The Widow's Protector. Stephanie Newton

running down the pier after school, starry-eyed because Jimmy Cobb, the cutest boy in school, had asked her to the dance.

       She was full of dreams and he…just kept his mouth shut. Jimmy had been the kind of guy that everyone liked. Funny and irreverent, he was always up to something. And their inseparable twosome became three.

       Hunter pushed away from the table and paced to the counter. So, technically, no. He wasn’t always straight with her. He’d buried those feelings long ago in favor of something more important. A friendship that had sustained both of them through some tough times. His dad’s inability to find and keep a job, her mom’s battle with cancer. Jimmy.

       She walked up beside him, leaning one hip against the cabinet. “Come on, you know I’ll find out anyway.”

       He turned his head to look at her. “I can’t say for sure, but—”

       “It’s him. Oh, Hunter, why is he back now?” Terror streaked across her features. “Is it Sean? Is he after my son?”

       Hunter put his hand over her two. “There’s no indication of that, Fiona.”

       “I know, it’s a crazy thought.” Her eyes filled and she fled the room.

       He followed her into the living room. She was folding a load of towels that had been left on the couch, her hands full of nervous energy. She’d always preferred to do something. He was the one who dwelt on things.

       But she looked up from the laundry, her eyes filling again. “I can’t quit thinking about Betsie, how she looked on that gurney. She saved Sean’s life and now she’s fighting for hers.”

       He picked up a towel and looked for a place to put it. The coffee table was covered in books. He shoved over some and made a place for his stack. “What happened today is even harder for you because of what you’ve been through before. But this new fire means new evidence, a new chance that the arsonist made a mistake.”

       His eyes were on the picture on the mantel. The photo of his friend, Jimmy. “We’re going to find whoever did this and make sure he pays for what he did.”

       “Before someone else gets hurt?” Fiona made room for a stack of hand towels next to her pile on the coffee table.

       Hunter chose another towel to fold, the clean, fresh smell of the laundry wafting around him. He frowned. His towels didn’t smell like this. “How do you make these smell so good?”

       She stopped midmotion. “What?”

       “My towels smell like towels. Yours smell good.”

       She stared at him like he’d just grown two heads. “It’s called fabric softener, Hunter. Stop trying to change the subject.”

       “If only it were that easy.” He put the last towel on the pile and stood, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before walking toward the door. He turned around.

       He couldn’t answer every question, but he could tell her one thing with certainty. “I promise you—he’s not getting away this time.”

      * * *

       Fiona walked down the hall toward Betsie’s hospital room with a handful of gerbera daisies that reminded her of Betsie’s bright style. She’d dropped off Sean at school and thankfully, she hadn’t had to haul in either her cousin Liam or Hunter for show-and-tell. At Betsie’s room, she paused. Voices drifted out through the partially open door.

       One of the voices was easily recognizable as her brother, Douglas, Fitzgerald Bay’s police captain. The other sounded familiar, too. She’d practically grown up at the precinct. She tried to place the voice.

       Her brother said, “And you don’t remember anyone in particular coming into the Sweet Shoppe more often, maybe slipping into the kitchen area?”

       Betsie’s response was too low for her to hear.

       “Is there anyone who works for you who might have a reason to get back at you? Any disgruntled employees?”

       Fiona almost pushed open the door then to tell them what a crazy question that was. The Sweet Shoppe was such a success because Betsie was so sweet. Her candies and baked goods were the icing, so to speak. Fiona had her hand on the door when the next question stopped her.

       “What about Hunter Reece? Has he been in your place much?” The cop, whose voice she now recognized as Nick Delfino’s, tried for a nonchalant tone, but failed. Fiona’s knuckles whitened on the vase of flowers she held.

       Nick had joined the Fitzgerald Bay police department a couple of months ago. “Do you know if Hunter was aware that you and Sean often had breakfast together before school while Fiona prepared her shop for opening?” he continued.

       Fiona pushed open the door. “I imagine that Hunter knows a lot about my schedule considering that he’s one of my best friends.”

       “Fee, you need to stay out of this.” Her brother had the grace to look at least a little embarrassed as Fiona crossed the room and placed the flowers on the windowsill.

       “I disagree. If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them since I was there.” Fiona looked from one cop to the other.

       Her brother looked at Nick and jerked his head at the door. “Betsie, if you think of anything else, just give us a call. I’m going to leave my card right here on the table.”

       “I will, Douglas, thanks.” Betsie’s voice was low and hoarse, but she was sitting up in bed, obviously feeling better, her brunette curls in artless disarray around her face.

       Fiona shot her brother a we-will-talk-later look as he left the room with Nick Delfino right behind him. She knew Hunter didn’t have anything to do with the fire at the Sweet Shoppe, but the fact that the cops—brothers or not—were asking questions about him brought something back to the surface that she’d really tried not to think about. The arsonist was most likely someone they all knew and possibly liked. No stranger in Fitzgerald Bay would have the kind of access needed to pull off these crimes.

       With effort, she put the disturbing thoughts away, for now. “I’m so glad to see you sitting up, feeling better. I was so scared.”

       Betsie nodded, her fingers sliding along the edge of the white hospital sheet. “The doctors said another couple of minutes and I wouldn’t have made it. Hunter saved my life.”

       “And you saved Sean’s life. Bets, I can never repay you for that.”

       Betsie reached for Fiona’s hand. “You don’t have to. When I moved here from Georgia, I didn’t have anyone. You and Sean are my family.”

       Fiona squeezed her hand. “You know we feel the same way. And we’re going to rebuild, don’t worry.”

       Her friend nodded. “I know. It’s one of the things I love the most about Fitzgerald Bay. We don’t let each other down.” She reached for the glass of water sitting on the bedside tray and sipped from the straw, wincing as she swallowed.

       “I’ve got to get to work anyway, so I’m going to leave and let you get some rest. I’ll be back to see you again.” Fiona walked toward the door, the questions that she’d pushed aside crowding her mind again. She knew Hunter wasn’t responsible for the fires. But who among their friends—acquaintances—neighbors—was?

       “Fee.” Betsie’s hoarse voice stopped her. Fiona turned back. “We’re going to find who did this.” Underneath Betsie’s soft Southern accent was the steel that had helped her move to another state and build a successful business.

       Betsie would know how much it hurt to have the arsonist responsible for Jimmy’s death out there, free to set fires.

       Fiona tried a smile, but didn’t quite pull it off over the determination. She nodded. “Yes, we are. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that happens.”

      * * *

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