3

Storms had always held an allure for Lincoln in his youth. He used to revel in them barreling in and taking charge of the atmosphere around him, reminding him who was in charge, and that it certainly wasn’t him. But those days were long past. Now he dreaded the ache deep in his leg that showed up before a storm and hated knowing he had no power to do anything to stop it. His eyes flicked to the graying skies as he lowered the hammer.

“Storm’s a-coming,” he mumbled to himself, inflecting his tone to mimic his grandfather’s deep Southern drawl. It was what the old man always said when the skies over Beaufort dulled the way the one before Lincoln was doing at the moment. He looked over the storm shutters once more to make sure they covered the cottage windows properly before collecting the other tools and returning them to the small shed behind the house.

He’d only been in Sunset Cove for two weeks and was already thinking the harebrained idea of leaving his hometown was a bit silly. Perhaps after the storm passed, he’d pack up and head on home. He just needed some space to lick his wounds, but no space had been found so far.

On a long sigh, he knew that wasn’t an option just yet. Those last several months he spent in Beaufort flashed before his eyes, emphasizing the fact that he was where he needed to be. They had been the darkest months of his life, and he wasn’t even thinking about the injuries or the surgeries or the physical therapy. Those months were filled with misery as he battled some kind of funk he couldn’t shake, a battle he came close to losing. Most of those days, he’d lain in bed wondering if there was even a point in ever getting back up. His mother pushing him to make a change was among the reasons for his move. Then the true reason for the abrupt move weighed down on him and had his stomach flinching with embarrassment. Lincoln doubted if he’d ever be ready to go face the mess he had left behind.

He looked out over the abandoned shore and had a nagging feeling that he was about to walk into another type of life storm altogether.

As he limped inside, the shrill tone of his cell phone sounded from where it sat on the weathered kitchen counter. He was renting the place from a friend of the family, and on first glance he knew the aging beach cottage was a good fit.

He grabbed the phone and swiped a finger across the screen before placing it to his ear. “What’s up?”

“You battening down the hatches?” Carter asked, his voice a bit muffled.

“Yeah. Just finished putting up the hurricane shutters. I figured you’d be on a surfboard.” He leaned over the counter and peered out the small window above the sink, noticing the waves were growing more aggressive by the minute. It used to be their favorite time to be out there on a board in the midst of the chaos.

“No time for that today. I’m finishing up over here at the music studio. You wanna hang out at the firehouse with me and my crowd?” Carter asked on a grunt, sounding hard at it.

“You want me to head over and give you a hand?” Lincoln straightened from the counter, ready to head out.

“Nah. I’m almost done. Pack yourself a bag and head on inland before they shut down the waterway bridge.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Meet you there in about an hour if the traffic isn’t too thick.”

Lincoln bit back a groan. Traffic was going to be horrendous. “During a tropical storm warning that’s close to hurricane strength? Right.” Both men chuckled.

“I’ll text you directions in a minute. You know how nasty these late-season storms can be, so no dillydallying.”

Lincoln snorted, thinking his buddy sounded a little too fatherly. “Yes, sir,” he taunted and said a quick goodbye.

Before he could place the phone back down, a voice mail notification caught his attention. The name Jefferson Cole was attached to it, making his heart plummet. Warily, he hit Play and brought the phone back to his ear, prepared for that booming voice to shout out disappointments and harsh reprimands at him. Instead, nothing but a few haughty breaths came from his father’s side of the phone. It was a sound of defeat. One that Lincoln recognized all too well. From what his mother’s last message informed him, his father wouldn’t really be able to say much anyway. In spite of that, the call was just as heavy as if it had been filled with words.

Knowing Beaufort was well out of the storm’s projected cone, Lincoln brushed off the voice mail and focused on what needed to be done before the storm made landfall. There was nothing he could do about the storm he had caused back home, anyway.

Just as he’d expected, it took Lincoln close to two hours to make it inland to the firehouse that was being renovated to become August’s home and studio if he ever decided to put down some roots. The building was something to look at, with its redbrick exterior and large bay doors, so he spent a chunk of time exploring the outer perimeter of it as he secured chairs and other items left in the yard.

Carter’s gray truck eased up beside Lincoln’s Jeep just as a band of rain moved in. Lincoln watched it begin at the far side of the field across the road until it met up with them in the front yard.

“I’d call that perfect timing,” Carter yelled as they did a mad dash inside with his two younger nephews on his heels.

The guys took a good part of the next hour to gather sleeping bags, flashlights, and other needed supplies. Each one of them focused on the task at hand until the only thing left to do was to unload the mountain of grocery bags.

Looking around the expansive bottom floor, Lincoln couldn’t help but be impressed. August had told him about the renovations, but seeing it in person was an entirely different experience. It remained looking like a firehouse, complete with ladders hung on the wall, a brass pole beside a line of chairs with helmets hanging on hooks behind them. Only thing missing were the fire trucks.

“This is one slamming man cave.” Lincoln moved his gaze away from the vintage fire truck photos dressing one of the brick walls and looked over at the kitchenette along the back, where Carter was unloading bags filled with enough junk food to fatten a small army. “You sure you don’t want us to move in here with August and you forget about that nonsense of getting married?”

Carter chuckled. “Never been surer of anything in all my life. The wedding can’t get here fast enough.”

Lincoln sidled up beside him and began adding his loot to the bounty of junk. He tossed a few bags of hot-and-spicy pork rinds and a pack of teriyaki-flavored beef jerky beside a package of Oreos. It was common knowledge that junk food was always a part of the emergency preparedness kits for hurricanes and tropical storms around these parts.

He patiently waited for Carter to peel back the plastic on a plate of homemade blondies before swiping one and taking a bite. “Hmm . . .” It was brown sugar and pecan heaven in a gooey square.

Carter smirked. “My wife made those.” He took his own bite, looking more than a little smug.

“You ain’t married yet,” Lincoln mumbled while chewing the sticky goodness. No matter how tasty the treat was, it didn’t move one bone in his body to want to take a trip down any aisle. Since his injury, Lincoln didn’t even like his own company and wouldn’t subject a significant other to his bitterness, especially on those dark days when the pain became unbearable. He needed his space and had no intentions of changing that up.

“I am in my heart.” Carter placed a hand against his chest and batted his eyelashes, tease beaming from his dark-blue eyes.

Lincoln couldn’t hold back the roar of laughter. His friend’s company was good medicine, and Lincoln was in need of a healthy dose of it. Life had been way too heavy in the last few years for his liking. Just thinking about it made swallowing the blondie a little difficult. After he managed to get it down, he asked, “Where is Dominica, anyway?”

“She had a few doctor’s appointments back in Maryland and was already planning to visit her parents while she was there before this storm even began brewing. She left yesterday.”

“Oh.” He didn’t find the visit to Maryland odd since that was her home state, but the appointments —and Carter not being there —were. “What’s going on and why ain’t you with her?”

Carter pulled his hat off and tugged a hand through his hair before putting it back on. “I wanted to go, but I promised Derek I’d help out with the boys during the storm. Dominica insisted I’d be better use to my brother than sitting in a waiting room. Her mom is with her and they plan on a day of pampering afterward that I think will do Dominica some good. She needs a lot of rest.” Carter sounded like he was trying to convince himself that he’d made the right decision to stay back.

“Is she okay?”

“Nothing that strong-willed woman can’t handle. We’re still going through tests to figure it out, but the doctors at Johns Hopkins think she has an autoimmune disease.”

Lincoln’s chest tightened. “Anything I can do?”

Carter clamped him on the shoulder and cleared his throat. “Just prayer for now would be greatly appreciated.”

Lincoln’s gut churned. Of course his friend would ask him for something he couldn’t handle at the moment. Before he could figure out how to voice that without spilling some of the heavy load he was struggling to carry, a squeal saved him.

“Linc, look at me!” Carter’s youngest nephew, Zachary, shouted as he slid down the fireman’s pole.

Tucker stood at the bottom and easily caught him but let out a grunt when the rambunctious boy whacked him in the face while trying to squirm out of his arms. “Chill, kid,” the teenager reprimanded.

“You’re mighty brave for just a tiny kid,” Lincoln commented, knowing it would rile the boy up.

“I ain’t a tiny kid. I’m five years old.” Zachary hurried over and swiped a blondie and a handful of M&M’S.

“Whoa now. Your momma will get ahold of us if you end up with a bellyache before she gets here.” Carter pulled Zachary back by the hem of his shirt. “That’s enough snacking until supper.”

Zachary wiggled free and darted around him to swipe a few more pieces of candy before dodging out of the way. Another effect of storms was turning kids into little balls of spastic energy.

Shaking his head, Lincoln could tell it was going to be one lively night. He tore open a bag of pork rinds, needing something savory to offset the sweet. “So what’s for supper?”

Carter peered at him from underneath the brim of his tattered hat. “You’re just as bad as Tucker.”

“Hey,” Tucker garbled out as he grabbed his third blondie while Carter slid the plate out of reach and secured the plastic wrap back over the goodies.

Lincoln knew that wasn’t going to keep anyone out of them. “Serious though, supper?” He popped another pork rind into his mouth, enjoying the crunchy spice.

Carter pointed to a rectangular cooler by the side door. “Derek gave me some fish that need frying. He was worried it would go bad before they could use it at the restaurant. I figured we’d set up the propane fryer under the shed out back and get to it in a few, before the rain squalls get heavier.”

Lincoln dusted his hands together to get rid of the crumbs. “Sounds like a plan. On the way over here the radio said the weather advisory bumped Lacy up to a category 1 hurricane and is predicted to reach cat 2 by nightfall.” He knew a cat 1 was still considered a mild storm, with winds not even reaching one hundred miles an hour, but the warm waters near the coast could send one up to a category 4 if the recipe was just right.

“Yeah. I heard that too.” Carter grabbed a roll of paper towels and tucked it under his arm so he could pull a pair of tongs from a drawer. “Derek and Nan planned on riding the storm out at their restaurant, but I finally talked them into staying here with us. They should be here soon. They’re gonna stay in the room upstairs. You’re welcome to the couch up there.”

“Nah. I already told Zachary earlier that I’d camp out with y’all down here.” Lincoln motioned toward the cement floor. “Pretty neat floor.” Various earth tones swirled in intricate patterns, making it art instead of simply staining.

“Yeah. August popped in for a weekend and did it himself.” Carter rummaged around in the cabinet, pulling out a container of seafood breading and handing it over to Lincoln. “You sure your leg can manage the floor?”

“I’m used to roughing it.” His leg pulsed in pain, emphasizing the fib he’d just spoken, but he pushed the discomfort off the best he could and followed Carter outside.

And roughing it they did, later that night, with near-about bellyaches. Each guy had eaten his weight in fish and then proceeded to attack the junk food with too much gusto. With rain pounding against the roof and wind howling through it, they were too wound up to properly settle down. All of them, that was, except for Tucker. The teenage boy was nestled inside his sleeping bag snoring in a tone reminiscent of an old hog rooting in mud.

“The kid needs one of those Breathe Right strips,” Carter muttered into the darkness.

The power had gone out earlier, as predicted, but Lincoln could still vaguely see and hear the entire goings-on in the firehouse. Every so often, the crack of a tree branch or a harsh gust of wind from outside would catch his attention. It was one of those instincts he was born with that had come in handy as a soldier. Yet lying there, he knew it was useless to him now.

Not much later, Lincoln heard someone get up.

“Carter, I gotta peepee,” Zachary whispered loudly.

“Okay, dude. Go ahead,” Carter mumbled back.

“I need you to go with me,” Zachary said, his voice strained.

Lincoln listened as Carter unzipped his sleeping bag with no protest. He knew his old man would have told him to suck it up and go on by himself. He liked Carter’s way of handling things better. It didn’t indicate Zachary was weak, in his opinion, though he knew his old man’s view would have differed. It showed Carter was there when the little guy needed him, no matter the situation. There was no doubting Carter would make a stand-up dad someday.

Thinking about his father had Lincoln’s throat thickening until it was difficult to swallow. When he ran away from Beaufort, he left their relationship in shreds of anger and regret. He was a fixer by nature, but he was pretty sure he’d ruined things past the point of repair.

He heard two sets of feet shuffle back in and then something nudged Lincoln’s arm.

“Linc,” Carter whispered.

Lincoln rolled over in the direction of Carter’s voice. “Yeah?”

“Tucker’s snoring awfully loud.”

“It’s okay. Nothing close to how bad it used to sound in my barracks.”

“Yeah, I’m not talking about that. Tucker snoring that loud means he’s sleeping deep enough we can have some fun without waking him.”

Lincoln was always up for late-night mischief. He unzipped his sleeping bag and sat up. “Whatcha got in mind?”

Morning showed up with all kinds of aches and pains, but Lincoln held in the grunts as best he could while getting up from the floor. The throb began just below his knee and took off in a sprint all the way up to his jaw as soon as he put some weight on his left leg. He grasped the nearby table and took several staggered breaths through his nose until his jaw unlocked. Most days began that way for him anymore. First order of business was to swallow a handful of ibuprofen, so he rummaged around in his duffel bag until finding the bottle.

The doctors had supplied him with plenty of narcotics in the beginning, but only a few months in, it was apparent that he was heading down a slippery slope to becoming too dependent on them. Plus, the man they created was nothing but a dark shadow of his true self. They’d helped to form the darkest days of his life, and it had nothing to do with the explosion flashbacks. Over-the-counter pain meds didn’t work near as good, but at least he could function while taking them and keep his demons at bay.

“Hey!” Tucker’s muffled yell rang out from the storage closet as a pounding started up on the barricaded door. “Let me out!”

Carter and Zachary joined Lincoln by the door of the closet. All three had their arms crossed and were grinning. It hadn’t taken hardly any effort the night before to pull Tucker and his sleeping bag in there, but it was taking a whole lot more effort not to roar in laughter at the moment. The door shook, but the wedged chair remained in place.

Lincoln glanced over at his cohorts. “Who’s gonna let the beast out?”

Biting his bottom lip, Carter scratched the scruff on his cheek. “Perhaps Zachary should.” He nodded but stopped when Lincoln and Zachary shook their heads in return.

“Nah. The beast may come out swinging. Can’t risk the little guy like that.” It was the first time Lincoln could recall the boy not protesting about being called little. Lincoln looked back at Carter. “He’s gonna come out in attack mode, so let’s think about a plan of action for a minute . . .” He tapped his chin.

Carter scoffed. “Okay, soldier boy . . .” He narrowed his eyes as a menacing grin took over. “I’ll be right back.” He dashed out the side door and returned in a flash with a large shrimping net.

“I like the way your mind works, music boy,” Lincoln fired back, sending Zachary into a fit of giggles.

The two men moved over and spread the net in front of the door. Once they had their stance secure, Carter nodded for the little boy to move the chair away from the doorknob. Zachary did and then dashed out the way as Tucker came out like a raging bull only to be stopped in his tracks by the net, tangling himself the more his fists flew all over the place.

“Y’all gonna pay for this,” Tucker bellowed as he continued to thrash around with the two men pinning him inside easily.

“You sure are mouthy for someone in your predicament,” Carter fired back just as his phone went to singing an old song Lincoln recognized as one of his grandparents’ favorites.

“‘My Girl,’ seriously?” Lincoln teased.

“Dominica’s my girl, seriously.” Carter dropped the net and pulled the phone from his pocket. “Hey.”

Tucker untangled himself, and before Lincoln could stop him, the teenage boy kicked his uncle’s feet out from under him, sending them both to the floor. As they rolled around, Lincoln scooped up Zachary to keep him out of harm’s way.

“They gonna get it from Momma,” Zachary whispered as they both watched the wrestling match.

Somehow, Carter managed to pin Tucker down and put the phone back to his ear. Panting, he said, “Sorry, babe. Everything okay?” He suddenly released Tucker and shot to his feet. The normal easy expression on his face transformed into a scowl that looked completely out of place.

Lincoln’s body stiffened in response. “What’s wrong?”

Carter shook his head, offering nothing, and kept listening. “We’ll see if we can get out there to her.” He nodded to whatever Dominica was saying. “Okay, babe. Love you.” He listened for another second before lowering the phone and fiddling with it a moment or two.

“Well?” Lincoln’s voice came out a little sharp with his impatience as he set Zachary down.

“Dominica just saw Opal’s store on the news. It was hit pretty hard by the storm.”

At the mention of the woman’s name, Lincoln’s stomach winced with embarrassment. They’d not left things on a good note whatsoever. Just recalling that stern look she’d leveled at him, reminiscent of an ole spinster ready to tear into a petulant child who was irritating her, made Lincoln feel a good bit foolish over his behavior. And now he really felt like a jerk, with the storm throwing attitude at her as well.

Derek bounded down the stairs a few beats later, tugging on a sweatshirt. “Hey, Carter, can you hang out here with the boys for a while? Nan and I need to head over to the restaurant. My manager just arrived and said most of our back deck is floating down the inlet.”

“Ah, shoot. Sounds like Lacy went on a rampage last night. Opal’s store took a beating too. I was going to go check on her.”

Conceding to the fact that he needed to make amends for his folly with the shop owner, Lincoln began looking for his shoes. “I’ll go.”

“You better grab a coat or something. It’s actually chilly out,” Carter advised. After a long exhale, he warned, “Just letting you know, her friend Sophia will probably be there too.”

Lincoln continued collecting his belongings. “So?”

A snort sounded from behind him. “So she probably knows how you treated Opal. You may want to keep out of her way. That one is the feisty member of the Sand Queens.”

Lincoln finally glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. “Sand what?”

“Queens. That’s what the locals have called those three since they were babies.”

“Oh. Okay.” Unimpressed, Lincoln went back to rummaging in his duffel bag. He pulled out a zip-up hoodie and shrugged it on. He slung the bag over his shoulder and waved goodbye before heading out the side door.

Sure enough, as he hobbled over to his Jeep that was speckled with leaves and twigs, Lincoln took note of the chill in the air. Another aftereffect to storms late in the season was that they tended to steal the humidity in their paths and leave much cooler temperatures behind. The storms wanted folks to know they’d been there . . . as if the debris and destruction they flung everywhere wasn’t enough evidence.

Zipping his hoodie, Lincoln climbed in and begged the throb in his leg to leave him alone long enough to try to make things right with a certain redhead. He sure was feeling awfully remorseful all of a sudden.

It was slow going, dodging downed power lines and trees. Lincoln even had to maneuver the Jeep around an upturned canoe in the middle of an intersection. The closer he got to the coast, the more destruction he found. Several palmetto trees were uprooted and slung in odd places. He noticed one on the roof of the bank. Another was wedged in the spokes of the Ferris wheel. He wondered if he had a beach cottage to go back to but kept his focus on checking on Opal as the main priority.

It was no easy feat to get through town, but Lincoln finally made it to the store and parked in the debris-strewn lot beside it. He gazed out the windshield at the trio of women in the small front yard.

Josie, the tall blonde who towered over the brunette by at least a foot, wore baggy jeans and a tattered long-sleeved T-shirt. Certainly the tomboy resembled nothing close to a queen to him. The other one had to be the feisty Sophia. In her skinny jeans, knee-high boots, and tailored blazer, he could see her as Posh Queen. Oddly enough, those two were hovering around Quirky Queen, who was sitting on her lawn chair throne. The moment they noticed the Jeep, the short one zeroed in on him.

Lincoln didn’t understand the firm warning Carter had delivered back at the firehouse about Sophia. She looked even smaller than Opal. The brunette was glaring at him with enough menace, though, that it did kick up his curiosity. “I turned down a job offer. I don’t see where that merits you giving me the stink eye,” he mumbled, even though she couldn’t hear him.

After giving a raised eyebrow in Shorty’s direction that he hoped conveyed the message Bring it, Lincoln tore his eyes away from her and studied Bless This Mess. Once he got a good look at the building, the idea of heckling Sophia was instantly forgotten.

There it sat, situated on the corner of Front Street, looking quite different from the first time he’d seen it. His first impression, two weeks ago, was that it stuck out like a sore thumb. The left exterior wall was a faded-teal color with the store name written in what reminded him of a faded-black chalkboard font. The other side was dressed in a mosaic mural of ocean waves and sunshine with a fairy in the midst of the swirls. The mural remained, but today it looked beaten down a bit with pieces broken off the top edges of the mural. That wasn’t the main problem, though. No roof remained.

“Ah, shoot. All of her junk has to be ruined.” Lincoln leaned forward to get a better angle. He glimpsed what appeared to be a chunk of the roof on the street behind the building. He moved his attention back to the redhead sitting there in a floral dress and a bulky cream sweater that looked like something his gran would wear. He wondered why she wasn’t sobbing or having some hissy fit over her loss, but there she sat eyeing the building blankly. What was she doing just sitting there like that?

Lincoln took a fortifying breath and braved getting out of the Jeep. As he closed his door, he watched Sophia whisper something to Opal while both women regarded him. Opal nodded once like she really didn’t care, and that simple nod had Sophia making a beeline right over to him.

Hands on her hips, manicured fingers tapping against the fancy jeans, she glared up at him. “You have a lot of nerve coming here.”

He sent the glare back to the Tasmanian devil. “How’s that?”

The chilly breeze whipped her hair around and the prissy thing flicked it away before pointing at him. “You say one thing out of the way to Opal today and I promise you’ll regret it.”

Lincoln crossed his thick arms, making sure the fabric stretched taut against his bulging biceps, and gave her his best intimidating stare —jaw ticking, lips in a firm line, brows pinched. It was a stare known to intimidate grown men carrying heavy artillery, but it didn’t faze Sophia. She sent the look way back up to him before stomping over to Opal.

“What have I gotten myself into?” he mumbled to himself before following in her haughty wake.

In effort to not say anything that could be classified as “out of the way,” Lincoln chose to say nothing at all. Instead, he quietly stood just outside the circle they’d made around Opal and got a good look at her. The unruly curls were pulled to the side in a low ponytail, so there was nothing blocking the view of her beautiful face. He noticed her bottom lip kept trembling, the only clue she was battling any emotion. Every so often, she would bite down on it, as if to say, “Buck up. It’s going to be okay.”

Strangely, her resilience in the dismal moment was unnerving. How could such a fragile-looking woman be stronger than he was when faced with such a challenge? He had no clue. Something began to soften inside of him for her, but he quickly chalked it up to pity. Filing it away, he glanced around at other nearby buildings. Most were fine with minimal damage. Bless This Mess seemed to be the only casualty in this battle. Lincoln could relate to that. He was the only one not able to walk away from that last battle he fought overseas.

Josie began to speak, beckoning Lincoln’s attention back from the dark thoughts it began to wander toward. “Do you want me to get someone here to help?” she asked while gently placing her hand on Opal’s shoulder. “A roofer?”

Opal gave her a faint smile. “No. Daddy is taking care of it.”

Josie nodded her head and began walking the soggy perimeter with Lincoln following behind her.

Once they were out of earshot, Lincoln said, “I think we should go ahead and line up some help.”

Josie picked up a chunk of mosaic tile lying in a puddle by the wall. “Why?”

“If her dad is anything like her —”

Josie snorted loud enough to hush him. “No worries there. Her dad has this under control.” She pointed toward the building. “And you’ve clearly gotten the wrong impression of Opal. She restored this building once from a plan she’d formed all on her own. She’ll do it again.”

“Okay . . .” Lincoln sensed it was best to let it go. He was already feeling way too involved in the situation —and the intriguing woman at the center of it —than he wanted to.