The Bad Boy of Butterfly Harbor

By Anna J. Stewart

Can people truly change? 

Two things keep Holly Campbell grounded: her precocious son and preserving her forty-year-old family diner in the face of expansion and change. She doesn't need a blast from the past like Luke Saxon, who's back in Butterfly Harbor after more than a decade away. The hard-luck kid who nearly destroyed her family, leaving her to pick up the pieces, is taking over as sheriff. She can't trust him, even if Luke's ideas for the town's upcoming anniversary seem to show he's trying to give back to their community. Has Butterfly Harbor found its unlikely savior? And has the widowed single mother finally found a man she can believe in, rely on and love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Dec 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781460389485

Anna J. Stewart

USA Today and national bestselling author Anna J Stewart can't remember a time she didn't have a book in her hands or a story in her head. Early obsessions with Star Wars, Star Trek, and Wonder Woman set her on the path to creating sweet to sexy pulse-pounding romances for her independent heroines. Anna lives in Northern California where she deals with a serious Supernatural addiction and an overly affectionate cat named Snickers.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

IF THE HEAVY sigh emanating from her eight-year-old son was any indication, Holly Campbell was in for a very long summer.

"Can’t I please wait for you at home? Simon’s plea fell on deaf mom ears as he turned desperate brown eyes on her. The clasped hands were a nice touch. I promise I’ll stay off the computer."

Depends if you’re ready to tell me why you hacked into our neighbor’s Wi-Fi and changed all their file names. Holly cleared the last table from the Butterfly Diner’s breakfast rush, balanced plates and coffee cups like an Olympian and set the dish tray to overflowing. Are you?

No. The surly mumble was tinged with a hint of surrender. Simon spun on the cushioned orange stool in front of the steel-and-Formica counter and knocked his colored pencils to the white tile floor.

Sorry, kiddo, Holly said. Until I feel I can trust you again, you’re stuck with me. Definitely a long summer.

"How about I tell you how I did it instead?" Simon offered.

As tempting as the offer was, she arched him a warning look.

It was worth a shot. Simon’s mischievous expression had its usual effect and pulled free the smile she struggled to hide. Despite Simon’s increasing delinquent tendencies, there were times she loved her kid so much she ached.

How about you share that information with your grandpa? Holly wiped down the table and straightened the condiments before checking that the booths were clean. It would give him something to think about now that he’s about to retire.

Retire. As if her father had been given a choice. Jake Gordon was being forced out of his job as town sheriff—a job he’d held for the past thirty years—adding another burden to Holly’s shoulders.

The statistics on what early retirement did to some people were staggering, which was why Holly was determined to make her father feel useful. Maybe then she could rid herself of the worry that Jake would slide into old age as effortlessly as falling asleep.

Her father’s situation was one of the myriad of changes the new mayor of Butterfly Harbor had campaigned on. Aside from the plans to build a new butterfly sanctuary to attract visitors, Holly wasn’t looking forward to most of them being implemented. It was only a matter of time before everyone else knew what she’d learned the hard way: change made everything worse.

She took a deep breath and tried to loosen the knots in her chest. The last time she felt this uneasy was two years ago, when the California Highway Patrol officer had knocked on her door to tell her Gray had died in a car accident.

The pang of grief struck first, followed by bittersweet memories of her high-school sweetheart. She missed Gray, the boy she’d loved; the man she’d married. She didn’t miss his drinking. Or the secrets. Or his lies. Her stomach pitched like an abandoned trawler at sea. She especially didn’t miss the lies.

Was that when her problems had begun to snowball? Until Gray died, she’d been managing to juggle pretty well. She’d had to. Gray had become increasingly unreliable with each passing day. She’d finally stopped depending on him for...well, for anything.

She continued wiping down the booths; it was never too early to gear up for the coming lunch rush. She’d always been up for a challenge, but finding the means to keep the forty-year-old diner—her grandmother’s legacy—on track within the guidelines of the mayor’s proposed prosperity plan could prove problematic even for someone as self-sufficient as Holly. Sure, the money would help. Paying for Simon’s much-needed private education was like cement frosting on top of a tooth-shattering cake. And, of course, there was her mortgage to keep up with. Oh, and add keeping her troublemaking son out of trouble for... Holly did the brain-numbing math. A long, long summer.

Check this out. Holly rounded the counter and pulled a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of her apron. Simon eyed it as if it was a lit firecracker. It came from your new school.

What is it? Simon unfolded the paper in the same careful and deliberate way his father would have. The same way they both unwrapped presents. Such attention to detail had Simon mastering a book of origami animals in a matter of days.

Your summer reading list. We can head over to the bookstore as soon as we close up the diner. She set a fresh batch of coffee to brew and lined up the empty pots.

Cool. He leaned over the counter, grabbed a pen and hunkered over the list, his tongue caught between pressed lips. Gray had his faults, but the time he’d spent reading to their son had instilled a fierce love of books in Simon. Neither of them could have foreseen their boy’s fascination with testing the boundaries of reality, however. Last year she’d found her son taking a hammer to the back of his closet in an attempt to make his way into Narnia. Wondering how he might try to get to a certain magic school had her keeping a close eye on her car.

Holly took advantage of Simon’s distraction and stepped outside for some air and a quick window wipe-down. The sea air still carried the late morning scent of brine-caked seaweed wafting its way down the California coastline. Breathing deep, as if she could wrap her arms around this place, she allowed her gaze to drift over the edge of the Pacific on the other side of Butterfly Harbor’s miniature version of Hadrian’s Wall. The waist-high stone cobble wound its way from one end of town to the other, a break of sorts separating the beach from the narrow main street, which was in need of repaving. Waves crashed onto the shoreline, stumbling over rocks and shells. How she wished she could scuttle about and burrow into the protective sand like the countless hermit crabs Simon insisted on bringing home.

As Holly wiped her rag down the glass on the front door, she caught sight of the crowd headed her way and pushed open the door. Ursula! The Cocoon Club is here.

The aptly named group of seniors who had lived in Butterfly Harbor from the time they could crawl gabbed their way inside the diner for their Saturday midmorning outing. Holly caught smatterings of conversations that included family happenings and the upcoming Pig in a Poke BBQ Festival, one of those new events the Cocoon Club had been assigned as a test run for the town’s October Butterfly Festival.

These new traditions seemed to be, at least to Holly, overshadowing the town’s 125th anniversary celebration next month.

Holly did a quick wipe of the three hand-carved monarch butterflies fixed atop the frame of the diner door before she followed her customers inside.

Myra, your new hairstyle looks beautiful. Holly didn’t bother to hand menus to the four men and three women taking seats at their usual table in the corner of the diner. Eloise, are you trying a new nail color?

Tangerine ice. Eloise waggled her arthritic fingers. Matches my hair. You like?

Very stylish. Holly nodded. Everyone getting their usual?

Murmurs of assent echoed and Holly jotted down the seven items as her afternoon server breezed through the door for her shift. Twyla will bring your coffee and tea. And one Dr Pepper, Holly said as she smiled at Oscar, affectionately nicknamed The Grouch. Put a pair of tongs and a slab of ribs in the man’s hands, however, and he transformed into the Picasso of Pork.

Same order every Saturday for twentysomething years. Ursula Stevens, the ex-navy short-order cook and diner fixture grumbled from across the order counter as Holly approached. You’d think they’d stretch their taste-bud boundaries. I’m an artist, you know. Ursula’s craggy, cranky face wasn’t softened by the hairnet plastered to her skull.

As evidenced by your cheeseburger soup. Holly’s stomach rumbled as if planning its own lunch as she reached for the overstock of napkins for the dispensers before starting on the sugar and sweetener packets. You make any progress on those new menu ideas? Starting first of the month we’ll be adding those dinner hours. She understood the need for economic expansion. If the town she loved was going to survive, changes had to be made. But when those changes interrupted her meticulous schedule and eroded the already precious time she had with Simon, she couldn’t help but shift into panic mode. Longer hours meant hiring new staff, staff she couldn’t afford unless they stayed open seven days a week, which cost more money... Holly blew out a frustrated breath. Good thing she didn’t have a life beyond her son and the diner.

You best be looking to hire me some help, ’cause I ain’t working no fourteen-hour days. Somewhere between sixty and infinity, the five-foot-nothing Ursula had started working at the diner after Holly’s grandma Ruby had bought the place in the early seventies.

Way ahead of you. She’d stalled hiring new staff for as long as she could. She’d have to sit down this weekend and crunch the numbers. She didn’t know how she was going to pay for it...yet. We’ll figure it out. Holly didn’t know how to fail and she wasn’t about to learn now.

Twyla, all of nineteen with razor-straight black hair and a penchant for too-tight jeans and too-short crop tops, bounced out of the kitchen tying a black apron around her runway-model-thin waist. Holly gave silent thanks that their recent conversation about appropriate diner attire hadn’t fallen on deaf ears.

Usual drinks for the club, Holly told her.

Got it. Spinning a tray out from under the counter, Twyla breezed off toward the coffee station.

Ursula’s harrumph brought a strained smile to Holly’s face as the bell above the door chimed. Be with you in a sec. Holly pushed the order through the window and tugged her hot pink T-shirt down over her jeans as she turned around to greet the next customer.

Holly’s entire body froze as if she’d locked herself in the walk-in freezer.

Then her knees wobbled, but she kept her spine stiff and her voice low as the anger she thought she’d buried over a decade ago rumbled up from her toes. Luke Saxon. She shoved her hands into her back pockets and tried not to notice how quiet the diner had become.

Hello, Holly. A tight, guarded smile softened dark, angular features. Good to see you again.

She pressed her lips together so hard they went numb.

Every town, even Butterfly Harbor, had its bad boy. That boy who wore a black leather jacket and snug jeans to the point of female distraction. The boy who exuded a mind-numbing combination of hostility and romanticized misunderstanding. The boy every girl wanted to date but none dared approach. The boy other boys wanted to emulate, but none thought to befriend. Yeah, there were bad boys.

And then there was Luke Saxon.

And he still wore a black leather jacket and carried himself with a self-assuredness that was both enviable and off-putting. His onetime too long ink-black hair had been shorn into shape, his pasty complexion replaced by what looked like years spent in the sun. The sad stone-blue eyes she remembered in the face of a sullen boy had turned to steel in the span of twelve years. She saw life painted on his handsome face.

He’d grown up. Holly straightened. They both had. While Luke stood before her as a man, she couldn’t help but see the troubled—and dangerous—youth she remembered. His reputation for skirting the thin edge of the law had become legend in Butterfly Harbor.

I’ll understand if you’d rather I eat someplace else. The low rumble of Luke’s voice sounded foreign to Holly’s ears and prickled her skin. In her mind Luke was still eighteen, smelling of beer, blood and guilt rather than the intoxicating combination of sea air and orange spice.

You know what Grandma Ruby always said. Holly forced the words from her tight throat. Everyone’s welcome at the diner. Even you.

I heard she passed. Luke pushed his hands deep into his jacket pockets, rocked on his heels as he kept his chin up, his gaze pinned to hers. She was always very nice to me.

Holly cleared her throat and wished her grandmother was here right now—she’d always known what to say. Thanks. You eating alone? She grabbed a menu out of the cubby at the end of the counter and tried not to notice how her hand trembled.

No. I’m meeting—

Sorry I’m late. Butterfly Harbor’s new mayor, Gil Hamilton, pushed through the door and swept his long sandy-blond hair out of his eyes. Hey, Holl. Must be a blast from the past, huh? Having Luke back?

Not to stay? Holly blurted.

For a while, Luke said.

A year, at least. Gil slapped a hand on Luke’s leather-clad back as Luke winced and stepped to the side, the color draining out of his windblown face. That’s how long his term will be. This time around anyway.

His term? Holly asked as her stomach churned. What term?

Oh, sorry. Gil blinked and cringed as if he’d betrayed a confidence. I thought for sure your father would have told you by now. Luke’s serving out the rest of Jake’s tenure as sheriff.

Sheriff. Holly didn’t recognize her own voice, not hidden under the layers of hostility and anger. You’re not serious. When Gil’s only acknowledgment was to grab the menus and head toward a booth at the far end of the diner, Holly swung on Luke. He’s not serious?

Holly—

What? It wasn’t enough you almost killed my father all those years ago? You figured you’d come back and finish him off by stealing his job?

Luke’s steely blue eyes narrowed. It’s not like that.

From where I’m standing it’s exactly like that. She moved in, keeping her voice low so her customers—so her son—wouldn’t hear. Go back to wherever you’ve been for the past decade, Luke. We don’t have any use for cowards in Butterfly Harbor.

CHAPTER TWO

NOT THE BEST way for her to find out about you returning, Gil said as Luke slid into the booth across from his new boss. I guess the past isn’t as forgotten as I’d hoped.

You sound surprised. Watching the eternal Cocoon Club texting away on their phones like overactive teenagers proved the rumor mill in Butterfly Harbor was as reliable as ever. By the end of the day he’d either be welcomed by a cavalcade of casseroles, or run out of town with pitchforks and torches.

He rolled his shoulders, but instead of easing the tension, the action stretched the burn scars on his back so tight he feared his skin might split open. He sucked in a breath, waited the few moments it took for the pain to subside. Maybe the doctor was right. Maybe he’d weaned himself off his pain meds too soon.

The past twelve years meant nothing when faced with the past he couldn’t change. He might have hoped for a more congenial welcome home, but he hadn’t expected it, especially when it came to Holly Campbell.

How could he have expected her to forgive him when he hadn’t been able to forgive himself?

Unwrapping the bundle of flatware on the table, Luke tore bits off his napkin. He’d spent extended time in war zones. He’d put his military training to use with the Chicago Police Department in their bomb squad. He’d been the department’s go-to when it came to potentially explosive domestic disturbances and had overseen rookie training for the explosive disposal unit. He could manage a year in Butterfly Harbor.

Or so he’d told himself on the cross-country drive.

Apparently Holly Campbell hadn’t gotten the memo.

Luke glanced over as she swept out of sight into the kitchen, her shoulder-length brown hair tumbling in waves. She’d been pretty as a girl, but as a woman she was stunning. Like a throwback to the glory days of vaudeville, with her big doll eyes and a small, pert mouth. Her curved, rounded figure set a man to thinking about late-night bonfires and moonlit swims in the ocean.

Luke caught the gaze of the boy sitting at the counter, questioning hostility shining in eyes so familiar he had to be Holly’s son.

Jake should have told her, Gil said. Hiring you was his idea in the first place.

Don’t worry about it. Luke was a big boy. He could take whatever punishment Holly and anyone else in town saw fit to dole out. And if there was one thing Holly Gordon—no, Holly Campbell—excelled at, it was getting her point across. Luke pretended to skim the menu Gil set in front of him.

To be honest, Gil said, I’m surprised you took the job.

The pencil-thin, raven-haired waitress set a mug and two glasses on the table. Here’s your coffee, black, and water, no ice. And for you? She batted mascara-thick eyelashes at Luke as she pulled out her notepad.

Water’s fine, thanks. He’d already drunk enough coffee this morning to keep him awake for a week. "I’ll have the BLT, hold the B, no mayo, sweet potato fries if you have them."

We do. She nodded. Mr. Mayor?

Burger, medium and loaded, Twyla. Garlic fries.

You got it. Twyla bounded off to greet a new influx of customers that raised the noise level in the diner.

Luke relaxed enough to take in the polished diner’s surroundings. The space was brighter than he remembered. More welcoming in a way. The stainless steel sparkled and the orange and black hues were a tribute to the diner’s location on Monarch Lane. Classic retro with a twist of home. He flipped over the menu and smiled when he saw the list of Holly’s homemade pies, something she’d dabbled in as a teen, had expanded. Combined with the late-morning aroma of frying bacon and the early-afternoon promise of onions and garlic, the diner felt, and smelled, familiar. While I’m grateful, I’m not entirely sure why Jake recommended me for the position.

When Jake and I discussed his retirement, I asked for names. Yours was the only one on the list. Gil dumped three packets of sweetener into his coffee. He caught Luke’s arched brow and rolled his eyes. Yeah, I know. If this job doesn’t kill me the chemicals will.

Your life. Luke shrugged. Up to you what you do with it. A lesson Luke had learned thanks to Jake Gordon, the only man who had ever given a damn about him. He owed Holly’s father more than he could ever repay, and now his debt to the man had increased. Dealing with twelve years of built-up small-town hostility and resentment seemed a small price to pay if he could set things right with Jake once and for all. Besides, it was only for a year. What else is going on, Gil?

Gil shrugged. I don’t know what you mean.

Don’t you? Luke glanced over his shoulder toward the Cocoon Club and lowered his voice. Here’s what I know. I know the election was rough on you, and Jake Gordon was one of the reasons why since he backed your opponent. Letting Jake have a say in who replaces him was your way of mending fences. But you still have to prove you aren’t your father’s son, that you’re more than a walking bank account. Now you need to show you care about this town more than how many buildings have your name on the title.

You never were one to mince words. Some of the friendliness disappeared behind Gil’s hawk-like green eyes. Anything else you want to get off your chest?

Luke sat back. I know your dad left you in a heap of trouble when he died last year and you’re still digging out from under. And there’s the baggage that comes with having a real SOB for a father. You figure I can relate. But you’re wrong if you think I won’t give you grief over plans for the town that I believe are out of line as you try to make amends.

You might be right. Gil looked out the window onto the side street as if scanning the empty streets and abandoned businesses. Boarded-up windows. Peeling paint. Crooked signs and broken panes of glass.

Luke had seen it the second he hit town; he’d felt it, heard it, as if the town was crying out in silent agony.

Butterfly Harbor was dying.

I want to get one thing straight before I pin that badge on. I’m nobody’s tool, Gil. You and the town council hired me to oversee the town’s transition and make sure law enforcement is up to the challenge of taking Butterfly Harbor in a new direction. While I’m grateful for the opportunity, it doesn’t mean I’m going to automatically agree with everything you say.

"You mean you won’t be shy about