C H A P T E R  1

Jesse Brewster ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth and tried to swallow the grit. He didn’t know if it was actual sand from the South Carolina beach he tried to sleep on last night or the tequila shots he’d downed like water after he’d gotten a good look at the monstrosity that was supposed to be his life-saving legacy.

“Sir, your public defender is here,” a male voice said.

Jesse opened his eyes to the neon yellow walls surrounding him, reflecting back every sharp ray of light from the inside lighting and small window. He squinted against the pain to his head. Someone here at the Indigo Bay, South Carolina, police department had some sense of humor painting the combination interrogation room/holding cell walls bright yellow with royal blue trim. The sleeping block and covers he was sitting on and the table and chairs were the same blue.

“Thanks.” Jesse squinted again at the police officer’s name badge. “Officer Andrews.” The man looked vaguely familiar. Probably his arresting officer. That would make sense, him being here for his arraignment.

“The dispatcher will bring you some breakfast. You can eat while you talk with your lawyer. The judge will be over as soon as she finishes her coffee at Caroline’s.”

“Coffee will be fine,” Jesse said. He closed his eyes against the yellow and held his head in his palms.

A minute later footsteps sounded. “Sir.”

What was with all this sir? Jesse shook his head to clear it. The bright paint hadn’t just affected his sight. His ears were also hallucinating.

“I’m Lauren Cooper, the public defender.”

He raised his head. No, his ears were right. It was Lauren.

“Jesse?”

Her voice dripped with disbelief that matched his own. And he’d thought things couldn’t get any worse. “In the flesh.” He flexed his bicep, unable to resist going full obnoxious, in case she still harbored any positive thoughts about who, what he was.

“You didn’t have any ID on you, and apparently declined to identify yourself to the officer.”

By reflex, Jesse patted the back pocket of his jeans. No wallet. A vague picture of it on a bar swam before his eyes.

Lauren dropped the folder she’d held to the table and pulled out one of the chairs, giving him a moment to study her. He raked his hand though his matted hair. She looked good. But when didn’t Lauren look good? Her crisp power suit did nothing to hinder his memories of the soft curves beneath them. His stomach churned with something that had nothing to do with his excess of tequila.

She motioned to the other chair. “If you’d care to join me, I’ll go over the charges. Ben … Officer Andrews said you may not have had the capacity to understand them last night.”

Ben, was it? Jesse’s gaze darted from Lauren to the hallway the officer had disappeared into. He stood, letting the spinning in his head stop before he took the two steps from the sleeping block to the table. What did he care? He and Lauren were over. He’d made sure of that. They’d been growing apart, going in different directions. He didn’t need to get into the direction he’d been headed after his accident and his mother’s death—with himself or anyone else. Jesse looked around. He’d arrived at his destination. There was nowhere to go now, but up.

“Any questions?” Lauren pinned his gaze with hers. “Let me rephrase that. Did you listen to a word I said?”

“Public intoxication. Vagrancy. How’d I do?”

Officer Andrews appeared at the door. “Lauren, the judge is here.”

She rose. “We’re ready.”

He didn’t get a say? Jesse wasn’t sure he liked this take-charge Lauren. But wasn’t that one of the reasons he’d let her go? So, she could reach her potential, as his mom might have said. His throat clogged with the loss that would always be too fresh.

“Before we go into the court room, I have an ID for your vagrant. Jesse Brewster and I are old friends.” She handed the officer a sheet from her folder.

So, they were still friends. Some of the darkness in Jess’s soul lifted, not that meant much. There was plenty left. He gauged the other man’s reaction. Aside from a raised brow, he didn’t have any outward reaction to Lauren’s statement.

“Brewster,” the man said, offering his hand.

Jesse wiped his gritty palm against the pant-leg of his jeans. “Under different circumstances, I’d say nice to meet you.” He forced a smile.

“Brewster,” the officer repeated. “You used to race. Motocross.”

“Yes, yes, I did,” Jesse said tightly, bracing for the judgmental look from the officer and Lauren.

“We shouldn’t keep Judge Trexler waiting,” Lauren said.

If she’d interrupted for his benefit, because of their friendship, she shouldn’t have bothered. He knew what he’d done, who he was now far better than she did, and he was a big boy, ready to move past it.

They walked upstairs to the city hall adjoining the police department and into a large room with rows of chairs facing the court bench. A middle-aged woman sat behind it with another woman seated to her right and a man in a suit standing in front of the bench talking to them.

“Judge Trexler, the court clerk, and the city attorney,” Lauren explained as they entered the room.

Officer Andrews led Jesse to the front row, where the three of them took their seats, Lauren on one side of him and the officer on the other. The city attorney sat next to officer Andrews.

The judge called the court into session. “Mr. Johnson and Ms. Cooper, please approach the bench.”

Jesse shifted in his chair as bits of the conversation drifted back to him. “Identified. No damage. Vagrancy. Vouch.”

“Mr. Brewster.”

The judge’s voice jerked Jesse’s gaze from where it rested on Lauren’s back.

“Please join us.”

Officer Andrews walked him the few feet to the bench, as if he were going to make a break for it.

“Your Honor.” Jesse nodded in respect.

“The city attorney has agreed to drop the vagrancy charges since your wallet with ID has been found and turned into the court and to reduce the other charge to sleeping on the beach, a violation with a fine. How do you plead to the charge? You can consult with your attorney.”

“Guilty.” He had several things he’d like to consult with Lauren about, but his sleeping on the beach wasn’t one.

“Your plea is accepted. You can settle the fine with my clerk. Any questions?”

“No, but I want to clarify that I definitely am not a vagrant, and further, I’m not a tourist. I’m Indigo Bay’s newest property-owner.”

The slightly wide-eyed surprise that accompanied Judge Trexler’s “Welcome to Indigo Bay” after Jesse had dropped his bombshell didn’t come within a thousand miles of the surprise and other jumble of feelings careening through Lauren. She breathed in until her lungs were close to bursting to compose herself.

“Thank you. It looks like a fine community,” Jesse said, nodding to the judge before he turned his attention to her.

“Thank you, Judge,” Lauren repeated. She lifted her hand to touch Jesse’s arm and dropped it. “This way, Mr. Brewster.”

“Mr. Brewster, is it?” he said in a low, just-for-her voice as he walked beside her toward the court clerk.

She flushed, a curse of her fair hair and skin. “For now,” she ground out between her teeth. “We need to talk when you’re done here.”

He favored her with a slow smile before he stepped up to the clerk behind the bench. The smile she’d once thought of as her smile. Her chest hollowed. He probably used it with all his women.

“First, here’s your wallet,” the clerk said. “The bar owner turned it in this morning. Check to make sure everything is there.”

Jesse took the wallet and shoved it in his back pocket. “I’m sure it is.”

Lauren bit her tongue to stop herself from telling Jesse to check his wallet. Indigo Bay was a small, close-knit community, but it was also a tourist spot and had its share of petty crime.

“I have some forms for you to sign.” The clerk pushed a couple of papers toward Jesse. “And your fine will be three hundred and fifty dollars. We take cash, certified check or money order, or a major credit card.”

Lauren waited a step back for Jesse to whip his wallet back out and plunk the cash or, more likely a credit card, on the wooden bench top. The Jesse she knew generally didn’t carry large amounts of cash with him when it could be deposited somewhere to make more money.

Jesse cleared his throat. “When does it have to be paid?”

“Within thirty days.”

“Are there any other options? I’m not in a … let’s say a good financial position.”

Jesse’s rigid stance told Lauren what it took out of him to make that admission.

“Judge,” the clerk said. “Could you step over here?”

While Judge Trexler finished her conversation with Ben and the city attorney and made her way over, Lauren stared at the back of the man she’d once known so well, the man she didn’t know at all anymore. Her Jesse wouldn’t have been in a financial bind. He’d have had every extra cent he had invested for emergencies and the future. She swallowed hard. For their future. So he could retire from motocross in his late twenties or early thirties and be set. To blow through that kind of money, he must have gone even crazier after his accident than the motocross fan magazines had reported. Lauren’s gaze traveled down his dirty, weathered, form-fitting jeans for any sign of the injury that had cut his career short, but she didn’t see one.

“Are you willing to do community service?” Judge Trexler asked.

Lauren had been so intent on Jesse, she hadn’t noticed the judge join the clerk and Jesse.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Since you’ll be on the beach anyway …”

On the beach? Lauren shook her head to clear it. What had she missed? Jesse was the only person who could ever knock her off focus.

“… The city attorney said they’re short a person on the public beach clean-up crew. One of the college students got a better job. Work starts at sun-up and finishes at eight when the beach opens. Four weeks at half pay will work off your fine.”

“Sounds good to me, and thanks again.”

Lauren snapped shut her dropped-open jaw. International racing phenom Jesse Brewster picking up trash?

The judge motioned to her clerk. “Annie will get you set up.”

Once the judge had left, Lauren touched Jesse’s shoulder, rethinking her earlier statement about talking with Jesse. “I need to get back to the office.”

“We’ll only be two minutes,” Annie said. “Then you and your friend Mr. Brewster …”

“Jesse,” he interrupted.

“You and Jesse can go have a coffee and something sweet at Caroline’s.

Her friend? Where had Annie gotten that from? Ben was the only one she’d told that she knew Jesse, and Ben had been with them. She bit and released her lip. It didn’t matter, and it wasn’t like she was going to hide that she knew Jesse. “I really should get back to work,” she said. And look up what property Jesse owned in Indigo Bay, along with anything else recent she could find on him. She needed to be prepared to talk with him.

“Acer and Acer won’t miss you if you take an hour to catch up with your friend,” Annie said. “What are the guys doing this morning anyway? Reading The Wall Street Journal and the Charleston Post and Courier, as usual?

Probably. But having coffee with Jesse wouldn’t generate billable hours. Besides, the partners didn’t like her spending too much time on her fill-in public defender work. Expanding their contract with the city as back-up counsel to also provide services when the public defender’s office was swamped had been her idea to fill some of her down time. Even though it brought steady income to the firm, the work didn’t generate the fees real estate and estate work did. And if she weren’t there, who would be doing the research grunt work for the real estate and estate business, which Lauren admitted she did willingly. She’d joined Acer and Acer because it was the largest law firm in town revenue-wise, and the retirement-age owners had offered her a fast track to partner.

Lauren glanced at Jesse’s stony expression. He didn’t look any more anxious to get together with her than she was with him. Perversity took over. “You’re right. An hour won’t hurt.”

Jesse scratched his signature on the form the clerk had slid across the bench to him. This wasn’t the way he’d planned on reconnecting with Lauren. Not that he’d had plans for reconnecting.

No.

Who was he kidding? He’d thought about seeing her at one of the Christmas galas Team Macachek threw every year for current and former members and employees of the team. But that picture had him attending as a successful business owner, not the down-on-his-luck man he was at the moment.

He pasted on a smile and faced Lauren. “So, what’s this Caroline’s everyone keeps talking about?”

She drew her lips into a smile that looked as fake as his must look to her. “Sweet Caroline’s Café. Just the best coffee and selection of sweets in Indigo Bay.”

And most likely a gathering place for the good citizens as well. He and Lauren stepped out into the hot, bright mid-morning sun, and his stomach grumbled with hunger, he hoped, and not in protest of last night. He glanced down at his grimy t-shirt.

“It’s a couple blocks. Do you want to walk? I could drive,” Lauren said.

His back itched between his shoulder blades, where he knew he couldn’t reach. “How far is the beach?”

Lauren knitted her brows and laughed. “The beach is never far in Indigo Bay. Why?”

“What I’d really like is to go back to the beach and grab my truck.” He patted the front pocket of his jeans, and to his relief, felt his keys. “Then go clean up.”

She eyed him, sending the itch down his spine.

“No coffee first? I could run in and get you a large, black, with one of Caroline’s famous cinnamon rolls.”

“Famous, huh,” he quipped to hide the tick in his heart rate caused by her remembering how he took his coffee. But then, why wouldn’t she? They’d known each other for ten years, since they were seventeen, when he’d thought black coffee was macho. The taste for it came later.

“Rated number one in The Observer’s food and drink reviews.”

“I’m sold, but maybe we should walk.” He rubbed his hands down the front of his jeans, and they came off gritty. “I don’t want to get your car all dirty.”

“Not a problem. I have a black lab/shepherd mix who likes to ride shotgun. It would be another story if you wanted to drive my car, sit in my seat.”

His gaze dropped to the side and down to her behind at the thought of her settling in behind the wheel. Warm appreciation replaced his nanosecond of disgust. Hey. He was a guy.

Lauren led him to a green crossover SUV in the Indigo Bay City Hall parking lot. He pulled open the passenger door and settled into the seat, while she got behind the wheel and turned the vehicle on. In a minute, they reached their destination.

With a sudden jerk of the steering wheel, Lauren pulled into a parking space hot on the tailgate of the truck pulling out. “It doesn’t look too busy. I’ll be back in two minutes.” She was out of the car before he could pull his wallet out of his pocket. For all the good it would have done. He wasn’t sure he had enough cash on him to pay for a coffee and cinnamon roll. While he waited, Jesse checked out Seaside Boulevard, starting with the bright pink awning of Sweet Caroline’s Café. It looked like other small-town beach communities he’d been to on the racing circuit, except a little cleaner and more cheerful and prosperous than many.

Lauren returned a few minutes later. “Here you go. My treat.”

“Thanks.” Jesse took the food and drink, avoiding eye contact

She pulled out onto the boulevard. A few moments of silence hung between them before she asked, “You do know where your truck is?”

“I sure do. It has my bike trailer attached.” His one and only motorcycle, a come-down from the three he’d once owned.

Her lips twitched, and he unconsciously turned his head and leaned toward her before he stopped himself by dusting a dog hair off the dashboard. “It’s at the old Morrison place.”

She stared at him.

“My truck. It’s parked there. At the end of Sandy Lane, off Beachside Boulevard.” In their correspondence, Mr. Acer had called the property the old Morrison place, as if that was how the locals knew it.

“I know where it is. That’s private property.”

Lauren didn’t know? She worked for the law firm that had settled his great-uncle Jim Morrison’s estate.

“We’d better get over there before you’re cited again. This time for trespassing.”

His stomach knotted. That’s what Lauren thought of him? A criminal nuisance? Considering her profession and their reunion, he shouldn’t be surprised. “It’s not a problem. I know the owner.”

Lauren hit the brakes harder than necessary at one of the few traffic lights, he’d noticed in town. “You do?” Her voice pitched louder in question. “Mr. Morrison died a couple of years ago. People have been speculating about the new owner since. Some distant relative, but as far as I know, no new deed has been registered with the county.”

“His grand-nephew,” Jesse said.

“Someone you know from racing?”

“You might say that.” He was enjoying keeping Lauren on tenterhooks, if only for the attractive flush it brought to her cheeks that reminded him of the girl he’d once known.

Lauren slowed to a stop at the end of Sandy Lane next to the house and a few feet from his truck. “Come on, tell me.”

“You’re looking at him.”

She glanced past Jesse and out the window.

“Me-ee.” Jesse drew the word out.

“You? For real?” Lauren threw open the door and hopped out of the car. “I’ve been dying to see the inside of this house since I moved here. It’s the last of the original beach mansions left standing.”

Jesse looked at the structure’s missing and drooping shutters and the decided tilt of one corner of the house. “The still-standing may only be a matter of time. The city is on the verge of condemning the property.”

Lauren nodded. “Sad. Mom’s been here about five years, and Mr. Morrison had already been in a nursing home for a quite a while before that. Alzheimer’s. His brother didn’t want to sell the property, but he didn’t maintain it, either.” She shrugged. “And I don’t know how well Mr. Morrison was able to take care of it before he went into the home. Both brothers died within weeks of each other. No children or grandchildren.”

“And so it came to me.” A sand crab scuttled past the toe of his boot. “Mr. Morrison was my mother’s uncle.”

“You just found out about the house, your inheritance?”

He dug his toe into the crab’s path. “No, I’ve known for a while. The lawyers finally got it all worked out six months or so ago.” Jesse eyed Lauren for a reaction.

“And you didn’t bother to come until now?”

There it was. The question. The Lauren he remembered always had questions, wanted to know details. That was her nature, especially after her parents’ marriage had broken up and her father had left without her having an inkling it was coming. And, with the question came the bar he could never measure up to. Not good enough, Brewster.

“Under the circumstances, I didn’t think it was important.”

Lauren blanched. “Your mother. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Do you need help finding somewhere to stay while you settle things here?

“No, the caretaker’s cottage looks in okay condition. I plan to live there while I renovate the house.”

“I can recommend some reliable contractors, and help you get that deed registered. Consider it a welcoming gift.”

He didn’t need anything from her or anyone else. What he needed was to prove he could rely on himself. Fatigue and a strong desire to change into something that wasn’t gritty and smelling of fish overcame him. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll get it taken care of. See you around.”

Lauren’s fading smile softened his dismissal. “Acer and Acer was the executor of Morrison’s estate, so I expect you’ll be working on it.” He threw the words over his shoulder as he forced one foot in front of the other toward his truck.