The lunch rush was dying down at the Coyote Moon on the square of Evansville, Texas. Even the sheriff and the mayor had abandoned their usual table and headed back to work. Cassidy Simon balanced three salads and carried them to the table of women by the front window. The scent of hair product overwhelmed the usual aroma of grilled steak and fried, well, everything.
“Cassidy, have you been to Liz’s new salon?” Heather Saldana asked as she scraped some of the olives to the side of her salad.
Since Cassidy’s hair was twisted into a claw clip on top of her head, Cassidy would have to say Heather knew she hadn’t.
“No, is it nice?” she asked, just to make conversation. Every penny she had was either put back into the RV park she’d built on her land to house the oilfield guys, or tucked into her escape fund. No way was she spending it on herself in a salon.
“Oh, it’s great. She’s made it really luxurious. The chairs are just heaven, and she has these stones for your feet. And she hired a manicurist from Houston.” Trinity waggled her fingers at Cassidy. “Aren’t these just perfect for wildflower season?”
Her nails were decorated like tiny wildflowers, each finger a different flower. They were, admittedly, adorable. Cassidy curled her own uneven nails out of sight.
“Victor’s coming home from a hitch tomorrow and I imagine my nails are all I’ll be wearing.” Heather nudged Victoria, who laughed.
Trinity turned to Cassidy. “You should totally go, but you need to make an appointment. She’s pretty busy already. I think everyone’s just so anxious to see what she’s done with the place.”
Liz had rented the store in the center of the block on the rundown square a few months back. Her plans for a modest salon had expanded as money started pouring into the town when the men found lucrative work in the oilfields and their wives started looking to spend the money. Places like that were few and far between in Evansville, but the boom was providing opportunities no one in their quiet little town had expected. Several residents had flocked to the fields. Including Cassidy’s ex, Mason, who’d started driving trucks and left her behind.
After Cassidy made an empty promise to check out the salon, she ensured her customers had all they needed before she made her escape to the kitchen.
“Lucky you,” Carla Martinez said, looking through her lashes at the three women at Cassidy’s table.
“What? Why?”
“They may be gossips, but they’re good tippers.”
Not in Cassidy’s experience, probably because they’d all gone to school together, though Heather, Trinity and Victoria had been a couple of years older. In a school the size of Evansville High, everyone knew everyone else.
“Think they’ll tip me enough to go get wildflower nails?” Cassidy asked, forcing a light tone.
Carla rolled her eyes. “Manicured nails are wasted on you, seriously. You’d just gnaw them off.”
“That’s not fair. I don’t bite my nails.”
“You just chew on them.” Carla hefted her purse on her shoulder, her shift over. “I’m outta here. Need me to do anything else before I go?”
Knowing Carla wanted some time alone before her kids got home from school, Cassidy made a shooing motion. “Go. Enjoy peace and quiet.”
Cassidy kept an eye on her remaining table while she did her side work. Unlike Carla, she was in no hurry to get home. Her peace and quiet was here, even during the lunch rush.
The door swung open—odd this late in the day—and a man Cassidy didn’t recognize walked in. He was a big guy, not uncommon in ranching country, but what was unusual was that he was alone. For a moment, she thought he’d join Heather, Trinity and Victoria, but he chose a table closer to the pool table.
He drew the attention of the three women, who quieted, nodded in his direction and whispered.
Grateful for a distraction from her other customers, Cassidy picked up a menu and crossed to the man, who sat back in the creaking wooden chair and smiled at her. Wow. He was a cutie, blond hair sticking up just slightly as it grew out of a short cut, blue eyes fringed with thick lashes, a straight nose, a strong chin. She placed the menu on the table in front of him.
“Hey.”
His voice was gravelly, and sent skitters of awareness down her spine, reminding her how long it had been since she’d been out with anyone, had a man other than her regulars give her attention.
No, she needed to push that thought out of her head right now. She wasn’t sticking around here. Once she made her money, Evansville was going to be in her rearview mirror.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“Sweet tea?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back. Will anyone be joining you?”
“Nah, I’m on my own today.”
Something about his blue eyes was familiar, but she couldn’t place how she knew him. “I’ll go get your tea.”
After she delivered the tall glass in the textured plastic glass, she went to check on the ladies, who had shifted their chairs so they could watch the newcomer.
“Do you know who that is?” Victoria asked Cassidy, not as quietly as she probably hoped.
Cassidy shook her head as she cleared the plates from in front of the women, in a subtle effort to invite them to leave.
“That’s Grady McKenna. You know, of the McKenna ranch.”
One of the biggest ranches in South Texas, in the same family for over a hundred years. Two brothers and a sister. Now she remembered why she recognized those blue eyes. His sister, Sage, had tormented her all through high school. She didn’t remember Grady at all, though she didn’t think he was much older than her.
“Grady’s the one who went into the Air Force out of high school. I didn’t know he was out, and back. And damn, he looks good.”
Heather nudged her friend. “Remember you’re engaged to my brother!”
“I can still look. It’s not like Ben doesn’t look at Cassidy’s ass every time he comes here.”
Cassidy almost dropped the dishes as all three women turned their attention from Grady to Cassidy’s ass.
“Cassidy! Phone call!” Charlie, the cook, called from the kitchen.
Her stomach clenched, and she turned, carrying the dishes back to the kitchen. She set them on the counter and frowned at the expression on Charlie’s face.
“Your mom,” he said, confirming her fear.
She took the phone, wishing it was cordless so she could have some privacy instead of being tethered to the register. “This is Cassidy.”
“Yeah, Cassidy, sorry to bother you at work.” It was Dylan Hoyt, one of the oilfield workers staying at the RV park she’d built on her land, who acted as unofficial manager when she was at the cafe. “Your mom is kind of wasted and she’s knocking on all the guys’ trailers. They worked the late shift, and they’re not so happy about it. I tried to get her back to the house, but she wouldn’t go.”
“All right. All right.” She lifted her thumbnail to her mouth, but thought about what Carla said, and lowered it again. Damn, she needed some kind of stress relief. “It’ll take me a bit to get there. I have a couple of customers right now, and Charlie’s by himself. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Charlie took the phone from her. “I’ve got it. You go on.”
Cassidy wanted to argue, to resist, because God knew she didn’t want to go home. But she couldn’t have her mother chasing off her tenants. Those guys paid her rent, and they were her ticket out of here. She had to deal with this.
“I’m sorry, Charlie.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that. Just get your guy’s order before you leave, and maybe leave a pitcher on each table. I don’t think those ladies are leaving as long as he’s here.”
He was probably right. She carried her order pad back to Grady’s table, aware he was watching her every step.
“You decide what you want?”
“Sure, I’ll take a chicken-fried steak. Haven’t had a good one in a while.”
“I heard you’re just back from the military?” She didn’t have time to engage him in conversation, but she couldn’t deny her curiosity.
He glanced toward the women at the other table, a half-smile curving his lips, letting her know he knew where she’d gotten her information. “Not just back. I mean, yeah, just back to Texas, but I was in North Carolina for a couple of months. Good to be back in Texas, though. No place like home.” He held his glass while she refilled it with tea. “You never left?”
Did he remember her? “Not yet.”
He lifted his eyebrows, but she didn’t elaborate. She couldn’t. “I need to put your order in, then I need to run. A family emergency. Charlie will take care of you. I’ll ask in advance for you to forgive him. I swear, we usually have better service.”
He smiled, white teeth flashing. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Wow. That smile lit up his whole face, and lit something deep inside her. But she didn’t linger, instead hurrying his order back to Charlie, delivering pitchers to both tables, then grabbing her purse and bolting.
The drive home over the crumbling asphalt roads took longer than usual, probably because Cassidy was dreading it so much. She turned onto the gravel road she’d just put in for easier access for the RVs, then pulled into the parking area where the guys kept their trucks. She took a deep breath and opened the car door, scanning the area for her mom.
And there she was, stumbling down the steps from a Rambler, tugging up the sagging strap of her camisole. Ah, hell, had she just gone into Chris’s trailer?
“Mom!”
Her mother twisted and fell on the gravel, then rose to her knees, tugging at the blouse again. “Cassidy! You’re home early.”
Cassidy hurried to her side to help her to her feet. “Mom, what are you doing? You know these guys work the night shift and need their sleep. You need to leave them alone.”
Angie Simon slumped against the side of the Rambler and pushed her hair back from her face. She should still be a pretty woman. She was only forty-three, but the drinking and the cigarettes had put miles on her. Apparently, though, that didn’t stop the workers from taking advantage of her advances.
“You leave me alone out here in the middle of nowhere all day long. I’m lonely.”
Cassidy had taken her mother’s car keys on purpose, because she couldn’t risk her driving into town to buy more alcohol, and then getting behind the wheel wasted. So far, she hadn’t hurt anyone, though she had two DWIs on her record.
“These are men with families, working men. They are not here to entertain you, or for you to entertain them. Where did you get the liquor?”
“Jordan was nice enough to buy me a bottle the last time he went to town. And Chris brought back some weed.”
Jesus. Thanks for the help, guys. She should let her mother bang on their trailer doors all day long. Maybe they’d supplied her in the hope she’d pass out.
Cassidy tucked her hand under her mother’s arm and guided her toward the house.
Her mother pulled away. “I don’t want to go home. Take me into town.”
“Oh, no. I have to go back to work. You need to go in the house and sleep it off. Did you take your birth control pills?” Because the last thing she needed was to raise her mother’s baby.
Angie looked affronted. “I always remember. And I use a condom, too. Can’t be too careful.”
“Too much information,” Cassidy muttered, urging her mother forward.
“You need to get a man.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“You’d relax if you got laid.”
“Mom!” But the picture that came to mind was Grady McKenna and that lazy smile. She pushed it away again. “I’d relax if you’d stop drinking and bothering our tenants. I’d relax if I could trust you to behave yourself like an adult.”
“You’re no fun,” Angie pouted.
No. No, she wasn’t. She was no fun, and she had no fun. All she wanted was enough money to maybe put her mom in rehab and get the hell out of Dodge.
She got Angie into the house and into the shower, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. While it was brewing, she searched in all the usual places for the booze and the pot. At least the house wasn’t very big, and her mother wasn’t adept at hiding things, because Cassidy found the bottle, plus a couple others, and the bag of pot. She considered the pot a moment. What was she going to do with it? Flush it, maybe. The booze was going down the drain.
Every time she did that, she winced. Even if it wasn’t her money, it was expensive. Still, she twisted off the tops, wrinkling her nose at the smell, and dumped the contents down the drain, running the water at the same time so her eyes didn’t burn from the fumes.
Once the job was done, the weed flushed and the bottles in the recycle bin, Cassidy poured a cup of coffee and set it on the table. The shower wasn’t running any longer. She headed down to the bathroom and opened the door to see her mother sitting naked on the toilet, rocking herself back and forth and sobbing.
“Oh, Mom.” Cassidy wrapped a towel around her mother’s shoulders, crouching before her at the same time. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not pretty anymore!”
“Mom, don’t be silly. You’re still beautiful.”
“When I was a girl, all the boys wanted me. I was Bluebonnet Queen. Everyone thought I was the most beautiful girl in town.”
Cassidy knew the rest of the story. Angie had let the fame go to her head, had let the boys talk her into bed, had her heart broken when Cassidy’s father denied the baby was his. Cassidy’s grandparents had helped raise her, up until the time when she was thirteen and they had had enough of Angie’s drama, left the land to Angie and Cassidy and moved to Oklahoma to be closer to Cassidy’s uncle and his nice, normal family. They spent most of their retirement in an RV driving around the country, but never back to Texas.
Angie hadn’t allowed the stigma of being a single mother in a small town keep her down. She lost her baby weight and started dating again. Cassidy wasn’t sure if she wanted a father for her baby, or if she just wanted to prove to herself that she could still get a man.
She could get a man, but not a father for her baby. Cassidy wondered how hard she tried.      
“Let’s go get you something to eat,” Cassidy said now in an attempt to stem the pity party. “Did you eat today?”
“I just want to feel pretty.”
“I know, Mom, but you can’t go to these guys. They pay us to live here, and we need that money.”
“What for? We’re not poor.”
Thanks to her grandparents, who signed over their land to her when she became of age, they didn’t have house payments, only taxes. But she’d borrowed against the land to put in the RV park, the gravel road and parking area, the hook-ups, the drainage, and the laundry hut. She owed the bank a pretty penny that she had to pay back before she could funnel serious money into her escape fund.
Her mother wasn’t privy to either concern. The land was Cassidy’s, and it was her decision. Her salvation.
“We’re doing what others are doing—taking advantage of what we can go get some of this oil money before they leave.” Or before they found more permanent housing.
She got her mother dressed and into the kitchen, made her some soup and settled her in front of an afternoon talk show before Cassidy headed back to the restaurant.
“Didn’t expect to see you,” Charlie said when she walked in. Debbie was lounging by the drink station, called into work early, though no tables were occupied.
Cassidy didn’t tell Charlie she hadn’t wanted to stay home with her mother. Instead, she said, “Put me to work.”

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The Texas Frontier, 1826


“Kit!”
    Katherine Barclay straightened from stirring the laundry in the iron pot. She swept loose tendrils of hair back from her face and schooled her features into patience before she turned to her sixteen-year-old sister-in-law. Mary ran into the yard of the garrison, not wearing a wrap to protect her from the winds sweeping across the coastal plains. The young woman was recovering from a fever and didn’t have the sense to cover her head on this frosty Texas day?
But Mary revered Kit, and while that admiration frequently tried Kit’s patience, she had to remain conscious of it. There was no living with the girl if Kit hurt her feelings.
     “What is it?” Kit asked, at the same time Mary blurted, “A man is riding this way!”
     Kit’s heart thumped. Could it be John? Had the word they’d received of his death on the Texas border been a mistake?
She tamped down that hope as she’d trained herself to do. Fear rose in its place. Only she, Mary and her mother-in-law, Agnes, remained at the garrison standing guard between the Karankawa tribe and Stephen Austin’s colony of San Felipe. The other inhabitants had fled. John had urged Kit to accompany him on his mission back to the States, but their young son, Daniel, had been sick. She’d feared traveling would make him worse. Agnes and Mary had agreed to stay with her, a fact she’d been grateful for when she received word that her husband had been killed in a skirmish with outlaws, and when she’d buried her son a week later.
    Before regret could squeeze her heart, she closed the door on it. She couldn’t dwell on the past now.  She was in charge. As much as she loved Agnes and Mary, they were too frail for this frontier life. And now their safety was threatened.  
    She released the stirring stick she’d been gripping and flexed her cold, aching fingers. “Where is this man?”
    “He’s coming from the northeast. We saw him through the window.”
    Another transgression. They shouldn’t have had the window set in the fort wall open, not when the January wind had such a bite. The last thing Kit needed was to bury her sister-in-law if she caught another fever. Kit stepped away from the laundry fire and snatched her wrap from the chair nearby. She folded the woolen fabric around herself as she headed for the steps leading to the top of the wooden cabin that sat just inside the fort wall.
    “Stay here,” she ordered over her shoulder as Mary began to follow.
    The command did no good, and the young woman trotted behind her up the steps.
    Wind whipped at Kit’s already wild hair and tore through her thin cloak and damp dress. The low gray clouds offered no hope of sun. She buried her hands in the folds of her cloak and scanned the flat horizon.
    There, astride a beautiful roan, slumped a man in a saddle, heading straight toward the garrison.
    Alarm shot through her as she realized she’d left her loaded rifle beside the chair where her cloak had been. She cursed her lack of foresight. She hadn’t expected him to be so close. 
    She whirled to run for the rifle when a movement from the man caught her eye. She turned back just in time to see him drop out of the saddle and remain motionless on the road.
    Drunk, was her first thought. Or hurt. Or sick.
    She stiffened. No more sickness. She couldn’t bear expending her energy on someone else she couldn’t help.
    She stared at the man, so still in the golden dry grass, his horse standing patiently beside him, and gnawed her lip in indecision. 
Mary gripped her arm, huddling against Kit for warmth. “What are we going to do? Just leave him out there?”
     What could she do? Bring him into the fort not knowing who he was, what his purpose was? They were three women with little means of protecting themselves against someone who meant them harm. And if he was indeed sick, could she risk the three of them contracting his illness?
    But could she just leave him out there to die? Then what? Watch carrion destroy his body? Hardly a Christian act.
    Confused and tired of making all these decisions, she crossed the yard and closed her fingers around the reassuring metal of the rifle barrel. With the gun in one hand, she tucked her arm around Mary’s shoulders. The girl shivered uncontrollably, her teeth chattering. Kit removed her own wrap and folded it about the girl. “The first thing we’re doing is getting you warm before you sicken again.” 
    That would also buy her time to think.
    Agnes waited in the doorway of the garrison commander's quarters, the rooms they had claimed for themselves when they realized no one would return to the fort this winter. The older woman hurried forward to gather her daughter, but her worried eyes sought Kit.
    “Did you see him? He’s fallen.”
    “I saw.” Kit ushered the women into the room and closed the door. Immediately, she felt warmer, but she moved to stand by the hearth anyway, arms wrapped around her middle.
    Agnes peered out the window, past the parchment paper covering it. “What are we going to do?”
    “Has he moved?”
    Agnes shook her head. “He could be dead.”
    He could be. And that left the beautiful horse, a horse they could use. If he was sick or drunk, he was hardly a threat. 
    Decision made, Kit reached into the box over the fireplace and drew out the pistol John had left her. Her fingers flexed when she opened the box, as the memory of how he’d taught her to shoot it stabbed through her heart.
Before he’d brought her to this place from her home near New Orleans, he wanted her to be able to defend herself. So he took her to an open field with this pistol and the rifle still in the yard. He’d taught her how to load each, his big, sure hands guiding hers through the motions. He’d shown her how to sight down the barrel, his arms around her, his strong chest at her back, his muscled arms along hers. She could still feel the heat of his breath against the back of her neck, the way his fingers curved around hers, his soft chuckle as she flinched at the sound. He hadn’t allowed her to back down, hadn’t allowed her to quit until she could load each gun in under two minutes. 
    Then, when her arms had trembled from lifting the heavy rifle, he’d taken her home and made love to her.
    Tears swam in her eyes. She missed him so much. It wasn’t right that she should lose them both, her husband and her son, so she had nothing left.
     “Kit?” Mary rested a hesitant hand on Kit’s arm.
     Kit drew in a deep breath, straightening her shoulders and blinking back the tears she didn’t have time to shed. She set the box on the table and tucked the heavy pistol into the pocket of her dress.
“You’re going out there?” Agnes’s strident voice rang in the small room. “What if it’s a trap? If he’s just using illness as a ruse to get in here?”
      “He has no way of knowing we’re the only three here. That’s why I fire the cannon every day, so anyone around will think the soldiers are still here.”    
    “We barely have enough food for ourselves,” Agnes pointed out.
    That was true, and their supply was dwindling.  Kit herself had only taken a small amount of porridge this morning in an attempt to make their supplies stretch. What would they do when they ran out of the oats and wheat flour they had stored in the root cellar? They’d already used the dried meat and root vegetables she’d stored. Her skills with the rifle weren’t nearly good enough to hunt, even if she were brave enough to leave the fort. She had to hope that what they had would last until spring, when they could leave this place. At least it would be warmer, and there would be more opportunities to find food. And maybe the Indians would be on the move, away from them, following the game.
    “His horse looks healthy enough.” She met Agnes’s gaze.
    “Riding him would be dangerous,” Mary asserted.
“We can butcher him,” Kit said softly, though the words pained her to say.
Mary gasped, her brown eyes opening wide.
Kit clamped her jaw and ignored the outrage. She had to. She strode through the door and tried to shut it behind her, but as usual, Mary was there, still in Kit’s wrap. Kit would need that to venture out of the fort, though the heavy cloth would limit her mobility. She picked up her loaded rifle by the barrel, pivoted and returned to the window, where Agnes watched the stranger, her body vibrating with anxiety.
Kit raised that anxiety by thrusting the rifle at the older woman. “If he makes any sudden movements when I’m out there, shoot this.”
Agnes raised her hands, palms out, and stared at the gun in horror. “I can’t shoot a man.”
Kit bit back a sigh of frustration. “You don’t have to shoot him. Just make him think you are. He doesn’t know who is in here, remember? Please, Mother. I need your help.” The last words, words she rarely spoke, dragged out of her.
Agnes must have realized what the plea cost Kit, because she pursed her lips, lowered her hands and reached for the rifle.
After a quick review of the weapon, Kit retrieved her wrap from her terrified sister-in-law and marched out of the room, hesitating only a moment at the fort’s giant wooden doors, which she hadn’t opened in weeks. Not allowing herself to think of what would happen to her family if she died out there, she tugged one door open wide enough to slip out.
The stranger was farther from the walls than she had realized. Every step away from the fort made her feel more vulnerable to Indians and outlaws. She reassured herself by remembering they hadn’t seen any of the Karankawa tribe in a week or more—the days blended together—and by pressing her hand to the gun resting heavily against her thigh in her skirt pocket. Though the land was open for miles, every brush of high grass against her skirt sent a chill of alarm through her.
She expected the horse to react to her approach, but he merely lifted his head and widened his nostrils. Her gaze returned to the man sprawled face down in the dirt, one arm pinned beneath his big body, one long leg curled out, the other straight behind him. His hat had tumbled off into the grass, revealing dark hair with a touch of red.
He was breathing. She could see the rise and fall of his back beneath the wool coat, could see the dance of dust in front of his mouth with every exhalation.
He was young, younger than John had been, close to her own age, his face long and lean and bristled with reddish stubble, his cheeks ruddy. His full lips were chapped. She knew before she reached him that he was feverish.
But he was alive. What was she to do now?

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Lori Cervantes let her mind wander on the drive to her happy place as mid-90s grunge rock pounded out of the speakers of her SUV. Since her divorce, she was used to being alone on weekends while her kids went with their dad. Now her kids were in college and off doing their own things, and Lori didn't want to sit home alone, so she headed to her little sanctuary on the San Marcos River.
Not many people knew about the little campground, populated by enormous teepees and elevated cabins, fire pits and a dock and a tire swing over the water. The campground was close to the road, and neighbors lived nearby, so it wasn’t large or fancy, but the place itself filled her soul. Some nights she’d sleep in the teepee, but tonight felt like a good night to sleep under the stars.
She turned off the highway and down the one-lane road, the stress melting away. She turned the corner, and saw a chain across the driveway leading to the campground. Frowning, she pulled up into the driveway as far as she could get, her bumper hanging out into the road a little, and she opened her door.
She stood and inspected the campground. No cars at any of the teepees, but of course it was still pretty early, and not a lot of people came here anyway. But the Adirondack chairs were tipped forward to lean against the fire pits, the swing was pulled in from the river and hung on a tree. 
The camp looked…closed.
The chain was padlocked to a pole that she didn't remember being there before. With a huff, she stepped over the chain and marched toward the office, just a room off the activity room. She didn’t get an answer when she knocked, so she walked around back to the house. Mr. and Mrs. Langston owned the place, and lived around back, so they were always available. Mrs. Langston liked to make it homey, but now no hanging baskets adorned the porch, no plants were in the stands, no wreath on the door. The house looked lonely, and a strange truck was parked in the driveway.
She marched to the door, thinking of her car parked awkwardly at the driveway, and knocked firmly. 
After a few moments, the door swung open to reveal a large man in a damp white t-shirt and jeans, wearing heavy work gloves, and with flecks of white in his dark hair. He was maybe her age, maybe a little younger, and maybe not so bad looking under that scowl.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone impatient.
“I have a reservation for this weekend. Lori Cervantes. I have the teepee farthest from the road.”
“We’re closed. You got an email and a refund.”
She forced herself not to take a step back in shock. “You’re closed? What are you talking about? It’s summer, your busy season. Why would you close?”
“It’s all in the email,” he said, and started to close the door.
She didn't know what came over her, but she stepped forward and slapped her hand against it, holding it open.
“I had a reservation. I’ve been looking forward to this all week. What is going on?”
He sighed, cocked his hip and leveled a look at her. 
“My folks retired. They’re selling the place, and I’m fixing it up. Therefore, no guests. It’s all in the email.”
“Well, I don't read my email when I’m off work,” she countered, then his words sunk in. “They’re selling? When did they decide?” She tried to remember the last time she’d been out here, but she couldn’t. She’d spent a lot of time talking to the Langstons, getting to know them, especially when she’d come out here alone. 
“I don't know, they’ve been talking about it for months. Finally decided they didn't want to do all the work this summer. My siblings and I have been trying to talk to them about it for years.”
“What are they going to do now? They’re moving completely?” She couldn't wrap her head around that. They had loved this place so much.
“They want to buy a condo at the beach, just for themselves. Retire and have a good life.”
Lori hadn’t thought about them being that old, since they were younger than her own mother. She rocked back on her heels. She was at a loss. Sure, she’d only driven an hour to come out here, but she had needed this escape after a rough week at work, making sure all the vendors were paid at the end of the school year.
“What if I help?”
“What if you what?”
“What if I help you get it ready to sell? I know how to paint, and I can clean, and, I don't know, take care of landscape or whatever you need me to do.” He appeared to be working by himself, so why wouldn't he take her up on her offer?
His frown deepened as he looked down at her. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Because I want to spend the weekend out here.” She gestured toward the river. “This place—means a lot to me. I would like to help.”
He looked her up and down, like he couldn't believe she was capable. She wanted to flex her muscles, to let him know she worked out and was more than capable of learning whatever he needed her to do.
“I don't think it’s a good idea.”
“Why? Because you want to do the work all by yourself?”
He glanced back over his shoulder into the house, and his shoulders sagged a bit. He turned back to face her. “I don't even know you.”
She stuck a hand out at him. “I’m Lori Cervantes from San Antonio. I’ve been coming out here like six times a year for the past four years. I’ve had dinner with your parents on several occasions.” She cast back in her memory for mention of their son. The Langstons had three children, but the one they talked about most often was their daughter, who lived in San Diego. “You’re Jackson? A firefighter? Or Justin, the IT guy?”
His frown morphed into surprise. “Yeah, ah. Jackson. Huh. But no, I can’t ask you to help me with this.”
“You didn’t. I offered. And if you’re selling it to someone who doesn't want to run it as a camp, this might be my last chance to stay here.”
Jackson looked at Lori for a long moment, a tiny curvy woman with jet-black hair, straight as an arrow, sweeping her shoulders. Big eyes in a tiny pixie face made her look like a doll, except he’d never seen a doll with such a stubborn expression. 
Sending her away should be easy enough. He’d refunded her money. He had no obligation to her. 
But something in her voice told him she needed this, and hell, if she knew his name, knew his job, knew his parents, maybe she did feel invested in the place.
He backed away from the door, motioning for her to enter. “You’re going to get dirty.”
For the first time, he saw hesitation in her expression. 
“Do you have a job for me…out here? I’ve, ah, I’ve been inside all week and I was really looking forward to being outside. I can run a mean weed-eater.”
He saw wariness in her eyes. Smart, actually. She didn't know him, and she probably didn't want to be alone in the house with him. 
“Yeah, I mean, sure. If you’re sure. You know how to run a weed eater?”
She lifted an arm to flex, and he felt a smile tug at his lips. 
“Let me get it for you.”
He walked past her and headed toward the garage. He lifted the door to reveal the full but mostly-neat garage, and walked over to pick up the weed-eater, leaning against the zero-turn lawnmower. Her big eyes took on a gleam as she looked at the tractor. 
“Can I do that?”
“Ah. It takes some getting used to. I don't want you to land in the river.”
“I won’t go near the river until I get used to it.”
He actually enjoyed using the mower, but mowing the property was time consuming, and her taking over would save him a bit of time, to be honest. “Let me get it out for you.”
She watched closely as he turned the key, pulled in the handles and guided the machine into the yard. Then he shut it off and hopped off.
“You have to be in the seat to get it to start,” he said, motioning for her to take his place. He tapped the key when he did. “This starts it.” He tapped the lever. “This adjusts your speed. Start slow. Pull this knob to start mowing, but maybe you should drive it around a bit first.”
Her hands rested on the bars. “And these?”
“Pull them toward you. Push to go, pull to stop, pull the right to turn right, pull left to turn left. This is a zero-turn, so it will respond as soon as you pull.”
She nodded, her focus on the ground before her. He stepped back.
“Okay, take off,” he said.
She started the mower, and her take-off was a bit jerky, but she got the machine moving, heading for an open patch of lawn between the common room and the river. He watched her long enough that he was convinced she could handle it, and he went back inside. 
He liked hearing the run of the mower as he painted, even as the shadows grew longer. He had a work light clamped to the ladder to illuminate the room, but he wanted to check on Lori and see how she was doing.
He was surprised, when he stepped out, to see that she’d made great progress. All the common areas were mown neatly, and she had gone close-ish to the river, stopping just before the slope. She had pretty good control of the thing, too, he saw, as she whipped back around in his direction and stopped the machine.
Her bare skin was flecked with bits of cut grass, her skin glowed with sweat, but she was grinning. 
“You mastered that thing pretty quickly.”
Her grin widened. “I play a lot of video games with my kids. Once I started thinking of it that way, it was pretty easy.”
Her kids. Huh. He didn't know why he hadn’t thought about her having kids, especially kids old enough to play video games. And yet they weren’t here with her today.
She turned the key and handed it to him, then stood to rise, staggering a bit, then laughing at her own instability. “My arms are like noodles, holy cow. I hadn’t anticipated that.”
He caught one of her arms to steady her, and they felt nothing like noodles. Taut and strong. Warm. He helped guide her to the ground and then released her. 
“The place looks great. You did a lot of work. I didn't mean for you to do so much.”
“I don't mind working for my room. Speaking of, do you have the key handy so I can go in and take a shower? Although I have to say I was tempted to just jump in the river. I really feel like I need soap.”
He grimaced. “I haven't cleaned any of the rooms yet, changed the sheets or stocked with soap.”
Her shoulders sagged, just a little. Then she perked up again. “I can change the sheets and wash them and all that after I shower. And I brought my own soap and shampoo, so you don't have to worry about that. I just need access to the washer, and some detergent.”
Man, did nothing deter her? Most people would have taken the hint and headed out by now. “Sure, okay, I’ll get you the key. You said you like the one farthest from the road?”
“Yes, please. Number six.”
“You, ah, how many times have you stayed here?” he asked as he turned to lead the way to the house.
She hesitated a moment, looking at the mower, before she fell into step with him. “It depends. I came out almost every other week when my divorce was first final. Sometimes I’d bring the kids, sometimes by myself. It’s just so peaceful here. But it’s been a few months this time. My daughter just graduated, you know, and I wanted to be closer to home any time she went out. I still do, to be honest, but she’s got to grow up, and she can always call her dad or her brother to be with her until I can get there.”
“How old are your kids?” He couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that she had a kid who had graduated.
“Sophia is eighteen, Andrew is twenty-one.” She swept her hair back from her face as she said it.
“You’ve got to be kidding. You don't look old enough to have kids that old.”
“Well, I started young, and it helps that I’m short. People think of short people as being younger, for some reason.”
“No, it’s—” He shook his head, not wanting to insult her. “I’ll get you the key.”
When he returned, she smiled up at him. “You’ve been working hard, why don't I set up the fire pit? I brought beer. And stuff for s’mores. It’ll be a nice way to unwind.”
“Ah.” He looked toward the river, back at the house. He was tempted, but he had so much work to do. “I can keep going a few more hours in there with the lights.”
“Oh.” She took a step back, bouncing the key in the palm of her hand. “Okay. Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be over there. Unless you object to me starting a fire.”
He looked back at her. “No, no, that’s fine. You go enjoy yourself.”
“All right.” The lilt in her voice told him she thought he was making the wrong decision, as she backed away, a smile curving her lips.
He thought about teasing her, asking her if she would be all right with her noodle arms, but no, better to just let her go do her thing. She’d come here to be on her own, anyway, hadn’t she?

Claiming Her Happy Place is available at all retailers. 

Melody Servantes stepped out of the elevator door into chaos. College students dressed in bathing suits filled the hallway of the hotel, their screeches echoing off the walls, waving bottles about so the liquid sloshed out of them and onto the carpet, infusing the closed space with the scent of malt.
A few years ago, she would have been in the big middle of it, possibly the one sitting on the broad shoulders of the shirtless hottie, twirling her bikini top over her head. She touched the inside of her wrist, the small stylized seahorse tattoo there, some‐ thing from her old life.
But now she was the manager of The Friendly Shores Hotel in Starfish Shores, and it was her responsibility to see the place wasn’t ripped apart by spring breakers who were frustrated by the constant rain that kept them inside. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and whistled shrilly, but the sound barely penetrated the raucous noise. She pushed her way down the hall, shouting herself hoarse to no avail. Hands clamped on her ass and she maneuvered with experience to avoid the grabby college student. Once upon a time, she would have leaned back into those hands, and the man wielding them. She might even have grabbed a bottle from one and helped herself to a healthy swig.
She cursed the unceasing rain that had the spring breakers trapped in her hotel, instead of partying by the pool or out on the beach, or any other damn where. This was her first spring break as a manager, and everything that could go wrong, had.
A ding behind her signaled the elevator opening and she turned, wondering if more tenants were coming to invade the hallway. Instead, she turned and met the blue-eyed gaze of Deputy Whit Calhoun. The last time she’d looked into those eyes, she’d been bent over the back of a cruiser, her hands being cuffed behind her by his father. The khaki shirt he wore told her before she even got a good look at him that he’d continued to follow in his father’s footsteps. So not a deputy anymore. He was the sheriff now.
He made a sound that she couldn’t believe she’d heard over the cacophony, and almost immediately, everyone in the hall turned toward him. Once he had their attention, he strolled into the center of them and raised his voice.
“We’ve had some complaints about the noise and mess. I need you all to make sure everything here is picked up, no glass or anything left on the floor, then head on back to your rooms, or out someplace else. I apologize for the weather. I know that’s not what you came here for. But there are other ways to have a good time.”
She marveled at the command in his voice, and the way the guests responded, meekly turning away and collecting the mess. He shifted his shoulders and approached her.
“Aren’t you going to give your friends a hand?”
She snapped her back straight. “I’m the manager here.” Surprise widened his eyes and his gaze flicked to the snug tank and jeans she wore before he brought his eyes—decidedly warmer—back to her face. A smile canted his lips. “Well, well. Melody Servantes. Good to see you again. I didn’t know you were back in town.”
She put her hands on her hips—drawing his gaze again—and scowled, remembering the party he and his daddy busted up all those years ago, not so different from this one, where she’d been arrested for being drunk and disorderly, and underage. How she hadn’t been too drunk to hear his father tell him, as he pushed her into the jail cell, that no one should be surprised she was in trouble, given who her father was. The words had filled her with a strange mix of defiance and defeat, and she’d never forgotten that emotion.
She’d left Starfish Shores shortly after, but had missed the beauty of her hometown. “I’ve been back about four months.”
“And I haven’t seen you before now?”
What was he asking, if she had been in trouble? She wouldn’t satisfy him with an answer. “Who called you?” she asked instead.
He lifted a broad shoulder. “One of the hotel guests who didn’t want the noise anymore. You up here to calm them down?” That she hadn’t been able to accomplish her goal made her defensive. “I was getting there.”
The glint in his blue eyes told her he didn’t believe her.
Around them, the crowd thinned and disbursed, leaving a few wet spots from spilled alcohol, but no bottles, broken or otherwise.
“You need any help with them, you let me know.” He inclined his head and ambled back to the elevator. “You going down?”
She gritted her teeth. Yes, she needed to go down, but she’d be damned if she’d ride the elevator with him.
“I’ll just make sure everything gets cleaned up,” she said.
“Suit yourself.” He stepped into the elevator, and with one last look at her, he pressed a button and the doors shuddered closed.
She let her shoulders slump, then headed for the cleaning closet for the carpet cleaner and the vacuum. She hadn’t worked her way up to manager without knowing how to clean up messes. Hell, she’d had more than her fair share of experience at that.


At least the grocery store off the main drag wasn’t as crowded that evening as most places in town—though the cereal and frozen pizza had been wiped out, as had the wine and beer section. Mel hadn’t seen the store so decimated since the last hurricane had clipped Starfish Shores when she was sixteen.
Thank goodness she knew how to cook—actually enjoyed cooking, or she’d be shit out of luck on the food supplies. She had no desire to wait for a table in a restaurant crowded with bored spring breakers.
She was straining to reach the last Diet Coke, way in the back of the top shelf, when a deep voice behind her rumbled, “Let me get that for you.”
She swung about to look into the blue eyes of Sheriff Calhoun. He was wearing his full uniform, including his hat. Just terrific. In the months she’d been back in town, she’d managed to avoid interaction with him, and now she’d seen him twice in one day?
“I can do it myself,” she said automatically.
“Sure, if you climb up on the other shelves to get it. Just stand aside and I can get it.”
She stayed where she was for a moment, but so did he. She knew she could out-stubborn him, but really, she just wanted to get out of here and go home. So she stepped aside.
He had to strain a bit to reach it, and she couldn’t help noticing the way the cotton pulled against those shoulders, and how his shirt became a little untucked, revealing bare skin at his waist.
Bare tanned skin, over tight muscle. Above a really nice ass.
Holy hell, she needed to get laid if she was lusting over the man who’d seen her at her lowest.
She took a step back as he dragged the bottle forward and turned to face her.
“That desperate for your caffeine fix?” The corner of his mouth quirked in a handsome grin.
“I’m not a pleasant person without it.”
He laughed. “How long has it been since you’ve had some?” She scowled and snatched the bottle from him and put it in her shopping cart. “You do remember arresting me, don’t you? You can see why you’re not my favorite person.”
He leaned on the handle of his own cart, looking up at her. “You do remember you were underaged, under the influence and in possession of an illegal substance. Not to mention that putting you in jail meant those two boys couldn’t do what they wanted to do to you.”
She ground her teeth together. He remembered everything. Did he think about it every time he saw her? “Maybe it was my idea.” That had been the rumor, anyway.
He straightened. “Some people may believe that. I don’t. You need anything else, give me a holler.”
He tapped the brim of his hat and headed off at that infuriating pace. But she couldn’t help herself from watching until he was out of sight.


Mel settled on her balcony with a sandwich. Sure, she liked to cook, but for some reason, not when she got back from the grocery store. So she’d treated herself to a deli sandwich, bag of chips and a soda.
The balcony was the very best part of her job at The Friendly Shores Hotel. She had an apartment on the third floor, facing west, as part of her salary, making sure guests had easy access to her if they needed her. She could only see the ocean if she set her chair just so, but she could listen to it all night long.
Unfortunately, the rain dripped right on the spot she needed to be to see the ocean, so she had to drag her chair closer to the sliding glass door, but the location beat the hell out of any other places she’d ever lived.
She crossed her legs in the chair, making herself as compact as possible to avoid the rain that occasionally drifted beneath the overhang.
Shouting from the beach surprised her as she bit into the sandwich. The rain was coming down pretty good. Why would anyone be out there? Probably just some of the guests fooling around on the beach. She couldn’t blame anyone for being stir crazy in this weather.
But the shouts increased in intensity, followed by a woman’s scream. Mel vaulted from her seat and peered over the edge of the balcony, but all she could see was a group of kids standing and pointing at the water. Damn it, had someone gone into the water? Knocking over her soda, she bolted for the front door and ran barefoot down the cement stairs, grateful she didn’t live in a taller building.
By the time she hit the deck, her feet burned from the friction, but she dared not slow down longer than it took to get a flotation log that hung on the wall in the pool area. If she was going in the water, she would not have someone take her down with him.
Her thighs ached by the time she crossed the wet sand to the group now thigh deep in the water.
“What’s going on?” she shouted, using up what felt like the last of her breath.
“Jesse went in the water and now we don’t see him!” the girl wheezed, rain plastering her hair to her head and shoulders. “He was so drunk. I don’t know what he was thinking.”
“How long since you lost sight of him?”
The girl shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Call 911.”
The girl held up her phone. “I already did.”
Good. Adrenaline had gotten Mel this far, but she didn’t know what she could do on her own. The sky was growing darker every minute. “Point to the last place you saw him.”
Two of the boys joined the girl on the beach, and once Mel got a consensus about where to look, she dove into the waves.
Because of the storm, the waves were choppy, inhibiting her vision, and the ocean wasn’t as clear as it could have been. Damn it, this was going to be hard. And she was on her own.
Looping her arm through the strap on the flotation log, she swam, looking both above and below the surface for the idiot Jesse. She would not have some kid drown at her hotel, damn it. The salt stung her eyes and nose, but she couldn’t give up. Couldn’t give up. Her arms ached, her thighs screamed, but some kid was out here and--
There! There! She saw him flailing above the waves. With renewed energy, she plowed through the water toward him, feeling like she’d never reach him.
And then she did. He reached for her, but she managed to avoid him, to get him onto the flotation device. Once he had a hold of that, he calmed down a bit, so she didn’t have to slap the shit out of him to get him back to the beach.
Lights flashed against the darkening sky and for a moment she thought lightning, and here she was in the water with an asshole. But then she realized the light was colored—red and blue, to be precise. Then arms were grabbing her, lifting her, and she looked into the granite jaw of Whit Calhoun.


“Holy Shit. Holy shit, Mel.” Whit crouched beside her chair under the overhang of the hotel as one of the paramedics from Gulf Shores cleaned her feet. “What the hell were you thinking, going out there by yourself?”
“I was thinking if I didn’t find him, he was going to drown,” she shot back, her voice raspy from the salt water. She pulled the blanket closer around her, clearly miserable in her wet clothes. “I couldn’t just wait—I didn’t know how long it would take anyone to get here.”
“So you just grab something and throw yourself into the water?” The guy she’d pulled out of the water had been nearly twice her size. When he’d recognized her, fighting her way back to shore, he swore his heart stopped for a minute before he’d charged into the water afterwards. He flexed his toes in his wet socks. His shoes would never be the same.
“I’m certified,” she told him. “I’ve been thinking about applying for Search and Rescue. It’s part of the reason I came back to Starfish Shores.”
Search and Rescue? She was probably a buck twenty right now, drenched to the skin, slender, not even up to his shoulder in her bare feet. How could she think she could rescue someone?
But then, she just had, hadn’t she?
She looked past him at the ambulance where the other paramedics were working, surrounded by the young man’s friends, who were clinging to each other. “He’s okay, right?”
“Drunk as a skunk,” the paramedic kneeling before her said. “Puking up moonshine and sea water. But he should be okay. Brave thing you did out there.” He packed up his stuff, then rested his arms on his thighs, looking up at her. “Keep those cuts clean and you’ll be fine. And get out of those wet clothes and into a warm shower as soon as you can.” He rose and winked. “You can give me a call if you need help with any of that.”
Whit cleared his throat and the younger man sobered. But he placed a hand on her shoulder before he walked away.
“Kid would be dead if not for you.”
Mel raised defiant eyes to Whit. “Do we have business?”
“I need to get your statement.” And figure out why in the hell she’d scared him so bad. Yes, he remembered her from when she lived here before, the trouble-maker daughter of a small-time criminal. He remembered how tough she’d been then. She hadn’t softened much, and that intrigued the hell out of him.
“I heard shouting, I ran, I grabbed the flotation log, I swam, I found him, I pulled him in. Then you pulled me in.” She pushed to her feet and let out a hiss of pain. “There you go.”
“I’m going to need more than that. I can walk up with you, if you want.” She shrugged and hobbled around the corner of the building.
He walked beside her, resisting the urge to sweep her into his arms again. He got the feeling she wouldn’t be a fan of the maneuver. Maybe it was her independence, so different from his ex-fiancee Hillary, that drew him.
Well, Hillary had shown her independence in the end, hadn’t she?
“I was sitting on my balcony and heard shouting. I saw people gathered, looking at the water and pointing. I ran downstairs, stopped long enough to get the log, and ran up to the crowd. The girl with them told me what happened, said she’d called 911, but I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t wait.”
Whit stopped, the light from the cafeteria window washing over the walkway as he stared at her. “You couldn’t see him, but you went into the water anyway?”
“What was my option, Sheriff? To stand helplessly by and wring my hands until someone else came? I saved his life.”
“You sure as hell did.”
She pressed the elevator button and turned to look at him, her eyes weary, her body sagging as the adrenaline drained from her.
“Is there anything else, or can I go now?”
“Are you going to be okay?” He’d resisted to this point, but now he had to touch her arm through the blanket. “Can you get to your apartment by yourself?”
“I’m perfectly capable,” she said as the elevator slid open behind her.
She probably would have preferred that she hadn’t stumbled into the car in front of him, but she straightened, drew the blanket around her and lifted her chin as the doors closed behind her.


Whit walked into The Pit the next night, wondering if he should have just tried to drive farther inland and gone some place quieter. He was off-duty, but some of the spring breakers apparently recognized him anyway and gave him a wide berth.
As the crowd cleared in front of him, he caught sight of gorgeous long legs beneath a short white skirt at the bar. He followed them up and his grin widened when he recognized a familiar tank top. Gorgeous, courageous Melody Servantes sat with Brenda Wesley from the Top Tier bakery, surrounded by college kids, some reaching past them to get drinks, some more interested in the women. Melody was ignoring them, but by the way Brenda tossed her curls, he had a feeling she was enjoying the attention.
Then Melody spotted him, and her brows drew together over her beautiful dark eyes. He wasn’t deterred and headed toward her.
“Melody. Brenda,” he greeted, leaning on the bar to get the attention of Liam, one of the owners of The Pit. He let his arm brush Melody’s back, and felt her stiffen. She drew her arms toward her and he caught sight of a small tattoo on the inside of her wrist. Was that a seahorse? “You ladies enjoying the evening?”
“Looking for lawbreakers tonight?” Brenda asked, leaning around Melody to look at him.
“Looking for a beer tonight,” he replied, saluting her with the bottle when Liam slid his favorite brand across to him. “Why? You see something I should address?”
“Nobody’s causing trouble,” Melody said, not looking at him. “Everyone’s just having a good time.”
“Good.” He turned, scanning the crowd, wishing he didn’t always think like a cop, searching out which of these drinkers might be underage. He knew Liam and Sam, the owners, would be especially careful this week, but he’d seen some damned good fake IDs, and didn’t want to make any phone calls to distressed parents. “Then I can relax.”
“Can you relax somewhere else?” Melody asked.
Wow, she really didn’t like him.
“Mel!” Brenda gasped and elbowed her friend, and gave her one of those looks that women share when goals are being thwarted.
Huh. He hadn’t realized there was interest there, not that he would have acted on it. Brenda was a sweet girl, pretty, but entirely too virtuous for him. He’d done the virtuous thing, and it kicked him in the gut. Now he wanted something that had some teeth. Melody Servantes seemed to fit that bill.
“How are your feet?” he asked Mel, looking down to see she wore pretty flats with a jeweled strap that hooked between her toes. He couldn’t tell by looking that she’d barely been able to walk on them last night.
“Your feet?” Brenda asked her friend.
“Mel didn’t tell you about her adventure last night?” Whit asked.
“What adventure?”
“She saved a kid from drowning outside the Friendly Shores.” “You did?” Brenda’s voice raised an octave, drawing the attention of those around them. “Tell me everything.”
“I don’t—it was—there was no one else to help.” She gave Brenda the same abbreviated version she’d given him last night.
“End of story. He lived to drink and make stupid mistakes another day.”
Brenda wrapped an arm around Mel’s shoulders and hugged her. “That’s amazing. You are amazing. But then, I already knew that.”
“I don’t want everyone around town talking about it,” Mel said, leveling a look at Whit.
He lifted his hands, but couldn’t force a lie past his lips. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, how she’d looked plowing through the water with that kid in tow.
“It was a sight to see,” he told Brenda.
“My feet are fine, I am fine, the kid is fine. Thank you for your concern,” she said, straightening her shoulders.
Dismissing him. He got that. He pushed away from the bar, lifting the bottle in farewell as he walked away.
Most of the crowd was way too young for him. At thirty, he never thought he’d feel like an old man, but he did right now. His gaze drifted back to Melody, who kept a suspicious eye on him. As he recalled, she was about five years younger than him, not so young that he felt dirty when he looked at those gorgeous legs, or the small of her back when she leaned forward. He couldn’t quite make out the tattoo there, but its existence made him a little crazy. He definitely needed to work on some goodwill with her.
At least he wasn’t the only man she was turning away. Boy after boy walked away dejected, but she treated most of them pretty gently. Not like the get-the-hell-out attitude she gave him.
Yeah, he definitely needed to figure out goodwill there. He just wasn’t sure how to start.


Between the Rainbows and the Rain is available at all retailers!