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Kate Sullivan had barely spoken on the ride from the middle school to the house. She’d worried that if she opened her mouth to say something, she would start yelling. Or crying. Neither seemed like a good idea while driving.
As they walked in through the garage door that led to the kitchen, her thirteen-year-old son, Luke, broke the tense silence. “I know you’re pis—”
“Language!” She spared him a maternal glare over her shoulder.
“I know you’re mad,” he amended. The patronizing emphasis he put on the word was the verbal equivalent of rolling his eyes. “But it really wasn’t my fault this time.”
Lord, how she wanted to believe him. But the fact that he had to qualify his declaration of innocence with “this time” underscored the severity of his recent behavior problems. As an elementary school music teacher, Kate worked with kids every day. How was it that she could control a roomful of forty students but not her own son? Over the past few months, she’d received phone calls about Luke fighting, lying and cutting classes. And now he’d been suspended!
If Damon were alive...
Her husband, a Houston police officer killed in the line of duty, had been dead for two years. Sometimes, standing here in the familiar red-tiled kitchen, she could still smell the coffee he started every day with, still hear the comforting rumble of his voice. But no amount of wishing him back would change her situation.
She didn’t need the imaginary assistance of a ghost. What she needed was a concrete plan. Maybe something radical, because God knew, nothing she’d tried so far had worked, not even the aid of professional therapists.
“It wasn’t my knife,” Luke continued. “It was Bobby’s.”
Fourteen-year-old Bobby Rowe and his hard-edged, disrespectful peers were part of the problem.
“Which I tried to tell the jackass principal.”
Kate slammed her hand down on the counter. “You will not talk about people like that! And you aren’t going back to that school.” It was a spur of the moment declaration, fraught with logistical complications—she could hardly homeschool and keep her job at the same time—but the minute she heard the 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
