A Lot Like Home

by Kat Cantrell

  “In Syria. There was a mix-up. My fault,” he croaked and cleared his throat. “We went in hot and didn’t bother to ask questions, assuming the intel was right. It was a bad scene. Lots of women and children, but it was too late. The explosives had already been detonated. Rowe tried to go back, desperate to save even one small child…”

  When Caleb trailed off, she didn’t scramble to fill the silence, just rubbed his arm as his gaze went glassy. This was somehow tied to the reason he’d gotten defensive outside Damian’s hotel room and went far deeper than she’d ever dreamed. And still she didn’t fully understand what he was telling her, what it meant to him, why she wanted to pull him into her embrace and hold him for an eternity.

  “They told us later that we’d missed the mark,” he continued woodenly. “By about fifty kilometers. Someone scrambled the coordinates. Us. The informant. We’re not sure. We don’t write this stuff down, we memorize it.”

  “Of course,” she murmured because he’d paused as if seeking validation.

  “It’s hard to reconcile.” He stared out at the buildings across the street, but it was a toss-up whether he really saw them or was watching something flash through his mind. “I’m highly trained to kill enemy combatants. That’s why they sent us into those cesspools, to take out insurgents before they hit our troops on the ground. Being given that kind of power, that kind of advantage, can bring out the worst in you, show you that you’re capable of taking the emotion out of something so sacred as human life in order to protect. And then when you find out you made a mistake and innocent people are dead, emotion is all there is.”

  Her throat went tight and hot as she registered the pain in his voice, and inexplicably, tears pricked at her eyelids. He hurt over this, and his anguish clawed at something inside her.

  “The key word is mistake,” she whispered and blindly sought his fingers with hers, twining through them to hold on. “It’s a terrible, horrible mistake. But not your fault. You can’t let it weigh you down this much.”

  Like she’d done with her own failings? That was precious. But he didn’t need a rundown of her issues right now. He needed her, and she wasn’t taking that away from him.

  He laughed without humor. “Care to guess how many variations of that I’ve tried to convince myself of over the past eight months? A million. Five million.”

  “You need to try it again until you’re successful,” she suggested, but he shook his head with a ferocity that should have scared her.

  “It’s not something I can just forgive myself for. I have to atone for my crimes, shed my own blood, sweat, and tears until I’ve paid for it.”

  “Oh, Caleb,” she murmured and stroked his knuckle with a thumb, hoping it was soothing. “How on earth can you ever hope to do that?”

  That’s when he turned to face her for the first time since unloading his burdens. His expression was so bleak and yet so resolute and beautiful that her breath caught.

  “I’m going to build a town to replace the one I destroyed. This one. Work my fingers to the bone until seventy-five people are happier and healthier than I found them.”

  All the dominoes he’d set up since the moment he’d blown into town made complete sense now. He was driven to compensate for his mistakes and determined not to fail, which she got. Boy, did she get it. No wonder he’d been so bent on relocating her shopping center. In the path of that much resolve, she’d never stood a chance. “And you will.”

  “It’s not easy to see the path. Some days I feel like I’m wandering around in the desert with no manna in sight.”

  He looked so defeated in that moment that she couldn’t help but gather him up in her arms, holding him tight. He hesitated for only a moment before returning the embrace and dang if he didn’t feel good. She rested her head against his chest, ear flat to his T-shirt, and the thump of his strong heart thrilled her.

  This is what it would be like to belong to each other for always. Be there in sickness and in health, for better or worse. She could imagine it so easily, and for as long as she could stand it, she let herself pretend that kind of wonderful might be in the cards for them.

  “You’re a good man, Caleb Hardy,” she murmured. “Don’t doubt it.”

  He pulled back enough to scan her face, his fingers still tangled in her hair. “Not good enough. Not yet.”

  Because she’d been so adamant about keeping things surface level between them? Was she somehow a player in his pain?

  Frozen, she stared at him, letting her gaze drink in his in an effort to read his ambiguous thoughts. Something profound and meaningful swirled through his depths, things she didn’t want to see or acknowledge. Things she definitely didn’t want to admit her own heart might echo.

  They were supposed to be taking this thing slow, working things out internally on both sides. The emotion she could plainly see on his face was not slow.

  It couldn’t have been an accident that he’d echoed Damian’s words to her back in the hotel room when she’d said something similar to her fake fiancé. Did Caleb know that Damian had been referring to Havana’s rejection of him? Was Caleb putting himself in the same boat and suffering as a result?

  For the first time, she considered that her moratorium on letting a man into her heart was hurting those around her, and she couldn’t even get out from under it long enough to figure out whether this one was worth the risk. Because she knew the moment she did that, there would be no going back. Caleb would fill her up completely on the inside, and she’d be nothing but a hollow husk if—when—he decided to move on.

  She could not do it.

  With a deliberate step back, she separated from Caleb.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I need to—”

  Be somewhere else. Before she had a breakdown. None of this was his fault. But she had a suspicion he’d take it that way, especially when she fled for the relative safety of the room she shared with Aria.

  The passage of time ceased to have any meaning as Havana lay curled in a ball under the comforter. It wasn’t a cool night, but she was so chilled that even a comforter full of down neither warmed nor comforted.

  How had she gotten to a place where Caleb posed such a danger to her heart? The fake fiancé trick should have worked. And the barrier it had provided should have lasted longer, especially on his side. How could she not have seen that he wasn’t holding her at a distance like she was with him? Or if he had been, he’d definitely stopped at some point. What was she supposed to do with that?

  All this time, she’d thought the danger would come in the form of working with Damian after having to set him straight about the future of their relationship. Instead, she’d be working with Caleb, who posed extreme peril to her very body and soul.

  When Aria came in from the diner, Havana hadn’t finished being morose about the impossible quandary she’d splatted into. Her sister didn’t seem to notice. She hummed as she traded her waitress uniform for pajamas and then slipped into bed next to Havana. Who was still fully dressed.

  “I’ve decided that Tristan and I will have beautiful children,” Aria announced with a happy sigh. “He’s gorgeous enough for both of us, so surely his genetics will win out. Right? Ooooh, do you think our children will possibly get his blond hair, or am I just dreaming?”

  At that, Havana half rolled to take in her sister’s expression, which should not have been so wistful and besotted when surely she was joking. “The color of your children’s hair? That’s the part you’re dreaming about?”

  Okay, that could have been delivered with less sarcasm, but Havana was fresh out of tact.

  Aria made a face, which shockingly did not mar her dreamy half smile. “I know. I know. I’m far too plain for a man who looks like Tristan Marchande, but it’s fun to imagine that’s not true. For once.”

  Havana bit back yet another offer to give Aria a makeover. Tristan may or may not be shallow enough to care, but she didn’t think that was the obstacle here.

  Her sist
er was being a phenomenally good sport about a subject that must be pretty painful. An unrequited crush on someone her sister considered unattainable wasn’t a laughing matter. Havana swallowed. What kind of terrible person was she that her big problem of the night lay in a man who wanted too much from her?

  “Damian and I aren’t engaged,” she blurted out.

  “Oh, honey.” Aria immediately reached out and stroked Havana’s hair because she was an amazing sister. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh. No.” Of course she’d assumed the worst, and Havana scrambled to get the truth out. “We didn’t break up. I was never engaged to him. It was fake. I was being stupid about… well, everything.”

  The last thing she needed to admit was that she’d been trying to circumvent Serenity’s prediction—especially when she suspected that what she’d actually done was take the exact right steps to ensure she fulfilled it to the letter. Her own personal variation on the story of Oedipus.

  “Fake?” Fascination and confusion warred through Aria’s expression. “Really? That explains so much. So the thing with Caleb is the real deal then.”

  “What thing with Caleb? There’s no thing with Caleb,” she countered fiercely. “Why does everyone jump to that conclusion?”

  “Because the sparks between you two are strong enough to incinerate those of us around you,” her sister informed her blithely. “We were all waiting for you guys to notice.”

  Oh, she’d noticed all right. Just not the part where everyone else had already figured out there was something between them. “That’s the problem. There are a lot of sparks, but I’m not in the market for another fiancé.”

  “Another one? You said the engagement to Damian was fake.”

  Ugh. Trust her sister to clue in to the slightest word variation. But there was no reason not to come completely clean, not when it was Aria. Her sister had always been her biggest supporter, and frankly, it was a relief to finally tell Aria the truth. Maybe this was the heart-to-heart they’d needed to really connect as sisters again. “I was engaged. For real. To Cole. It… fell apart. I didn’t want anyone to worry.”

  Or ask questions Havana couldn’t answer like what happened? If she knew that, she might have been able to prevent it.

  Actually, she had a good guess. Cole had complained endlessly that she’d been a bridezilla of the highest order, throwing her weight around with the caterer and with the florist.

  Well, she couldn’t help it if the caterer had gotten the menu wrong three times in a row. The man could have written some things down, but no. He’d tried to convince her to let him “surprise” the guests with his own spin on Hill Country cuisine. How about no?

  It was her wedding, for crying out loud. Hers and Cole’s, but he hadn’t cared about anything she’d asked him to decide, so she’d handled it all. Gladly. If nothing else, Cole should have gone to bat for her instead of taking the side of people he’d never see again. Was that so much to ask? Sad that Havana’s list of criteria in a perfect man had dwindled to one that knew how to spell loyalty.

  “Oh. Well, then I’m sorry for that part.”

  Aria’s undertone knifed through her. Her sister was hurt that Havana hadn’t told her in the first place. It was all over her voice and her expression. Havana sighed. “I shouldn’t have lied to everyone. I’m sorry.”

  “I guess I don’t understand why you’re telling me all this now.”

  That made two of them. “I needed to talk to someone.”

  And yet she hadn’t spilled the most important part—how she was falling for Caleb and had no barriers against it. How she had to stop this train before it crashed into a brick wall. How it all felt so big and scary and real that she couldn’t breathe sometimes. But she couldn’t. If she said it out loud, that would make it true.

  Aria processed that and finally smiled gently. “You know I’m always here.”

  Yes, she was always here. Aria had stayed in Superstition Springs, taking a job at the diner and seemingly happy enough to work for Ruby instead of chasing her own ambitions. It was Havana who had left, treating their friendship like it wasn’t special or as if she had no need to nurture it. Maybe coming home had been a swift kick in the hind end that Havana had needed but not realized.

  “I hate that we’ve drifted apart. My fault. Will you forgive me?”

  Aria didn’t even hesitate, just pulled Havana into a hug. “Nothing to forgive. You’re my hero, the one person I could always count on after mom and dad died. I barely remember them, but I have plenty of great memories of you helping me with homework and sewing up the hems I ripped.”

  Havana sniffed as the tears started to fall. What had she done to deserve so much grace? “I was too bossy.”

  Not because she’d wanted to tell everyone what to do. Because she cared about her sisters and they’d been cast into the world as orphans, thrust into a new, tiny town where everything was unfamiliar. Who better to pay attention to her sisters’ needs than Havana?

  Except she’d abandoned them for her own reasons, some of which she still hadn’t reconciled.

  “According to Ember,” Aria said quietly. “Not me.”

  That marked the first time either of them had mentioned the missing Nixon sister in years. Ember’s betrayal had always been a bit of a sore spot with Havana, and Aria usually honored that by not bringing it up. Maybe Ember and all the lingering resentment Havana still carried about how their falling out had happened was yet another millstone that she needed to work on now that she’d come home.

  “Thanks for that. I figured you were better off without someone who told you what to do all the time. That’s why I left.” Havana swallowed against the sudden burn in her throat. How selfish was she? She’d let so many dynamics affect her decisions, including the one that had driven her to leave. “I knew Serenity would make sure you ate and got your shots.”

  Aria shrugged, her face a mask. “I just wanted my sisters. Both of you left.”

  Havana nodded about a billion times in hopes that would keep the tears inside. It didn’t. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I needed to do something different before I lost my sanity. Forgive me.”

  “I did a long time ago.” Her sister finally smiled, and that went a long way to loosen the knots inside. “Besides, you came back.”

  Yes she had.

  They settled into a companionable silence, and Havana experienced a moment of peace like she hadn’t had in a long time. Maybe because she’d actually thought of it as coming home instead of coming to Superstition Springs, as if she could ignore all the history here.

  And that’s when she realized why she’d failed so miserably at convincing the town to build a shopping center—why she couldn’t persuade folks into doing things like Caleb could—she’d been trying to help everyone by showing them what she thought was best for them instead of figuring out what people really needed from her.

  Seventeen

  Tristan and Isaiah had volunteered for construction duty on the new schoolhouse despite zero experience, and as Caleb wasn’t in the position to be picky about his resource pool or Serenity’s limited budget, he readily accepted. The three of them stood in the middle of the empty building at the very end of the hotel side of town, surveying the property for possible use.

  “Looks like this was once a canning factory,” Tristan said with a curled lip and kicked at a questionable pile of metal in the middle of the floor. “Or a garbage dump.”

  “It was an art studio.”

  They all three glanced toward the door. Cassidy Calloway stepped over the threshold and picked her way inside, gradually ending up pretty close to where they were standing. Caleb had asked her to come by to help them evaluate the site, and he was gratified that she’d been both interested and on time. Apparently they’d gotten a bonus in the form of someone who knew the town’s history.

  “It was open,” she explained unnecessarily since Caleb had deliberately stuck a piece of wood under the door to let in some sunlight. One of the first or
ders of business would be to clean the windows if they figured out this space would work for the school.

  A cleanup wouldn’t be out of order regardless. All the empty buildings were subject to being leased eventually if they ended up not being used for municipal services. Caleb added finding a body to supervise cleanup to his ever-growing mental list of things to do.

  “An art studio?” Tristan kicked at the metal again with a bit more curiosity. “What kind of art?”

  “Sculpture mostly,” she said easily, tucking her long brown hair behind one ear. “In the sixties, this was a hub of the alternative art scene. It was too small of a town for a lot of those it attracted, so they eventually drifted to Austin. Some of the old-timers stayed though. Briar Rose for example. She still sculpts, but she’s got a room in the back of her house where she does her work.”

  Caleb’s mind turned that over as he envisioned this space as an art studio once again. There were a lot of places to put a school but not many with original history that he could draw on. “Does she sell any of it?”

  Cassidy shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s just something she does because it makes her happy.”

  He filed that away for later, along with other bits he’d learned over the past few days that he’d eventually pull together into a workable plan for the retail spaces in the downtown area. “What do you think of turning this into the schoolhouse?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I haven’t been in here in years. Not since I was little. It’s smaller than I remember.”

  Tristan laughed, shooting Cassidy one of his trademark winks. “That’s always the way, right? Buildings do tend to shrink if we don’t visit them for a while.”

  “I think I grew,” she deadpanned without the slightest bit of a mouth twitch that might eventually turn into a smile.

  Tristan’s own smile slipped as he finally caught on that she either hadn’t gotten the joke or didn’t think he was funny.

  Wow. A female who was immune to Marchande’s charm. If Caleb wasn’t so busy sweating over his monumental to-do list, he’d find a moment to circle today on a calendar.