Hope Found in the Lawman’s Arms (Preview)

Chapter One

Harbor’s End, California
June 1887

The salt-tinged breeze swept through Evelyn’s curly brown hair as she walked alongside Marian down the weathered planks of Harbor’s End’s bustling docks. At twenty-two, Evelyn had inherited their mother’s delicate features and warm hazel eyes, though worry had etched faint lines at the corners that made her seem older. Marian, three years younger, was softer somehow, rounder cheeks still touched with youth, pale blue eyes that sparkled with an optimism Evelyn had lost somewhere along the way, and blonde hair that caught the light like spun gold. Where Evelyn moved with careful purpose, Marian still bounced with energy, her whole face lighting up when she smiled.

She was smiling now, practically glowing as she clutched Evelyn’s arm.

Gulls cried overhead, their calls mixing with the shouts of dock workers hauling crates and coiling thick ropes. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the water, painting the harbor in shades of gold and amber.

“He’s just so wonderful, Evelyn,” Marian gushed for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and her eyes sparkled as she clutched Evelyn’s arm. “Miles took me to the new tearoom last Tuesday. You should have seen how everyone looked at us. The mayor’s son, choosing me.”

Evelyn forced a small smile, though unease twisted in her stomach. “That sounds lovely.”

“Lovely?” Marian stopped walking and turned to face her, her expression falling. “Is that all you have to say? Evelyn, this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me, and you act as though I’ve told you about a mundane errand.”

Evelyn sighed, watching a fishing vessel pull into the harbor. “I’m happy you’re enjoying yourself, Marian. Truly, I am.”

“But?” Marian’s tone sharpened.

“But nothing.” Evelyn started walking again, hoping she’d drop the subject.

She didn’t. Marian hurried to catch up, her footsteps quick on the dock. “You’ve been like this ever since Miles and I started courting. Every time I mention his name, you get this…this look on your face.”

“What look?”

“Like you’ve bitten into something sour.” She crossed her arms. “You don’t approve of him.”

Evelyn couldn’t deny it, so she said nothing. They passed a group of sailors unloading barrels from a merchant ship, their voices rough and jovial as they worked. The familiar sounds and smells of the docks usually brought her comfort, but today they felt oppressive.

“Why don’t you like him?” Marian pressed. “He’s been nothing but kind to me. He’s handsome, well-mannered, and his family is respected throughout Harbor’s End. What more could you want?”

For him to be genuine, Evelyn thought. For him not to have the reputation he does.

“I’ve heard things,” she said carefully.

“Things?” Marian’s voice rose. “What things?”

Evelyn glanced around, lowering her voice. “There are rumors, Marian. About Miles associating with questionable people from the outskirts of town.”

“Rumors.” She spat the word like poison. “That’s what this is about? Town gossip?”

“It’s not just gossip. Several people have mentioned seeing him in places a mayor’s son has no business being. Late at night, near the old warehouses, with men who…”

“Who what?” Marian interrupted. “Who don’t meet your standards? Not everyone can be as perfectly cautious and suspicious as you, Evelyn.”

The words stung, but Evelyn kept her voice level. “I’m just concerned about you.”

“No, you’re jealous.”

Evelyn stopped walking and stared at her. “Jealous?”

“Yes, jealous.” Marian’s face flushed deeper, anger replacing excitement. “You can’t stand that someone wants to court me. That someone sees value in me.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“Isn’t it?” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You’ve always been the pretty one, the clever one. Father doted on you before he left. And now that someone like Miles Hawthorne is interested in me, you can’t handle it.”

“Marian, that’s not true at all. I love you. I’m worried because…”

“Because you don’t trust anyone!” she cried. “You haven’t trusted anyone since Uncle Gideon, and you’re letting that poison everything good that comes into our lives.”

The mention of their uncle’s name sent a cold spike through Evelyn’s chest. She turned away, gripping the dock’s railing and staring out at the gray-blue water. The memory still had the power to make her hands shake.

She had been nineteen when her father had left on his longest voyage yet, a trading route that would keep him at sea for over a year. Before he departed, he’d called Marian and her into his study, his weathered face serious beneath his captain’s hat.

“Gideon will look after you both,” he’d said, counting out a substantial sum of money. “This should more than cover your expenses. Your uncle has agreed to manage the household while I’m gone.”

Evelyn had felt uneasy even then. Uncle Gideon had always watched Father with something bitter in his eyes, though she’d been too young to name it as jealousy. He was unmarried, frequently at the taverns, and there were whispers about his gambling habits.

“Father,” she’d started, but he’d waved away her concerns.

“Gideon is family, Evelyn. He’ll do right by you girls.”

For the first two months, Uncle Gideon had been present but distant. Then the money began to disappear. First in small amounts, then larger ones. When Evelyn had questioned him, he’d made excuses. Unexpected expenses. Necessary repairs. Rising costs.

By month four, she’d discovered the truth. Their uncle was gambling away every coin Father had left for their care. When she’d confronted him, he’d looked at her with such venom that she’d stepped back.

“Your father always had everything,” he’d snarled, his breath reeking of whiskey. “The successful career, the beautiful wife, the perfect daughters. While I had nothing. Nothing. Well, now it’s my turn.”

Within a week of that confrontation, he’d vanished, taking the last of the money with him. Marian and Evelyn had been left to fend for themselves. Evelyn had taken work at the seamstress shop, and Marian had found employment at the bakery. They’d survived, but barely.

When Father finally returned from his voyage months later, the guilt had nearly broken him. He’d worked tirelessly to rebuild what they’d lost, taking on longer routes, more dangerous voyages, anything to provide for his daughters and make up for trusting the wrong person. But the damage was done. They’d learned to rely only on each other.

Until now.

“I know Uncle Gideon hurt us,” Marian said, her voice softer but still edged with frustration. “But Miles isn’t Uncle Gideon. You can’t judge every person by one man’s betrayal.”

Evelyn turned back to face her. “I’m not. But I can be cautious. I can pay attention when things don’t add up.”

“What doesn’t add up about Miles?” She threw her hands up. “He’s been perfectly courteous. He brings me flowers, he walks me home, and he introduces me to his friends. He’s trying, Evelyn.”

“Has he introduced you to his family?” Evelyn asked quietly.

Marian’s expression flickered. “His father is very busy.”

“You’ve been courting for three months.”

“These things take time. The mayor is an important man.”

“Marian…”

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I’m not going to let you do this. I’m not going to let you turn something beautiful into something dark and suspicious just because you’re afraid to trust anyone.”

“I trust you,” Evelyn said, her throat tight.

“Do you?” She looked at her with such sadness that Evelyn’s heart ached. “Because it feels like you think I’m a fool for believing in him.”

“I don’t think you’re a fool. I think you’re nineteen and in love, and I think love can make us blind to things we should see clearly.”

“Maybe,” Marian said quietly. “Or maybe you’re so focused on protecting yourself that you can’t recognize when something real and good is happening right in front of you.”

They stood in silence, the sounds of the harbor filling the space between them. A ship’s bell rang out, marking the hour. Somewhere nearby, a child laughed, the sound bright and carefree.

“I want to be happy for you,” Evelyn finally said. “I do, Marian. But these rumors about Miles…they come from people I trust. People who have nothing to gain from lying.”

“What people?”

“Mrs. Henderson at the seamstress shop. Her son works as a night watchman near the warehouses. He’s seen Miles there, late at night, meeting with men who…” She hesitated.

“Who what?”

“Who are known for smuggling and other illegal activities.”

Marian laughed, but it was a harsh, brittle sound. “Mrs. Henderson is a notorious gossip who makes up stories to entertain herself. And you’re taking her word over Miles’s character?”

“It’s not just her. Thomas from the fish market mentioned seeing…”

“I don’t care what Thomas saw or didn’t see,” Marian interrupted. “Miles has explained to me that sometimes his father asks him to deliver messages to various people throughout the town, even to the outskirts. That’s part of being the mayor’s son. He’s helping his father.”

It was a reasonable explanation, but something about it felt hollow. “Has Miles told you what these messages contain?”

“They’re private town business. He can’t discuss them with me.” She straightened her shoulders. “And before you ask, yes, I believe him. Because, unlike you, I’m capable of trusting someone.”

The accusation hung in the air between them. Evelyn wanted to argue, to explain that trust had to be earned, that being cautious wasn’t the same as being incapable of connection. But she could see from Marian’s set jaw and defensive posture that she wouldn’t hear it.

“I’m trying to protect you,” Evelyn said softly.

“I don’t need protection. I need my sister to be happy for me.” Her voice cracked. “I need you to trust that I can make my own decisions, even if you don’t agree with them.”

“I do trust you to make your own decisions. But that doesn’t mean I can’t voice concerns when I have them.”

“Your concerns feel like accusations.” She wiped at her eyes. “Every time you question Miles, it feels like you’re questioning my judgment. Like you think I’m too naive or stupid to see the truth.”

“I’ve never thought that. Never.”

“Then why can’t you just be happy for me?” The question came out as almost a plea. “Why can’t you smile when I talk about him? Why can’t you believe that maybe, just maybe, something good is happening in my life?”

Because Evelyn had seen how charming men could destroy everything. Because Uncle Gideon had been charming, too, at first. Because Father had been so convinced family meant loyalty that he couldn’t see the jealousy festering in his own brother’s heart.

But she couldn’t say any of that without sounding exactly as Marian had accused her: bitter, jealous, and unable to trust.

“I’ll try,” Evelyn said instead. “I’ll try to be more supportive.”

Marian searched her face, her expression uncertain. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. She would try. For her sister’s sake, she would try to set aside her suspicions and be the sister Marian needed. Even if every instinct she had screamed that Miles Hawthorne was hiding something dangerous.

“Thank you.” Marian reached out and squeezed her hand. “That’s all I’m asking. Just give him a chance. Get to know him. You’ll see that he’s not what you think.”

Evelyn squeezed back, managing a more genuine smile. “Alright.”

The tension between them eased slightly, though it didn’t disappear entirely. They continued their walk along the docks, and Marian returned to talking about Miles, though with less enthusiasm than before. Evelyn listened and made appropriate responses, but her mind wandered.

Maybe she was being unfair. Maybe her past had indeed made her too suspicious, too quick to see danger where none existed. Maybe Miles Hawthorne was exactly what he appeared to be: a privileged young man trying to help his father and courting her sister with genuine affection.

Or maybe her instincts were right, and Marian was walking into something that would hurt her far worse than Uncle Gideon’s betrayal ever had.

As they turned back toward home, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Evelyn made a silent promise. She would watch. She would pay attention. And if Miles Hawthorne proved to be the man she feared he was, she would find a way to protect Marian, even if it meant her sister would never forgive her for it.

Because that’s what love meant, didn’t it? Doing what was right, even when it was hard. Even when it meant standing alone.

Just as she’d learned to do three years ago, when Uncle Gideon had taught her that family ties meant nothing compared to a man’s jealousy and greed.

Chapter Two

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Main Street as Holden completed his final patrol of Redwood Crossing. His boots echoed against the wooden boardwalk, a familiar rhythm that had marked his days for the past seven years. At twenty-nine, he cut an imposing figure, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair that always seemed slightly disheveled no matter how often he pushed it back, and storm-gray eyes that missed nothing. A scar ran along his left forearm, a permanent reminder of the fire that had changed everything.

He nodded to Mrs. Whitmore as she locked up her general store, her weathered hands fumbling with the key.

“Evening, Sheriff,” she called out, her voice warm. “All quiet today?”

“Yes, ma’am. Just the way I like it.” He tipped his hat to her, watching as she shuffled down the street toward her small house on the edge of town.

Quiet days were good days. They meant no one was in danger, no one needed protecting. But quiet days also gave him too much time to think, and thinking led to places he preferred not to revisit.

He continued down the street, checking each storefront, noting which buildings needed repairs and which citizens might need assistance. The bakery’s window shutter hung loose on its hinges. He’d fix that tomorrow before someone got hurt. Old Mr. Peterson struggled with the grain sacks outside the feed store. Holden crossed the street to help him.

“Sheriff, you don’t need to,” the old man protested, but his relief was evident as Holden hoisted two of the heavier sacks onto his shoulder.

“It’s no trouble.” He carried them into the store, stacking them neatly against the back wall. “Where’s your grandson? He usually helps with these.”

Mr. Peterson’s face fell. “Tommy’s been sick. Fever. Doc says he needs rest.”

“I’ll stop by tomorrow to check on him.” Holden made a mental note. Young Tommy was barely fourteen, always eager to help his grandfather. A good kid.

“You’re a good man, Sheriff McAllister.”

Holden simply nodded and left before the old man could say more. Good wasn’t the word he’d use for himself. Guilty, maybe. Driven by a need to make up for past failures, certainly. But good? That implied he was doing something beyond what was required, when in truth, he was only doing what he should have done years ago.

The memory surfaced unbidden, as it often did during these quiet moments. The acrid smell of smoke. The roar of flames. His mother’s scream.

He pushed the thoughts away and focused on his rounds. Check the schoolhouse. Inspect the church. Make sure the livery stable was secure. Every building, every person, every potential threat assessed and neutralized. This was his purpose. This was how he atoned.

By the time he reached the sheriff’s office, dusk had settled over Redwood Crossing. The small building sat at the corner of Main Street and Oak Avenue, positioned strategically so he could see most of the town from its windows. He’d insisted on that when he took the job. Visibility meant awareness, and awareness meant he could respond faster when trouble arose.

Inside, he lit the oil lamp on his desk and reviewed the day’s notes. Three property disputes that needed mediating. A complaint about loose livestock. A request to investigate suspicious travelers passing through last week. Nothing urgent, but each item received his full attention. Details mattered. Missing one small thing could lead to disaster.

The door creaked open, and he looked up to find Charlotte standing in the doorway, a covered basket in her hands. She’d inherited their mother’s fair coloring, golden blonde hair she wore pulled back in a practical bun, bright blue eyes that sparkled with warmth or concern depending on her mood. Right now, they held both as she studied him with that particular expression that said she was about to lecture him about taking care of himself.

“You missed dinner again,” she said, her tone caught between exasperation and affection.

“I was working.”

“You’re always working.” She entered the office and set the basket on his desk, revealing still-warm bread, cheese, and sliced ham. “When was the last time you ate a meal at an actual table instead of hunched over this desk?”

He couldn’t remember. “Last Sunday?”

“Try three weeks ago.” Charlotte settled into the chair across from him, her blue eyes studying his face with an intensity that reminded him uncomfortably of their mother. “Holden, this isn’t healthy.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” She leaned forward. “You barely sleep. You work from dawn until well past dark. You avoid every social gathering in town. Mrs. Henderson told me you turned down her dinner invitation again.”

“I had responsibilities.”

“You always have responsibilities.” Her voice softened. “But you also have a life. Or at least, you should.”

He picked up the bread, more to have something to do with his hands than from hunger. “My life is here. Protecting this town. Making sure everyone stays safe.”

“And who protects you?”

The question caught him off guard. “I don’t need protecting.”

“Everyone needs someone, Holden.” Charlotte’s expression turned sad. “Ever since the fire, you’ve carried the weight of the world on your shoulders. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

The fire. Seven years had passed, but it might as well have been yesterday. He could still see the flames consuming their family home, still feel the heat searing his lungs as he’d fought his way through the smoke to reach Charlotte’s room. She’d been thirteen, trapped on the second floor, screaming for help.

He’d gotten her out. Barely. His arms still bore the scars from carrying her through the burning doorway. But by the time he’d laid her safely on the grass and turned back for their parents, the entire structure had been engulfed. The stairs had collapsed. The roof had begun to cave in.

He’d tried to go back in anyway. It had taken three men to hold him back, to stop him from running into that inferno. And all the while, he’d known. He’d known they were gone, that he’d been too slow, too late.

If he’d been faster. If he’d checked on them first instead of going for Charlotte. If he’d noticed the fire earlier, before it had spread so far.

“Holden?” Charlotte’s voice pulled him back to the present. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Disappearing into your head. Into the guilt.” She reached across the desk and placed her hand over his. “It wasn’t your fault. You saved me. You did everything you could.”

“I should have saved them both.” The words came out rougher than he intended. “I should have been faster, stronger, better.”

“You were twenty-two years old, and the house was already engulfed when you woke up. The fire marshal said so. The flames started in the kitchen and spread through the walls. By the time anyone noticed, it was too late for…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

Holden pulled his hand away and stood, moving to the window. Outside, Redwood Crossing lay peaceful under the emerging stars. Lights flickered in windows. Smoke rose from chimneys. Families gathered around dinner tables, safe in their homes because he made sure they were safe.

“This is why I do what I do,” he said quietly. “So no one else has to lose someone. So no other family has to experience what we did.”

“I understand that. I do.” Charlotte rose and came to stand beside him. “But punishing yourself by refusing to live won’t bring them back. Ma and Pa wouldn’t want this for you.”

“They’re not here to want anything.”

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken grief. Charlotte finally sighed and moved toward the door.

“There’s a social next Saturday at the church,” she said. “I’d like you to come. Please. Just for an hour.”

“I’ll see.”

“That means no.”

He turned to face her. Despite being twenty now, she still looked so young to him, still the frightened girl he’d carried from the flames. The thought of anything happening to her, of failing to protect the only family he had left, sent ice through his veins.

“Charlotte, I have obligations.”

“And I’m your sister. Don’t I count as an obligation too?” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I’m worried about you, Holden. You’ve built walls so high around yourself that no one can reach you anymore. Not the townspeople who care about you, not your friends, not even me half the time.”

“That’s not true. You know you’re the most important person in my life.”

“Then prove it. Come to the social. Talk to people. Let yourself be part of this community instead of just its guardian.” She paused at the door. “Dr. Benson will be there. He mentioned wanting to speak with you.”

Thaddeus Benson. The town doctor. A decent man from what Holden had observed, though he’d kept his interactions with him professional and brief, as he did with everyone.

“About what?”

A small smile played at Charlotte’s lips. “I don’t know. Maybe you should come and find out.”

After she left, Holden returned to his desk and the now-cold meal she’d brought. He forced himself to eat, knowing she’d check tomorrow and be disappointed if he hadn’t. As he ate, his mind wandered to the last time he’d let someone past his carefully constructed defenses.

Rebecca. Three years earlier. Beautiful, charming, seemingly genuine in her interest. He’d been a fool to believe her, to trust her with details about his work, about the routes he patrolled, about when the town would be most vulnerable.

She’d used every piece of information he’d given her. Passed it along to her real associates, a group of outlaws planning to rob the bank. They’d known exactly when he’d be on the far side of town, exactly which deputies would be where. The ambush had nearly succeeded.

If Deputy Fletcher hadn’t had a bad feeling and doubled back early, the outlaws would have gotten away with everything. Two civilians had been injured in the crossfire. One of them, young Sarah Mitchell, still walked with a limp.

And Rebecca? She’d disappeared into the night, leaving behind nothing but a bitter lesson about the dangers of letting someone get close. His focus had wavered because of her, because he’d allowed himself to believe that maybe he could have both duty and companionship.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The lamp flickered, running low on oil. He refilled it and pulled out his maps of the surrounding area. Reports had come in last week about increased activity near Harbor’s End, a coastal town about two days’ ride from Redwood Crossing. Smuggling, most likely, though nothing confirmed.

Harbor’s End fell under Sheriff Clayton’s jurisdiction, but Holden made it his business to know what happened in neighboring territories. Crime in one area had a way of spreading to others, and he’d be damned if he let anything threaten Redwood Crossing because he’d failed to pay attention.

He made notes about the reports, cross-referencing them with older incidents. Patterns often revealed themselves if you looked carefully enough. A name appeared multiple times in the accounts: Miles Hawthorne, the mayor’s son. Always on the periphery, never directly implicated, but present enough to raise questions.

Privilege often bred arrogance and a sense of immunity from consequences. He’d seen it before. Young men from wealthy families who believed the rules didn’t apply to them, who engaged in increasingly dangerous behavior because they’d never faced real repercussions.

If Miles Hawthorne was involved in criminal activity, it was only a matter of time before it escalated. The question was whether Sheriff Clayton would act on it or whether the mayor’s influence would shield his son from justice.

Not his jurisdiction, Holden reminded himself. Not his problem unless it became a threat to Redwood Crossing.

Still, he filed the information away. Knowledge was power, and in his line of work, being prepared for every possibility could mean the difference between life and death.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Deputy Fletcher entered, his expression alert.

“Evening, Sheriff. Just finished my rounds. Everything’s secure.”

“Good work, Fletcher. Anything unusual?”

“Old man Hendricks thought he heard someone prowling around his barn, but it was just a raccoon. I checked thoroughly.” He hesitated. “Your sister stopped by earlier. She seemed concerned about you.”

“Charlotte worries too much.”

“With respect, Sheriff, maybe she has reason to.” Fletcher shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. “You’ve been pushing yourself hard lately. Even harder than usual.”

“The town needs protection.”

“The town also needs a sheriff who’s alert and healthy.” He held up a hand when Holden started to protest. “I’m not questioning your dedication, sir. I’ve never met anyone more committed to their duty. But you’re only human. You need rest, same as everyone else.”

Holden appreciated Fletcher’s concern, even if he couldn’t act on it. “I’ll rest when everything’s secure.”

“Everything’s never completely secure. That’s the nature of the job.” Fletcher moved toward the door. “Think about it, at least. You’re no good to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion.”

After he left, Holden sat alone in the quiet office, surrounded by maps and reports and the endless task of keeping vigilance. Fletcher was right, of course. Charlotte was right. But they didn’t understand. How could they?

They hadn’t stood helpless while flames consumed the people they loved. They hadn’t watched someone they cared about walk away because they’d been too trusting, too naive. They hadn’t felt the crushing weight of responsibility that came with knowing that every moment of inattention could result in tragedy.

He couldn’t rest. He couldn’t lower his guard. Because the moment he did, someone would get hurt. Someone would die. And he would have failed again.

The lamp cast flickering shadows across the walls of his office. Outside, Redwood Crossing slept peacefully, unaware of the constant watchfulness that kept them safe. That was fine. They didn’t need to know. They just needed to be protected.

And that’s exactly what he would do. For as long as he drew breath, for as long as he could stay awake and alert, he would stand guard. It was his penance, his purpose, his only path forward.

The darkness outside his window was complete now. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A door closed. Life continued, ordinary and precious and fragile.

He returned to his maps, his notes, his endless vigil.

Because that’s what sheriffs did. That’s what he did.

And nothing, not exhaustion or loneliness or well-meaning concern, would ever make him stop.

Chapter Three

The morning sun glinted off the harbor waters as Evelyn made her way down to the docks alone. Three days had passed since the argument with Marian, and the tension between them had only grown thicker. Marian had taken to spending most of her time either with Miles or locked in her room, writing letters Evelyn suspected were meant for him. Their conversations had become perfunctory, reduced to necessary exchanges about meals and household matters.

Evelyn missed her sister. She missed the easy companionship they’d shared before Miles Hawthorne had entered Marian’s life. But every attempt she’d made to bridge the gap had been met with cool politeness or thinly veiled irritation.

The docks offered a familiar comfort, even if they couldn’t fill the loneliness that had settled into her bones. The rhythmic creak of ships at anchor, the calls of gulls overhead, and the salt-sharp smell of the sea all reminded her of Papa. It had been eight months since his latest voyage began, eight months since she’d seen his weathered face or heard his deep laugh.

His letters arrived sporadically, carried by other merchant vessels that crossed paths with his ship. The last one had come six weeks ago, full of descriptions of exotic ports and promises to return soon. But “soon” was a relative term in a sailor’s vocabulary. Papa’s absences could stretch from months to over a year, and there was never any certainty when he’d walk through their door again.

Evelyn understood his dedication to the sea. It was in his blood, passed down through generations of Carter men who’d made their living from the ocean’s bounty. After Uncle Gideon’s betrayal three years ago, Papa had returned from that disastrous voyage to find his daughters barely scraping by. The guilt had weighed heavily on him, though Evelyn had insisted it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t have known what his brother would do.

Still, Papa had worked tirelessly to rebuild what they’d lost, taking on more voyages, longer routes, anything to provide for them. He’d insisted both girls keep their positions, Evelyn at Mrs. Henderson’s seamstress shop and Marian at the bakery, saying that honest work built character and that they shouldn’t rely solely on him after what had happened with Gideon. The wages helped, certainly, but more than that, the work gave them purpose and independence. Skills they could fall back on if the sea ever claimed him, as it had claimed their mother when Evelyn was barely ten years old. Mama had died of a fever after nursing Papa through pneumonia he’d caught on a winter voyage. She’d saved him, but couldn’t save herself.

But understanding didn’t ease the ache of Papa’s absence, especially now when Evelyn could have used his steady presence and wise counsel.

Would Papa see through Miles’s polished exterior the way she did? Would he share her concerns, or would he, like Marian, dismiss them as the product of an overly cautious mind?

She would never know unless she asked him, and that wouldn’t be possible for months yet.

The docks were busy that morning, alive with the activity of commerce and labor. Ships were being loaded and unloaded, their crews calling out instructions in rough voices. Merchants inspected incoming goods while dock workers hauled crates and barrels with practiced efficiency. Evelyn wove through the organized chaos, finding a strange peace in being surrounded by purposeful activity that had nothing to do with her.

No one there knew about her argument with Marian. No one looked at her with questions in their eyes or offered unwanted advice. She was simply another person walking the docks, anonymous and unburdened by expectation.

She’d nearly reached the far end of the wharf when she heard a muffled cry of distress. Ahead, near a pile of fishing nets and tackle, a young man struggled against what appeared to be a tangled mass of rope and netting. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, slight of build with sandy hair that stuck up at odd angles. His efforts to free himself only seemed to worsen his predicament.

“Hold still,” Evelyn called out, hurrying toward him. “You’re making it tighter.”

The boy froze, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I was trying to sort these nets when I got caught up. Stupid mistake.”

“Not stupid. These things happen.” Evelyn knelt beside him and began carefully working at the knots that bound his arms and legs. Her fingers moved with practiced precision; years of working with Mrs. Henderson at the seamstress shop had taught her how to read knots and stitches, how to find the key thread that would unravel even the most stubborn tangle. The netting was old and crusted with salt, the rope rough against her fingers. “What’s your name?”

“Thomas. Thomas Brennan.” He winced as she loosened a particularly tight section around his left arm. “I’m new to dock work. Started just last week.”

“Well, Thomas Brennan, you’ve learned an important lesson today. Always respect the nets.” Evelyn smiled to show she wasn’t mocking him. “They have a way of fighting back.”

“That they do.” He managed a sheepish grin. “Thank you for helping. Most folks would’ve just laughed and walked past.”

“I’m not most folks.” She freed his right arm and moved to work on the netting around his legs. “Besides, we all need help sometimes.”

It took several minutes of patient untangling before Thomas was finally free. He stood and brushed himself off, rubbing at the red marks the ropes had left on his skin.

“I’m grateful, miss. Truly.” He looked around as if searching for something. “I wish I had something to give you. Some way to repay your kindness.”

“No repayment necessary. Just be more careful next time.”

“Wait.” Thomas’s face brightened. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object that caught the morning light. “I found this earlier while unloading barrels from the Sea Sprite. It must have fallen from one of the crates. I was going to turn it in to the harbormaster, but…well, I’d like you to have it.”

He held out his hand, revealing a pendant on a thin silver chain. The pendant itself was circular, about the size of a coin, with intricate markings etched into its surface. In the center was what appeared to be a compass rose, surrounded by symbols Evelyn didn’t recognize.

“Thomas, I can’t accept this. If it fell from cargo, it belongs to someone.”

“The Sea Sprite came from the East Indies. Whoever lost it is long gone by now.” He pressed it into her palm, closing her fingers around it. “Please. You helped me when you didn’t have to. Let me give you something in return. For luck.”

The pendant was cool against Evelyn’s skin, surprisingly heavy for its size. She held it up to examine it more closely. The craftsmanship was remarkable, each line and symbol carved with precision. There was something almost hypnotic about the pattern, the way the markings seemed to flow into one another.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted.

“Then it’s yours.” Thomas’s smile was genuine and grateful. “Thank you again, miss. I won’t forget your kindness.”

He hurried off before Evelyn could protest further, disappearing into the maze of crates and workers. She stood alone, the pendant dangling from her fingers, catching the sunlight in glints of silver.

It was probably worth something, though she had no way of knowing how much. The practical part of her suggested she should indeed turn it in to the harbormaster as Thomas had originally intended. But another part, the part that had been feeling increasingly powerless and constrained lately, wanted to keep it. A small act of defiance against a world that seemed determined to make her feel foolish for trusting her instincts.

She fastened the chain around her neck, tucking the pendant beneath her collar where it rested cool against her skin. It felt oddly comforting there, a secret weight that was hers alone.

The rest of her walk was more peaceful. She watched the ships come and go, trying to imagine Papa on the deck of his vessel somewhere far away, and slowly, she felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. The argument with Marian still hurt, and she still worried about Miles’s influence on her sister, but standing there by the water reminded her that there were things larger than her small troubles.

The ocean didn’t care about family disputes or romantic entanglements. It simply was, vast and indifferent and eternal. There was comfort in that.

By the time she turned back toward home, the sun had climbed higher in the sky. She’d been gone for over two hours, longer than she’d intended. Marian would likely be awake by now, perhaps even wondering where she’d gone. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she was too wrapped up in thoughts of Miles to notice Evelyn’s absence.

The walk back through town took her past the market square, where vendors had set up their stalls. The smell of fresh bread mingled with the sharper scents of fish and vegetables. Mrs. Henderson from the seamstress shop stood haggling with a cloth merchant, her voice rising above the general din of commerce.

“Evelyn, dear!” She spotted her and waved enthusiastically. “Come here for a moment.”

Evelyn suppressed a sigh. Mrs. Henderson was a kind woman and a fair employer, and Evelyn had worked at her shop for three years now, ever since Uncle Gideon’s betrayal had forced her to find employment. But Mrs. Henderson also had an unfortunate tendency toward gossip. Still, it would be rude to ignore her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Henderson.”

“I was hoping I’d see you today.” She abandoned her haggling and took Evelyn’s arm, leading her slightly away from the crowd. “I wanted to ask about your sister. How is Marian doing?”

The question immediately put Evelyn on guard. “She’s well, thank you.”

“And her courtship with young Mr. Hawthorne? That’s still progressing?”

“It is.”

Mrs. Henderson’s expression turned sympathetic. “You don’t approve, do you? I can see it in your face, dear. You’re worried about her.”

Evelyn chose her words carefully. “I want my sister to be happy. I just want to be certain that Miles is worthy of her affection.”

“A natural concern.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “And I’m afraid I have more reason to add to your worries. My son Joseph saw something just two nights ago. Miles Hawthorne met with the same group of men near the warehouses, but this time they were loading crates onto a wagon. Unmarked crates, mind you. And they were in quite a hurry about it.”

Evelyn’s pulse quickened. This was new information, more recent and more specific than what she’d mentioned to Marian days ago. “Did Joseph see where they took the crates?”

“Toward the north road, headed out of town. He wanted to follow, but his shift was ending, and he didn’t want to raise suspicion.” Mrs. Henderson shook her head. “Whatever Miles Hawthorne is involved in, it’s getting bolder. More frequent. Joseph says he’s seen activity at those warehouses almost every week now.”

The information settled like a stone in Evelyn’s stomach. It wasn’t just rumors anymore. It was an escalating pattern of suspicious behavior.

“Has Joseph reported this to Sheriff Clayton?”

“To Sheriff Clayton?” Mrs. Henderson snorted. “That man couldn’t find a criminal if they walked into his office and confessed. Besides, he and the mayor are thick as thieves. No, Joseph knows better than to expect help from that quarter.”

The confirmation of her worst suspicions left Evelyn feeling helpless. If the local sheriff wouldn’t act, what could she possibly do? Marian had already made it clear she wouldn’t believe anything negative about Miles. Telling her about these new observations would only drive her further away.

“I appreciate you telling me this,” Evelyn said quietly.

“Just be careful, dear. Men like Miles Hawthorne are dangerous precisely because they’re so good at appearing harmless.” She patted Evelyn’s arm. “Watch over your sister. She’s young and in love, and that can make even smart girls foolish.”

Evelyn thanked her and continued home, her mind churning. The pendant seemed heavier around her neck now, though that was surely her imagination. She touched it through her dress, feeling the circular shape, the raised markings.

Just a piece of jewelry, she told herself. Nothing more than a lucky token from a grateful dock worker.

But as she walked through Harbor’s End’s familiar streets, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. The morning had started with simple loneliness and ended with a new weight of knowledge and responsibility. Mrs. Henderson’s words echoed in her mind, mixing with her own observations and concerns.

Men meeting in shadows. Cargo moved illegally, now with increased frequency and boldness. Miles Hawthorne stood in the middle of it all.

And Marian, her sweet, trusting sister, was completely blind to the danger.

***