Chapter 11
Hudson had been staring at the same beer for twenty minutes when the stool beside him scraped back.
He was back in the Rusty Anchor.
The jukebox in the corner was playing something dated that might have been Springsteen.
Marty was behind the bar, drying a glass that had been dry for the last five minutes.
He caught Hudson’s eye, and Hudson held it with a smile to let the man know he wasn’t here to cause trouble twice in one week. Marty went back to the glass.
“Rumor has it you put Dale Kincaid on the floor.”
He didn’t need to look up. There was only one person in Aurora Cove who moved like that—full weight, no apology for taking up the space.
Wyatt’s voice hadn’t changed at all. Still that low, calm register. “Without breaking a sweat. That true?”
“Marty exaggerates.”
“Marty exaggerates everything except that.” Wyatt signaled Marty, two fingers, and didn’t look away from Hudson while he waited. “I believe that part.”
Hudson stood because some things you didn’t do sitting down.
Wyatt’s arms closed around him, a hand flat against his back, and for a second neither of them said anything at all. Fifteen years compressed into a grip that didn’t need translating.
“You got old,” Wyatt said into his shoulder.
“I think I heard that already today.”
Wyatt grinned. “Ryder’s all charm.” Wyatt released him, looked him over once, head to boots. “You look like hell, Kane.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it as a compliment. You used to look worse.” Wyatt sat back down, and Hudson sat with him, and Marty set two beers down.
They sat for a minute without talking. Hudson had forgotten how comfortable that could be—silence that didn’t need filling, sitting next to someone who’d once watched his back in places neither of them ever talked about.
“Heard about the rig,” Hudson said eventually. “The weapons one off the coast.”
Wyatt’s mouth did something almost like surprise. “You heard about that.”
“I keep tabs.”
“On me?”
“On the things that mattered.” Hudson worked his thumbnail at the edge of the bottle label. “Heard you pulled the chief engineer off it too. Jen.”
Something shifted across Wyatt’s face. “She pulled herself off it, mostly. I just helped with the last part.”
“She still putting up with you?”
“Somehow.”
“Good.” Hudson meant it. “You deserve that.”
Wyatt looked at him for a second too long, as if he was deciding whether to say something back in kind, and then didn’t, because that wasn’t how they did this. He swigged his beer then glanced at Hudson’s untouched bottle. “Still can’t handle carbonation?”
Hudson looked at him.
Wyatt shrugged. “You always hated it after.”
“Depends on the day.”
“Mmm.” Wyatt didn’t push it. He just nodded, closing the subject with respect rather than pity. “Funny thing.”
“What?”
“You’ve been back twenty-four hours.”
Hudson already knew where this was going.
“And somehow every story I’ve heard involves Sarah.”
“I’m here for the case. She’s the sheriff.” Hudson kept his voice even. “I’ll be gone within the week.”
Wyatt took a long drink. “Sure.” He turned his bottle in a slow circle on the bar. “Remember when Sarah saved our asses after Ryder wrapped the crab line around the prop?”
Hudson snorted. “You mean when she spent six months extorting us afterward?”
“Still the smartest one there.” Wyatt swigged his beer. “She made detective at twenty-six. The old guard hated it.” Wyatt grinned. “She made them all look stupid. Runs that office better than the last three guys combined and doesn’t ask anyone for credit.”
“I haven’t forgotten who she is, Wyatt.”
“I know you haven’t.” Wyatt set the bottle down. “She still forgets to eat when she’s working, though.”
Hudson said nothing. He’d already figured that out.
Wyatt gave him a side-long look. “Louisa mentioned you were in Benji’s.”
Christ. Hudson shook his head and smiled despite himself.
“Yeah,” Wyatt said. “Thought that might get your attention.”
“It was lunch.”
“Mmm.”
“It was.”
“Sure it was.” Wyatt arched an eyebrow. “Just making sure you remember it’s not your job to look after her. She’s been doing fine at that herself for a long time.”
The words hit a place he’d been carefully avoiding since he arrived in Aurora Cove. Wyatt was stating a fact about his sister and trusting Hudson to be smart enough to hear the quiet warning underneath it.
“Understood,” he said.
“Good.” Wyatt clapped him once on the shoulder, the subject closing as easily as it had opened. “And dinner on Friday? Mom’s excited. She already knows everything else too, so don’t bother trying to manage the narrative.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You would. And you’d be terrible at it.” Wyatt stood, dropped a bill on the bar that was too much for two beers, and didn’t wait for change. “Good to see you, Kane.”
“You too.”
They shook hands.
Wyatt held on for a second longer than required. “She’s tougher than both of us.” A beat. “Don’t make her have to prove it on your account.”
Wyatt left.
Hudson turned back to the bar. That had never been the problem.
Every conversation he’d had since landing in Aurora Cove seemed to end in the same place.
Her.
As if the whole town had decided she was the thing he ought to be paying attention to.
As if he wasn’t already.