Safe In His Arms

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. It’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.”