The Bad Boy of Butterfly Harbor

by Anna J. Stewart

  “You did what?” Holly turned stern eyes on her son. “I thought we talked about this, Simon.”

  “He’s a bad guy, Mom. Superheroes catch bad guys, right, Sheriff Saxon?”

  “They do in comic books,” Luke said, obviously trying to walk the thin line between child logic and maternal discipline. “But you should be careful.”

  “Kyle was suspended from school last year for threatening one of his teachers,” Holly added in the hopes of veering off the topic of her son’s leanings. “His home life isn’t ideal.” She pinned Luke with a look that she hoped conveyed what she really meant to say. Kyle Winters’s situation at home wasn’t dissimilar to the one Luke had experienced, but while Holly might sympathize, she couldn’t excuse the damage Luke had caused her father. “Kyle’s an instigator. I don’t think he’s a bad kid, just lost. All the more reason for you to stay away from him, young man.” She held out her hand. “Have a good day, Luke.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  “’Bye, Cash.” Simon waved and Holly steeled herself against the sorrowful expression that crossed her son’s face. Something told her he’d be begging for a dog again come dinnertime. “Mom, is Sheriff Saxon the reason Grandpa doesn’t walk right?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “At the diner.” He puffed out his chest. “I hear everything there. So is it true?”

  So much for hoping this conversation could wait until Simon was older. She should have realized Simon would be privy to tons of town gossip, but how else was she going to keep an eye on him if she didn’t bring him to the diner with her? “Luke was involved in the accident where your grandpa got hurt, yes.” She dropped her hand on Simon’s shoulder, not wanting to delve too deeply into a topic that could bring up memories of Gray’s death. “It was a long time ago, Simon. Way before you were born.”

  “But you’re still angry with him. And now he’s taking Grandpa’s job?” The annoyance in her eight-year-old’s voice twisted her insides into knots not even a magician could loosen. Blast it, the last thing she wanted was for her anger with Luke to trickle down to her son. “That’s not right. I thought sheriffs were supposed to be good guys.”

  “Luke didn’t take your grandpa’s job, Simon.” When Simon’s shoulders stiffened, she knew his overactive brain was already spinning. She circled in front of him and stooped down, gripping his little arms in her hands. “Simon, I need you to hear me, okay? What’s happened is because of decisions other people have made, including your Grandpa. Yes, we’re all sad he’s not sheriff anymore, but think about all the extra time you’ll get to spend with him now. You have fun with Grandpa, don’t you? Maybe he’ll even teach you to fish like you’ve always wanted.”

  “I like Grandpa being sheriff. He stops bad guys, Mom. Like I want to. And he’s good at it.”

  “Well, maybe Luke will be good at it, too.” The idea of Simon chasing bad guys gave her chills. The last thing she needed was for him to launch himself off the top of a building in the hopes he’d fly. She brushed too-long bangs out of Simon’s face and made a mental note to make a haircut appointment for him for next week. “I need your help with this, bud, okay? Grandpa will, too. You have to stay out of trouble and behave. Can you do that for me?”

  Simon shrugged. “I guess.”

  Those wheels were grinding in his head; she could see them. “We’re in this together, remember? With your dad gone, we have to be a team. And you know how important teamwork is. Just like your superheroes, right?”

  “Yeah.” Simon’s mouth twisted as if he didn’t like being reminded his mom could be right about anything related to comic books. “But superheroes do what needs to be done. Even if some people don’t want it done.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THANKS TO AN unplanned overactive morning, Luke knew exactly what he’d be doing tonight: digging splinters out of his hands. He flexed his fingers and welcomed the tiny pricks of pain beneath his skin. The hours of hard work were a rush in itself. He might not be thrilled with the look of boarded-up windows along Monarch Lane, but he’d rather that than shattered glass on sidewalks and in empty stores.

  He hadn’t liked the awe he’d heard in Simon’s voice when the boy had talked about Kyle Winters. Simon obviously got a kick out of playing hero, and if he saw Kyle as an enemy and someone who needed to be stopped, chances were the little boy had already pushed some boundaries. But Luke appreciated the heads-up.

  And that was why he was purposely driving past said dilapidated community center again. The building was indeed a disaster and needed a serious overhaul or demolition crew. The group of teens he spotted there had triggered warning bells blaring like air-raid sirens in his head. Even with his windows down, Luke smelled stale beer and even staler cigarettes, and while he didn’t pin all the kids hanging out there as delinquents, there was definite potential for trouble.

  He would do his best to try to keep an eye on Simon. Luke’s pulse thudded. For a moment, right when Holly had appeared that morning, she’d smiled at him. No glower, no suspicion. A flash of time where the past had disappeared. It wouldn’t continue, but he’d take it for what it was. An unguarded blink of acceptance.

  Even if she didn’t realize it.

  He pulled his truck into one of the few spots near the police station, taking a second to enjoy one of Butterfly Harbor’s hidden gems: the view of the seascape below. Through the narrow opening of branches of the surrounding redwoods, he could see the sea-foam spray of active surf while the intoxicating combination of salt, kelp and crisp, cool air energized him.

  The carved wooden sign situated between two sturdy posts was new, but had he not known where he was going, he might have driven right past the building. Something to take care of once the station was officially in his hands. For now he’d be mindful of any suggestions he made or toes he stepped on.

  He pushed open the door, waited for Cash to join him. The dog hadn’t left him alone for longer than it took to grab a meal or do his business, as if he was afraid if he let Luke out of his sight for too long, he’d disappear on him.

  Luke didn’t like to think about how attached he’d already become to his canine friend. The last time he’d had a pet, his father had taken exception and... Grief and anger surged in the center of his chest like an erupting volcano. Suffice it to say, Luke never brought another animal into the house.

  He couldn’t help but grimace as he inhaled the familiar scent of ammonia and bleach that had the tendency to turn his stomach. With the overlying aroma of brewing coffee and after-rain mugginess, this, more than any place in Butterfly Harbor sadly, felt like home. Would irony ever stopped proving it knew no bounds?

  “Can I help you?” The young uniformed man who stood up behind his desk to approach the scarred wood counter didn’t jog his memory. He was short, a little on the stout side and reminded Luke of a sidekick from any number of nerdy coming-of-age comedies. “Luke Saxon.” He watched recognition slide over the deputy’s round face. “Fletch told me to stop by.”

  “Right. You’re the new sheriff.” The young man glanced at the open office door. “Oswald Lakeman. People call me Ozzy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ozzy. And it’s Luke. Is Sheriff Gordon around?”

  “He’s on the phone with the mayor, but I’ll let him know you’re here.” He pointed behind him before dashing off, reminding Luke of another anxious-to-please rookie. So young. So inexperienced. So...alive.

  It would be up to Luke to keep him that way.

  He squeezed his eyes shut to block the image before it could take hold. His chest tightened. So much for thinking he’d prepared himself for the emotional whack he’d take the second he stepped inside this building again.

  He opened up the counter and entered the inner sanctum of the sheriff’s station. The narrow doorway to the right yawned at him like a gateway to the past, and
for an instant, Luke swore he heard his father’s drunken voice echo from the grave as he stepped into the holding area.

  You get me out of here, boy! Lousy, deadbeat waste of a life. Ain’t no boy of mine gonna leave his old man in here to rot!

  Luke pushed the air from his lungs and focused on the water-stained beige walls and warped wood trim. He didn’t smell the booze and sick that was so familiar, didn’t hear the rattling of keys or slamming of gates. The cells were empty. Blessedly, silently empty. And he was on the right side of the bars.

  “You didn’t win, old man,” Luke muttered, narrowing his eyes so tightly he could all but see his father unconscious on the thin mattress on the other side of the bars. “You went first.”

  “Putting ghosts to rest?”

  Jake’s voice did the impossible and loosened those circulation-halting knots that had been wrestling with each other since Luke crossed the county line.

  “Something like that.” His smile faded as he looked at Jake Gordon. The man before him was older than he remembered, with gray streaks in what had once been a thick, dark brown cap of hair. He was significantly less massive, thinner or maybe Luke’s memory was playing tricks on him. There was no trick when it came to the antique cane clutched in Jake’s hand, and no dismissing how Luke’s entire body went cold as he stared at it.

  Jake’s suddenly stern expression had Luke shifting to attention as if he was back in the service. Much like Ozzy had done moments ago under Luke’s assessing gaze.

  “None of that.” Jake’s warning glare reminded Luke far too much of Holly. “You and I had an understanding, remember?” Jake stretched out his free hand and Luke moved forward to accept, relieved when he felt the strength in the older man’s grip before he let go. “If a stiff leg is all I have to suffer given all you’ve accomplished, it was well worth it. You kept your word, Luke.” Jake dropped a gentle hand on Luke’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’ve done me proud.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.” After leaving town, his word was all Luke had had. But it had been enough to start over. Enough to build a new life on.

  “Cut the ‘sir,’ Luke,” Jake ordered. “You’re among friends here, right, Ozzy?”

  “Yes, sir, ah, Sheriff.” The doubt in Ozzy’s voice—along with the uncertainty on his face—only added to Luke’s.

  “Fletch ran to the diner to pick up lunch. We’ll eat in the office.” Jake hobbled around only to stop short when Cash shot through the opening of the pass-through and stood between Jake and Luke. “Well, this must be who Holly was telling me about last night. Hey, boy.” Jake reached out his hand and Cash plopped his butt down, basking in the attention. “Thank you for what you did yesterday,” Jake said to Luke, who made it a point not to react. “For Holly,” Jake added. “With the tree.”

  “It wasn’t anything.” Luke didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, nor did he want to consider what might have happened if he’d been a few minutes later. Watching that tree slam down so close to Holly had scared a good ten years off his life. Another few steps, a few minutes later, and he and Jake would be having an entirely different conversation. “Anyone else would have done the same thing.”

  “It’s good you think so.” He poured Luke a cup of thick, noxious-looking liquid that made Luke’s empty stomach churn. “Tells me my instincts were dead-on. You’re the right man for this job.”

  “So Fletch and Ozzy are it for staff?” Luke looked around Jake’s office before his gaze landed on the two empty desks in what was laughingly called the squad room. Despite the old computer monitors and CPUs situated on top of them, there was enough dust to confirm there hadn’t been any occupants for quite a while. “I was expecting a few more—”

  “The mass exodus wreaked havoc on us.” Jake gestured for Luke to follow him into the wood-paneled office. Old blinds obscured the window sight line into the main section of the station, something else Luke would fix when the time came. “We went from a town of more than thirty-five thousand to under twenty in what felt like the blink of an eye. When the dust settled, and I knew I’d be moving on, it didn’t seem right to bring on anyone else until you got here. On the bright side, you’ll probably have better luck with Gil and the departmental budget than I ever did. Still, I don’t think he’ll make things easy for you.”

  “I didn’t expect him to.” It was a job. In law enforcement. The fact anyone had offered him anything after what happened in Chicago was nothing short of a miracle. More than anything Luke wanted back on a squad, but there was no moving beyond a failed psych eval and a loss of nerve. At least not when it came to firearms, bombs and explosives. Not many of those around in Butterfly Harbor. “I do have some questions.” Luke nodded at the half-packed boxes piled with old photos and awards. Thirty years as the town sheriff and, like Luke, everything Jake had fit into the back of a patrol car. “If you’re ready for them.”

  “Take a seat.” Jake gestured to one of the cushioned green vinyl chairs across from him. “And let’s get to it.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHATEVER UNIVERSAL POWERS were responsible for the Butterfly Diner’s flood of customers, they sure had a twisted sense of timing.

  Twyla’s dentist appointment had culminated in a root canal, leaving Holly all but pirouetting her way around the tables with little time to breathe, let alone think. It wasn’t until an hour later she realized most of the customers were onetime regulars who hadn’t stepped foot in the diner in weeks.

  She had Luke Saxon to thank for something after all, at least according to the whispers and looks she received. For once, rumors—or the town’s desire for them—were paying off with order after order and the continuous ringing of her cash register. Whether it was Luke, gossip or just plain luck, Holly was grateful.

  It didn’t help her concentration that thoughts of Luke were distracting her completely. She’d nursed a twelve-year grudge when it came to the new sheriff, but try as she might, that built-up resentment had abated with unexpected sights of him boarding up windows on abandoned buildings and town rumblings of his one-man after-the-storm cleanup crew. Tales of Luke and his chain saw were overriding the old bad-boy legends. She could only imagine what those same residents would have said a decade ago if they’d seen teenage Luke wandering town hacking up trees and putting various power tools to use. Either way, in mere days, Luke had already left another indelible impression on Butterfly Harbor.

  It didn’t help he’d looked incredibly handsome hefting plywood into his truck earlier today. Holly squeezed her eyes shut, but it was too late to stop the image of the quirky grin on his full lips, the restrained twinkle in glittering eyes. His unexpected calm and controlled demeanor had kicked a giant hole in her belief as to who she thought he was: untrustworthy, unreliable and straight-up trouble.

  Right now, the only quality she’d wager big bucks on was trouble.

  As she balanced two burgers, a club sandwich and a piping hot French dip on her already singed forearms, Holly glanced over to make sure Simon was still nose-deep in the thickest of his most recent book acquisitions. At least something was going her way. Her son had been scribbling notes faster than she could ever hope to from the second they’d returned to the diner from the bookstore. Someday she was going to have to get a look at that notebook of his, but she was determined to respect his privacy. She remembered how violated she’d felt when her mother had read her diary when Holly was ten. Holly had been devastated, doubly so when her mother didn’t seem to understand how much of a betrayal the invasion had been. Holly wasn’t about to do that to her son.

  Holly sighed, stifling a yawn. With the late-lunch crowd giving way to the early-dinner crew, she was going to need a serious boost of energy soon.

  The door chimed—that thing hadn’t stopped jingling all afternoon—and a young woman and pigtailed little girl stepped inside. The child had a frown on her freckled f
ace aimed directly at the group of teens outside as they waltzed and shouted their way down Monarch Lane.

  “Hi.” Holly offered what she hoped was a friendly expression of welcome as she passed by them to deliver an order. “Menus are right there. Take a seat wherever you’d like. I’ll be with you quick as I can.”

  She heard the woman’s soft “Oh, but I—” as Holly hurried off.

  Ursula’s kitchen bell chimed again. The sound of rattling pans and metal spatulas scraping the stovetop echoed in Holly’s ears as she served up three shakes and two hot fudge sundaes. It wasn’t until five customers later that she realized some folks had already been served drinks she couldn’t remember getting. “What the—” She spun on her squeaky sneakers and found the young woman who had come in earlier behind the counter taking orders from the customers who had foregone booths.

  “Hi.” The munchkin who came in with Holly’s fairy god-helper tugged on Holly’s belt loop, a crooked grin on her tomboy face. “Mom said to give you this.” She held up the help-wanted sign from the window.

  “Thank you, er...” Holly frowned down at the sprite of a little girl. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Charlie Cooper.” She gripped Holly’s hand and gave it a sharp shake. “That’s my mom, Paige. We’re new in town.”

  “Hi, Charlie. I’m Holly.” She pocketed her order pad and looked over to where Simon was watching them. “That’s my son, Simon.”

  “Hi, Simon!” Charlie called and waved. Her smile could have illuminated every lamppost on Monarch Lane. Holly’s heart lifted as Simon waved back. “Cool! I’ve already made a friend.” She beamed up at Holly. “May I go sit with him?”

  “You may,” Holly said, caught off guard by the girl’s vocabulary. “Can I get you something to eat?”