Caught Looking (Wild Rose Point #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Lara Townsend was freezing, but she didn’t let that stop her. She never did for the right picture. She didn’t mind the cold at all, but it had been too windy to haul out her paints or even her sketchbook. So she was settling for taking some pictures she’d use as inspiration for her next painting.

If she let her mind think about anything other than the composition, the soft colors that even the camera wouldn’t pick up right, she’d start second guessing herself. An artist couldn’t live in the second guess.

Except you’re not an artist. She wrinkled her nose at the thought and lowered the phone, reminding herself an artist didn’t have to sell their art, or show it to people, or even believe in it to be driven to create it. That’s what made her an artist. Not other people.

She blew out a breath and took a moment not to think about art at all. Just to be grateful she was alive and breathing and home.

It was a beautiful sunset. Soft. That hue of pink only the sky here in Wild Rose Point seemed to find—a shade that never failed to remind her of her mother and feel like Mom was sending her a little hello, I’m here from the great beyond.

Lara lowered herself onto a cold rock, watching the pinks and peaches and blues meld and morph into each other.

When she’d been much younger, she’d sat on this rock and dreamed of other oceans, other countries, other worlds. And then she’d lost her parents and sisters at thirteen and never dreamed again.

“Dramatic,” she muttered to herself. She’d lived more of her life without them than with them these days, and even though the ache of grief and the unfairness of the world was still there, and likely always would be, she thought she’d learned to carry the weight of it all.

Mostly.

“Nothing ever changes.”

The voice was familiar, even if it had been a few months since she’d heard it last. She got to her feet and turned toward it.

Her grin was immediate and instinctual, even as the wind whipped her hair into her eyes. She was always happy to see Ty, no matter the circumstances.

Ty Wagner had been her best friend since they’d been kids.

Second grade, to be exact. They’d ridden the bus together, and she wouldn’t have given one spare thought to a boy at that age, but when some bullies had been picking on her little sister, and then her because she’d tried to protect Valerie, Ty had stepped in and taken care of things.

She’d been a little in love with him ever since. But only a little. Their dreams had never quite matched up. She’d wanted sophistication and art until tragedy had changed her mind into wanting nothing but home and stability.

Ty, on the other hand, had always been driven by his father’s determination that Ty became a major league baseball player. Growing up, he’d never had a choice on whether or not that was his dream, but at some point he’d internalized it. Made it his own.

Success had never really happened to the extent his father had wanted.

Everything she’d celebrated for him—excelling in independent ball enough to get some scout interest and finally being signed to a Low-A minor league team—hadn’t been enough for his dad.

Even when he’d finally clawed his way up to Triple-A and spent a few weeks at the pro level after late season call-ups, it hadn’t been enough for Ty or his dad, because he hadn’t recorded one hit.

The next year he’d been back in Triple-A. Back to struggling. Demoted, released, unwanted.

No one in the baseball world would remember the name Ty Wagner for his efforts on the field, but Lara didn’t know how to be anything but proud of him. He’d always given it his all, no matter the results.

But if Ty was back today, it meant the last tryout hadn’t gone according to plan. If he was back…

“Don’t go looking sorry for me already.”

She tried to hide it. She crossed the expanse of beach, taking in his tall, rangy frame, the wind fluttering his light brown hair that was a little longer than his usual close-cropped cut. And all the myriads of emotions in those blue eyes that never hid what he was feeling, at least not from her.

She hugged him in greeting like she always did.

Neither of them were from particularly affectionate families, but affection came easily between the two of them.

A tight and hard hug, because she’d missed him.

And yes, because she did feel sorry for him.

He’d chased the dream of major league ball long past the time it had ceased to be his dream.

Always trying to prove something to his asshole of a father, even all these years later.

The last time he’d left, he’d told her this tryout was his last chance. Now he was back. Which meant he was going to have to contend with some things Lara figured he’d been running away from for a very long time.

She pulled back, though kept her hands gripped around his arms. “Come up to the house. Grandma will want to fuss over you.”

He sighed, looking up the beach to where they’d have to walk to get to the house she shared with her grandmother. “Yeah, some fussing might be nice.”

When Lara opened the door of her grandmother’s house, and the smell of something baking enveloped him, Ty Wagner knew two things.

One, Lara had somehow surreptitiously texted Mary Lou about his arrival on their walk up and that’s why something was already baking.

Two, he was home.

Dad’s trailer wasn’t home. Even Wild Rose Point itself didn’t feel like home these days. But Mary Lou’s eclectic little cottage on the beach always did, no matter how far and long he’d been away.

She popped out of the kitchen the minute his boots hit the wood floor of the entry.

He’d been lying to Lara when he’d said things didn’t change.

Because things did. Every time he came back, everyone looked a little older.

Wild Rose Point felt a little different, altered by the wind or the sea or the years.

But not Mary Lou. Her hair was the same shade of dark brown it had always been—a gift from the beauty parlor, she liked to say. The wrinkles on her face never seemed to procreate, and she moved with the energy of someone half her age. Always.

Thank God.

She crossed the space between them in quick strides and enveloped him in a hug. Whatever perfume she always wore was something unique to Mary Lou. He’d never smelled it anywhere else. It, as much as this place, as much as this woman, was home.

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself,” she told him as she pulled back, swatting him on the shoulder.

She always said that to him—no matter if it was true or not.

He probably hadn’t been this time around though.

It was harder than he’d thought, accepting baseball was never going to work out.

Not because he still loved it. The grind had worn him down into some kind of shell.

He was happy to be done with the endless churn of not knowing, waiting, trying so hard to get damn nowhere.

But that didn’t mean it had been easy to accept that everything he’d worked his entire life for was a failure. So, no, he probably hadn’t been taking care of himself the last few days of packing up his life for the millionth time and heading home to Wild Rose Point.

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m home,” he told her.

She only grunted, as was her way, but she held onto him and pulled him into the kitchen, Lara trailing behind.

It was strange how the older he got, the more far away he was, every time he stepped into this kitchen he was hit with the memory of the first time.

Before. When there’d been three other kids running around besides just him and Lara. When he’d sworn Lara’s dad was one of the few people who could look at him and just know his dad had landed a few blows that morning.

One day Ty had stood up for two little girls getting pushed around on the bus, the next he’d been welcome into a family like nothing he’d ever known. No alcohol. No beating. No sports.

Just laughter and happiness and fun.

And love.

He knew why Lara didn’t leave. She knew all too well what it was to lose everything in a moment. And still, he didn’t know how she lived, day in and day out, with the weight of all those memories in every corner.

Most days, he figured she was the strongest woman he knew.

Mary Lou pulled a sheet of cookies out of the oven, fussed over getting them all something to drink while they cooled. Then she piled them high on a plate and set it in the middle of the little kitchen table he’d always, always been welcome at. No matter how full or empty this house had been.

“It sure is nice to be back with my two favorite ladies and the best cookies known to man.”

But Mary Lou was looking at him in that stern way she had, and Lara with worry in her hazel eyes.

No, he never could fool the Townsends.

“You can’t stay with your father.”

Mary Lou’s words were flat and certain. Ty had always appreciated that about Mary Lou. She didn’t equivocate. She didn’t beat around the bush or try to manipulate. She just said it like it was.

“Just for a few days until I get something else worked out. It’s not so bad.”

It was, and he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone at this table. Still, a man nearing thirty couldn’t take handouts. At least this man wouldn’t. No, he wasn’t his father. No handouts. No depending on someone else to fix his life. He was in charge. He was going to handle it.

“You’ll stay here until you’ve figured it out,” Mary Lou repeated.

“Mary Lou—”

“You spent near thirty years doing what that man told you, and what’s it gotten you? A fat lot of nothing.”

“Gee, thanks.” Her ‘saying it like it is’ wasn’t always welcome, he decided in the moment. Because he knew what a fat lot of nothing he’d ended up with, but it hurt when someone else pointed it out.

“Why wouldn’t you stay here?” Lara asked. She had a softer way about her than her grandmother. Oh, she was stubborn underneath it, but it was hidden under a layer of sweet.