He tried to interject memory in his voice, the golden snapshot of him and Darek and Owen crossing the finish line so many years ago, paddles held high.
Yeah, that day he’d felt invincible.
Owen stared at him a long time. Then he laughed. “What happened to you, Casper? You were the one most likely to strike it rich. I used to think you were so cool—a pirate searching for lost treasure. Now you’re just . . . Yeah, I’m not sure what you are. A handyman?”
A fist closed around Casper’s heart, the memory vanishing.
Owen threw his leg over his bike, grabbed his helmet. “Tell Darek that his pals on the Jude County Hotshots say hi.” He started the bike, revved it, then put down his visor.
He raised two fingers a second before he took off out of the driveway.
Casper stood there in the cloud of gravel dust, hating the grit of Owen’s words, how it settled deep.
And did nothing to douse the burning inside.
He blew out a breath and turned to head back to the cabin, then opted for the long dock that led to the water. With his mother in town with Tiger, Dad painting inside one of the cabins, and Amelia gone photographing a wedding, the place seemed so lonely.
As if in confirmation, the wind hushed through the trees and a loon called, mourning across the lake. He sat on the end of the dock, unlacing his work boots. He dipped his feet into the cool, sun-dappled water. The refreshment eased the hot spots, the calluses.
You were the one most likely to strike it rich.
What was he doing here? Casper leaned back on his hands, lifted his face to the sun. He knew the answer—at least why he’d come home. And why he’d stayed.
But . . .
He worked out the square of paper from his back pocket. Unfolded it and smoothed it. Reread it in the sunlight.
Footsteps on the dock, and he didn’t have a chance to put the printed e-mail away before a shadow crossed over him.
“I saw Owen leaving as I drove in.” Amelia sat down next to him, cross-legged. “I wanted to show him the family shots I got at the wedding. I had them printed.” She handed him an envelope.
He opened it. Pulled out an eight-by-ten of the entire family, all grouped around Darek and Ivy. Yeah, they looked happy, grinning as they assembled on the boulders along Lake Superior. His parents clasped hands, so much love in their pose.
Not a hint of the struggles of the past year, with the resort, with Owen.
And within himself. He gave the picture back to Amelia.
“What are you reading?”
“Nothing.”
She took the paper from his hand. He didn’t look at her, didn’t want to invite comment.
“Cool. You should do it.” She handed the paper back to him. “But where is Roatán?”
Casper wasn’t sure why, but his stomach tightened at her encouragement. “It’s a little island off Honduras. The lore is that pirates used to bury their treasures there.”
“Which is why your buddy Duncan invited you on the dig. Underwater exploration? Isn’t that your specialty in your major? Are you going to go?”
“I don’t know. It’s . . . There’s a lot to do here.”
“The dig doesn’t start until August. You should go. Are you kidding me—five months in the Caribbean? And you’ll probably earn credits for your degree.”
Like that mattered. He schooled his voice. “I don’t know. We have more cabins to build, and I promised Darek I’d run this year’s dragon boat for him. We gotta keep the Evergreen spirit alive until we reopen.”
“I love the dragon boat festival, but do we have enough for a team?” She flipped through the photos.
“We lost Owen, but we gain Ivy. And there’s Dad and Mom, and Nathan Decker and his family, and some others who said they might be up for it.”
“You’ll figure it out. You always find a way.” She got up, shaded her eyes. “By the way, Darek didn’t rope you into anything. We both know you’re his secret weapon.”
“Why’s that?” He couldn’t help it—he raised his arm and flexed. “It’s the guns, isn’t it?”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “No, silly. It’s because he can count on you to show up. We all can. Think about it. Darek and Owen are bookends—dark and unpredictable. But you’re the poster boy for the Christiansen family.”
Oh, what she didn’t know. He sighed but pasted on a smile.
“I gotta get ready to go. I’m meeting a potential client in town.”
He waved his hand as she headed down the dock.
The poster boy.
He stared at the e-mail invitation. Folded it. Threw it into the water.
MAX COULD STAND HERE FOREVER on his private balcony of the Hokeo Resort, mesmerized by the aqua-blue water, dappled by mysterious coral shadows and shades of rippling sand, and watch as the ocean sent cascade after cascade of frothy white waves to shore in quiet applause.