Desperate Measures. Christy Barritt

much was depending on this one decision to come here. Mainly, the lives of her and her son—and her son’s life was the most important thing of all.

      “What’s going on, Sheriff?” John’s voice pulled Samantha out of her thoughts.

      The sheriff put his hands on his hips. “We’ve had some vandalism around here lately. I’m just trying to let the townsfolk know. I have suspicions that whoever is behind these crimes might have used these cabins as a hideout at some point or another.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t think stuff like that happened out here.” John squinted against the sun, which flooded his face. He had a five o’clock shadow that made him look rugged. His white T-shirt and worn jeans seemed to fit his persona better than the uniform Samantha had seen him wear in the past.

      “It usually doesn’t. But nowhere is immune to crime, not in today’s world.” The sheriff shifted.

      He was youngish—probably in his late twenties, just like Samantha. He had sandy brown hair and blue eyes. Samantha noticed he didn’t have the same island accent as the people down at the docks did.

      “When did you get here?” the sheriff asked John.

      “Just this morning.”

      “Take the ferry in?”

      John nodded toward a boat bobbing in the water by the pier. “No, I came over on my boat. I figured I’d need it, especially if I had to go back to the mainland for supplies. The ferry’s schedule isn’t always mine.”

      “Well, it will be nice to have you around here. I might be able to use some of your expertise from your coast guard days, especially if these vandalisms continue.”

      “Anytime. But only if you show me some of those fishing holes you’ve been telling me about.”

      Samantha tuned out their conversation for a moment. The sheriff’s words caused Samantha to shudder. Vandalisms? Here on Smuggler’s Cove? There wasn’t anywhere one could get away from the bad in the world, was there? She wasn’t naive enough to think there might be; she’d only hoped this place might be different. Might be safer.

      At a lull in the conversation, the sheriff turned toward her. “You here visiting from out of town? I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

      Her throat burned as she nodded. “I’m Samantha. I’m going to be helping to restore the cabins here.”

      “These places might need a bit of a woman’s touch.” He grinned personably. “Where you from?”

      Familiar tension began pulling at her. Why did people always have to ask for details? “Everywhere actually. But I was raised in Georgia.”

      He tipped his head. “Well, nice to meet you, Samantha. Hope you enjoy your stay here. Make sure that John shares some of his fish with you. Nothing better than grilling out with the fresh catch of the day on the menu.”

      Tempting, but there would be no enjoying her stay. No, the only part of life she’d taken delight in over the past year had been Connor. He was her happiness. The rest of life...it scared the breath out of her.

      As the sheriff walked away, John turned toward her. “How about if I show you to a cabin?”

      Samantha nodded and called Connor over. Putting some space between herself and the rest of this town sounded perfect at the moment. Even if that meant hiding out in a shabby, drafty cabin that hadn’t been used in years.

      She knew the better end of a bargain when she saw one.

      * * *

      John unlocked the door to the cabin next to his. Of all the cabins, this one’s structure was the most stable. It had electricity and plumbing. The furniture was decent.

      The whole place still needed to be spruced up and aired out, but he figured it was the most sufficient for Samantha and Connor.

      He pushed the door open and squirmed at what he saw inside. The whole place felt musty and dark. There were rust stains on the kitchen sink. A door hung slightly askew. The wallpaper peeled in the corners.

      Maybe this wasn’t suitable for Samantha. For anyone.

      She seemed to read his thoughts. “This will be fine.”

      “It’s not much.” John looked down at Connor and saw the boy frown. He also saw Samantha squeezing her son’s shoulder, probably a nonverbal message for him to stay quiet. Honestly, John wouldn’t blame the boy if he had reservations about staying here.

      “It just needs to be cleaned up a little,” Samantha said as she examined the room with her gaze. “Needs a little paint, everything needs to be wiped down, maybe add some curtains and get rid of those dusty ones. It will be great.”

      The cabins weren’t large—only eight hundred square feet or so. The front was a great room with a living room on the left, a dining room and kitchen on the right. The two spaces were separated by a breakfast bar.

      A short hallway stretched beyond that. There were two bedrooms and one bathroom.

      At least the refrigerator and stove worked in this cabin.

      He’d offer them his own cabin, one that was larger. Except it wasn’t in any better shape than this one. In fact, one of the bedrooms had a hole in the floor that he needed to patch. Way too dangerous for Connor.

      “I’m thinking we should start here today,” John said.

      “Good idea.” A smile tugged at her lips.

      “I’ll bring the supplies over, if you don’t mind painting and getting a little dirty. You can start now. We’ll get this place in shape for you.”

      “Not at all.”

      He stomped across the rickety porch and walked toward his cabin, where he kept his supplies. He couldn’t believe that Samantha had actually come. If he’d even had an inkling, he would have started preparing this place earlier.

      He’d followed his gut when he’d invited her here. Now his brain had to kick into action so he could figure out his next step. He needed to make a list of things she could do around here. Having her here was the right thing; he felt sure of it. But there were details that needed to be considered.

      He grabbed what he needed and started back toward Samantha. As he approached the cabin, the sand soft—and silent—beneath his feet, he paused. A conversation drifted out from the open window.

      “This isn’t a discussion, Connor,” Samantha said, her voice firm.

      “I’m tired of moving, Mom. Why couldn’t we just stay where we were? I liked my school. I liked my friends.”

      “It’s not an option, Connor.”

      “But, Mom...”

      “There’s nothing to discuss.”

      “There’s nothing to do here. This place is boring. There aren’t even any cars. Probably no TVs. Not in here, at least. I bet you there aren’t any kids my age, either.”

      “You might be surprised. And getting away from those video games will be good for you. Besides, you can help me work. Then you won’t be bored.” Her voice lilted near the end.

      “This stinks.”

      “We’re going to make the best of it. That’s what we do. It’s a good life lesson. A hard one. But a good one. We don’t choose our circumstances, but we choose our attitude.”

      John had heard enough—enough that he felt as though he was intruding. He knocked on the door, more curious than ever as to what their story was. He knew he couldn’t ask.

      Samantha pulled the door open and stared up at him with eyes as wide as full moons. “Mr. Wagner.”

      “Please, call me John.” He held up his supplies, quickly observing that Samantha had already