by Emily March
You should be afraid, Hope thought, though she wouldn’t dream of speaking the warning aloud.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Sarah.” Cat took a seat in a wooden rocking chair, then shifted her infant son to lie against her shoulder. “What you have to remember is that the risk and worry are worth it because the reward is so great.”
“Excellent advice,” Sage Rafferty said. “On that note, I say we get down to business.” She made a flourishing gesture toward a table piled high with gifts. “Presents!”
Sarah’s eyes went misty. “There’s a mountain of them. You guys went crazy.”
“A little,” Celeste admitted. “But it’s so much fun to buy for babies.”
“At the rate we’re reproducing, someone should open a children’s store in town,” Nic observed.
“Is that an announcement?” Gabi asked.
“Bite your tongue,” Nic responded as Ali handed Sarah the first gift to open.
Hope enjoyed the afternoon. She liked these women and she appreciated the way they welcomed newcomers into their circle of friendship with such genuine pleasure. She didn’t know if it was a small-town thing or particular to Eternity Springs, but either way, she felt as if she had found the people who were meant to be in her life and the home she was meant to have.
She’d found a new life, a good life, to replace the one that had been stolen away from her.
And when she watched Sarah Murphy ooh and ahh over three-month-sized overalls and took her turn cuddling little Johnny Davenport, she reminded herself to be thankful for what she had. Positive thinking took work, but Hope knew that it was work worth doing. Negative thoughts could be dangerous and destructive and lead a person to consider dangerous, destructive acts. She knew that firsthand.
The memory of one particular bleak afternoon floated through her mind, and as always, she gave thanks for the ember of hope within her that continued to burn even today.
Because sometimes, dreams come true. Sometimes an infertile couple had their little Johnny, she thought as she gazed down into the precious face of the cooing baby in her arms. When Sarah opened a hand-knitted baby blanket and burst into tears, it proved that sometimes long-lost lovers returned to create the family that had been meant to be.
So, why couldn’t it happen to her, too? She couldn’t live her life in a constant state of waiting amid misery and depression, floating in the numbness of prescription pain killers. But if she kept her thoughts positive, continued to put one foot in front of the other, and move forward on this road of life, well, then, who was to say she couldn’t have her own miracle some day?
Jack and Cat Davenport had their new son. Cam and Sarah Murphy were married and awaiting their second child. Maybe someday she would get her miracle, too. Maybe someday, Holly would come home to her.
Sometimes, kidnapped children were found. Sometimes, miracles did happen.
THREE
“If he was like this in Mexico, it’s a miracle he’s still alive,” Zach Turner said.
At the sound of the sheriff’s familiar voice, Lucca scowled and pulled the pillow over his head. Apparently his bedroom door wasn’t shut, because the pillow didn’t muffle nearly enough.
“I wonder if that’s the problem, Zach,” his sister stated, a grim note to her voice.
Shut up, Gabi.
She continued, “Right now, however, his problems have become our problem. We can get by without arresting him once, but if he does this again, we won’t be able to avoid it.”
Arrest? What the …
Lucca tugged the pillow away from his face and pried open his eyes. Whoa, the room was bright. He snapped his eyelids shut, and it took a few seconds for the image of what he’d seen to sink into his brain. Bars. And not the wooden kind with beer taps and cardboard coasters, either. Cell bars. Jail bars. He wasn’t in his bedroom. He’d woken up in jail. Again.
He heard keys jangle, a lock release, and hinges creak. A familiar female voice said, “Lucca Ryan Romano, you smell like a goat. Wake up.”
Oh, crap. Mom. What a great start to his day. He delayed, taking a moment to remember waking up to a view of the crystalline water off the Yucatán Peninsula. How had he gone from thirty to thirteen in less than a week?
“Son, do you hear me?”
A deaf man could hear Maggie Romano when she spoke in her “mother” tone. His mouth was as dry as good vermouth and his tongue felt hairy, so his answer came out as a croak. “Yes, ma’am.”
He sat up, stifling a groan. He tried to recall how he’d ended up here, but the pounding in his head made it difficult to think.
“I truly thought I was done bailing my children out of jail when Max graduated from college.”
“You’re not bailing him out, Mom,” Gabi corrected. “We didn’t actually arrest him.”
“A technicality.” Maggie waved a dismissive hand. “You know that a mother shouldn’t have to see her son like this. I’m disappointed in you, Lucca. This is a disgrace. I raised you better than this.”
Just shoot me now. He loved his mother more than anyone else in the world. Disappointing her was the worst.
Lucca dragged a hand down his bristled jaw. Memory of the events of the previous night returned as he climbed to his feet from the uncomfortable cot. He felt like hell. He needed to take a shower. He wanted to get away from the disapproving stares of his brother, sister, and mother.
Then you shouldn’t have sat your ass in the local pub until almost closing time and snagged a six-pack at the gas station afterward.
He gratefully accepted the bottle of water Zach handed him and made a stab at self-defense by saying, “I entered this office voluntarily last night, and I did nothing that would warrant an arrest.”
Zach shrugged. “Could have hit you with public intoxication.”
“I was sitting on a bench beside the creek, not making any noise, minding my own business.”
“At three o’clock in the morning with four empty beer bottles at your feet!” Gabi snapped.
“So what, you saying the night shift deputy hauled me in for littering?”
She braced her hands on her hips. “I’m saying that you were too drunk to find your way back to your house.”
“What sort of an example does that set, son?” his mother asked.
Annoyance slithered through him. He was no longer in the business where setting examples mattered. Of course, Maggie Romano wouldn’t care to hear that he didn’t give a crap about what people thought of him. From the day her children were born, the woman had high expectations at all times for the way they behaved. Yet, this was her home, and Zach and Gabi’s home. He should respect that.
Respect didn’t keep the chill from his voice as he offered a sincere apology. “I didn’t make a public spectacle, but I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. This town is now your home, and I need to remember that. So, have I forgotten a family meeting or something this morning? If not, I’d like to head home and grab a shower.”
His mother shared an uncertain look with Zach and Gabi. Zach raised his hands, palms out, and stepped away saying, “I need to get started on my workday.”
In other words, his oldest brother was washing his hands of the situation. Zach was still new at the sibling business. He still had a lot to learn.
Gabi said, “No meeting. Mom and I met for breakfast, and she walked back with me to bring Zach a blueberry muffin. We didn’t expect to find you sleeping off a drunken binge.”
Mother, apparently, decided the time had arrived to offer a truce. With a tentative smile, she offered, “I have an extra muffin. Would you like one?”
“Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check.” Lucca picked up the blanket from the cot and folded it. He handed it and the pillow to Gabi, saying, “I appreciate the sheriff’s department’s hospitality. Now, if you ladies will excuse me?”
He leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek, but before he could leave the cell, she grabbed his hand. “Lucca, can I have just a moment?”
> He wanted to say no, but not even the worst hangover in history would cause him to be blatantly disrespectful of his mother. His father would rise from his grave and whip his ass if he did. Lucca waited, unconsciously squaring his shoulders and stiffening his spine.
Maggie didn’t speak until Gabi left them alone. “Honey, I want you to know how thrilled I am that you agreed to make an extended visit to Eternity Springs, and I meant it when I said I wouldn’t be a bossy, buttinski mother once you arrived.”
She paused, her teeth tugging at her lower lip. He waited for the “but.”
She gave it to him. “But, I’m worried about you, Lucca. I’m really, really worried about you.”
I’m sorry. “I’m okay, mom.”
The look in her eyes said No, you’re not. “Tony advised me to give you space, and I learned thirty years ago that no one knows you better than your twin, so I am determined to listen to him. That said, I want you to know that you have people here who are ready and willing to help you. We love you, Lucca.”
Why that caused his heart to twist and his throat to tighten, he didn’t know. But then, he didn’t know much about anything these days, did he?
Leaning down, he kissed his mother on her cheek. “I love you, too, Mom. That’s why I agreed to come to Eternity Springs.”
“Is there anything we can do for you, Lucca?”
He looked away from the sudden pool of tears in her eyes. “I appreciate the patience, Mom. I’m just trying to get things figured out. It’s nothing to fret over, I promise.”
Following a long pause, she nodded. “You’ll come over to the house later? I bought a new sledgehammer and there’s a non-load-bearing wall with your name on it.”
His mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Well, what red-blooded man could resist an offer like that? I have something to do this morning, but I’ll be by this afternoon. Okay?”
“Excellent.” She smiled brightly, if rather falsely. “I’ll see you later, then.”
Lucca gave finger salutes to his sister and brother as he sauntered out of the sheriff’s office into the sunlight—the bright, brilliant sunlight that stabbed into his eyes like a fiery sword. Confidently, he turned north, although in all honesty, even stone cold sober, he wasn’t exactly sure how to find the house his family had rented for him. Since Gabi and Zach had dragged him here three … no, make it four … days ago, he’d done little exploring. He’d been too busy sleeping.
Jet lag, he told himself. Or exhaustion. He’d gone at it hard and fast those first months he’d been gone. In Rio, Buenos Aries, Cancún, and places in between, he’d lost himself in sun and sea and sex. About a month ago, he’d run out of steam in a little beach town in Quintana Roo, Mexico, and that’s when he’d quit shaving and eating regularly and started drinking more and sleeping a lot.
Reaching an intersection, he noticed a carousel of sunglasses inside a convenience store. He checked his pocket to see if he’d managed to keep his wallet the night before, and then looked inside it to see if he had any cash. “Excellent,” he murmured, finding three twenties, four tens, and three ones. He bought the first pair he tried on, a big bottle of water, and a small bottle of ibuprofen. Hydrated, medicated, and shielded, he stepped back out into the sunlight and tried to find his way back home, figuring he’d get there eventually. The town wasn’t that big.
The fresh air and the exercise proved to be helpful medicine, too, and once he spied the bank on the corner of Spruce and Fourth, he knew which way to go. Fifteen minutes later, he stood in a steaming shower and remained there until the water ran cold. He toweled dry, brushed his teeth, then crawled naked into his bed knowing another couple hours of shut-eye would finish off the hangover. He yawned into his pillow and prepared to drift off to sleep.
That’s when he heard the noise. Shrill, keening sounds. Mewling. Lucca’s eyes flew open. What the hell?
Rats. This house must have rats. Great.
Thinking to scare them away, he reached for the book on his nightstand and threw it hard against the closet door from where the noise appeared to be originating. That’ll scatter ’em. He’d see about a more permanent solution to the problem after his nap. He closed his eyes, wished the ibuprofen would kick in soon, and … meee meee meee.
“Grrrr …” Sighing heavily and mentally flipping his family the bird for putting him into a rat-infested dwelling, he rolled to his feet, grabbed the iron poker from the tool set beside the fireplace, then approached the closet’s half-open door. “I warned you. You should have run when you had the chance.”
He lifted the poker with his left hand, yanked the door wide open with his right, and prepared to bash rat heads.
Lucca froze. Not rats. They looked like rats, but those weren’t rats. “Puppies?”
He set down the poker and squatted to get a better look. Yes, puppies. Three of them. Unless that bump was …
Lucca reached into the closet to push aside a pile of his clothes. He absently noted a sound behind him, but his hangover-dulled wits didn’t process it. Pain, however, processed immediately, so when the fangs sank into his ass, he knew instantly what had occurred. “Ya-eeh!” he yelled, jerking and shoving to separate the mother dog from his butt.
“Yarrrrgh,” the mutt growled back, letting loose of Lucca and planting herself between him and the closet, keeping her teeth bared.
Sprawled on his naked, aching ass, Lucca snarled back at the dog. He recognized her. She was little and fluffy and brown. Probably a terrier mix of some sort. She belonged to the sexy redhead who lived next door. “So why the hell did you whelp in my house, in my closet, on top of my favorite jeans?”
He went to stand and she lunged at him again. Crap. He shifted backward, giving her the stink eye as he climbed to his feet. He rubbed the bite and saw blood on his hands. Sonofabitch. The dog wasn’t wearing a collar. Wasn’t wearing tags. The lady next door damned well better have made sure the mutt had had her shots.
Lucca’s ass ached, his head pounded, his temper surged. He backed away from the dog, strode into the bathroom, and washed the bite with soap and water. He rummaged through the supplies his mother had added to the house but didn’t find any antiseptic. “Figures,” he muttered. Who planned for a dog bite? “Well, then, guess I’ll just have to borrow some from the neighbor.”
He paused long enough to grab a pair of gym shorts from the duffel lying on his bedroom floor and slip them on. He marched out his front door and arrived on her porch thirty seconds later. His gaze fell upon her doorbell, but that didn’t do it for him at the moment. He made a fist and pounded the door. Hard. Then he braced his hands on his hips, his legs spread in an aggressive stance, and waited for her to answer.
He waited. And waited. Pounded again. Waited. Waited. Yelled, “Hello?”
Hell. She wasn’t home.
He rubbed the burning bite and turned to leave, then stopped abruptly. Just like her damned dog, she’d sneaked up on him.
She had earbuds in her ears and a garden hose in her hand, and despite his general pissed-off frame of mind, Lucca couldn’t help but appreciate the view. Curls and curves, he thought. His favorite combination. He noted the burnished wisps that escaped the thick knot of red hair piled atop her head to frame big brown eyes. Faint freckles dusted a thin, straight nose above full cherry lips. She wore an oversized white tank top over a black sports bra and pleasingly short running shorts. Full breasts, shapely legs. Cute little bubble butt. Nice. Very, very nice.
But a hot body didn’t make up for poor dog-owner practices, he told himself when he shifted his weight and again felt the burn of the bite. He should call the cops and have her ticketed. He might do it, too, if the mutt’s shots weren’t up to date. He had connections, after all. Might as well make use of them.
Yeah, right. Like he’d ever want his brother and sister know he’d let a ten-pound mutt take a chunk out of his ass. The throb seemed to intensify as he started toward her. “Hey, lady.”
Not having seen him, she’d turned awa
y and now stood at the side of her house watering a group of herb pots set upon a whimsical castle-shaped iron planter. While she watered, she swung her shoulders and hips in such a way that made him think a rock tune belted through her earbuds.
He stepped closer, raised his voice, and repeated, “Hey, lady!”
She startled, jerked around.
The ice cold water from the hose soaked his shorts.
He yelped and jumped sideways, away from the stream.
Hope squealed and dropped the hose. She yanked off her earphones and got her first good look at the man in her yard. Oh, no. I shot the sheriff.
Almost immediately, she realized otherwise. He wasn’t Zach Turner. The eyes blazing out at her weren’t Zach’s striking blue eyes. These were emerald green shards of ice.
Not Zach. The brother. Lucca. My, oh my …
Hope gave him a closer look. He was tall, more than a foot taller than her own five feet five inches. He had the look of an athlete, with broad, muscular shoulders and flat abs and … her gaze lingered on the wet gym shorts plastered against him. All parts of him. Oh, wow. The man was big all over.
Hope felt heat sting her cheeks as she forced her stare back to his face. Unnerved, she went on the offensive, though the voice that emerged pitched higher than normal. “Excuse me, this is private property and you’re trespassing.”
“Your damned dog bit me.”
“What?” She glanced toward the fenced section of the backyard where Roxy should be. Had she dug out or found a hole? She’d been back there drinking from her water bowl not too long ago. “Where?”
“I’m halfway tempted to show you. On my butt, that’s where.”
His butt? Hope’s mouth twisted in disbelief. If Roxy was a Great Dane, maybe.
“I meant where were you when you were attacked?”
“In my bedroom.”
“Then you must be mistaken, mister …”
“Romano. Lucca Romano. And I’m not mistaken. Your dog bit me.”
“Actually, I don’t have a dog.”
