A Lot Like Home

“You need someone on your side who can see the big picture and take the emotion out of it,” he told her as the beauty of the opportunities available unfolded in his head. “We can bring in new business, revitalize this downtown area while keeping what’s great about it. The shopping center is not the only option. Havana’s got you upset and not seeing clearly. She doesn’t scare me. I’ll send her scurrying back to where she came from fast enough.”

The door jangled as someone pushed it open. On cue, all seven of them turned to see who had entered. A flash of red hair cut through Caleb’s gut. It was the woman from Voodoo Grocery, the other half of his pig-wrangling duo. A long liquid sensation unfolded inside him on the heels of the recognition. He hadn’t expected to see her again, had put her out of his mind because even if she hadn’t been passing through, she was unavailable. So was he, if you wanted to get down to brass tacks. This was the worst time to be thinking about a woman like that.

The jolt to his senses settled as he acclimated to the potent presence of the redhead, but the heaviness between them lingered, growing teeth the longer she stood there taking in the scene without saying a word.

“Hey, honey,” Serenity called, her voice growing more uneven. “Come meet my friends.”

“That’s Havana,” Ruby stage whispered unnecessarily as all the pieces clicked into place with a dull thud.

The redhead was Havana.

The same woman he’d volunteered to go toe-to-toe with on Serenity’s behalf.

Four

Sure enough, there were five strangers crowded into the corner booth at Ruby’s, as Havana’s sister had reported. Only one of them wasn’t a stranger. Not exactly, but only because Havana couldn’t get the feel of his arms around her out of her head.

It shouldn’t be so hard. They’d chased a pig who’d claimed squatter’s rights to a bag of chips, she’d helped him corner the thief, and then Damian had broken up the charged moment between Havana and the shockingly well-built stranger like he should have. That was his job as her fake fiancé—keep all men away from her.

During a random phone conversation, Serenity had laid one of her kooky romantic predictions on Havana, and that was an additional complexity she did not need, not after her ex-fiancé had dumped her almost literally at the altar. Her heart was still bruised and her confidence in the gutter after that fiasco.

Poof. Damian Scott to the rescue. The prediction wouldn’t be a factor if she already had a fiancé and it protected Serenity’s feelings at the same time since Havana wouldn’t have to explain yet again that she didn’t believe in all that psychic mumbo-jumbo. Damian was such a sweet man for doing her this huge favor, and it wasn’t like she’d forced him to go out of his way since they were working this Superstition Springs resort deal together.

Except he’d fallen down on the job, disappearing in pursuit of dental floss long enough for Havana to get wrapped up in a good-looking guy’s arms. She’d only volunteered to help get the Doritos back because she’d thought the other half of the pig-chasing duo was lost or maybe on his way to La Grange from Austin. Never in a million years had she expected to see him again. Especially not sitting in a booth with four other guys all cut from the same cloth and chatting with her aunt like they were lifelong friends.

“Am I interrupting?” Havana asked, strictly to get a feel for the climate in the diner.

Havana had sought out Serenity in hopes of starting over the discussion about selling to Damian’s investors, not realizing that the strangers half the folks had been buzzing about would be at the same table as the person she needed to have a private conversation with. Or that one of them would be him.

“No, honey,” Serenity insisted and held out a hand to motion her over. “Of course you’re not interrupting. You’re always welcome.”

But her tone said otherwise, which gave Havana pause. Who were these men? Cautiously she approached the table, evaluating each one. They shared a hardened look about them as if they’d seen some things that weren’t all that pleasant. Also, they were a unit. That much was clear from their identically closed expressions as if she was the outsider here.

Wasn’t she though? Even back in the day she’d never fit in here, no matter how hard she’d tried. So that’s why she wasn’t trying this time. She’d come to town armed with money and pots of it. Residents needed someone to look out for them who could offer something other than sentiment and emotion, neither of which paid the bills. Folks needed solid solutions and Havana had one: sell.

Growing up orphaned and poor had given Havana limited choices, so she knew the pain of wanting to go somewhere else—anywhere else—and having no means to do so. This was everyone’s opportunity to get ahead. It was baffling why Serenity was fighting her when all Havana was trying to do was help.

But fighting her she was. And Havana needed to sway Serenity onto her side so she’d stop poisoning the rest of the residents against Damian’s plans. The shopping center wasn’t just a means to help people—it was the only thing keeping her going. If her ex-fiancé didn’t want her as a wife, she’d make sure someone wanted her in a professional capacity. That was all she had to work with. All she could manage right now.

“These are the military boys I wrote to while they were overseas,” Serenity announced as if Havana had been fully aware that her aunt had taken to sending letters to deployed soldiers. “They’ve come to visit.”

“We’ve come to stay,” the blond with the sleek topknot corrected. He half stood as he held out his hand to her, his gallant gesture hampered by the round table in his way. “Tristan Marchande. Pleasure.”

This one was slick. Polished. Knew his way around a tailor and a hairdresser but still looked like he could break a lesser man in half by intimidation alone. He was tall, even without benefit of being able to pull himself fully upright, and so pretty it almost hurt to look at him.

“I’m Havana Nixon, Serenity’s niece,” she said though odds were good this was not new information to any of them, judging by the half-full cups of coffee scattered around the table. “Thank you for your service to God and country. Glad to have you. We need new residents here.”

She meant it too. New people meant new perspectives, never a bad thing when Serenity had dug her heels in about this falling-apart town. Surely these guys who had traveled to the other side of the world and back would understand what she was trying to do here. Maybe they’d become allies in this fight.

Though to be honest, she didn’t really understand the opposition. Who didn’t want a pile of money? Damian’s resort deal wasn’t the bulldoze job Serenity had badmouthed it as. Havana wanted to rejuvenate Superstition Springs with an influx of cash. Without that, more people would leave and the town would continue a slow decline until there was literally nothing left. But if people sold their land, they could

buy property near the resort and build a house. Start over in a new town that would spring up almost immediately, where there were jobs and culture. Or leave if they wanted to. Havana was giving them a range of choices that wouldn’t be available to them otherwise.

The gaze of the other half of Team Doritos hadn’t strayed from her face once, and being the sole focus of a man she’d had such a bone-deep response to was starting to make her a little breathless. Better to let that cat out of the bag pronto before it turned into something much bigger than it was.

With a bright smile, she offered her hand to him. “We’ve already met. All except for the exchange of names, that is.”

“You’ve already met?” Serenity’s gaze cut between them. “What on earth—”