LITMIR.BIZ

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barrier islands.

      A sea breeze lifted a silky wave of the strawberry blonde hair skimming her shoulder. Freckles still sprinkled her nose. Her sun-kissed tan reflected the beach girl she was and had always been.

      Darcy Parks, the little tomboy who lived next door to the Pruitts. Athletically slim, but rounded with more womanly curves than the sixteen-year-old he’d known. But like him, older.

      Her blue-green eyes—like many here on the Shore—reflected the cool depths of the Machipongo Inlet. Becoming aware of her appraising scrutiny, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, striving for a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

      Full of an untried optimism, he’d joined the army right out of high school to fight global terrorism. And his success or failure now depended on the grown-up version of a girl he’d once possessed a great fondness for.

      Eyes flashing, she raised her chin. “Long time no see, Jaxon.” She shouldered past him toward the store.

      His defenses climbed. Not the same girl he remembered. His mistake. He followed Darcy into the shop. Not the welcome he hoped for.

      But after how he’d left things between them the day he reported for Basic, probably the welcome he deserved.

      * * *

      She’d been robbed.

      Though perhaps not in a literal sense. And robbery wasn’t even the worst of it.

      Inside the outfitters shop, Darcy glowered at her best friend’s older brother. “Nepotism doesn’t become you, Jaxon.”

      Jax leaned one hip against the nearest available surface. Shirley’s desk. Soon to be his.

      Her fingers curled against her thighs. The leaning drove Darcy crazy. Always had.

      When they were children, Jax had leaned against the oak tree, straddling their adjoining backyards. In high school, after football drills, he’d leaned against the gymnasium wall to watch his sister, Anna, and Darcy during volleyball practice.

      Leaning. Always leaning. Had the military taught him nothing? Was the ex–Green Beret incapable of standing upright?

      He cocked his head. “Don’t make this more than it was. A simple business transaction, Darce. Nothing more.”

      She bristled. “Don’t call me Darce.”

      Not only had she lost the chance to buy Shirley Pruitt’s kayaking company—her dream since high school. Now she had to work for the new owner: Jaxon Pruitt, the bane of her existence.

      But despite the unbridled hostility in her voice, he smiled at her in that half-lidded, ridiculously stomach-quivering way of his. “You didn’t have the money to buy her out. I did.”

      “You don’t have the experience to run the business.” She ignored the fluttery feeling in her belly. “I do.”

      He shrugged. “We’re at an impasse, then.”

      Jax was the poster boy for too-handsome-to-be-real. A perfect specimen of Uncle Sam’s finest with his almost-grown-out military haircut.

      He crossed his arms across his navy blue shirt. “How can we work this out?”

      An outrageous combination of charm coupled with an aggravating self-confidence. And judging from the rippling muscles underneath his T-shirt, a hint of something slightly dangerous.

      He opened his arms shoulder width. “I’m willing to do anything it takes to make this work.” Shoulders that tapered to the narrow waist of his jeans.

      She wrinkled her nose. “Frankly, Jaxon, I don’t care what you—”

      The bell clattered above the glass-fronted door, and Shirley burst inside. A little boy clung to her sturdy hand. She looked as if she’d been through a whirlwind.

      Darcy found it hard to swallow past a sudden lump in her throat. His mouth encircled by a ring of powdered sugar, the little guy was all Jax. Dark eyes, dark hair. So, so cute.

      One day, he’d be handsome. As handsome as his dad. Jax would have to fight the girls off his son with a stick.

      Jax crouched eye level to the child. “Looks like you enjoyed the Long Johns.” He ruffled his son’s hair.

      But the small boy moved, putting himself out of reach of his father. Darcy’s stomach knotted at the stark pain on Jax’s face.

      Shirley nudged the boy. “Tell your dad who we ran into at the Sandpiper.”

      The child inserted a thumb into his mouth. “No.”

      Hands on his thighs, Jax rocked onto his heels. “It’s okay, Aunt Shirley. With my multiple deployments, Brody and I spent a lot of time apart. We’re still getting reacquainted.”

      It wasn’t okay. And from her taut expression, Shirley didn’t think so, either.

      “We ran into your mother, Darcy.” Shirley laid her calloused hand on Brody’s shoulder. “Agnes was quite taken with this little guy.”

      Darcy got on her knees in front of Brody. “Long Johns are my favorite, too.”

      Unmoving, the too-solemn child studied her.

      Jax cleared his throat. “Son, I’d like you to meet my friend Darcy.”

      “Friend?” She and Anna had been BFFs. Him? Not so much.

      A muscle ticked in his jaw. “We weren’t enemies, were we?”

      No, they hadn’t been enemies.

      Taking his thumb out of his mouth, Brody made a V with two fingers. “Me two.” He uncurled another finger. “Thwee.”

      She turned to Jax for a translation.

      “Brody will be three years old in September.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “We’re working on his r’s.”

      The child jabbed his thumb into his chest. “Me big.”

      “You are a big boy.” She gave Brody an approving look. “A very big, strong boy.”

      He nodded, as somber as an undertaker. “Me Bwody Pwoo-it.”

      Darcy’s heart turned over in her chest. “Hello, Brody Pruitt.” She smiled at him.

      Catching her by surprise, Brody touched a strand of her hair. “Pwetty.”

      She blushed. “Thank you, Brody.”

      Jax broadened his chest. “Good taste runs in his genes.”

      “Loves the ladies, does he?” She sneered at Jax. “Apples never fall far.”

      With his long legs extended and crossed at his booted ankles, Jax leaned his elbow on the counter. “I’ve always had a particular affection for trees.”

      Flushing, she shot to her feet so fast the room went cattywampus.

      Instantly upright, Jax reached for her arm. “Darce?”

      Anger—swift and hot—churned her gut. At his easy familiarity with her name. At...everything. She shook off his hand.

      His face fell. “I didn’t mean—”

      “You never mean to do anything, do you, Jaxon?” She clenched her teeth.

      “The two of you need to get it together.” Shirley’s forehead creased. “There’s an excursion booked for Tuesday.”

      Darcy folded her arms. “I’m sure Jaxon can figure out whatever he needs to know.”

      His face pinched and sad, Brody stood knee-high between Shirley and Jax. And Darcy almost weakened. But Jaxon Pruitt and his son weren’t her problem.

      “I—I have to go.” She rushed through the door as if her sanity depended on it. Where Jaxon Pruitt was concerned, it was not beyond the realm of possibility.

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