Protecting Honor (Refuge Cove #4)

Prologue

THREE YEARS EARLIER

Max Kincaid should have trusted his instincts.

The thought pressed at the back of his mind in a way he couldn’t explain or shake.

His boss, Richard Harding, had stopped Max outside his residence at Refuge Cove just as Max had been about to head inside to fix a leaky sink. “Listen, before you do anything else, I need you to run into Staunton. I need some lumber cut.”

Max had paused, wrench in hand. “I’ve got a full to-do list from Mrs. Harding today. I still need to—”

“It won’t take long.” Richard didn’t leave any room for argument. “The order is too large for the hardware store here in town.”

Max frowned as he remembered the tasks already waiting. “You need that today? I promised your wife—”

“Sarah will understand.” Richard’s tone hardened. “The wood is for the new chicken coop she wants. Besides, do I need to remind you who signs your paycheck?”

No, he didn’t. Max got the message loud and clear.

But his loyalty had always been to Sarah. She’d hired him and had become like a sister.

Max worried about her. He worried about the way Richard treated her.

He liked to stay nearby. Because one day Richard would cross a line—and Max needed to be there when he did.

He glanced at the house and remembered the assurance he’d given Sarah this morning that he’d take care of the sink. He liked keeping his word.

But Richard wasn’t going to go for it.

He pulled his gaze from the house and back to Richard. “Should I ask Mrs. Harding if she needs anything while I’m in Staunton?”

The drive was about an hour, and some things you couldn’t get in Blue Ridge Hollow. Drives beyond the town limit usually involved combined errands to make the most of the trip.

“No, she should be fine. Besides, she’s busy doing some paperwork. There’s no need to disturb her.” His words sounded crisp, just as they always did.

Richard Harding liked to get what he wanted. He looked the part of being affluent, with his slick blond hair, tanned skin, and gym-perfected physique.

He had money, and he liked people to know it.

“Got it.” Max knew better than to argue.

But he couldn’t stand Richard. The only reason he continued to work as groundskeeper and maintenance man here at Refuge Cove was because of Sarah. She’d seen something in Max that no one else had. At the lowest point of his life, she’d offered him the job, and for that he’d always be grateful.

It wasn’t his right to be her guardian. But he felt protective toward her anyway.

He had to be careful, however. The last thing he needed was for Richard to think Max’s protectiveness was something more—something romantic. It wasn’t.

It was simply one fellow human looking out for another. Max would never pursue a married woman. In fact, he was quite content being single. Life was easier without any attachments.

The drive to Staunton took longer than it should have. Traffic seemed to crawl, and when Max finally reached the lumberyard, a line had already formed. Then the boards had to be pulled from the back and cut.

By the time Max loaded the wood into his truck and headed back, his earlier unease had turned into something heavier. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was. But before he’d left on his errand . . . it had almost seemed as if Richard didn’t want Max to go inside.

Why would that be?

Max was in and out of the house at Refuge Cove all the time. He even had his own key.

Had Richard sent him away for a reason?

The gravel crunched beneath his tires as Max pulled back into the drive at the place he’d called home for the past two years. He lived in an apartment over the garage.

Richard’s truck was gone. Earlier, he’d mentioned running into town. He seemed obsessed with this chicken house today. He was an architect, and he’d designed it himself.

As per usual, Max knocked before stepping into the house and called, “Sarah?”

She’d insisted he call her Sarah, but around Richard, Max always used the name Mrs. Harding. Again, he didn’t want the man to get the wrong idea.

No answer came.

Max stepped farther inside, and his gaze swept the room.

Something near the base of the stairs caught his eye.

His breath caught.

Sarah lay crumpled at the bottom of the staircase. One arm was bent awkwardly beneath her, and her body was angled in an unnatural way.

“Sarah . . .” He crossed the room quickly and dropped to his knees beside her. “Hey, can you hear me?”

She didn’t respond.

His heart pounded as he reached for her and pressed his finger against her neck.

She still had a pulse but barely.

He grabbed his cell phone and dialed 911.

Once he knew an ambulance was on the way, he turned back to Sarah. Her face was so pale, her expression so lifeless.

“Stay with me,” he murmured. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She still didn’t move.

What had happened?

Max looked to the staircase, searching for an answer—then back to Sarah, panic rising in his throat.

She’d fallen.

Right?

It had to be a fall.

But something about that scenario didn’t sit right.

Sarah was always so careful, and all her actions seemed measured and purposeful . . .

Still, accidents could happen to anyone.

Max slowly exhaled and forced himself to focus.

But he couldn’t. Too many thoughts punched him in the gut as they begged for his attention.

Richard had insisted Max leave before going into the house that morning. He’d told Max not to bother Sarah. Then at some point while Max was gone Richard himself had left.

Realization washed over Max.

He really had been sent away on purpose. Richard hadn’t wanted Max here for a reason.

Had Richard done this? Had he hurt Sarah? Made it look like an accident?

Max’s hands fisted at his sides.

He looked at Sarah’s motionless body again.

He should have stayed, should have trusted what his gut had been telling him from the start.

Instead, he’d driven away.

Whatever had happened here . . . felt like his fault.