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Chapter One

Tuesday, 4:00 p.m.

Bray got off the plane in St. Louis, Missouri, and shuffled alongside all the other passengers through the terminal. He’d slept the entire flight, but since it was just over two hours from New York to St. Louis, it was not nearly enough time to make up for the past three months, when any rest in excess of four hours a night was considered a luxury.

And when you made your living working as a drug enforcement agent, luxury wasn’t part of your everyday vocabulary. But now he had five whole days of downtime, a well-earned vacation as his boss had coined it, to catch up on his sleep.

For months, he’d been planning to travel to Missouri in November for Thanksgiving. Had expected turkey would be served at Chase’s upscale, albeit rather sterile, apartment in St. Louis. Had not imagined Chase would move the event to the family home in Ravesville—or that he’d add something else to the holiday weekend.

He’d been casual, too casual Bray now realized, when he’d asked Bray how he might feel about extending his stay through Sunday. Bray had assumed he was looking for help to get the house ready for sale.

He’d almost fallen off his chair when Chase had announced that he was getting married on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and would Bray serve as a groomsman? Bray had laughed and said, “Hell, yes.” Then Chase, apparently oblivious that at Bray’s advanced age of thirty-seven it was good to have some time to adjust to shocks, had kept going. He wanted to buy the family home, to settle in Ravesville with his new wife, Raney.

“Of course,” Bray had said. Then added, “Is there anything else?”

All Chase had said was to expect a call from Cal.

He’d had to wait forty-three hours for his youngest brother to call. And when Cal announced that Bray needed to make sure he could get time off for two trips west because he was engaged and would be married at Christmas, Bray hadn’t minced words. “I’ll come but I’m sure as hell not drinking the water. The Hollister boys are falling fast, and I’m going to save myself.”

He was happy for his brothers. But he knew that marriage wasn’t for everyone. He’d come close once, but it had been a long time ago. He’d gone to war, and Summer Wright had married somebody else.

Chase had shared that she was divorced with a couple of kids. Still living in Ravesville. Didn’t matter. He and Summer were old news.

He stepped up to the car-rental counter and took the keys for the Chevy Impala. In New York, he had a sweet little BMW convertible but he rarely drove it. Paid a hundred bucks a month to park it down the street from his Brooklyn condo. He mostly worked out of an old, beat-up Honda that was owned by the agency. There was nothing on it to steal, and it already had so many dents that the joke was he could run down some scumbag drug dealer and not even have to file a report.

He found his car in the lot and was on the road in less than a minute. Ravesville was ninety miles southwest of St. Louis in the middle of nowhere. He glanced at his watch. With luck, he’d be there for dinner.

There was a lot of traffic for a Tuesday, but finally, when he was twenty minutes out, he called Chase’s cell phone.

“Red or white?” he asked when Chase answered.

“We’ve got plenty of both. Don’t worry about bringing any wine. Meet us at the church on the corner of Main and Portland. You’re just in time for rehearsal.”

“I could slow way down,” Bray said.

“Get your sorry self here. My bride wants to meet you.”

At the edge of Ravesville, he saw the gas station where he’d worked his junior and senior years. Like most places, the gas had been self-serve. Bray had worked the inside counter, taking money, selling hot dogs and learning to hate the smell of fountain pop.

Frank Baleeze, who had owned the place, had been his dad’s best friend. Once Bray turned sixteen, he’d offered him a job.

It was probably Frank’s fault that Bray had become a marine. The man had talked about his years in the corps with such pride. Bray had wanted to be part of something like that.

When Bray had come home for his mother’s funeral eight years earlier, Frank had already sold the station and retired to Florida. Even so, Bray stopped in at the old place for gas.

They no longer sold hot dogs, and all the soda was in cans. Their main business was lottery tickets.

It was just more proof that the old saying about not being able to go home again was indeed fact.

The church was close, and Bray found a place to park. For as long as he could remember, his mother had been a regular attendee at the Lutheran church. He and his brothers had been baptized and confirmed here. His parents had both had their funerals here.

When Bray entered, he saw Chase first, standing next to a very pretty woman with short white-blond hair. Then there was Cal, with his arm slung around a stunningly beautiful woman with dark hair.

Next came hugs and introductions. Once he’d met Raney and Nalana, he was convinced that his brothers might have fallen, but they’d landed in cotton. The women were gorgeous and nice.

“Reverend Brown would like us to do a walk-through,” Raney said, pointing to the minister at the front of the church.

Clara Brown had performed both his father’s and his mother’s funerals. She was close to sixty and had a soft voice, but when she spoke, people listened. She’d known his mother better, and the eulogy that she’d delivered had been heartfelt and poignant, a fitting send-off for a good woman.

Bray waved to her. There was a middle-aged woman he didn’t know sitting at the piano. He gave her a quick nod and belatedly added a small smile. His partner on the job would have been proud. The guy, who’d recently met his one true love after a nine-month spree of online dating, was always telling him he needed to do that more. “You’re scary tough,” Mason would say. “Unapproachable. That turns people away, especially the babes. Try smiling.”

Every once in a while, he remembered.

“Nice to see you again, Bray,” Reverend Brown said. She stepped off the altar and walked toward them. “Just so you know,” she said, looking at Raney, “my ceremonies start and end on time. My assistant will be stationed with you and your attendants in the back of the church. I’m counting on the three of you,” she said, switching her gaze to the three Hollister men, “to figure out how to get yourselves out of the back room, through the side door and standing at the altar once the second song starts. Can you manage that?”

“I’ll keep him from running out the back door,” Bray said.

“No worries there,” Chase said, winking at Raney.

“I hope not,” Reverend Brown said, a smile in her voice. “It’s unfortunate that the maid of honor and other bridesmaid couldn’t be here for rehearsal, but I’m counting on the rest of you to fill them in.” Bray remembered that Chase had said that Raney wanted her two friends to be able to spend Thanksgiving with their families, so the women wouldn’t arrive until late Friday night.

No big deal. How tough could it be to walk down the aisle?

Tough enough that ten minutes later, Reverend Brown was making Raney do it a second this-time-slower time when Bray heard the sound of squealing tires and a slamming car door. Seconds later, someone pounding down the church steps to get to the basement. Then shouting. A man, loud. A woman, softer, muffled.

And the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Raney stopped midaisle, turned and started for the back of the church. Chase caught up with her in just a few steps. Four feet later, Bray clamped a hand on his brother’s neck and gently grabbed Raney’s arm. “This is your practice,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

Both Raney and Chase hesitated, and then Chase gave a quick nod. “Be careful,” he said.

When Bray got to the top of the basement stairs, the yelling was still going on. He went fast but quietly down the thirteen steps. Rounded the corner, saw the back of a man and realized that he’d grabbed the person in front of him and was starting to shake them.

“Hey,” Bray yelled. And that caused just enough delay that he was able to get across the room, land a hand on the man’s shoulder and whip him around.

The man hadn’t touched him, but he’d felt as if he’d taken one in the stomach.

He hadn’t seen Summer Wright for fifteen years, and there she was. As beautiful as ever with her red hair. Her face was pale, and the fingers she had pressed up to her lips were shaking.

“What the hell?” The man was snarling and pushing at Bray.

Two quick moves and Bray had the man on his knees with his left arm wrenched high behind his back. “Shut up,” Bray said calmly.

“Are you okay?” he asked Summer.

She nodded.

So maybe he wouldn’t break this man’s neck. “What’s going on here?” Bray asked.

The man tried to twist away. “I’m having a damn conversation with my wife,” he said.

“Ex-wife,” Summer said. She swallowed hard and looked at Bray. “You can let him go,” she said softly.

So this sorry excuse for a man was Gary Blake. “I don’t think so.”

She licked her lips. “He’ll just make trouble for you if you don’t.”

Many years ago, Blake had been an officer on the local police force. Based on the uniform, he still was. He leaned close to Blake’s ear. “I’m going to let you up,” Bray whispered. “But if you make one move in her direction, I’m going to take you down, and I’m going to make it hurt.”

When Gary Blake was back on his feet, he whirled toward Bray. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“Bray Hollister.”

He could tell the minute the name registered. Blake stood perfectly still, as if debating what to do next. Finally, he turned back toward Summer. “We’re not done,” he said. Then he walked out of the room.

Bray heard his feet on the stairs, heard the front door, heard a vehicle start. He heard all that while he watched the woman he’d once loved lower herself into a chair, as if her knees were about to give out.

“I figured you’d be home for the wedding,” she said.

He didn’t answer because he heard more noise on the stairs. Then Chase, Raney, Cal and Nalana were in the basement. Reverend Brown and the piano player were behind them.

“Everything under control?” Chase asked, looking at Bray.

Bray shrugged. Hell, no. He wasn’t in control. This woman had broken his heart. She’d chosen someone else. And he’d let that simmer in his gut for years until he’d finally believed he was over her.

And the past five minutes had proved that he’d been lying to himself for years. “Great. Just great.”

Raney crossed the room and wrapped an arm around Summer. “Don’t worry about these,” Raney said. “We’ll finish them up.”

He’d been so focused on Summer that he’d missed the twenty or so square glass vases that were on the kitchen counter behind her.

Summer shook her head. “Absolutely not,” she said, her voice sounding shaky. She cleared her throat. “I’ve only got a few to wash, and then I’ll load them in my van,” she added, more confidently.

Raney looked as if she might want to argue, but instead, she gave a quick nod. She looked up at Bray. “I understand you already know Summer.”

There wasn’t a sound in the room.

“She and her sister, Trish, are handling the flowers and the food for the reception that we’re having at the Wright Here, Wright Now Café,” Chase finally jumped in. “The church is letting us borrow the vases.”

Nobody seemed inclined to want to discuss Gary Blake and what had just happened. Was it because of the potential of Reverend Brown and the other woman hearing the conversation?

Reverend Brown, astute as ever, turned to leave. “Julie and I’ll be upstairs. Nice to see you again, Summer.”

No one spoke until the door at the top of the stairs opened and closed again.

Then Nalana stepped forward, walking toward the sink where the remaining vases were submerged in soapy water.

Summer held up a hand. “No. Please. I’m almost finished, and I’m sure you all have lots of catching up to do.”

The message was clear. You have to catch up with Bray since he hasn’t been around for forever.

Summer focused on Raney and Chase. “I won’t let him ruin any part of your wedding. I promise.”

Raney shook her head. “You are not responsible for his poor behavior.”

Summer sighed. “I’m just terribly sorry this happened. It’s...embarrassing.”

“It’s not you who should be embarrassed,” Chase said. “I think I might have to go drop-kick Blake into the next county.”

“Oh, please. I’ve got a bigger foot and a stronger kick. Let me,” Cal said.

That got a small smile from Summer. Bray was happy to see that and happier still to see the easy camaraderie between Chase and Cal. It hadn’t always been that way, and he wasn’t sure why. But he liked this.

“I’ll help Summer finish up here,” Bray said.

His brothers exchanged a quick glance. “Well, okay, then,” Chase said. He and Cal, each with an arm slung around his woman, went back upstairs, leaving him alone with Summer, who was back on her feet.

“This isn’t necessary,” she said.

He deliberately rolled up his shirtsleeves, then walked over to the sink and plunged his hands into the lukewarm water. “I’ll wash. You dry.”

She pressed her lips together. Finally, she let out a loud sigh and grabbed the dull white dish towel.

They didn’t talk for the five minutes it took to finish washing the vases. Nor for the seven minutes it took to pack all twenty in two big cardboard boxes. Finally, Bray said, “Now what?”

“Now I load them in my van,” she said.

He hoisted a box up. “Lead the way.”

She started to lift the other.

“Leave it,” he said. “It’s too heavy. I’ll get it on the second trip.”

She led him up the back stairs of the church and outside. There sat an old red van that had seen better days. There were several scratches and a couple of small dents, one that looked pretty new. “What happened here?” he asked, thinking it could have been made by a man’s boot. Did Blake take his anger out on objects, too?

She smiled. “Errant football. I said it was a wild throw. Keagan said I should have jumped higher.”

“Keagan?”

“My son.”

Ahhhh, yes. The child that she’d had with Gary Blake within the first year of their marriage. Bray set the box down, perhaps harder than necessary, but he didn’t hear anything break.

He went back inside for the other box. She was standing next to the open van door and stepped aside so that he could shove the box in. Which he did—a little more gently.

“You have a daughter, too, right?” he asked.

Summer’s face softened. “Adalyn. We call her Adie. She’s five.”

“How do they feel about the divorce?” he asked.

There was enough light from the streetlight that he could see her pretty green eyes cloud over. “Probably like any kid feels about a divorce. Sad. Confused. Relieved,” she added, her voice quiet.

That pulled at his gut. Was it even possible that Blake had used his fists on them, too? “Did your ex ever—”

She walked to the side of the van, opened the driver’s-side door and got in. She started the engine. Finally, she turned her head sideways and made eye contact. “Never. He knew I’d kill him if he did that.”