The Bad Boy of Butterfly Harbor(20)

“I like Grandpa being sheriff. He stops bad guys, Mom. Like I want to. And he’s good at it.”

“Well, maybe Luke will be good at it, too.” The idea of Simon chasing bad guys gave her chills. The last thing she needed was for him to launch himself off the top of a building in the hopes he’d fly. She brushed too-long bangs out of Simon’s face and made a mental note to make a haircut appointment for him for next week. “I need your help with this, bud, okay? Grandpa will, too. You have to stay out of trouble and behave. Can you do that for me?”

Simon shrugged. “I guess.”

Those wheels were grinding in his head; she could see them. “We’re in this together, remember? With your dad gone, we have to be a team. And you know how important teamwork is. Just like your superheroes, right?”

“Yeah.” Simon’s mouth twisted as if he didn’t like being reminded his mom could be right about anything related to comic books. “But superheroes do what needs to be done. Even if some people don’t want it done.”





CHAPTER EIGHT

THANKS TO AN unplanned overactive morning, Luke knew exactly what he’d be doing tonight: digging splinters out of his hands. He flexed his fingers and welcomed the tiny pricks of pain beneath his skin. The hours of hard work were a rush in itself. He might not be thrilled with the look of boarded-up windows along Monarch Lane, but he’d rather that than shattered glass on sidewalks and in empty stores.

He hadn’t liked the awe he’d heard in Simon’s voice when the boy had talked about Kyle Winters. Simon obviously got a kick out of playing hero, and if he saw Kyle as an enemy and someone who needed to be stopped, chances were the little boy had already pushed some boundaries. But Luke appreciated the heads-up.

And that was why he was purposely driving past said dilapidated community center again. The building was indeed a disaster and needed a serious overhaul or demolition crew. The group of teens he spotted there had triggered warning bells blaring like air-raid sirens in his head. Even with his windows down, Luke smelled stale beer and even staler cigarettes, and while he didn’t pin all the kids hanging out there as delinquents, there was definite potential for trouble.

He would do his best to try to keep an eye on Simon. Luke’s pulse thudded. For a moment, right when Holly had appeared that morning, she’d smiled at him. No glower, no suspicion. A flash of time where the past had disappeared. It wouldn’t continue, but he’d take it for what it was. An unguarded blink of acceptance.

Even if she didn’t realize it.

He pulled his truck into one of the few spots near the police station, taking a second to enjoy one of Butterfly Harbor’s hidden gems: the view of the seascape below. Through the narrow opening of branches of the surrounding redwoods, he could see the sea-foam spray of active surf while the intoxicating combination of salt, kelp and crisp, cool air energized him.

The carved wooden sign situated between two sturdy posts was new, but had he not known where he was going, he might have driven right past the building. Something to take care of once the station was officially in his hands. For now he’d be mindful of any suggestions he made or toes he stepped on.

He pushed open the door, waited for Cash to join him. The dog hadn’t left him alone for longer than it took to grab a meal or do his business, as if he was afraid if he let Luke out of his sight for too long, he’d disappear on him.

Luke didn’t like to think about how attached he’d already become to his canine friend. The last time he’d had a pet, his father had taken exception and... Grief and anger surged in the center of his chest like an erupting volcano. Suffice it to say, Luke never brought another animal into the house.

He couldn’t help but grimace as he inhaled the familiar scent of ammonia and bleach that had the tendency to turn his stomach. With the overlying aroma of brewing coffee and after-rain mugginess, this, more than any place in Butterfly Harbor sadly, felt like home. Would irony ever stopped proving it knew no bounds?

“Can I help you?” The young uniformed man who stood up behind his desk to approach the scarred wood counter didn’t jog his memory. He was short, a little on the stout side and reminded Luke of a sidekick from any number of nerdy coming-of-age comedies. “Luke Saxon.” He watched recognition slide over the deputy’s round face. “Fletch told me to stop by.”

“Right. You’re the new sheriff.” The young man glanced at the open office door. “Oswald Lakeman. People call me Ozzy.”

“Nice to meet you, Ozzy. And it’s Luke. Is Sheriff Gordon around?”