The Cottages On Silver Beach. RaeAnne Thayne
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urge to run and hide from what used to be hard fists and cruel words.
Luke wasn’t their father, she reminded herself. He might look like Paul Hamilton on the outside, but he was a very different man. No matter how angry he was, Luke never lost control of his emotions.
“It’s done now and I can’t cancel his reservation without reason. It’s only a few weeks. I don’t see the harm in allowing him to rent the cottage for a few weeks.”
“I can give you one really big one. The man would like to see me in prison...or worse.”
Would this nightmare ever end for their family? She cursed her selfish sister-in-law, who had left behind so much devastation.
“He’s here to see his family, I’m sure. Katrina’s reception is next week and that’s probably what brought him home. He’s not going to go digging up the past.”
As far as she knew, anyway.
“If he’s so keen on seeing his family, why isn’t he staying with one of them?”
She would like to hear the answer to that herself. “I don’t know. You could ask him.”
Luke made a face at that suggestion and she knew he wouldn’t do any such thing. He and Elliot hadn’t had a civil conversation in seven years.
“It’s only a few weeks,” she said again. “He’ll be gone before we all know it and then life can get back to normal. You’ll see.”
Luke didn’t look convinced and she couldn’t blame him. For her brother, life hadn’t been normal in seven years. He had lived under a dark cloud of suspicion and doubt.
He looked through the gap in the trees, where the roof of Cedarwood Cottage was only just visible. “I don’t like him being here at all, Meg, and especially not next door to you. I don’t like it one bit. If he gives you any trouble, you let me know.”
She forced a smile. What would Luke do? Take him on? If he thought she was in any sort of danger, he wouldn’t hesitate. But while that might make her brother feel better, he would end up in jail for assaulting an FBI agent.
No, she would just have to make sure the two men didn’t come into contact much during Elliot’s stay at the inn. Considering that Luke was a silent partner at the inn—and hadn’t wanted even the 25 percent share her grandmother insisted on leaving her step-grandson—that shouldn’t be impossible. The only time he came around was to drop off the kids or do some handyman job for her.
“He’s not going to give me any trouble. This is Elliot Bailey you’re talking about. What’s he going to do? Bore me to death reciting all the recent FBI policy directives?”
Luke didn’t look convinced. He gazed over at the cottages again, shook his head as if to clear away a headache, then climbed into his pickup truck.
“I should be done at the job site before lunchtime. I’ll get the kids then. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome,” Megan said.
Luke looked like he wanted to say something else, but he finally waved, put the pickup in gear and drove away.
She watched after him for a moment, until his taillights turned onto the main road, trying to push away the sense of impending disaster.
“THAT’S IT, CASSIE. You’re doing great. Focus on your sweet spot.”
Megan grinned through the chain-link fence at her niece on the pitcher’s mound, and Cassie shifted her steely-eyed attention from the pigtailed batter at the plate to send Megan a quick flash of smile. The slanted lavender light from the dying sun hit the girl perfectly, turning her face golden in the reflection. Almost without thinking, Megan lifted her camera between links of the fence, focused and clicked away.
The evening somehow managed to improve on the perfection of the morning. The air was soft and warm and lovely with the scents of freshly cut grass, popcorn and cotton candy from the Lions’ Club booth a few hundred yards away.
Behind Megan, families of the girls cheered them on with enthusiasm.
She snapped several more of Cassie then turned her 70-200 zoom lens to the batter for the opposing team, Rosie Sparks, whose parents went to school with Megan. She was a power hitter—if such a thing could exist in a softball league of nine-and ten-year-old girls—and she stared down Cassie, her face screwed up with concentration as the count rose to two strikes and one ball.
“One more, baby,” Luke called from the bleachers. “You got this. Just bring it home now.”
Megan shifted her lens to her brother, unable to resist. His features were intense and focused, without the shadows that usually haunted him, and she snapped away to capture Luke in a rare, unguarded moment.
Her brother rarely showed emotion. Some of that control had been ingrained in them from childhood but much came out of the past difficult seven years.
She photographed him for a few more moments, then amused herself by taking candids of some of the others in the stand, though she purposely avoided capturing the image of at least one person in the crowd—the man sitting on the top row of the bleachers, wearing a white dress shirt and jeans so precisely creased they might as well have been ironed.
Trust Elliot Bailey to harsh the mellow of a beautiful spring evening.
She knew why he was here. His brother’s stepdaughter was on Cassie’s team and all the Baileys were there in force. Charlene and Mike sat just below him, along with the rest of the Bailey clan.
It warmed her, the way they stepped up to support each other. There wasn’t a softball game, dance recital, soccer match or spelling bee the family would consider missing.
She wouldn’t have expected Elliot to join them all, but here he sat, part of his family, yet somehow always remote in his own way.
She shifted back to the action in time to see Cassie deliver a perfect pitch, right in the strike zone. Behind the plate, the ump thumbed over his shoulder to indicate Rosie was out, and the crowd erupted in cheers.
The Baileys and the rest of the crowd leaped to their feet, cheering wildly—okay, maybe a little more enthusiastically than a softball game between preteen girls really warranted, but Megan wasn’t about to argue.
“Good game,” Luke called to Cassie. “Way to go, Pitch.”
“Yay Cass!” Bridger called out, and his sister turned to both of them and beamed.
“Hamilton has a good arm, and she’s fast.”
Behind her, Bobby Sparks spoke loud enough to be heard by many of the people in the stands. It was his daughter Rosie who had just struck out. “She must get that from her dad. He was always fast. Look at how he’s been running from a murder charge for all these years—and getting away with it, too.”
The reference quieted the crowd around them with an almost collective hush and she caught several furtive looks at Luke, whose features looked etched in granite. She gave a hurried glance toward Bridger and saw with relief he wasn’t paying any attention to the adult conversation but was busy chattering with Elliot’s nephew by marriage, Marshall’s stepson Will.
“Cut it out, Bobby.” Wyn Emmett glared at the man, who flushed.
This was the sort of thing her brother lived with all the time, finding himself the center of whispers and veiled—and not-so-veiled—accusations. It broke her heart every single time. Since the day Elizabeth disappeared seven years ago, Luke had faced this. Despite the fact that no charges had ever been filed against him, Luke had been tried and convicted in the court of public opinion.
Not everyone in Haven Point felt that way. Many, like Wyn, had been supportive. But enough small-minded people remained in the area, especially in