourists and reunion people float in and out all afternoon. If he wanted to be a serious business owner, better yet, a more profitable one, he had to get his act together.

He should’ve contacted the hotel, or whoever was in charge of the reunion activities, to get a copy of the weekend’s agenda. Figure out how he could attract the prep schoolers during the times they had no organized functions.

If turning a healthy profit was just about him, he wouldn’t give a damn. But he had Becky and the kids to consider. They were the whole reason he’d moved here. To make sure they were safe and had everything they needed. Becky was certainly a smart, competent woman, but it was tough for her to work full-time with two little kids at home. The monthly widow’s benefit she received from the government was decent but could only go so far. Adam’s grandparents lived nearby and helped however they could, but they’d already gotten up in years when they’d raised Adam.

Jesus, someone must’ve just gone through a shitty breakup. Wyatt looked up from the Sex on the Beach he was mixing to see which idiot was playing “Un-Break My Heart” for at least the hundredth time. His gaze didn’t make it to the jukebox. The brunette from this afternoon had just entered the bar, all dolled up in a short red dress that showed off long killer legs. He chuckled when he saw she was barefoot, a pair of five-inch red stilettos dangling from her hand. Man, he didn’t think he’d walk barefoot on this floor, even though it was washed every night after closing.

Evidently she figured that out for herself. Her lips moved as she looked down at her feet and made a face. Grabbing the back of a chair, she quickly slipped on the heels, then glanced around.

It was a sure bet she’d join the Ivy League trio.

A bet he would’ve lost. The second she spotted them she turned her head, completely cool and collected, as she swept her gaze in the opposite direction while strategically arranging her long dark hair to hide the side of her face. She zeroed in on the empty barstools and headed toward them.

Wyatt didn’t want her sitting anywhere near Bobby, or Mad Dog, who was downing shots to Bobby’s left. “Hey, Cappelli, move over three stools.”

“What?” He glanced warily at the large, bearded biker. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

“You’re nuts.”

“If you need a fourth, I’ll play tonight. But you gotta move now.”

“I’m holding you to it.” Cappelli got up, stepped back and nearly plowed into the woman. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t...” His voice trailed off as he turned, his eyes level with her chest. Bobby was short and she was wearing very high heels. He looked at Wyatt. “You dog.”

“What?” Wyatt said, laughing. “Move and let the lady sit.”

Bobby pulled out a stool for her. Then the jerk sat right next to her. That wasn’t the deal.

“Am I chasing you away?” she asked.

“I should be so lucky,” Wyatt said, shooting Cappelli a warning look. “Cricket, right?”

Her brows rose and she blinked at him.

“We met this afternoon.”

“Oh, I remember,” she said with a slow smile. “It’s just... I haven’t been called Cricket in a while and I’m trying to get used to it again.”

“So, what should we call you?” Bobby was all teeth, his body twisted around, elbow on the bar, facing her.

Wyatt shook his head. “Ignore him. He’ll go away. Now, what can I get you?”

She laughed. “I believe you’re supposed to surprise me?”

“Right.” Wyatt thought about it as he took in her manicured hands, neat, trimmed nails with a faint gloss, nothing flashy. She wore minimal jewelry, earrings and a watch, both classy but understated. No ring, and if she’d ever worn one, it had been a long time. “Did you drive?”

“I walked.”

“You staying at the Seaside?”

She nodded. “Only ten minutes by beach,” she said with the smile that had drawn him in the first time he’d seen her. “Did I pass? Do I get some alcohol now?”

“Sounds like you need it.”

“Most definitely.”

“Yeah, reunions must be a b—” He didn’t finish.

“A bitch? Yep.”

He’d already decided what to pour her. Nothing fancy, not for her. Figuring he’d start off with something as high-end as those earrings, he grabbed a glass and a bottle of his Lagavulin twelve-year Scotch, which he liked better than the Glenfiddich. Neat or on the rocks, he wasn’t sure about that detail.

Wyatt went for neat. And was rewarded with another one of her gorgeous smiles.

* * *

SO HE’D GUESSED she was a Scotch drinker. Wyatt was either really good at reading people, or Cricket hadn’t left the no-nonsense image behind in Chicago like she thought. She watched him hesitate, probably wondering if she drank it on the rocks.

Seeing Ginny and Harlow had felt good, and it would be even better when they connected with Jade once she straightened out her delayed flight—she was hoping to arrive sometime around 2:00 a.m. Jessica—no, Cricket—hoped she didn’t regret promising to wait up for her. Ginny had left the reception early to pick up her daughter from a party. Harlow had hooked up with a football player from back in the day, a guy Cricket barely remembered. They’d begged her to join them but she’d lied. Told them she had a headache and she still hadn’t seen Ronny yet. That part about her dad was true.

They’d talked on the phone when he returned from the fishing charter. She’d just gotten to the reception and he’d had a long, taxing day and suggested she come over for breakfast tomorrow. Waiting for anything wasn’t Ronny’s strong suit, and after what Ginny had told her about his accident, Cricket hoped he wasn’t avoiding her.

No, that was crazy. Ronny probably hadn’t given it a thought. Nothing fazed him. It wouldn’t have occurred to him that Cricket might be worried about his health.

She looked down at the Scotch the bartender slid across the bar to her. Neat. Perfect. She’d been surprised that he hadn’t given her the Glenfiddich that was already down, but had gone for the top of the line. Trying to score points? When she took her first sip, she gave him a ten out of ten.

She heard the guy next to her sigh, and realized he’d been trying to hit on her, but she’d been lost in her own thoughts, and if there was one thing she’d learned how to do in law school, it was ignore distractions. Luckily his phone rang and he quickly got involved in the call.

“So, did I get it right?” Wyatt folded his muscled arms across his chest and leaned back. His gray eyes looked darker than they had this afternoon, his stubbled jaw, as well. And damn, he was still hot.

“Oh, yes.” She lifted the glass in a salute, then took another sip. “But you would’ve been right with wine or beer, as well.”

“Huh.” He frowned. “What kind of beer? Specialty microbrews made in small batches, or...”

“Actually, I’m not that picky when it comes to beer. Lately I’ve been leaning toward Corona. Unless I’m having sushi, then it’s...” She flashed back to the evening in Grant’s office, and just like that her mood plummeted.

“Kirin?”

She blinked at Wyatt, and seeing curiosity flare in his eyes, she lowered her gaze and nodded.

“Got an order.” The woman’s voice came from directly behind her.

“Be right there,” Wyatt said. “Hey, would you prefer something else? This being a vacation maybe you want something pink and frilly?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Blue, then. With a couple of cherries, a matching umbrella?” he said as he drifted toward the end of the bar.

Cricket smiled, watching him take a slip from the blonde waitress who was staring at her. Wyatt said something to the young woman and she hurried around the bar to the beer tap. While he mixed drinks, she filled mugs. He didn’t look too happy when she seemed to go out of her way to stand close enough that her hip rubbed against his thigh. But then maybe that was just part of the gig. Just because he’d flirted with Cricket didn’t mean he wasn’t playing with the Happy Meal toys.

Nope. He laid down the law. Cricket couldn’t actually hear what he’d said but she was good at reading body language. Besides, the waitress hastily hopped a foot to her right and, stone-faced, finished filling three mugs. Maybe Wyatt wasn’t just the bartender but the owner. Not that it mattered, at least not to Cricket.

She’d be here for another two days, spend some time with her dad, catch up with old friends and acquaintances, and then return to Chicago and tell Grant she hadn’t changed her mind. Sanford Burbidge could fry for all she cared. Yes, innocent until proven guilty—she got the concept, she even believed in it—but sometimes you just knew a person was evil and capable of doing evil things. She didn’t have to be a criminal attorney to know that wasn’t a rare experience.

But dammit, what if being true to herself really could torpedo her career? It was possible that Grant was using the threat to strong-arm her, just to placate Burbidge. She didn’t want to think he’d do that, but making senior partner was singularly important to him. She had no illusions where his career was concerned. Still, the firm had other female attorneys much better qualified to defend the creep. All Cricket would be was a figurehead, a very reluctant, pissed-off figurehead. How would that help anyone?

Grant wasn’t stupid. Quite the opposite, in fact. And he knew her better than anyone at the firm. Surely she could convince him to talk Burbidge out of it, reason with the partners and smooth any ruffled feathers...perhaps even without letting them know just how vehemently she opposed being placed in such an untenable situation.

“You’re away from work, sitting in a bar on the beach, drinking good Scotch...”

She looked up. Wyatt was back, leaning against the counter behind him, those tanned muscled forearms crossed again and he must have known how much that stance complemented his strong, broad chest. His snug T-shirt hid nothing.

“So why look as if the world is about to cave in on you?” he asked.

“Um, maybe because it is?”

His mouth twitched into a wry half smile, as if he didn’t believe a word. “You sure? The mind is a dangerous place to be roaming around this late.”

“Amen to that.” Cricket let out a soft laugh, then drained her Scotch.

When he picked up her glass and raised his brows, she nodded.

“Hey, if you need an ear...” He shrugged. “I’m a bartender, it’s my job.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Bobby or Billy—she’d forgotten—was off the phone and snorted like a pig. “Anyone tries to unload on you and you tell ’em to go find a damn shrink.”

Wyatt pinned him with quite an impressive glare. “I’m selective,” he said, and grabbed the Scotch.

After he poured her drink and corked the bottle, something behind her caught his attention. “Excuse me,” he murmured, suddenly preoccupied. “Sabrina.” He stepped to the side and motioned. “You okay?”

“Fine,” a woman’s soft voice replied.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to work. I’m really, really sorry I’m late, Wyatt. Please don’t fire me. I—I couldn’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said, then muttered a curse. “What happened?”

Cricket sat up straighter, fighting the urge to turn around. Something about the way Wyatt looked stirred some instinct that lifted the fine hair on the back of her neck. If she hadn’t seen him with the children earlier, the hard edge in his eyes would’ve given her a completely different impression of him. She couldn’t resist a brief peek.

The bruise on the young woman’s face was impossible to miss, even though she’d tried her best to hide it with her long auburn hair. Cricket’s chest tightened at the sight. At what it so clearly meant. The woman, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and Wyatt were speaking quietly, their conversation not meant to be overheard, but Cricket couldn’t do anything about it, short of getting up and leaving.

“It’s fine, Wyatt. I promise. Can we drop this?”

He took so long to respond, Cricket stole another quick glance. The hardness was back in his eyes. “Don’t worry. Take the rest of the night off.”

“Thanks, but I really need the money.”

His jaw clenched. “After we close, you can stay upstairs if you want.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got it covered.”

Wyatt didn’t move for a while, but Sabrina did, slipping quickly behind the bar.

Cricket couldn’t help but think about how Wyatt was still watching the woman. No, not just her. He did a scan around the bar, and she had the feeling he knew exactly who should be there and who shouldn’t be in the crowded room, before his protective gaze returned to Sabrina. Cricket’s esteem for him went up, way up, along with her curiosity. So far, he’d surprised her twice tonight, three times if she counted this afternoon.

Interesting. The guy next to her? He was like a bottle of wine. The label might be enticing, but when you got up close, he was bland and boring.

Wyatt, on the other hand, had something going on inside, in addition to the tantalizing label. She was trying to remember if she’d met anyone who had ever stirred that particular feeling in her before. Although she didn’t know this man. He could be a wild card. A complication she didn’t need.

“Hey,” Bobby said, loudly in her ear. “He forgot your drink. I can get it for you if you want.”

“That’s okay.” She gave him her patented not-interested look, then glanced behind him to focus on Wyatt as he filled drink orders on the other side of the bar.

Then her phone rang. Small mercies. She pulled it out of her bag. “Jade. Where are you?”

“I’m here. Five minutes from the resort.”

“How?”

“I used my incredible charm.”

“Right. You bulldozed somebody into giving you a seat.”

“What’s the difference?”

Cricket laughed. Some things never changed. She hadn’t seen Jade since the day they’d graduated but they’d kept in touch through Facebook and Cricket knew she was working for some giant perfume company in New Jersey. “Where do you want to meet?”

“Is the hotel bar okay with you? I want to check in and dump my stuff.”

“Sure,” Cricket said, glancing at Wyatt.

“Say, fifteen minutes?”

Bobby leaned in and waved at her. Cricket turned on her stool, ignoring him.

“Okay,” she said, but Jade had already disconnected. It was probably going to be a late night, and she doubted she’d be back to flirt with Wyatt, but that couldn’t be helped.

She left a twenty on the bar, figuring it should be enough with tip, and walked to the door. Before she left, she turned her head, just in time to catch him staring right at her. His eyes narrowed and she wondered what he saw, but then his eyes widened, his brows raised in an obvious question.

She gave him her most enigmatic smile. At least she hoped so. She might just look like an idiot.

When he grinned back, she still wasn’t sure.

Chapter Five

CRICKET’S PLAN HAD been to walk to Ronny’s shack. But staying up until two thirty this morning put that idea to bed. Which she wished she had done for herself, instead of taking a cab the sinfully short distance to the place where she’d grown up.

She couldn’t complain too much. Harlow had joined her and Jade after ditching the football player, and they’d laughed themselves silly in the hotel bar, and then after it closed, out on the deck. The talk had been about the past. She knew her reasons for not telling her friends about what was happening in her life now, but she also knew they’d all fess up soon enough.

Thoughts of Wyatt had floated through her brain all night. Just images, stray thoughts. She’d slipped once about him, and the others had glommed on to it like leeches. After that she’d been careful not to mention the bar. They all knew it. And soon enough they’d all be checking him out.

As the taxi pulled up on the beach road, she smiled at Ronny’s sky blue shack, the only one like it on this stretch of the best surfing beach for miles. The city had tried to make him change the color back when she’d been a teenager, but they’d given up eventually. That house was as much a landmark as anything in Temptation Bay, and surfers came from all over to meet Ronny, in his fifties, and still a legend in his own right.

She gave the cab driver too much money, then slipped off her sandals to walk the familiar sand, clean and cool in the early morning air. She’d worn one of her old sundresses, something she’d taken with her to Chicago out of nostalgia more than anything, but hardly ever wore. Last time had been on her last visit... God, three years ago already. How had that happened? She needed to come more often. He missed her. A lot. He’d promised to make her favorite breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes, and swore his groupies, the surfers that swarmed in the summer and made his shack their headquarters, were banished for the day.

She hadn’t the heart to tell him she hadn’t liked chocolate chip pancakes since high school. It didn’t matter. She’d eat whatever he had. Guess she missed him just as much.

The front door was open, but she stopped on the second step up to the porch. The board had been replaced recently. Unfortunately, the other two hadn’t, and it was evident that they’d already started rotting.

But that was her dad. Fix what’s broke. If it’s not, why bother? There were waves to catch. Fish to fry. Books to read. He’d always been like that. It had driven her mother nuts, and as Cricket had grown up, it had bothered her, too.

The whole house was in need of repairs. Shingles missing on the roof, one window broken, fixed with duct tape, the paint was peeling, and she was pretty sure the whole place was leaning a little to the left.

“Well, are you coming in or what?”

She grinned and trotted past the porch, straight into his arms.

“Oh, Baby Girl, it’s been too long. And you’re too skinny.”

She leaned back, studying his face. Wow, she’d never thought it would happen, but he was looking his age. “Look who’s talking. Hasn’t anyone been feeding you?”

“I’m not an invalid. I take care of myself just fine.” He pulled her tight again. “Besides, being lean is good for longevity. I’m thinking of going macrobiotic. I read a really interesting book about it.”

“You’d blow away in the wind if you lost more weight,” she said. “I’m actually surprised that you and this old shack didn’t get flown to Oz during that last big northern.”

“That’s the beauty of the Bay, my girl. We’re protected here, just like the pirates.”

“Oh, for... You know the cab driver from the airport was talking about that stupid treasure on my way here. I can’t believe it hasn’t been completely debunked by now, and what’s that smell?”

“Goddammit.” Ronny abandoned her to the kitchen, where at least one chocolate chip pancake had become a lava cake.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I mixed up plenty.”

He always had. Burning meals was another Ronny specialty. Which was troubling. Although she wasn’t going to say anything yet. Not until she found out more about the Jeep accident and the fall on the dock.

“How’s the coffee?” she asked.

“Like always. Tastes like motor oil, keeps you up as long as you need to be.”

“Tell you what, just for a change of pace, I’ll fix you some a little milder.” Anticipating his protest, before he opened his mouth she said, “I’m not throwing away your tar. You can heat it up later. But I need coffee that’s not ninety-four octane.”

“Be my guest, Baby Girl. There’s OJ in the fridge, too.”

Butter sizzled on his old cast-iron grill while she busied herself with the beverages, pouring them both a glass of juice as the new coffee brewed.

“What do you hear from your mother?”

“She’s good. Still living in Paris with the judge.”

“That’s number four, right?”

“Yep. But she likes him. He’s got hobbies.”

“Hobbies. So she can shop all she wants without him tagging along?”

“That’s right.” Cricket grinned. “And they like taking river cruises. I think the last one was from Budapest to Amsterdam.”

“Huh. I’m glad she’s happy.”

“She asks about you, too, you know.”

“What do you tell her?”

“That you’re forever Ronny. That you don’t have a new woman in your life. Or has that changed?”

“Nope. I’m forever me. How about you? Got yourself some hot prospect?”

“I’m too busy working to have any kind of prospect.”

“That’s a shame, Baby Girl. I’d like you to fall madly in love with a good man.”

Cricket smiled. That didn’t surprise her. Ronny had always had a romantic soul. “Well, that’s not exactly off my wish list. Just not in the immediate forecast.”

“Put a couple forks on the table, huh? The food’ll be ready in a sec.”

She did, along with the juice. His old coffeepot took forever, but that was okay. “How’s the charter business going?”

“Good. You know summer’s always busy for me. Lot of tourists wanting to catch their trophies. I had one guy wanting to know where he could get a baby marlin stuffed. Got all upset when I told him we had to throw it back, that it was below the limit.”

“What about your regulars?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get enough repeat business to pay the bills, but the extras help out for the winters. With the crazy weather patterns now, you never know what to expect.” He brought two plates over, each one pretty much covered in a giant pancake. “There you go, Baby Girl. Your favorite.”

“I see you didn’t forget the butter and the syrup.”

“Nope. Never will.” He sat down across from her, at the table he’d had as long as she could remember, made from driftwood by a local craftsman. It was really ugly and wobbled, but it went with the rest of the decor.

Almost everything in the shack was roughshod and the style could only be labeled as beach bum. There were still a couple of lamps that her mother had added, both classic and traditional. Also, the painting above the long couch that had to be worth a lot by now, although she doubted her dad had done much to preserve it. She couldn’t remember the artist’s name, but he’d been renowned back in the day.

“About those charters,” she said, “you are insured, right?”

Ronny stopped eating to stare at her. “Insured? Why would I need that? You’re an attorney. Anything happens and I get sued, you’ll take care of it.”

She dropped her fork. “Are you crazy? The only thing I’d be able to do is visit you in prison.”

A smile with lots more lines crinkling his tanned face made her roll her eyes. “I’m insured,” he said. “Very well, in fact. Both the business and the house.”

“Speaking of, what happened with that fall on the dock? And also, how come you didn’t tell me about crashing the Jeep?”

“Lousy gossips in this town. The Jeep was nothing. A fender bender. I needed three whole stitches. Jeez. As for the dock, it was slick and I fell, that’s it. It happens.”

“Was it the dock or your personal slip?”

“I don’t remember. Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. You’re responsible for your slip. Before I leave, I’m going to the dock to make sure it’s not a hazard, talk to the harbormaster if need be. Even with insurance, if someone breaks their neck and they can prove maintenance wasn’t kept up, they can sue the pants off you.”

“Honey, I hate to tell you, I’ve been without pants on that dock plenty of times before.”

“Ew.”

His hearty laugh hadn’t changed a bit. “Eat your pancake. If you finish it all up, I’ll make you another.”

“Oh, Ronny. I’m not twelve anymore. All this sugar is going to keep me wired all day.”

“And you turned your nose up at my coffee.”

She laughed and ate, enjoying the cloyingly sweet chocolate and syrup despite herself. It reminded her of home, of such happy days. Even when Ronny and her mom fought, they must’ve been civil, because she didn’t remember any of it. After they split, her childhood spent mostly with her father was a collage of shining memories, filled with an ease she rarely found outside the Bay.

“How’s Eleanor and Oliver?” They were his longtime neighbors. Oliver was a retired fisherman and Eleanor worked at the library part-time. They’d watched her often when she was growing up.

“Oliver’s getting old. Can’t walk too much anymore. Working on the sea takes it out of a person. He’s got arthritis so bad his hands are almost useless. Eleanor still goes out to the library three times a week, though.”

“Do they still argue like street fighters?”

“Yeah, but it’s better now that Eleanor doesn’t hear so great. Oliver spends most of his time yelling at the kids who come around here.” Ronny shrugged. “It’s okay, though. A man like Oliver needs something to be angry about, other than his own body.”

“And how’s your body?”

He looked wounded, and honestly, she hated to even bring it up, but there was something off about him. His eyes still made him seem young, and his floppy hair, permanently sun streaked and brushing the neckline of his T-shirt, had grayed some, mostly at his temples. It wasn’t that, though. His movements were somehow more careful. Even when he walked the short distance from the kitchen to the table. “I’m not that old.”

“I know. That accident? Whose fender was the bender?”

His guff of air was a warning, but she wasn’t about to back off yet. “Mine, okay? I got distracted. What, that’s never happened to you? I’m fifty-eight years old, and I’ve had exactly two car accidents. Both of them minor. I think my record is pretty damn good.”

“When was the other one?”

He didn’t answer.

“Could vertigo be the problem?”

“No.”

“What about surfer’s ear?”

“You think I wouldn’t know if I had surfer’s ear?”

“Have you checked?”

“Yes.”

She was about to ask him another question, but reconsidered.

His stare made her feel awkward, something she wasn’t used to. Ronny wasn’t just a community legend, he was her own personal hero. His kindness had always been unfailing, and she’d known many boys turn into good men because they’d hung out with her beach bum dad. “Isn’t that famous coffee of yours done by now?”

“Yes, it is.” She got up, took her empty plate into the kitchen, which was really just on the other side of the standing counter, and poured them both a cup. Despite his complaining, he’d always liked the way she made it with a pinch of cinnamon.

“Tell me what else has changed,” she said, setting his cup in front of him. She kissed his forehead before sitting down.

There was the smile that she loved. “Every damn thing. Except the surfing and the fishing. Some company offered me a fortune to buy the shack, and my slice of sand.”

“Really?”

“Of course I told them no. I’m never leaving this place. I want you to have it after I kick off. Besides, this old thing survived Hurricane Sandy, the town council and five mayors.”

“Even you have to admit it could use a few repairs.”

“I’ll get to them before winter hits, how about that?”

“How about you hire someone before winter?”

“Why? I’m perfectly capable—”

“I’m not saying that. But come on, why should you? You already do too much. Tell you what. Now that I’m a rich attorney, let me do this for you. I didn’t get you anything but a card for your last birthday.”

“Absolutely not. You put that money into savings. Jeez, I want you to retire early so you can come back home where you belong. This town needs a Cricket. Bad.”

She reached over and took his hand. God, his skin was dry and spotted. So much exposure to the sun. His words, though, they brought a small lump to her throat. “Okay. We’ll discuss the repairs later. Right now, I want to ask you something.”

“What?”

His eyes had narrowed, and Cricket immediately put off the question she’d been about to ask him. “Do you ever go up to Sam’s Sugar Shack?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“You know the new bartender?”

“There’s a new bartender?”

“Maybe not new,” she said, realizing it had been three years. “Tall, lean, muscular build—”

“Oh, you mean Wyatt?” Ronny frowned and turned to the window. “Why, is he here?”

Her throat tightened and she almost took a look outside, herself. “Are you expecting him?”

“No,” Ronny said. “I figured you must have seen him on your way over. He runs most mornings, past here, to the fish market. Sometimes he likes to hang out here or at the market, just to shoot the breeze.”

“Does he own Sam’s?”

Ronny nodded as he sipped his coffee. “Yeah. For a couple years now. Good guy.” A smile tugged at Ronny’s mouth. “As long as you don’t bother his waitresses or get rowdy. He doesn’t care if you’re a local or not, you have too much booze and act up, he’ll put a stop to it. Always calm, but tough. Like you know he could kick your ass, so you just might as well walk it off.”

“I’m sure that’s never happened to you.”

Ronny laughed. “I have many sins, Baby Girl, but overindulging in alcohol isn’t one of them.”

“I suppose that doesn’t go for the recreational weed I can still smell in the rugs?”

He laughed again but before she could tell him she wasn’t calling him out on his habit, there was a knock on the door. A banging, actually.

“Dammit, I told you guys to stay away today,” Ronny yelled, and goodness, his voice hadn’t weakened a bit.

“Ronny,” some guy yelled back. “Don’t be like that. Hector said your daughter’s hot. We want to meet her.”

“Beat it!”

“Besides, there’s a sweet two-foot swell coming in, and you’ll be sorry if you miss it. Come on, man.”

“You want to escape, now’s the time,” Ronny said, inclining his head. “I bet you can still crawl out through your bedroom window.”

Cricket grinned. “You knew about that?”

His look told her more than words.

“No. I’d actually like to meet these young hooligans. Make sure there are no unsavory characters.”

“Except me?”

“Except you.”

The front door, never locked to her knowledge, squeaked open. “So, it’s okay if we come in? It’s just me, Ted, Igor and Wendy. The rest of the guys are still out there.”

Cricket mouthed, “Igor?”

Her dad just laughed as the door opened farther. “Ronny?”

“Fine. But you don’t touch. Anything. Especially the fresh coffee. You want some, you heat up the stuff in that pot by the microwave.”

The boys and Wendy came in a rush, as if they’d all been huddled by the door. Wendy was a pretty girl in a very small bikini top and boy’s trunks. Her long hair was pulled into a braid down her back, and she was tan with bright green eyes and the pink lips of a teen. There had been a time when Cricket had looked a lot like that. Not the eyes so much as the innocence.

The boys were a range of heights and ages. One kid looked no more than fourteen or fifteen, and one might have gotten into the bar without a fake ID. But they all looked like surfers, as close to the California stereotype as they could get without a Malibu tattoo. It felt as if they’d all looked like that, from the time she’d learned to surf herself, at the tender age of nine.

Someone whistled. “You are hot.”

“Thanks. Also, too old and wise to get mixed up with surfers.”

“Hey.” That came from a chorus of voices.

“Besides,” she said, finishing her coffee. “I’ve got to get back to the hotel and meet the gang.”

“Who came?” Ronny asked.

“Everyone but Meg.”

“Jade?”

“Yeah. Even Jade. It’s great. Anyway, I’ll come by tomorrow, if you don’t have any charters or surfing lessons.”

“I’ve got an early evening charter, other than that I’ll be here.” He stood up and wrapped his arms around her again. “You be careful with those hill people, all right?”

She refrained from reminding him he’d married one of them. “I’m always careful.”

“Don’t go yet,” the taller surfer said, moving in closer. “We haven’t even been introduced.”

“Let me guess. You’re a surfer from New York or New Jersey who’d heard about the great surfing at Temptation Bay, and about Ronny Shaw in particular, and this is your first season on the beach, probably sharing a room at the motel with three or four of your new friends?”

“How’d you know I was from Jersey?” he said, in an accent so thick it could paint walls.

Cricket smiled. “You take care of him,” she said, nodding at her father. “And listen to what he says.” It was time to get away. Now, before the rest of them screwed up their courage. She wanted to take her time walking back to the hotel, and with any luck, she just might run into Wyatt.

Chapter Six

WYATT WOKE WITH a start, his hand reaching under his pillow for a gun that wasn’t there. “Shit,” he said, his mouth dry and his eyes blurry. It was later than he normally woke, but now, as thoughts started forming, he knew exactly why he felt like a war was at his door.

It was Adam’s birthday.

He needed coffee. After throwing off the sheet, he stumbled to the coffeepot that had been programmed to brew three hours ago and managed to pour himself a mug. He put it in the microwave and hit the button before he went to the bathroom. After he’d splashed his face with ice-cold water and taken care of business, he retrieved the blessedly hot coffee. Leaning his hip against the counter, he sipped from the mug, hoping his head would clear some more before he made any decisions.

By the time he finished his second mug, he knew he was going to have to go for a run despite the late hour. It was already hotter outside than he liked it, but there was no getting around the fact that he’d think more clearly after he’d done a few miles. He’d stayed up till three listening to Sabrina, while trying to hide just how much he wanted to beat the crap out of her worthless boyfriend. Luckily, Tiffy, who also knew the problem, had stuck around and offered Sabrina a safe place for the night. No denying she’d go back to the bastard. She always did.

Wyatt pulled on a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt, then stuck his key in his pocket, grabbed his cell to put in the other one, but stopped as he noticed the text message.

It was from Peter, Adam’s grandfather. Wyatt didn’t need to open the text to know what it was about. They wanted him to come to dinner tonight. To celebrate.

He put the phone in his pocket and left his apartment, stopping when he saw Becky halfway up the stairs.

“You’re going running now?”

He nodded. “Got up late. Bad night.”

“Sorry about that.” Becky looked polished, as if nothing could possibly be wrong with the day. Her strawberry blond hair was up in a neat twist, her dress a pale floral, sandals with a moderate heel. Of course, her makeup was perfect for a Navy officer’s wife. Except when she got close, he could see that even makeup couldn’t quite hide the red tinge along her lower lid. “I’m sure they’ve called already.”

“Texted.”

“They’re learning. They want to be experts by the time the kids are old enough to have their own phones. Or at least can spell.”

“Josh can spell.”

Her anxious expression needed no translation.

“Hey, he writes his name like a champ.”

“You don’t have to go tonight,” she said softly. “Unless you’ve said something to the contrary, I’ve already told them you have to work.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Her shoulders drooped. “I don’t want to go. But the kids do. They like that there’ll be cake and ice cream. In fact, I’m on my way to drop them off. They get to help with the frosting and decorations.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m going to spend some quality time by myself, doing nothing. I haven’t had that in a while. I’ll join them later.” She turned to stare out at the sea. “It always starts out as a party but then...well, you know. It’s more like an annual tribute now. I mean, not that I begrudge them. But every holiday it’s the same.”

“I know. It’s hard.”

“The family is wonderful, and I love them all so much. But it’s almost three years now, and I worry that at Peter’s and Yvette’s ages, hanging on to the grief will hurt them.”

“Those kids of yours help keep them going. And you’re like one of their own.”

She looked at him again, her blue eyes welling. “So are you.”

His breath caught. “They’ve known me a long time.”

“Anyway, go for your run. The car’s going to get too hot to leave the kids in it. And yes, smart-ass, all the windows are open, and they’re drinking their juice boxes.”

He took the next three steps to get close to her. “I never doubted it for a moment.”

His hand went to her arm. “Look, I’ll go tonight.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“I promise it won’t kill me.”

Becky shook her head. “I think it’s good to start weaning everyone. Next holiday we’ll just do a pop in, or something.”

“Are you sure? Because I can—”

“I’m sure.” She nodded, turned and hurried down ahead of him.

Watching her, the way she straightened when she got near her SUV, hearing Josh say, “Mom, guess what?” made Wyatt ache. He’d never get the hang of the different holidays. But Adam’s birthday was the worst. It always felt as if Wyatt were intruding if he went, that he was just a terrible reminder of what everyone had lost.

Maybe even worse, was that he’d never wanted Adam’s grandparents to think he was trying to be a substitute. Even if he wanted to be, he’d be lousy at it. Adam had been a great husband and father. Wyatt had been told several times that he was a nice guy, but a lousy boyfriend. And as a husband? A dad?

Hell, now he wasn’t even the good son.

That got him moving, racing down the stairs straight past the already-open bar to the sand. It really was late. He’d have to dodge people. Not that he minded. He needed his mind to be on his gait, his time. No one but him gave a shit, but he liked to beat his best time once a week. He’d already done that two days ago, but who cared.

In this heat, it would be difficult. He wanted difficult.

Even with hustling, his thoughts couldn’t stay just on his pace despite the rhythm he worked to establish. He kept thinking about Peter and Yvette, and how they would decorate the house with a banner they kept, and how Adam’s pictures would be all over the mantel and the walls, and in the kitchen, and in the hallway. Interspersed with photos of the grandkids and wedding photos. But Adam’s portrait was the only one with a black ribbon around it.

How they loved his friend. The two of them used to gorge on Yvette’s packages of cookies and candy whenever they knew where the unit was going to be. She’d always sent double, knowing Wyatt would steal half, and borrow the extra socks.

His mom had sent stuff, too, but she’d never been extravagant. Not with food or supplies, or letters for that matter. Too busy being an officer’s wife. With the Marshes, including Adam, family always came first. In Wyatt’s family, it was duty.

“Hey, what are you doing here so late?”

Wyatt recognized the voice before he spotted Delia, who was standing at her stall at the fish market. How was she already almost sold out? He checked his watch. Damn late. And nope, hadn’t broken any records. Down by six seconds. It didn’t matter.

“How are you, Delia?” he asked, slowing to a crawl, wishing he’d brought his water bottle. He rarely forgot it.

“You’re sweating like a pig. You want some water?”

“Yeah, thanks. That’d be great.”

The stands were cooled very pleasantly with misters and fans, and the ice that was constantly replenished under the morning’s catch. He could see from the scarcity that the local chefs had been by, not just for the restaurants, but for the hotels and B&Bs, and then there were the locals, who knew when to show up. He’d often gone home with a fish so fresh it’d barely stopped wiggling. One of the great joys of living near a fishing village.

“So this reunion, huh?” Delia said. “Damn prep school a-holes.”

“They’re not all a-holes.”

“No. That’s ’cause some of them come from the south.”

She meant the fish side of town, he knew. That rivalry wasn’t going to be over anytime soon.

Delia had to be over sixty-five, but she was out here every day until most of the catch was sold. During tourist season, that was pretty early. Today, she’d be wrapping things up soon. He thought about buying some fish but he wasn’t finished running, and it was too hot to lug a striped bass home. “But they pay a pretty penny for seafood.”

“Damn straight they do. I see ’em coming, I put out the other prices.”

He’d known that for a long time. It had been almost a year before she gave him the local rate. “That’s wicked smart, Delia,” he said, using his best Rhody accent. “Say hi to Fred, would ya?”

“Your accent’s still crap, you know.”

“I’ll keep trying.” Instead of running back to the bar, he was going to go to the hotel, find out what the schedule was for the reunion crowd. He knew there was a big dinner tonight, but he might let a few of the bell staff know he’d have a special going on.

His trip had nothing to do with hoping to see Cricket. Nothing at all.

* * *

CRICKET FOUND THE gang in the perpetually crowded bar off the lobby.

“I ordered a pitcher of sweet tea,” Jade said, just as Cricket sat down between Harlow and Ginny.

Harlow grabbed the small menu displayed in the middle of the table. “Guess who’s here?” she said, glancing at Jade. “Fletcher Preston.”

“So. What do I care?”

Cricket and Harlow laughed. Ginny only smiled. She looked tired. Cricket wished she had more time here. To go see her, to meet Tilda. But she was leaving Monday morning, and God, she didn’t want to think about that. Not when her nights had been crowded with worry.

Jade checked for the waitress, then pushed back her flowing copper hair, the hair she’d hated in school because the boys made fun of her. She wore tamer makeup now, and curled her hair, and wore nail polish that wasn’t black. Getting away from Temptation Bay had done wonders for her, although she was still Jade. Ready to stand up to anyone.

“You were hot for him all of junior year.” Harlow sat up taller, smiling as the pitcher arrived at the table.

“At least you’re not denying it,” Ginny said once they were alone again, and Jade was pouring. “Did he ever ask you out?”

“No.” Jade grunted while taking her first sip. “Men are dopes.”

Cricket smiled.

Ginny and Harlow grinned. “Not all men.”

“Most men.”

“So, you’re not seeing anyone, I take it?” Cricket said.

“Nope.”

“What do you do about sex?” Harlow asked, not in the least abashed by her question.

“That’s what one-night stands are for,” Jade said. “No fuss, no muss and no disappointments. Except when they’re...” She held up her hand, index and thumb two inches apart.

“I’ve missed you, Jade Kelly,” Ginny said, laughing. “A lot.”

Jade gave her a look. “What about you? Living here and all. You getting any?”

“With Tilda around? God, no. I don’t even remember getting any. I think I’m actually a virgin again. Technically.”

“Oh, honey.” Harlow covered Ginny’s hand with her own. “That’s what reunions are for. You have a babysitter, right? Tonight’s your night. We’ll all help you find someone decent.”

“Someone from school? No, thanks.”

“A stranger, then. Honest. There are lots of guys here, and if it’s someone on vacation or here just for the golf tournament, you never have to see them again. It’s perfect.”

Ginny blushed, but grinned. “I did shave all the important parts.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harlow drank some more, looking around at the packed tables. “I wouldn’t mind a dip in the water myself. Although, I don’t know. There’s someone in LA that I’ve been kind of seeing. No one special, though. Another teacher. Science and math. You’d like him, Jade.”

“Just because I’m a chemist doesn’t mean I instantly bond with all other science nerds. Especially the men, superior jerks. When I open my store, I’m only hiring young women who are interested in STEM, and I’m going to mentor my ass off.”

“Wait?” Cricket put down her drink. “Opening your what?”

Jade grinned wide. “I’m going to open a perfumery. Nothing huge, but I’ll be making personalized scents. Tailoring them to people’s chemistry. I’ve already set up a website, even though I can’t start yet, not until I’m out of contract, which won’t be for another five months. And I have a partner. She’s a professor from Berkeley and she’s financing the whole thing, because God knows I’m still in debt up to my eyeballs, but she thinks we can really do a lot with this. Kind of like what they’re doing now with DNA. Getting saliva samples from people via the mail, then I do my magic, and give them a scent that’s unique to their body chemistry. I’m wearing one of mine right now.”

“You smell delicious,” Harlow said, leaning in for another sniff. “I noticed when we hugged.”

“I know,” Cricket added. “I noticed, too. But it’s not the same as last night, and I told you how amazing that was. Are they both yours?”

Jade nodded.

“I’ll spit on whatever you want,” Harlow said. “Please.”

“Good. I’ll send you all kits. You can be guinea pigs for my questionnaires.”

Cricket held up her almost empty glass. “To new adventures and tremendous success. Jade, you’ll kill it. You’ll absolutely kill it.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Jade said, clicking her glass with the others, “because I’m totally going to ask you for help drawing up the legal stuff.”

“Of course.”

“You’ll be paid, don’t worry about that.”

“I’d do it anyway. You know that.”

They drank, and then Jade leaned in, her eyes shining with mischief. “Did you guys see Winnie this morning? What the hell has she done with her hair?”

“Oh, yeah.” Harlow shuddered. “She looks like Billy Idol. I mean, with her coloring, those platinum spikes? Honestly, what in the world?”

“God, she was such a bitch,” Jade said. “Thought she was all that, so I made a point of looking at her current bio. She’s divorced, two kids, ex-husband’s in insurance. She lives in Nebraska. Remember how she was going to take New York by storm?”

“She used to call me a grotesque giraffe,” Harlow said. “When she couldn’t even make the cheerleading squad.”

“Better than telling me every single day that I stunk like fish,” Jade said. “I mean, every day? Waving her hand in front of her face when I’d walk by. God, I hate her.”

“Now this is like old times,” Ginny said. “Remember Tommy Zico? That pervert? Is he here? I didn’t see his name...”

“I bet he’s in jail.” Harlow shook her head. “At least he should be.”

“Well, how about that?” Ginny said. “Cricket. Check out who’s at the activity board.”

Jade followed Harlow’s gaze and said, “I’ll take him to go, please.”

Cricket turned around. It was Wyatt. Looking even scruffier than he had last night. Wearing a sweat-stained T-shirt over running shorts, his stubble darker, his hair a mess, and she felt her insides melt.

“Wait a minute,” Jade said. “Cricket? He’s so not your type.”

“You don’t even know what my type is.”

“Uh, corporate. Silk neckties. Penthouse apartment. Drives a Porsche.”

“Stop it.” Cricket flushed, although not about Jade’s comment, even though she’d almost described Grant to a T. “I’m versatile.”

“You sure?” Harlow said. “Maybe we could Rochambeau for him? I’ll be paper, you can be rock.”

Cricket polished off her drink and dropped her napkin on the table. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

“Why, you hogging him all for yourself?”

“Very possibly.” She tugged her dress down, then headed over to him.

* * *

WYATT THOUGHT ABOUT what kind of special he could offer, but gave up the idea when he saw there would be dancing after the dinner. That gave him only an hour window before the law made him lock up. Besides, it was a dumb idea. These people didn’t care about specials.

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