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  “Nothing.” But she was clearly biting her tongue about something.

  He knew her well and braced himself, because that look meant she had something on her mind and there’d be no peace until it came out. “Just say it,” he said.

  “I heard that your father called you.” Her sweet blue gaze was filled with worry. “Is it true?”

  Well, shit. There was no love lost between Amelia and Mark, mostly because Amelia had always had to clean up Mark’s mess—that mess being Sam. It didn’t matter that he and his dad had lived in Seattle. She’d made the two-hour drive and claimed him whenever he’d needed her.

  “Sam,” she said. “Is it true? Did Mark call you?”

  “Listen, it’s late,” he said, trying to head off a discussion he didn’t want to have. “Let me walk you out—”

  “It’s a simple enough question, Samuel.”

  He grimaced at his full name, the one only she used. Pulling in the big guns. “Yeah, he called. I call him, too, you know that.”

  Her eyes went from worried mom to very serious mom. “Honey, I need you to tell me you weren’t stupid enough to give him another penny.”

  “You know, it lowers a person’s self-esteem to call them stupid,” he said with mock seriousness.

  “Damn it!” Amelia stalked to the door that led to a hallway and into the small kitchen.

  Against his better judgment, Sam followed, watching as she bypassed the fridge, going straight for the freezer, exclaiming wordlessly when she found it empty.

  “You used to always keep vodka around,” she muttered. “Where’s the vodka?” She turned to him, hands on hips. “Sometimes a woman needs a damn vodka, Sam.”

  He knew that. He also knew that sometimes a man needed a damn vodka. For a long time after Gil’s death, vodka had soothed his pain. Too much. When he’d realized that, he’d cut it off cold turkey. It’d sucked.

  These days, he stuck with the occasional beer and did his best not to think too much. “I’ve got soda,” he said. “Chips. Cookies. Name your poison.”

  “Vodka.”

  He sighed and strode over to her, shutting the freezer, pulling her from it and enveloping her in his arms. “I’m okay. You know that, right?”

  She tipped her head back to look up into his face. “Does it happen often?”

  “Me being okay? Yes.”

  She smacked him on the chest. “I meant your dad. Does he call you often then?”

  “I call him every week,” Sam said.

  Her gaze said she got the distinction, and the fact that Sam was usually the instigator didn’t make her any happier. “And do you give him money?” she asked.

  “When he needs it.”

  She gave a troubled sigh. “Oh, Sam.”

  “Look, he’s getting older and he’s feeling his mortality,” he said. “He’s got a silly, frivolous woman, and a baby coming—”

  “Which is ridiculous—”

  “—And he realizes he fucked up with his first kid.”

  “You think?” She cupped his face. “Sam, I don’t like this. I don’t like him taking from you. He’s done nothing but take from you, and I know damn well it affects your relationships. Because of him, you let women in your life here and there, but you don’t let yourself fully rely on anyone, ever. That isn’t healthy, Sam. Is Becca any different?”

  He thought of the only woman who’d caught his eye lately. Becca. She certainly wasn’t the type of woman to rely on anyone. “I think she might be,” he said.

  “But will you be able to rely on her? That’s what a woman will want, Sam. For you to do the same.”

  He gave a short laugh. “You’re way ahead of yourself.”

  “Well, I worry about you,” she said. “All of you.”

  “Marry off all those crazy daughters of yours, and then we’ll talk,” Sam told her.

  “You’re changing the subject on me.”

  “Trying.” He sighed at the dark look she shot him. “Look, I don’t like that he’s getting older and feeling regrets. Or that he doesn’t have enough money to support that kid. He’s my dad. What would you have me do?”

  Amelia sighed and shook her head. Then she went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I know better than to argue with you. I’d do better bashing my head up against the wall.”

  He smiled, as this was true. “So you’ll leave me alone about it?”

  “No.” She kissed his other cheek. “But I’ll give you some peace. For now.”

  It was nearly midnight when she left, with one last long hug that Sam endured. When he was alone, he shut the laptop and hit the lights. Bed was the smart decision but he was far from tired. Thinking about his dad had dredged up some shit he didn’t want dredged.

  He needed to expel his pent-up energy. Usually he did this by running with Ben, a longtime friend from town. Like Sam, Ben appreciated the art of not talking much, which meant they were well suited as running partners, but Ben wasn’t sleeping alone these days, and it was too late to call. So, restless and edgy, Sam hit the beach by himself, pushing himself hard. He tried to clear his mind, but things kept popping into his head.

  Love ya, son.

  It drove him crazy how his dad threw around the words like they meant nothing. Love, real love, would have protected him from being taken from their home due to neglect. Real love would have forgotten the stupid get-rich-quick schemes that never came through and attempted to keep a job so they had a roof over their heads and food in their kitchen.

  Sam shook off the bleak memories and kept running. The past didn’t matter. The here and now mattered. Building boats. Running the charter business. Coming through for Cole and Tanner the way they’d always come through for him.

  But the past was a sneaky bitch, and for some reason, tonight he couldn’t escape her. Not even an hour later when he was back where he started, standing on the sand in front of their hut, breathing heavily.

  A sliver of a moon cast the beach in a blue glow, allowing him to see the small shadow sitting on the sand a few feet away.

  Becca.

  Chapter 6

  Sam stood still for a beat, thinking that if he was smart, he’d turn and get the hell off the beach without saying a word. Not when he was this wild on the inside, this edgy.

  But apparently he wasn’t smart at all because his feet didn’t budge.

  She wore an oversized sweatshirt and flannel PJ bottoms, her arms wrapped around her legs, a tiny little gold ring encircling one of her bare toes. Under her tough-girl exterior, she was soft and sweet, and had a smile that moved him.

  Her body moved him, too, and again he told himself to keep going and not look back.

  And again, he didn’t budge. She looked like a quiet, calm, sexy-as-hell oasis, and she was drawing him in without even trying. “Thought Lucky Harbor was just a pit stop,” he said over the sound of the surf hitting the sand. “But you’re still here.”

  Becca tilted her head back and leveled him with those melting dark eyes. “Appears that way.”

  “In your PJs,” he noted.

  She looked down at herself. “It’s my Man-Repellent. Guaranteed to deflect a guy’s interest with a single glance.”

  The PJs were baggy, but there was a breeze plastering the material to her body, which was a complete show-stopper. He laughed softly, and she narrowed her eyes. “What?” she asked.

  “Let’s just say they’re not as bad as you think.”

  She blinked, then lowered her gaze, taking the time to carefully brush some sand from her feet.

  It occurred to him that he was making her nervous by looming over her, so he shifted back a foot or so and crouched low to make himself nonthreatening. He added a smile.

  She visibly relaxed. “You probably shouldn’t flash that smile at me too often,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “It’s . . . attractive,” she admitted. “You’re attractive. Which you damn well know.”

  “But I’m wearing my woman-repellent gear,” h