A sleek gray cat sat on the fence post at the gate, looking as majestic and regal as any feline had a right to appear. She blinked lazy eyes at Phoebe, who came skidding to a halt at the sight of the animal. She spun around, her new backpack slapping against her jeans-encased backside as she pointed to the animal.
“I think you’re starting to attract them, Phoebe,” Hunter joked and earned a cheeky, dimple-inducing grin from his niece. While he wasn’t fully functioning this morning, he had to admit, there seemed to be a remarkable improvement in Phoebe’s mood. She still wasn’t talking a lot, but she seemed...bouncier. Maybe even happier. She flexed her fingers up at him. “I don’t know if you should pet it or not. Maybe we’ll wait and ask—”
“Ophelia always likes attention.” A gentle, feminine voice drifted across the air as the barefooted woman strode toward them. She was a rainbow of happiness in a dress of rioting blues and purples splashing against one another from the V of the collar to the bottom of the skirt swirling around her bare feet. Her fingers and wrists were almost obscured by a collection of bracelets and rings. “Welcome to my farm and to Butterfly Harbor, Hunter MacBride.”
She...jingled when she walked, Hunter noted as she lifted the latch on the gate, stepping back to let them in. As he passed through the gate, in his almost transfixed state, he saw the tiny bells and seashells strung in her long, curly red hair. He recalled a smaller version of her sitting in the diner with Charlie Bradley.
“And you must be Phoebe.” Calliope dropped down and rested her arms on her knees. “Aren’t you a force to behold? I’m Calliope. You are most welcome here anytime.”
Phoebe let out a sound that sounded like a squeaking laugh. Hunter started, his hand tightening around his niece’s as he reveled in the sound he’d heard for the first time in nearly months.
“Ah, there now.” Calliope cupped a hand against Phoebe’s cheek. “I can feel your heart healing already. This place will do that to you, you know.”
“The farm or Butterfly Harbor?” Hunter couldn’t help but ask.
Calliope tilted her chin up and smiled at him, a smile so bright and open he almost had to shield his eyes. “Either. Both. Come. Have you had breakfast?”
“Ah, not really, no.” He still had the taste of burned pancakes in his mouth—pancakes Phoebe had sliced open and scooped out the fluffy center of with meticulous albeit frowning care. “We had a bit of a busy night.”
“Yes, that moon does call to us sometimes, doesn’t it?” She held out her hand to Phoebe. “I have some fresh-baked blueberry scones in the kitchen, and by now Xander should have brewed some of his toxic coffee. Please, join us.”
“Um, aren’t you open now?” He glanced at his watch as Phoebe walked forward and accepted Calliope’s hand. “The farm, the market. I thought you opened at eight.”
“It’ll be slow this morning. The crowds will pick up later when people begin worrying about the storm blowing in.” She cast somewhat cloudy eyes to the sky. “And it’ll be a big one. In the meantime, we’d best get you stocked in provisions for the time being. Come, Ophelia. You and Phoebe can get to know one another inside.”
The cat seemed to heave a sigh of irritation before she leaped off her perch and trotted beside her mistress.
“Xander, Stella, we have company for breakfast.” Calliope lifted her arm to draw Phoebe into the house. That his niece, normally shy of strangers, followed happily eased some of the tension in Hunter’s chest. Maybe things had finally begun to turn for both of them. “Xander, this is Phoebe and her uncle, Hunter MacBride. I’m betting the two of you will have a lot to talk about.”
“Xander Costas.” Hunter wondered why he hadn’t made the connection before. “Of Costas Architecture out of Chicago?”
“One and the same.” The dark-haired man turned from a pan of frying eggs on the stove. “We’re based here now that the business... Never mind.” He chuckled as Calliope sent him a look. “Long story. Heard you were coming to town. I saw your exhibit in New York a few years back. ‘War Through Their Eyes.’” He left his post long enough to shake Hunter’s hand. “Powerful stuff.”
“Thanks.” Hunter felt that ping of unease he got whenever he felt himself drifting back to those days. While he was grateful for the opportunity to shine a light on sad yet important events, he wasn’t anxious to return there in person or through memories. “Looking to recharge my batteries a bit out here on the coast. Wow. This house is amazing.” His photographer’s eye snapped to attention at the contrast between the colorful bouquets of drying herbs lined up against the old gray stone structure of the walls. The combination of old world and modern convenience appealed to the photographer in him, as well as the budding novelist.
“We’ve added on over the years, but it was one of the first homes built when the town was established.”
“Telling me that only means I’ll want to include it in my book.”
Calliope smiled. “Almost like a promotional opportunity. How lovely.”
Xander chuckled. “Always looking for a chance to draw new visitors to the nest.”
Phoebe was already sitting on one of the wooden benches at the long farm table, licking her lips at the fresh orange juice Calliope poured for her.
“Word’s gotten around about your book for the tourists,” Costas said. Wearing simple jeans, a bright white T-shirt and, like his wife, no shoes or socks, he didn’t look like one of the top-tier architects his family firm had boasted. In fact, the few photographs Hunter had seen of him, he’d been buttoned down from starched collar to wing-tipped toe. Designer, of course. Was this some kind of odd butterfly influence? “Gil Hamilton rope you into that?”
“Sort of. He negotiated a fair but tough offer that I couldn’t refuse.” Hunter grinned at Xander’s snort of laughter. Calliope looked between the two of them as if they’d gone slightly bonkers.
“You know,” Xander said, “if you want to get some before shots of the sanctuary site, I can give you a tour. Either later today or...whenever the storm is past. Any ETA on that, Calliope?” Xander carried the cast-iron skillet over to the table and motioned for Hunter to take a seat.
Calliope lifted her hand to his face and gave him a smile that had Hunter blushing. “I’d estimate it’ll blow through by Saturday night. I’m anticipating clear blue skies and soaked earth for Sunday.”
“Great. How’s Sunday then?” Xander offered as Calliope passed out plates. “Believe me when I tell you there’s nothing like Butterfly Harbor after a good rainstorm. It’s like a rebirth, a new start for everyone and everything.”
“And to think less than six months ago you had visions only of steel rebar and cement running through that beautiful head of yours.” Calliope brushed her lips against his cheek. “Excuse me. I need to track down my sister. Or we’ll be late to school. Again.”
“Sister?” Hunter handed Phoebe a napkin as she broke apart a steaming fresh blueberry scone. She leaned forward and breathed in the aroma and actually sighed.
“Stella. She’s ten. Almost eleven,” Xander explained. “Calliope’s... Ah, there’s the mini-me, now. Good morning, Stella.”
“Hi.” Stella trudged in, Calliope nipping at her heels, and sank down at the table next to Phoebe, offering a sleepy smile.
“I like your dress.”
Phoebe’s unexpected comment had Hunter noticing the dress Stella wore. It was the color of ripe summer peaches and melded beautifully with her bright red hair. “We saw you at the diner the other day.”
Phoebe nodded, her attention caught completely by the bells in Stella’s hair. The same type Calliope had. No one would ever miss hearing these two coming.
“Stella, this is Phoebe. Phoebe, my sister, Stella.” Calliope bent to press a kiss on the top of Stella’s head.
“Nice to meet you,” Stella said politely and something akin to awe flashed in Phoebe’s eyes.
&n
bsp; “Do they hurt?” Phoebe lifted a hand to one of the bells, stopping shy of touching it.
“Nope. I love the way they sound. Like fairies whispering in my ear.”
Phoebe’s mouth made that O of fascination.
Hunter’s heart swelled with pride. This was the first time he’d seen Phoebe actively engage with someone her own age.
“It takes a strong will to listen rather than speak,” Calliope murmured as she passed behind Hunter. When he balked at the comment, Calliope gave a low laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. Your concern precedes you. Surrounds you, Hunter. It’s difficult to ignore. But you needn’t worry. Reflection grows and expands the mind. Silence,” Calliope clarified before taking a long, deep breath. “Is lovely. A bit lonely, but lovely nonetheless.”
Hunter looked down at his plate of eggs before reaching for the coffee.
“Ah, no. You should drink this.” Calliope gently pulled the mug from his grasp and replaced it with another.
He frowned down at the dirty-looking water.
“It’s lemon balm and chamomile tea. Good for balance and relaxation. Trust me.”
Xander shot him a grin before he asked Stella about whether she’d finished her homework last night, and for once, Hunter was glad to simply sit back, eat, sip on Calliope’s tea—which he suspected tasted a lot like her garden—and relax.
Calliope floated around the room and brought an additional sense of peace, a smile lighting her face as she looked at her husband, who was deeply invested in Stella’s lamenting of her math class. Stella admitted that no, she hadn’t finished her homework because she didn’t understand it and Mr. Thewling was tired of trying to explain.
“I always looked at math like a foreign language,” Hunter said when Xander urged Stella to pull out her homework so he could take a look.
“A language that doesn’t make any sense,” Stella mumbled and dragged out a notebook.
“Hunter’s right, actually,” Xander said. “Math has its own way of doing things. It’s a matter of understanding what those numbers are capable of, what pattern you have to follow in order to get the result you’re looking for.”
“What class is it?” Hunter peered over. “You know, it’s the teacher that makes all the difference. My sister always had the worst time in math—she used to have meltdowns doing her homework because none of it made any sense to her. She wanted to quit, and then the next semester she got Mr. Karelius and bam! Something about the way he taught, it finally clicked. That day she brought home her first A, you’d have thought she’d won the lottery.”
Unsure why he’d waxed nostalgic this morning around a group of strangers, he shifted in his seat. “Sorry. Not sure where that came from. But that was the happiest I ever saw her, except when she married your dad.” He nudged Phoebe gently with his elbow. “And when she had you.”
“Nothing makes us happier than when we conquer a challenge or take another significant step on the road of life.” Calliope brushed a hand over Phoebe’s head as she passed.
The dazed glimmer in his niece’s eyes felt like a sucker punch to his gut. It hadn’t dawned on him that he’d purposely been avoiding talking about his sister, about Phoebe’s mother, in the past few months. He’d been so worried about reigniting Phoebe’s grief he’d kept it all bottled up. But if last night proved anything, it was that there wasn’t anything he could do to stop the difficult emotions from surfacing and that by stifling them, he may very well be causing more damage.
“Stella needs to leave in a few minutes if she’s going to be on time, Xander,” Calliope reminded her husband, who gave her a distracted husband wave as he urged Stella to come join him.
“I see some of the problem. And she won’t be late. I’ll drive her,” Xander said.
“Cool.” Stella slunk around the table and, to Hunter’s surprise, Phoebe followed.
“Hey, Phoebe,” Hunter said. “Why don’t you—”
“She’s fine,” Calliope murmured. “Surely you noticed how her eyes lit up at the sight of that page. She’s a smart one, your niece. She likes numbers.”
“She likes order,” Hunter agreed as he polished off some of the best fried eggs he’d ever eaten. “The two normally go hand in hand.” A special sense of pride and appreciation swept over him as he watched Phoebe slip between Stella and Xander as Xander slowly reworked one of the equations. Phoebe pointed a few times, nodded when Stella answered Xander’s questions, then clapped wildly when Stella wrote down the solution.
“We’ll leave you to this. Hunter, why don’t you take a walk with me? So you can get a feel for the farm before you start photographing.”
“Oh, sure. Yeah, if she’s—”
“She’s fine,” Xander said and shot him a smile. “Quick with this. Here, Phoebe. Let’s...” Xander’s voice faded as he copied Stella’s homework on a separate piece of paper and handed it to her. “You want to try?”
Phoebe’s eyes went wide. “Thank you.” She snatched the paper and settled herself in, pencil in hand, tiny tongue protruding from her lips. She hunched over and went to work.
“Bring your tea,” Calliope urged Hunter and drew him up. The next thing he knew he was outside, the cool morning air wafting over him like a soothing balm. He took a long, deep breath in and, as he let it out, felt the tension leave his body.
“What’s in this stuff?” He looked down at his mug.
“Only what you needed,” Calliope said and led him along a narrow path between expansive outcroppings of newly grown vegetables.
“Isn’t it too early for these?” Enormous bundles of kale and cabbage and red-leaf lettuce sprouted heartily beside crisp-topped carrots and thickly leafed cabbages. The farm was a positive cornucopia of fresh bounty. “I thought you were supposed to plant in the spring for the summer.”
“I’ve never been one to follow a schedule.” Calliope bent to pluck a plump strawberry from its vine. “That’s not to say some don’t struggle, but they bloom in their own time. In their own way. I just provide a little... help.” She popped the berry into her mouth. “How are you liking your accommodations?”
“It’s wonderful. Perfect,” Hunter answered. “Just what we needed.”
“Mmm.” Calliope began walking again and he followed. “There is something special about the Liberty. Just when I was afraid the history would be lost forever, Gil surprised me, and here you are. Tell me.” Hands linked behind her back, she faced him, the morning sun glinting against her skin. “Have you read the legend yet?”
“About the lighthouse? Ah, no.” Hunter shook his head. “I was focusing more on the history of the town first. Wanted to get a good, well, grounding before I moved to specifics. Don’t tell me. The lighthouse is cursed.”
“Oh, quite the opposite. The lighthouse was actually the first structure constructed in Butterfly Harbor. It was a guide for ships long before anyone, including my great-great-grandparents, settled here. The story goes that one night, during a particularly nasty storm, a newly married couple recently arrived from overseas were lost and looking for shelter. When they found no one about—the former caretaker had passed a few months prior—they settled into the keeper’s house. The husband, being a former merchant sailor, went up to the tower to turn the light on to help protect the ships. Hours later, when he didn’t return, his wife climbed up to look for him, but he was gone. All she found was her husband’s coat caught on the railing, blowing in the breeze. When the storm passed, she searched the area for him, went to every house, every dwelling, but to no avail. It was believed the wind had caught him in its embrace and carried him out to sea. Since all her hope was gone, the woman climbed to the top of the tower and was about to throw herself into the water, but something stopped her. A fluttering. A moment of clarity. Six months later, she gave birth to a daughter she named Liberty. Named after the promise that brought them to this country. Their descendan
ts oversaw the lighthouse and its land until just a few years ago.”
“No wonder I can’t come up with a story idea for my book,” Hunter joked. “You’ve got them all. But you said the lighthouse wasn’t cursed.”
“I did. It’s not.” Calliope’s voice was as soft as the breeze around them. “From that day on, all those who sought refuge from a storm at the lighthouse found their hearts healed. With the bad always comes the good. Light balances the darkness. Hope always replaces despair. As it will be for you and Phoebe as you deal with your loss.”
“And Kendall?” Hunter couldn’t help but ask about the woman who had flitted about the periphery of his thoughts all morning.
“Who do you think woke the Liberty up?” Calliope’s smile was a bit sad. “Kendall’s heart has been more battered than most. But it still keeps beating. And it will, no matter how much she may wish otherwise.”
“Otherwise?” Hunter didn’t know how to read that. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t mean anything serious by it,” Calliope said. “But darkness remains and surges around her like the deepest, coldest wave.”
“After losing her fiancé in combat, can you blame her?”
Calliope closed her eyes, as if finally she’d heard an answer she’d been waiting for. “Ah. Yes. That makes sense. How interesting that she confided that in you, a virtual stranger, rather than in those of us who have come to love her. I wouldn’t mention that to her, by the way,” Calliope added with a hint of a smile. “She’s not one to accept affection easily, but I believe you are up to the challenge.”
“Up to what...challenge? Wait, Calliope—” But his call fell on deaf ears as Calliope swept by him to return to the house, where Xander and Stella were headed off to school.
He stood there, empty tea mug in hand, a bit uncertain about what came next. Before he even thought about taking another step, he caught sight of a fluttering out of the corner of his eyes, a flash of color. Color that was magnifying quickly as a group of butterflies swooped up and toward him, swirling about him in a graceful circle of welcome. A solitary butterfly, its brilliant orange-and-black wings glinting against the sun, landed on the rim of his mug, its threadlike legs itching together as if playing a symphony. He raised the mug, transfixed by the creature that he’d swear appeared to be looking back at him.
Safe in His Arms--A Clean Romance Page 9