When Max Miller, literary agent to the semi-famous, had suggested he spread his wings and try his hand at fiction, Hunter had thought the man might have finally slipped his tether to reality. Hunter dealt in facts, facts caught by a camera and detailed by the words that flowed out of him as a result. But the challenge of doing something new had intrigued him. Even better, it excited him. Of course he’d locked in that promise seven months ago; three weeks later his entire life had been flipped upside down. His rather carefree, go-anywhere, film-anything lifestyle had ground to a screeching halt when Juliana and her husband had been killed. Now he was a single father living on the road, taking every freelance job he could in order to build up the coffers he suspected he was going to need in the very near future.
Coffers that could do with the serious dose of coinage a solid new publishing contract could bring.
Hunter’s chest tightened. The money was one thing. Time was another. He was down to one month. One month to deliver a saleable proposal to Max who, now that he was getting up in years and was culling his client list, was getting more difficult to please. So yeah. Hunter had four weeks left. And not a single, solitary idea.
The job offer from Gil had been a lifesaver, and while the project itself was going to take a tremendous amount of work, he knew one thing for certain: Butterfly Harbor could very well be his last chance for inspiration.
Phoebe was struggling with the strings of her new bag, trying to get her arms into them. Hunter quickly got her situated, then himself, and they headed out for their bikes.
Phoebe came to a stop on the top step, thumbs hooked in the straps of her bag. As she did every morning, she watched as Kendall reassembled her sawhorses and worktable and unloaded tools.
Phoebe pointed at Kendall and looked up at Hunter. “Yeah, I see her. Morning, Kendall.” He doubted he’d ever sounded cheerier in his life as he waved at their neighbor.
Kendall gave a quick wave before returning her attention to the plank-and-pipe scaffold erected around the lighthouse.
Why the gesture felt like a massive triumph, he couldn’t say. Still, she’d waved. Progress.
It wasn’t long before they reached the mayor’s office, currently housed in a two-story old saloon-style building that soared to the top of Hunter’s must-photograph list. Butterfly Harbor was fully awake. People strolled up and down the streets. Cars carrying daily tourists slid into parking spots as families and couples unloaded beach chairs, coolers and jackets to keep off the morning chill of California air. Personally, Hunter loved the brisk coastal mornings. It got his blood moving.
His cell phone rang after he’d checked in with Gil’s assistant. Hunter glanced at the screen, felt his body tighten at the familiar number. With Phoebe settled in one of the lobby chairs, he stepped outside to take the call. “Good morning, Lance.”
“Hunter. I believe you were supposed to check in once you and Phoebe got settled.”
Hunter wasn’t a man normally quick to temper, but Juliana’s in-laws’ lawyer had a way of triggering even the most calm of pacifists. “We only arrived in town a few days ago, so you saved me a call.” As if he’d been champing at the bit to report in.
“Is the child adjusting adequately to her new surroundings?”
“Phoebe is doing fine,” Hunter explained. “As the court-appointed social worker stated in an affidavit only three weeks ago.” A social worker he’d driven half a day out of his way to meet with.
“Has she returned to school?”
“Not yet, no.” But she would. Soon. At least he hoped she would. Otherwise her paternal grandparents were going to have even more ammunition to use against him. “But other than that, she’s functioning as she should be and within expected parameters.”
If Lance Dunbar, Esquire, picked up on Hunter’s sarcasm, he didn’t let on. “We would like the address of where you’re staying on record.”
Hunter rattled off the oddly structured address; it wasn’t as if the carriage house at Liberty Lighthouse had a street number.
“And how long will you be staying at this address?”
“For as long as the project takes me,” Hunter said as Gil’s assistant poked her head out of the door to wave him inside. He held up a hand and nodded. “I’d guess about two to three months.”
“And where will you be going next?”
“To be determined,” Hunter said. He could recite these questions in his sleep. When he could sleep. These questions, which were posed to him each and every time he took a new job, were what kept him awake most nights. “There’s a video-chat session scheduled for tomorrow evening with Stephen and Eleanor,” Hunter reminded the lawyer. “Can I assume this is a confirmation call for that?”
“My clients see no use in video chatting with their grandchild who refuses to speak to them. It’s a waste of everyone’s time.”
Hunter cursed himself for not having the forethought to record the call. “They could see her. She speaks just fine.” To people she trusts. When she feels like it.
“As I said, a waste of time. Please be sure to notify us of any location change as soon as it takes place.”
“Noted,” Hunter grumbled into the already-disconnected phone. These conversations were getting more abrupt and more disconcerting. Not for the first time, Hunter wondered how Stephen and Eleanor Cartwright had raised such a likable son. Brent had become one of Hunter’s best friends almost as soon as it became evident he and Juliana were serious. Hunter had served as one of his groomsmen at the wedding, and it had been Brent who had asked Hunter to be Phoebe’s godfather a few seconds after the little girl had entered the world. Losing both his sister and his friend had gutted Hunter, but he hadn’t been able to give in to the grief—not when Phoebe needed him. And she did need him.
No matter what Stephen and Eleanor might think.
Doubt crept in. A very small part of him wondered if she’d be better off with them, living a more traditional life with a home, school, friends, never wanting for anything because she’d have financial security. But then he remembered how Brent’s face would darken whenever the topic of his parents was raised, and how he’d say money didn’t equate with love and if it was the last thing he’d do, he’d raise Phoebe knowing she was utterly and completely accepted.
Which was why, no doubt, he and Juliana had designated Hunter as Phoebe’s legal guardian should anything happen to them.
Shaking off the unease that always descended after one of these calls, Hunter headed inside. “You okay, kiddo?”
Phoebe gave him a thumbs-up without even looking up from her book, the latest How It Works on astronomy.
“She’s good as gold,” the assistant told him. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”
Another thumbs-up. Hunter headed up to the second-floor landing and the mayor’s office.
Had Hunter forgotten about Gil Hamilton in their years since college, it would have all come rushing back the instant he stepped into Gil’s space. The sports awards and medals lined highly polished redwood bookcases. Certificates of achievements, letters of commendation, photographs of Gil and his father shaking hands with some of the biggest political names of the time spoke of a life dedicated to...well, Hunter wasn’t entirely sure what. Clearly Gil had been busy in the last ten years.
But it was the sight of Gil Hamilton himself that had Hunter doing a double take. The man hadn’t aged a bit since they’d graduated college. Same sandy-blond hair, same classic polo shirt and khakis, although Hunter would bet he wore a suit more often than he’d be willing to admit. They’d cut classes a lot to surf, as the beach had only been a hop, skip and a jump from campus, and judging by the look on Gil’s tanned features, including that same self-assured grin, his old friend still found time to catch some waves. Chilly waves, but waves nonetheless.
“Hunter. I
t’s good to see you.” Gil came around the desk, hand outstretched. “Thanks so much for taking the job. And for going along with my schedule. I didn’t expect it to be so long before we met.”
He returned the greeting, then slung his bag from around his shoulder and set it on the floor next to the chair across from Gil.
“Can I get you coffee? Tea?”
“Ah, no, thanks.” Hunter smiled.
“I appreciate you coming in.”
“No problem. Phoebe and I enjoyed the morning ride.”
“Ride?” Gil’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the sweep of hair that barely missed his eyes.
“Yeah, bikes. Easier to tote around than a car. I left the motor home up at the lighthouse. With Kendall Davidson,” he added just so he could watch Gil’s expression.
As predicted, Gil Hamilton did not disappoint.
“Ah, right. Kendall.” He scrubbed a hand against the side of his neck. “Probably should have given you a heads-up about her.”
“You should have given her one about me and Phoebe,” Hunter corrected. “Look, I’m used to being a surprise to people. Part of the job. But that woman looked positively spooked when we arrived.”
“You’re right. I messed up with that. I’ll head up there and apologize. Easy fix.”
Hunter bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t think anything with Kendall Davidson would be an easy fix, but it would be a testament to Gil Hamilton’s people skills. “She’s interesting. Been here long?”
“A few months. She’s a friend of one of our deputies. Matt Knight. They served in Afghanistan together.”
Afghanistan. Explained the burn scars, Hunter supposed. And probably more. “I met him at the diner our first day in town. Seems like a good guy.”
“He is. So I made up a list of people it would be good for you to talk to about the history of the town.” Gil handed Hunter a file folder. “Most of them have lived here all their lives.”
“This is a start, thanks.” Hunter wasn’t about to tell Gil he preferred to move organically through a place, talk to people on their own, see who they thought was worth his attention. “I know what you’re looking for in this book.”
“Do you?” Gil’s bright eyes dulled a bit. “I don’t want a hatchet job, that’s for sure. It’s mainly for tourists and for promotion. Encourage people to move here. It’s a special place. You know, sell self-published copies in the stores, send them out to the media who might be interested in covering upcoming events or holidays. A press package on steroids.”
Hunter settled back into the conversation he’d been expecting, the same conversation he’d had with countless others in his career. “I don’t go looking for dirt, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I wouldn’t say worried, exactly. The town has a colorful history.”
“If you mean what happened with your father, I already know about that.” And Hunter had no plans to include any of those controversial details in his manuscript.
Gil’s normally open, friendly expression did a vanishing act. “I’m sure you do. This is about the rebuilding of a community, the coming together of a town. The way we’ve banded together and saved it.”
“Then that’s where I’ll start.” He was definitely going to be spending a lot of time at the library. “I appreciate having the place to stay while I’m working. Phoebe loves it up there.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Fine. I think.” They’d discussed, peripherally, at least, Phoebe’s issues since the accident. “Emotionally, she has her good days and her bad. I’d say I was hoping a change of scenery would help, but she gets a lot of that.”
“There’s a lot to be said for silence.”
“True enough.” Hunter’s lips twitched. “Still, I wouldn’t mind hearing a bit more about what she’s thinking from time to time. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s grieving. It’ll take patience on both our parts.”
“Sure. It makes sense.” Gil nodded. “We all handle grief in our own way. She’s got someone who cares about her looking after her. That’s what makes the difference. Still a few months left in the school year in case you’re worried about her not hanging out with kids her own age.”
“That would be nice. But she’s not budging on that.” Hunter shook his head. With respect to that subject, Phoebe had not remained silent.
“Then maybe check the events at the youth center for her.”
“A youth center, huh? Your idea?” Once upon a time Gil had considered running charity organizations for a living—until Gil’s father had gotten wind of that and put his foot down and insisted he follow him into local politics. One thing Gil had always had problems with was stepping out from under his father’s shadow. Even now that Senior had been gone a good few years, Hunter could still see the specter hovering not only in this office, but over Gil himself.
“The former sheriff’s actually. Jake Campbell. He and Luke Saxon, his replacement, worked on the project together. Been doing pretty well so far, well enough that they’re looking for a new, larger space. In fact, they’re also looking for new instructors. If you’re still as handy with that camera as I’m hoping you are.”
“Not a lot of call for photography classes that don’t include a cell phone, but I’ll check it out.” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if the position would pay, but given it was a community center, he already suspected the answer. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t be willing, though. “Well, I’m sure you have a lot of work to get to. I’m heading to the library to get a jump on my research.” Hunter got to his feet.
“Sounds good. Oh, and here. This should help settle you in.” He handed Hunter an envelope. “It’s half up front, as we discussed. Other half on delivery. You said maybe two or three months?”
“Should be,” Hunter confirmed. Gil was right. The check in his hand would absolutely ease a bit of the burden weighing on him. He’d played a bit of hardball with his old friend, but given he’d had to make a cross-country drive to get here, he didn’t feel too guilty about it—and if he had, that phone call from the lawyer would have tipped the balance. “I’ll be in touch in a few weeks to let you know how I’m coming along.”
CHAPTER FIVE
WITH PHOEBE ENSCONCED in bed, Hunter slipped out of the carriage house and closed the door behind him. He found the darkness both captivating and intimidating with only a solitary light burning in the window of the cottage breaking through the night. He shivered against the cold, and considered going back for a sweatshirt, but the ear-thrumming pounding of the waves at the base of the cliffs pushed his discomfort aside. It was too late for coffee if he hoped to sleep tonight, and he was not a tea kind of guy, but a steaming mug of hot chocolate sure sounded good about now. He made a mental note to add some to the grocery list.
His shoes crunched along the gravel path. He was amazed at how the spinning thoughts that kept him awake faded into silence beneath the sound of the ocean breaking against the shoreline.
There was little, he supposed, more powerful than nature at its freest. His fingers itched to return for his camera, but photographing at night took a bit of preparation and planning. As he stood there, above the crashing waves and beneath the steadfast lighthouse that had overseen this shore for longer than he’d been alive, he knew this would be the perfect shot, the perfect image for the story he’d been hired to write. And the emotion he hoped to convey with his words. He stooped down, scooped up a handful of pebbles and let them trickle through his fingers. Hunter could barely hear them drop back onto the ground above the waves, but there was something connective about being out here, in the darkness, seeing this scene in the same way as people had decades before. No blinding lights to distract, no sounds of technology blaring in his ears. Only the water and the rush of wind and the smell of the sea to fill his senses.
He felt her presence before he spotted her, th
at spark of energy that crackled whenever Kendall was around. Hunter looked over his shoulder as she stepped out of the grove of trees on the far side of the cottage. He couldn’t explain it. He hadn’t tried to, but that energy called to him, perhaps even more strongly than the tide had called to him tonight.
Hunter knew the instant she noticed him. She hunched her shoulders, tipped her chin down and huddled into the thin zip-up gray hoodie she wore, as if she could withdraw like a turtle into her shell.
She could have gone around him; he half expected her to when she missed a step and almost stumbled. But she kept on her path toward the keeper’s house. “Nice night for a walk,” he called out to her when she drew close.
“Yes, it is.” She offered a quick smile before glancing at the carriage house. “Is Phoebe...?”
“She’s asleep. Or she’s supposed to be. I’d lay even odds she’s huddled under the covers with a flashlight and her book.” Growing up, his sister used to do the same thing, which was one reason he didn’t make a fuss about it. “She thinks I don’t know she does that most nights.”
Kendall lifted her face into the moonlight and he caught the flash of what wasn’t exactly humor, but understanding. “She thinks she’s putting one over on you.”
“Probably.” Hunter dusted off his hands and stood. “The last thing I’m ever going to be upset about is her reading.” Even if it was the same book, day after day, night after night. “Do you walk out here every night?”
Hands shoved deep into her pockets, Kendall rocked back on her heels. How was she not shivering to death? he wondered.
“Most nights. I’m not the best sleeper.” She winced as if the conversation took effort. Still, she didn’t seem in too much of a rush to head inside and he took that as progress. “There’s an outlook about a mile and half that way.” She jerked her chin in the direction she’d come from. “I found it a few days after I got here. There isn’t a path or anything to it, it’s just one of those places that helps shake loose the day.”
Safe in His Arms--A Clean Romance Page 5
