in Georgia, both the duffel bag and the chip on his shoulder had remained constant companions.
But now, after seven years, he’d broken the vow.
Not that he’d had a choice.
His grandfather, George Clayton Sr., had passed away during the summer, leaving behind a will that had caused new splits in an already fractured family. George’s brother, Samuel, and his offspring had made life unbearable for years, but they stood to inherit everything—if Lucas and his five cousins didn’t satisfy the conditions of the will.
That didn’t surprise him. Leave it to good old Grandpa George to attempt to control people’s lives from the grave—he’d certainly made a habit of it while he’d been alive. As a lawyer, George Clayton had a reputation for being ruthless, manipulative and self-serving. As a grandfather, he hadn’t been a whole lot better.
Lucas still couldn’t believe his cousins had agreed to put their lives on hold and return to Clayton for a whole year. But he was the last one to return.
Lucas hadn’t exactly had a choice about that, either.
A promise made to a dying friend had taken him to places that no sane person would have chosen to go, but loyalty to his sister had brought him back to Clayton.
Cruising through the lone signal light at the intersection, Lucas saw a soft glow in one of the windows farther down the street.
He didn’t even have to read the faded sign above the door to know which one it was.
The Cowboy Café.
Lucas struggled against a memory that fought its way to the surface. And lost.
An image of a girl’s face materialized in front of him, clear as a photograph. A heart-shaped face. Hair that glowed like the embers in a campfire, shades of bronze and copper lit with strands of gold. Wide brown eyes that had a disconcerting tendency to see straight into his soul.
Lucas’s fingers bit into the steering wheel.
He couldn’t think about Erin Fields.
Wouldn’t think about her.
She’d made her choice. Before he’d left, Lucas had asked Erin to go with him but she’d refused, choosing loyalty to her family over her love for him.
Maybe she’d been willing to put her dreams and her future on hold, but Lucas knew he wouldn’t have a future if he stayed in Clayton. The confines of the small town would have served as a mold, shaping him into something—someone—he didn’t want to be.
His father.
Vern Clayton, medical missionary and well-respected pillar of the church and the community, had died in a car accident when Lucas was a teenager, but his mother had insisted he follow in his father’s footsteps by serving God and becoming a doctor.
Instead, Lucas had turned his back on both.
Disappointing people seemed to be his gift.
As if to underscore the point, an image of Erin’s tear-streaked face returned. He could almost feel the touch of her hand on his.
I’ll always love you, Lucas. And I’ll wait for you.
Lucas pushed the memory aside.
He’d be crazy to think Erin had stayed true to the promise she’d made that night. They’d been kids. That kind of vow didn’t stand the test of time.
From his experience, not a whole lot did.
Turning onto a side street, he pulled up to the third house on the left. Completely dark. Lucas hadn’t expected a welcoming committee—especially when he hadn’t told his mother or Mei the exact date of his arrival.
Lucas’s fingers curled around the keys in the ignition, fighting the temptation to shift the truck into Drive and take off into the night. The way he had seven years ago…
A soft rustle came from the backseat.
Twisting around, Lucas summoned what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Max.”
A pair of hazel eyes blinked at him from the shadows. “Daddy?” came the sleepy response.
Lucas’s throat tightened, preventing him from responding.
Not that he even knew how to respond.
For the past few months, he’d provided the little boy with food and shelter. The basic necessities. What he hadn’t been able to give Max Cahill was the thing he needed the most. His parents.
What were you thinking, Scott?
His former college roommate hadn’t been. That was the problem. Scott’s addictions had led him down a path that had ultimately cost him his life—and if Lucas hadn’t stepped in, the life of an innocent child.
Max lifted his arms toward Lucas and grinned. “We gettin’ out now?”
Lucas shook his head. They’d been on the road for more than forty-eight hours and yet his pint-size passenger, who recently turned four, somehow managed to display a more cheerful disposition than the driver.
“Yup. We’re getting out now.”
“French fries?” Max stifled a yawn even as his eyes brightened with hope.
“I can’t make any promises, buddy.” And there we have it, Lucas thought. Another one of his flaws exposed.
A raw December wind stung Lucas’s face as he hopped out of the truck cab. The crisp temperatures and falling snow felt almost surreal after traipsing through the Florida Everglades, dodging the men who had killed Scott Cahill. Unbuckling the booster seat, he scooped Max into his arms, blankets and all.
The boy burrowed against him and Lucas felt a familiar burst of panic. The one that gripped him whenever Max turned to him for comfort.
Lucas anchored Max against his chest with one arm while fishing for the spare house key his mom always stashed behind the mailbox. Before he had a chance to slide it into the lock, the porch light came on.
He had only a second to react before the front door swung open and a petite, dark haired whirlwind launched herself at him.
“Lucas! You’re home.”
“Home,” came a muffled chirp from inside the cocoon of blankets.
Mei’s astonished gaze dropped to the quilt. Lucas could see the question in his adopted sister’s ebony eyes and knew exactly what she was thinking.
He’d given Jack McCord, his sister’s new love who’d tracked him down in Florida, permission to offer the family an abbreviated version of what he’d gone through to retrieve Max from the thugs who’d snatched him away from his dying father during a drug deal gone bad. But judging from the expression on Mei’s face, they had expected Lucas to return to Clayton alone.
And why wouldn’t they? an inner voice mocked him.
He’d been MIA for years, communicating with his family through emails and the occasional phone call. That way, he stayed in control of the relationships.
It was a little unsettling to admit that maybe, just maybe, he and Grandpa George had something in common other than their DNA.
“Hey, Erin, I’m supposed to let you know that we’re getting a little low on ground beef…”
Erin Fields jumped at the sound of a voice behind her.
She pasted on a smile to cover the guilty look on her face before turning around to face Kylie Jones. Which was a little ridiculous, given the fact that it wasn’t a crime to be caught putting on your coat.
Unless it was the middle of the day.
And your name was Erin Fields.
Kylie zeroed in on the coat clutched in her hands. And then her gaze shifted