Deserving of Luke

“Ninety-seven forty.”

“And she’s taking me for lunch at Prospector’s,” Luke continued. “She says they make the best strawberry shakes in all of Oregon.”

“Maybe in the whole universe,” the girl agreed. “And they’re even better if you have them throw a banana in with the strawberry ice cream.”

“Really?” Luke looked skeptical.

“I swear.”

He turned to Paige. “Can I try one, Mom? Please? I looooove bananas.”

Cursing under her breath because she’d completely forgotten her promise to take her son for lunch, Paige forced a smile, even as she prayed for patience. “You can have whatever kind of shake you want as long as you eat some vegetables with lunch. Sound fair?”

Luke groaned, but agreed, “Sounds fair.”

After signing the credit card slip and handing it to the girl, Paige let Luke push the basket to the car. Watching him carefully maneuver around the other vehicles made her smile, despite the worry that lingered in the corners of her mind. What was she going to do if Luke clued in to what kind of reputation his mother had had when she’d run away from this old-fashioned bastion of bigotry?

And how was she going to explain her reasons for doing what she’d done to him? He was already the only kid in his private-school class who didn’t at least know who his dad was—something he seemed to be taking reasonably well. But she wasn’t sure what old gossip could do to him—and she didn’t want to find out.

One thing was for sure, she vowed as she slid into the driver’s seat. After today, she was going to do her damnedest to keep him away from this place and the people who wanted nothing more than to hurt him, simply because he was hers.

Whoever had said ignorance was bliss definitely knew what he was talking about.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL DAY, the kind that made Logan Powell grateful he’d returned to Prospect after his big-city marriage had failed. Oh, he’d liked Seattle well enough—if you didn’t mind the fact that it rained something like eighty-seven percent of the time. But after Melissa had left him he’d been ready for a change. And the fact that he’d been shot, had nearly bled to death in a drug bust gone bad, hadn’t hurt his desire to return home, either. Prospect was the epitome of a sleepy coastal town and he liked it that way.

After parking his cruiser in the first available spot, Logan stepped into the street. He took a deep breath, held it in his lungs as long as he could before letting it out. In that breath was everything he loved about Prospect—sunshine, salt water and an abundance of greenery.

A glance at his watch told him he had plenty of time before he was supposed to meet his date at Prospector’s, the local sixties diner, so he decided to take the long way around. There might not be much crime in Prospect, but that didn’t mean he didn’t take his job as sheriff seriously. These people depended on him and he wasn’t going to let them down.

Today was a perfect time to weave his way through the tree-lined streets and check on the local businesses. It was a little early in the season for tourists to be descending, so he could enjoy this duty that would soon become a chore. He would still patrol the streets once they were packed with people in shorts and sundresses, haggling for antiques and beach shells, but the camaraderie he experienced now would be swallowed by strangers’ demands.

Completely content with his lot in life, Logan took his time strolling the heavily shaded streets. The sun was shining, a nice breeze wound its way between the buildings and, in the background, the ocean crashed soothingly onto the sand. Yes, it really was a beautiful day.

As he made his way down Sycamore to Main, he whistled a little tune, something happy he remembered from his childhood. Perhaps he’d stop by the clinic to see if Jake was on call tonight. If he wasn’t, maybe his old friend would be up for a few hands of poker. Logan was feeling lucky, and since the bastard had scalped him in their regular first Thursday of the month game, he owed him a chance to recoup his losses.

He’d barely stepped onto Main Street before realizing the streets—and the people walking down them—were abuzz about something. Of course, it didn’t take much to get the residents up in arms.

He wondered if Mr. Walker’s Rottweiler had escaped again, plowing into God-only-knew whom. Or if the Harbinger brothers had gotten into another fight in the middle of Town Square. The last time it had happened they’d nearly killed themselves and he’d been stuck hauling both of them to jail. Before all was said and done he’d ended up with a black eye and his own assault case against the two of them. He’d let the charges drop on the understanding that they kept their differences non-violent in the future. But if they’d been fighting again—

“Morning, Sheriff.” Marge Hutchinson’s brusque voice pulled him from his reverie.

“Morning, Mrs. Hutchinson.” He smiled at the boutique owner who had been slipping him a piece of red licorice behind his mother’s back since he was three years old. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m doing just fine. Gearing up for the tourist rush.”

“Glad to hear it. They should be here before you know it.”

“Another week or two at the most. Bob’s talked me into carrying some fancy soaps and perfumes. You should stop by and check them out,” she said with a wink. “Maybe pick up something for your new girl.”

He laughed. “Maybe I’ll do that.” Today’s lunch was only his second date with Joni—the first had been a cup of coffee a few days ago—but already the town had the two of them paired up. It didn’t annoy him the way it did some. Instead, it amused him. Where else but Prospect would his love life be a public service project?

“Good. I’ll set some of the gardenia products aside. They’ll smell real good on Joni. And you’ll be needing them after she finds out—” She looked away, her crimson painted lips pressed tightly together.

His radar went on red alert. “After she finds out what, Mrs. Hutchinson?”

“I suppose I should just tell you. It’s better than you hearing it from one of those old busybodies down the street.”

He barely bit back a smile. She was one of the busiest bodies in town. Despite her feigned reluctance, she was probably rejoicing in the fact that she’d beaten Ruth Oberly to the punch.

“Well, I was in the grocery store earlier today and you’ll never guess who’s back in town.”

She glanced at him, as if waiting for him to guess despite her words, but he didn’t have a clue. He rarely kept track of the tourists who came and went, even the ones who returned year after year.

Leaning forward, as if she had a particularly juicy secret to impart, Mrs. Hutchinson took her time drawing out the suspense. “I might not have even noticed her, except for the fact that she’d lost her son. Lost her son, can you believe it? On her first day back in town.”

He felt a premonition that he wasn’t going to like whatever came out of her mouth next. “Did they find the boy?” he demanded. “The sheriff’s department hasn’t been notified—”

“Oh, yes, they found him after only a couple of minutes, hiding in the back with the comic books. But not before she made a total spectacle of herself running around screaming for him.” She sniffed. “He didn’t answer. Not that I blame him, I guess. If I had her for a mother, I’d probably be hiding, too. It probably looked like a good place to stay lost, as not many people make it back there.”

Patience wearing thin after her salacious account—it wasn’t like Mrs. Hutchinson to be so malicious and it made him uncomfortable to be a part of it, even if in a peripheral way—Logan asked, “So who is it? Who’s back in town?”

She grinned. “Paige Matthews. And from the amount of food she picked up at the grocery store, she’s planning on staying a while.”

Her words sent him reeling, the way she’d intended them to. She kept talking, telling him more—he was sure—about Paige’s ill-fated trip to the market, but he didn’t hear her. Couldn’t hear her over the buzzing in his ears and the shock that was ricocheting through him.

Paige Matthews was back in town.

Paige was back.

In town.

Paige Matthews was back in town.

The words looped in his mind as he tried to figure out what they meant when strung together in that order.

Trying to get them to make sense.

And more than anything, trying to decide how he felt about them.

Fumbling an excuse he knew didn’t make much sense, he headed up the street in a kind of daze. He knew Mrs. Hutchinson—and plenty of other people—were watching him, but in those first few moments, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Couldn’t bring himself to fake his way through this bombshell.

It had been so long since he’d heard anything about Paige, so long since he’d even allowed himself to think her name.

He didn’t get far before someone else stopped him to report the same news. Again and again, people stepped forward to tell him about Paige, each one adding a new little detail about her—and her son—until he felt as though he’d run the gauntlet.

Had he seen what kind of car she was driving? one person asked.