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“How are you?” J.T. nodded toward her blue power suit, the briefcase, the heels. “You’re looking very official for a summer night.”
“I am official,” she snapped. “I’m the mayor.”
“That’s right.” He remembered his mother mentioning it. “Congratulations—I think.”
She glared. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “I’m just surprised to see you here. Weren’t you the one who always bragged about having more ambition than the rest of the town put together?”
Jillian scanned the sidewalk, no doubt ensuring he hadn’t insulted any potential voters, then ran a critical eye over his travel-rumpled Hawaiian shirt and baggy shorts. “Enough small talk. Why are you here, J.T.?”
“My parole officer finally let me leave the country.”
“Don’t be cute. How long are you staying?”
He considered telling her that it was none of her business, but reminded himself that some things weren’t worth the fight.
“Just for the summer.”
“You’re sure you’re not here to stay?”
“What, move back? Hell, no!”
She narrowed the big blue eyes that she used to bat so effectively back in high school. “You don’t have to be that emphatic. This can be a pretty good place, you know.” She paused, then added with lethal softness, “That is, when you’re not here stirring up trouble.”
So that was how it was going to be. He hadn’t been imagining that bull’s-eye on his back. It was as real as the fact that in the eyes of this town, he would never be anything other than the juvenile delinquent who burned down the prime tourist attraction all those years ago.
Okay. They had every right to hate what he’d been. He’d caused a lot of hurt to a lot of folks, and if some of them couldn’t forget that, well, neither could he. Half the reason he lived in the desert now was because nothing there—not a tree, not a river, not even a flower in the grass—was the same as the ones found in this lush green village. No reminders. Knowing what he’d done still hurt that much.
But he also knew that there was a hell of a lot more to the story than most folks wanted to hear.
“What trouble? I’ve been back a couple of hours, done nothing more than walk down the damned street and you’re already judging me?”
“Some things never change,” Jillian said. “Some people never change. There’s a reason we called you J.T. You were Just Trouble back then, and from the looks of you, I’d say you’re still Just Trouble.”
Further proof that change was the one force designed to generate the most opposition from the greatest number of people.
“You know, Jillian, it’s been a long time. I screwed up. I admit it. But that was a frickin’ lifetime ago. We’re adults now. How about we make the summer a lot more pleasant for both of us and call a truce?”
She took a step back as if in disbelief, then fixed him with the same glare that he had required years of effort to forget. “Here are the rules. Lie low this summer. Do nothing to destroy my town. And be gone by Labour Day.”
Something about this wasn’t sitting right. Hell, nobody had given him a warm-and-fuzzy homecoming, but Jillian’s reaction seemed extreme. There was only one reason he could think of for her to be this defensive. Luckily for her, it was a memory he was more than happy to leave buried.
Jillian squared her shoulders, checked the time on the clock outside Town Hall and shifted her briefcase to her other hand. “I have to go,” she said. “But I’m warning you, J.T. Don’t mess with my town.”
He faked a salute. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”
“You haven’t changed at all, have you?”
Before he could come up with an answer, she walked a wide circle around him and vanished from his sight. He let his grin slip as the sound of her heels faded away.
He didn’t want to upset Jillian. Not really. For one thing, he had enough bad Comeback Cove karma already. For another, it probably wasn’t smart to annoy the mayor when he was trying to sell off a bunch of properties, many of them needing planning-board approval.
On the other hand, if he were going to walk around with a target on his back, he might as well have some fun with it.
* * *
LYDDIE BREWSTER SCURRIED into the Brewster Memorial conference room in Town Hall and slid into one of the last empty chairs gathered around the polished maple table.
“Thank God this is the last time this committee has to meet,” Lyddie said to the older woman on her right. Beneath the table, she eased her shoes off and wiggled her toes. Some days were harder on the feet than others. “Please tell me I’m late enough that the meeting is over and I can go home.”
“Sorry, kid. Her Worship hasn’t made an appearance yet.” Nadine Krupnick was not only Lyddie’s assistant at her coffee shop, River Joe’s, she was also both friend and secret keeper to half the town. More important, she was the only one who could get away with calling Mayor Jillian McFarlane “Your Worship” to her face. “What made you late, anyway?”
“Sara called. She wanted to tell me every detail of her day.”
“I thought she wasn’t speaking to you.”
“I’m her favorite mom again since I said she could go to my sister’s for the summer.” Lyddie raised a hand in anticipation of Nadine’s protest. “I know, I know. She’s only fourteen, Vancouver is too far away, yada yada yada. But there’s not much for someone her age to do here all summer, and Zoë can use the help. It’ll be good for Sara to take on some responsibility.”
“No need to sound so defensive. I think it’s a great idea.”
“You do?” Lyddie reached into the paper bag Nadine pushed toward her and pulled out one of the muffins left from that day’s baking. Lemon poppy—her favorite. She peeled back the paper before helping herself to a healthy bite. Tart lemon and crunchy seeds combined to give her the most sensual treat she’d known in ages. “Everyone else thinks I’m crazy.”
“Let me guess. By ‘everyone,’ you mean your mother-in-law.”
Lyddie stayed silent, not ready to let Nadine know she’d hit the nail on the head. Nor did she want to get into a discussion of why Ruth Brewster was afraid to let any of her family slip beyond the town line. Lyddie understood her mother-in-law’s sentiments. She couldn’t deny that there were times late at night when she, too, feared that Sara would never want to return to a quiet little tourist town after two months in Vancouver.
But in the light of day, things seemed far more optimistic. This was home now, and had been for four years. Sara was old enough to remember their old life, but still, this was her reality. Of course she would come home.
“Speaking of getting away, I booked my own flight last night.” Nadine must have understood that Lyddie was ready to talk about something other than family. “As soon as Labour Day is over, I’m out of here. Las Vegas, here I come.”
“Planning to hit the jackpot and run away with an Elvis impersonator?”
“Hell, no. I’m holding out for a magician. I figure if they can saw a woman in half, maybe I’ll find one who can slice off some wrinkles, shave off a few years then put me back together so I look like I’m thirty-two again.”
Lyddie laughed. “Throw in a breast lift and I’m next in line.”
“Like you need it. Wait until you hit your sixties and it takes a crane to get the girls off the floor.”
Good thing there was a water pitcher on the table. Lyddie needed a drink, fast, after Nadine’s comments left her choking on a poppy seed. When she had finished coughing and Nadine had delivered a final blow to her back, Lyddie shook her head.
“You might have twenty years on me according to the calendar, Nadine, but you still have the mouth of a teenager.”
“Three decades slinging hash in the school cafeteria stomped the shrinking violet out of me real fast.”
The door to the conference room flew open. Jillian marched in, heels snapping on the floor, two bright spots of color burning high on her cheeks.
“Uh-oh,” Nadine whispered. Lyddie agreed.
Jillian set her briefcase on the floor, dropped into her chair and smacked a handful of papers against the table.
“Good evening, folks. Let’s get moving.”
And with that, the Discover Downtown meeting was launched. Jillian led them through the agenda at breakneck speed, slowing only when Tracy Potter, the local postmistress, tried to slip in unnoticed fifteen minutes late. Jillian glared at Tracy with such righteous indignation that it was all Lyddie could do to keep from bursting into laughter.
Honestly, the things she endured for this town...
By Lyddie’s standards, it was a reasonably successful night. Jillian seemed too distracted to try to rope anyone into extra duties, and the rest of the committee members actually spoke up on their own a couple of times instead of waiting for Lyddie to speak first and then echoing her thoughts. The final report was given, and the meeting railroaded to a close. Lyddie, Tracy and Nadine walked together into the coolness of the night, chatting as they rambled toward Lyddie’s van.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the other committee members, Nadine broached the subject that had kept Lyddie entertained throughout the meeting.
“What bug crawled up Jillian’s arse and bit her tonight?”
“No idea,” Lyddie said, but Tracy was practically dancing with excitement.
“You mean you haven’t heard? You’ll never guess who’s back.”
“Is Bill Shatner here again?” Nadine asked. “He owes me money.”
Tracy laughed and pulled black curls back from the breeze. “Better. J. T. Delaney.”
For only the second or third time in their years together, Lyddie had the immense pleasure of seeing Nadine struck silent. She hoped it wouldn’t last long. Tracy was obviously dying to spill, and Nadine could weasel out any forgotten tidbits Tracy might forget. Lyddie needed to get home soon—there were three children waiting to dump a day’s worth of living on her—but after years of hearing stories about the legendary bad boy of Comeback Cove, she was dying to know more. She leaned against her van and waited for Nadine to regain her powers of speech.
“J.T. is back?”
Tracy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I saw him myself, late this afternoon, driving Iris’s little Honda up Main Street. At first I didn’t think it was her car because it was in the middle of the road instead of the middle of the sidewalk. That woman really needs to stop driving, you know? Then I saw who it was and I almost went off the road myself. And I was walking!”
“How’s he look?” Nadine leaned forward in her favorite you-can-tell-me-anything pose. Tracy grinned and fanned herself.
“Still?”
Tracy nodded. “Just like that picture in the yearbook where he was voted most likely to deflower a nun.”
Lyddie nudged a pointy bit of gravel away from her tired feet. “So what exactly did this guy do? I mean, I know he started that fire. But there was more than that, right?”
Nadine’s words came slow. “He wasn’t bad, really. Just a little wild. The long hair, the leather jacket... All those things that make a boy look suspicious.”
“Don’t forget when he reset all the clocks on the village square to different time zones. Or the time he stuffed the cannon in the square with dead fish, so when they set it off for Canada Day it rained fish guts on everyone.”
Nadine’s nose wrinkled. “He had his moments, I won’t deny it. But I don’t recall him ever hurting anyone.”
Tracy snorted. “Except when he broke Ted McFarlane’s nose.”
Nadine waved Tracy’s words away. “That was Ted’s fault, and you know it. Still, J.T. would have been okay if not for the fire.”
This part, Lyddie knew. No one could live in Comeback Cove for long without hearing about the Big Burn, in which the town’s primary draw of the time—a reconstructed historic village—was destroyed in a few blazing hours. The resulting drop in tourist business had left many on the edge of bankruptcy. It had taken years for Comeback Cove to recover.
“They never proved he started it, did they?” Lyddie asked.
“Not enough to press charges. But he was spotted running from the fire, then he took off that night and never came back. Except for his dad’s funeral, of course.”
Lyddie couldn’t blame him for leaving. In a town where public opinion was king, J.T. wouldn’t have needed anything as mundane as a trial. If he’d stayed, he would have lived a never-ending prison sentence every time he went out in public.
“Twenty-five years,” Nadine said, staring at the river. “What finally brought him back?”
For the first time, Tracy looked uncomfortable. “It’s getting late. I should head home.”
Uh-oh. Lyddie was no expert on body language, but even she knew that Tracy’s averted eyes and sudden lunge for her purse were not good signs.
Nadine latched a bony hand on the would-be escapee’s arm. “Tracy Potter, I have known you since before you were born. You can’t con me. Tell us why J.T. is back.”
“Well, nothing’s certain yet—” translation: Tracy had heard something from two sources but had to receive definitive proof “—but word is he’s home for Iris.”
“She’s okay, isn’t she?” Lyddie asked. “I saw her yesterday and she looked fine. I know she was sick in the winter, but—”
Tracy shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Look, Lyddie, I know Iris is your landlady and all, so I hate to be the one to tell you. But what I heard is that he’s here to finish up his father’s estate.”
Lyddie’s gut did an unhealthy lurch. “What does that mean?”
Tracy sighed and sent a pleading look toward Nadine. It only made Lyddie’s suspicions shoot higher.
“Now, Tracy.”
“Iris is moving, Lyddie. Probably to Tucson with J.T., though nobody’s sure about that. He’s here to sell all the buildings his father owned.” She jerked her head back toward River Joe’s. “Including this one.”
CHAPTER TWO
J.T. STOOD IN THE cramped upstairs bathroom of his mother’s home bright and early the next morning, carefully peeling the backing from the temporary tattoo he’d applied to his arm.
“There,” he said to the lumpy mutt lying half in the bathroom, half in the hall. “It’s not a heart that says Mom, but it should do the trick.”
Charlie—the latest in a string of mongrels—yawned, obviously not impressed with the way the morning sun gleamed off the stylized maple leaf now adorning J.T.’s biceps. J.T. shrugged, wadded up the paper and tossed it toward the trash, congratulating himself when he hit it the first time. Courage bolstered, he turned to the mirror to see if he passed muster.
Good. He looked only half as idiotic as he felt.
He’d left his hair uncombed, both to increase the rumpled look and to hide the gray that had started taking hold. A day’s worth of stubble paraded across his jaw. The bags under his eyes were a by-product of flying across time zones, but they added to the seedy appearance. An earring would have been a nice touch, but he had his limits.
Black biking shorts and an electric blue muscle shirt completed the mugger-in-training look. All he needed was a motorcycle. But he’d spent years learning caution and common sense since leaving town, and he wasn’t about to abandon them completely. He’d settle for Rollerblades and hope they were enough to cause a stir.
Satisfied that he looked vaguely reminiscent of the delinquent teen he’d once been, he stepped over Charlie and crept down the stairs, hoping he could make his escape without his mother hearing. She would have to see him like this in time, but he didn’t want to ruin her breakfast.
“J.T.?”
He should have known. The minute he walked into town, his luck turned tail and hopped the next flight out.
He nearly tripped over the damned stealthy dog and steeled himself for the worst.
Iris Delaney stood in the hall, thinner than she’d ever been in his life, snug in a white housecoat festooned with the flowers she’d been named for. She had a mug cradled in her hands and an expression of sheer horror on her face.
