words out loud, she knew deep down that a new environment was the right call. She had to get him away from kids like Bobby and away from teachers who were predisposed to believe the worst of Luke because of his recent history.
“Not going back?” His golden-brown eyes widened. He’d inherited what Damon used to call her “lioness coloring,” tawny blond hair and amber eyes. “I only got suspended for two days. I can’t miss the last three weeks of school.”
“Maybe not,” she conceded, “but I don’t have to send you back there next fall.”
“But it’s my last year before high school. All my friends are there!”
“You’ll make new ones. Non-knife-wielding friends.”
“You’re really going to send me somewhere different for eighth grade just because you don’t like Bobby?”
No, kid, this is because I don’t like you—at least, not the person he was on the path to becoming. She loved her son, but on the worst days, she wanted to shake this angry stranger’s shoulders and demand to know what he’d done with her generous-natured, artistic Luke.
“I won’t get in trouble for the rest of the school year,” he vowed desperately.
“Good. But that won’t change my mind.” She glanced around the kitchen with new eyes. Maybe they could both use a fresh start, more than just a school transfer. She’d stayed in this house after Damon was shot because Luke had suffered such a jarring loss; she hadn’t wanted to yank him away from his home and friends. Yet, within six months, he’d found an entirely different group of friends anyway. He no longer associated with the kids who’d known the Sullivans as a whole and intact family. “We’re moving.”
“What? Houston is our home. This was Dad’s home! He wouldn’t want us to leave.”
“He’d want me to do whatever is best for you.” And Damon would have wanted her to have help. She wasn’t too proud to admit she needed some.
Her father, a professor at the University of Houston’s anthropology department, was sweet in a detached, absent way, but he was better with ancient civilizations than living people. Damon’s parents adored her, but they’d retired to an active senior community in Florida a year before their son was killed. Since she and Damon had both been only children, that left her with just one other close relative. Gram. Affection and a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in a long time warmed her.
She closed her eyes, breathing in the memory of summers past. When her father had gone on digs between semesters, she’d stayed with Gram and Grandpa on their small farm. Those idyllic months in the town of Cupid’s Bow, Texas, had soothed her soul. Chasing fireflies, tending tomatoes in the garden, fishing in the pond, helping make homemade ice cream to put on Gram’s award-winning apple pie...
Although Grandpa had died last year, Gram was still in Cupid’s Bow and as feisty as ever. She’d mentioned, though, that it was becoming more difficult to take care of the place by herself and frequently complained that she didn’t get to see enough of Kate and Luke. What if they moved in with her? It could benefit all three of them.
Or maybe it would be a horrible idea.
Kate had to try, though. If things didn’t change, she could too easily imagine Luke growing into the same kind of thug who’d killed his father. It was time for drastic action.
Cupid’s Bow, here we come.
When Sheriff Cole Trent walked into his house the second Saturday of June, he was met in the living room by three irate females. It was only six in the evening, but from the looks he was getting, one would think he’d been out all night. Mirroring their grandmother, his five-year-old twins had their hands on their slim hips and their lips pursed. The family resemblance was unmistakable, although the girls were blonde like the mother who’d run out on them instead of dark-haired like Gayle and Cole.
He sighed. “I know I’m a little later than anticipated, but—”
“A lot late,” Mandy corrected.
Alyssa’s blue eyes were watery. “You promised to take us swimming.”
“I didn’t promise. I said I’d try.” Lately, not even trying his hardest seemed like enough. Once the girls had started kindergarten, they’d become hyperaware that they didn’t have a mommy like most of their classmates. Last month’s Mother Day had been particularly rough. “Maybe we can go to the pool tomorrow. For now, how about I take you out for barbecue?” He made the offer not just to appease the girls but because he was too worn out to cook.
After a morning testifying in county court and an afternoon of mind-numbing paperwork, Cole’s plans to get home early were derailed by the Breelan brothers, three hotheads who never should have gone into business together. The shopkeeper who worked next to their garage had called Cole with a complaint that the Breelans were trying to kill each other. After throwing a few punches—and an impact wrench—Larry Breelan was spending the night in a cell. Deputy Thomas was on duty to make sure neither of Larry’s younger brothers tried to bust him out. Or tried to sneak in and murder him, depending on their mood.
Gayle Trent shook her head. “Out to eat again? When was the last time these poor girls had a home-cooked meal?”
Lifelong respect for his mother kept him from rolling his eyes at her dramatic tone, but just barely. “I made them fruit-face pancakes for breakfast. And two nights ago we had dinner at your house. With Jace and William,” he reminded her. She’d spent so much conversational energy trying to fix up Cole with various single women that she might not have noticed his brothers were even there.
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Speaking of home-cooked meals... Do you remember my friend Joan who owns the little farm down by Whippoorwill Creek? We’re in quilting club together and she’s signed up to help me inventory donations for the festival auction.” The four-day Watermelon Festival every July was one of the town’s biggest annual events.
Cole had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. From the gleam in his mother’s eye, she clearly wanted something, and he doubted it was for him to donate an item to auction.
He cleared his throat. “Girls, why don’t you go brush your hair and find your shoes so we can leave?” As they scampered off to the far-flung corners of the house to search for the shoes that were always mysteriously disappearing, he returned his attention to his mother, as wary as if he were investigating suspicious noises in a dark alley. “So, what’s this about your friend Joan?”
“Her granddaughter, who used to summer here as a kid, is moving to Cupid’s Bow with her son. We thought it would be neighborly if you and the girls joined us at the farm for a nice Sunday dinner tomorrow. Joan’s inviting other people, too. It’s a welcome party,” she added, “not a romantic setup.”
“Would you swear to that during a polygraph test?”
“Are you calling your own mother a liar?” she asked, looking highly wounded while evading his question. “Not everything is about your love life, you know. Joan’s great-grandson won’t have many chances to meet kids until school starts again in the fall. I’m sure he’d love to meet the girls. And they’d have fun, too. They were bored silly cooped up in the house with me all
