For the Longest Time

Book 1: Harvest Cove Series

by Kendra Leigh Castle

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

After a perfect storm of events leaves Sam high, dry, and jobless, she has to head home to Harvest Cove to regroup. Growing up, she was the town misfit, and a brief high school romance that resulted in heartbreak made her realize she was never going to fit in. But now with the support of her mother and an unexpected circle of allies, Sam starts to wonder if she's misjudged the town all these years.




Life's been good to Jake Smith. He transitioned from popular jock to town veterinarian without any trouble. But Sam's homecoming makes him question his choices. The sharp-tongued beauty was never a good fit for the small community, but he's never forgotten her-or how good they were together. While she makes it clear she's not about to repeat the past, Jake's determined to convince her to give him-and Harvest Cove-a second chance.

Release date: July 1, 2014

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 352

Sample

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Sam Henry slouched farther down in her seat and took another swig of coffee from the enormous travel mug perched precariously half in and half out of her cup holder. She’d made it this far on what was left of her nerves. She could make it just a little bit farther. Sam kept her eyes fixed on the road in front of her, eyes narrowed behind oversize sunglasses as she passed historic homes that were usually written up as “charming” and “quaint” in travel magazines. Ten years living away, and she was already full of that creeping sense of paranoia that everyone was staring at her. “Everyone” at this point being a jogger, a couple of unsupervised kids whacking the hell out of each other with sticks in somebody’s front yard, and an English bulldog that had given her a decidedly judgmental look as she’d rolled by its house.

Loser, that look said. Right about now, she was inclined to agree.

This was not the triumphant return she’d hoped for. But when the combination of intense pressure, dwindling funds, and a roommate who’d decided to bail on the lease to become a high-priced call girl left you with a weeklong crying jag and an empty bottle of antidepressants, it was time to reevaluate what the hell you were doing with your life. Preferably somewhere that included free room and board.

In her case, that was Harvest Cove, Massachusetts.

“Nobody’s going to recognize me anyway,” she muttered to herself. What color had her hair been last time she’d dragged herself back here for some family function or other—pink? Black? She should be reasonably incognito now that she’d gone just a little lighter than her own naturally pale blond.

And she was kidding herself. This was Harvest Cove. She’d be recognized from a mile away, and by next week there would be a new spate of rumors about the return of the town’s prodigal daughter. The best she could hope for was that at least a few would be entertaining.

Anything was more entertaining than the truth.

Sam tapped her fingers restlessly against the steering wheel, the black polish glinting with tiny red flecks in the golden light that had finally broken through the clouds. She made the turn from Hawthorne, which would have led her down into the village proper, onto Crescent Road, which traced the curve of the rocky little Massachusetts cove that her hometown had been nestled into since 1692.

Familiarity washed over her at the sight of the trees, complete with leaves of burning crimson and shades of gold, which arched over the narrow road to create a tunnel that was broken only by the entrances to the long driveways of those who lived here. To her right, the land rolled down to the sea between stately homes that had stood, in some cases for hundreds of years, against wind and salt and storm. The names on the mailboxes out here were still, mainly, ones that had existed in the Cove since its beginnings. Owens. Pritchard. Wentworth.

And, of course, Henry.

Sam blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes with a shallow puff of air and tightened her grip on the wheel as she turned in at the mailbox that bore her family’s name. It was never hard to find, since the vibrant purple kind of stood out. It looked like her mom had recently repainted it. The thought of Andromeda Henry out here with her bucket of obnoxiously cheerful paint was the first thing that had brought a smile to Sam’s face in days.

It was a big deal to live on the Crescent . . . unless you were a Henry. In that case, you were just the well-to-do’s extremely eccentric and generally embarrassing cross to bear.

With the exception of her sister, Emma, “eccentric and embarrassing” seemed to be genetic. The burning desire to stay put, thankfully, was not. And as soon as she got her feet back under her, Sam thought, she’d be right back down the road and on her way. It had been a long time, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think that things had changed here. Nothing ever changed here.

Still, as Sam pulled up the long gravel drive, she was unable to stop the overwhelming sense of relief that hit her as she got her first look at the house. It rose tall and stately against the backdrop of the sea and cloudy sky beyond, all arches and sharp angles, with a wide and inviting wraparound porch. The tower room and widow’s walk still looked hopelessly romantic, even to a cynic like her, and despite its age and faded white siding, the house managed to be both grand and welcoming. This had been her family’s land since the beginning, and somehow, it still managed to look more like home than her tiny apartment ever had.

That was part of the legend of the town, that the original families were bound here, fated to return again and again just like the waves that crashed against the rocky shore. It was one of the reasons she stayed as far away as possible.

Fate, like most things about Harvest Cove, just pissed her off.

Her mom had painted the shutters to match the mailbox. Sam grinned and wondered how often the sight of them made flames shoot out of Emma’s ears. Emma, as she liked to remind her wayward sister during their occasional phone calls, was a respectable businesswoman now. Sam guessed that meant the stick Emma seemed to have wedged up her ass was not painted this particular shade of purple.

Sam pulled around by the old carriage house that had long ago been converted into a garage, then parked. There was an unfamiliar pickup there alongside her mother’s little yellow VW Beetle. She briefly considered wandering down to the water and hanging out until the company took off, then discarded the idea. News of her return would get around soon enough anyway. At least there was no way it was Emma. Whoever owned this truck seemed to enjoy driving through mud.

She killed the engine, sat for a moment, took a deep breath.

This is it, she thought. I’m back.

The urge to put the car in reverse and hightail it back out of town was tempered, more than she’d expected, by the thought of heading back to New York to continue beating her head against a seemingly endless series of brick walls.

The mild nausea she felt at even considering it had her opening the car door and planting her scuffed black boots on the gravel. The tiny, high-pitched sound coming from somewhere nearby didn’t even register until she’d heard it three or four times.

Mew.

Sam frowned, shoving her sunglasses to the top of her head as she walked toward the sound, every footstep crunching loudly. She paused, waiting.

Mew.

It seemed to be coming from underneath the muddy pickup, and it was definitely feline. A stray, maybe. Her mother hadn’t had a pet since Cody, their big golden retriever, had passed away right before Sam had left for college.

She crouched down beside the truck and leaned over to try to get a look at what was underneath. A pair of bright green eyes peered back at her, looking much too large for the tiny black shadow they belonged to.

Whether it was the long trip, the fact that she’d been skirting the edge of a full-on breakdown for weeks, or just the sight of something even more pathetic—not to mention much cuter—than herself, Sam melted.

“Aww,” she heard herself coo. “You’re just a kitten. Here, kitty. Come here.”

She reached under the truck, slowly stretching out her hand toward the crouching shadow and expecting little more than a hiss, and maybe something fun like tetanus for her trouble. Instead, she was surprised when she touched soft, warm fur, the kitten actually moving into her hand so she could draw it out.

It was little more than a ragged bag of bones, Sam realized as she pulled the kitten from beneath the truck. Pitch-black, with ears much too big for its head, it started to purr for all it was worth the instant she cradled it against her chest, interjecting the occasional pitiful mew just in case Sam even considered putting it back down.

“Don’t worry,” Sam told it, staring into bright green eyes she just knew were seeing a flashing SUCKER sign right in the middle of her forehead. She rubbed a finger behind its ear, felt a couple of tiny bumps, and winced.

“Oh, great,” she said. “Fleas.”

The male voice almost directly behind her startled her so badly she jumped with a muffled yelp, earning her a reproachful sound from the kitten and a warning prick of its claws through her T-shirt. However pathetic it looked, it wasn’t completely helpless.

“Hey, Andi! The last one’s out here!”

“Yeah, it’s also embedded in my skin now. Thanks,” Sam said, turning to glare at whoever the genius was who’d thought it was a good idea to sneak up on a woman holding a cat and then shout.

“Shit. I mean, ah, sorry. Wasn’t thinking. We were worried that one had crawled off and died. A couple of the others are pretty sick.”

Sam froze, unable to do anything but stare at the man looking sheepishly back at her. He was exactly how she remembered him. Except . . . he was nothing like she remembered him. Tall, lean, and broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair that would always be a little spiky no matter how hard he tried to get it to lie down and hazel eyes the color of autumn leaves, Jake Smith had only improved with age. His face was more angular now, and the light growth of stubble on his jaw was a new, undeniably sexy addition. The last time she’d seen him, Sam realized, he’d still been a boy. A beautiful boy, but a boy nonetheless. Now there was no doubt he was a man. And even the torn jeans and flannel shirt couldn’t disguise the fact that his body, which had once inspired thoughts her teenage self had been concerned meant she was a complete pervert, had filled out in all the right ways.

His smile was slow, warm, and more than a little incredulous.

He still has the dimples. Shit.

“Sam?”

She arched an eyebrow and, though it took every ounce of effort she had, looked blandly back at him. “Last time I checked.” Inwardly, she had to fight back her surprise. After their . . . well, after, it seemed like he’d forgotten she even had a name. She’d simply ceased to exist to him. And now he was here calling her mother Andi?

“Honey! I didn’t know you were here!”

Despite the tension, Sam couldn’t help but smile as Andromeda Henry came rushing down the porch steps and across the yard, her broomstick skirt whipping around her legs. Her mother’s hair was escaping from the long braid that draped down her back, and her bangle bracelets glinted and chimed as she moved. She was as much a rush of color as she always was, a force of nature dressed like an aging gypsy.

“Hi, Mom” was all Sam managed to get out before she found herself enveloped in her mother’s arms, one very unhappy kitten squished between them. Still, she found herself leaning into the embrace, shifting to prevent the wriggling kitten from getting smothered. She hadn’t realized until just that moment how hungry she’d been for something as simple as a hug, or how long it had been since she’d been touched with honest affection.

Sad. But then, her life would have to be to have brought her back here with nothing more than an overstuffed hatchback and a couple hundred bucks in her checking account.

Sam was appalled to feel the sting of tears when her mother stroked her hands over her hair and kissed her cheek, then pulled back to look at her with eyes that saw much more than she ever let on. The only thing that helped Sam keep it together was the determination that Jake Smith, of all people, was never going to see her cry. She’d done enough of that on his account years ago, not that he probably knew. Or cared. He’d never even kissed her.

But he held your hand. And he told you things he didn’t tell anyone else. Because for a little while, you mattered to him. Well, he let you think you did.

She would have wondered why the gods would be so cruel as to shove him directly into her path on her first day back, but lately, the reasons for her lousy luck didn’t seem to have any explanation more complicated than “because today is a day of the week ending in ‘y.’”

Suck it up, buttercup. Welcome to the rest of your life.

She didn’t bother to look at him when her mother said, “You remember Jake, Sammy. He’s a vet now, works with Dr. Perry. I called him to see if he could help me get a litter of kittens out from under the porch. I didn’t even know they were there until yesterday, and there’s no sign of the mother. He’s going to take them back to the office and see what he can do for them.”

Only then did Sam notice the pet carrier at Jake’s feet.

“There are five others,” he explained. “Not in great shape. I’m surprised the one you’ve got was strong enough to get out here. If they’d been much younger, they’d already be dead. I don’t think the mother’s coming back. Something must have gotten her.”

Sam stroked the back of the kitten’s neck as it settled more comfortably against her. Jake was still looking at her like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, which wasn’t a big surprise. Between the scuffed old boots, black leggings, long, rumpled black T-shirt and whatever state her hair was in at this point, she probably looked like she’d just rolled out of the nearest Dumpster.

Well, screw him. If he said anything snide she’d just act like Dumpster chic was the newest thing in New York. What did he know? At least she hadn’t been rotting up here collecting flannel shirts.

But when he spoke again, he caught her off guard by being . . . nice. At least, she thought that was what he was trying to be. With him, she didn’t really have a good standard for comparison.

“You must have the touch,” he said. “It came right to you?”

Sam shrugged, her cheeks flushing despite her best efforts to stop it. “I’m wearing a lot of black. It probably just thought we were related.”

He laughed, a lower, warmer sound than she remembered. “I’ll have to try that next time. I got a few scratches for my trouble.”

She offered him a half smile before returning her attention to the kitten in her arms. He’d said its siblings were sick. Could this one be sick, too? Probably. And then there were the fleas, and who knew what else. She was swamped by a wave of protectiveness that caught her off guard. And there was Jake, former über-jock and King of the World, very helpfully reaching out his hands to take it from her.

Her feelings on that were the first things she’d been dead certain of in quite a long time.

Over my dead body.

“Here. If I didn’t manage to embed the cat too deeply in your skin, I’ll take it.”

Sam took a step back. “I’m keeping it.”

He paused, looking startled. “Well. Good. I mean, that’s what I like to hear, of course. But it still needs medical care before it’s ready to come home on a permanent basis. With luck, the kitten will be ready to travel by the time you’re done with your visit—”

“She’s not visiting,” Andi said, and Sam caught the little smile on her mother’s lips. Damn. What if her mother didn’t want a cat in the house? She hadn’t even thought about it. Yet another hazard of moving back home, though this was only going to be temporary. Really temporary. And she’d use that to argue for keeping the little black ball of fluff if it came to it.

“She’s home. With company, seems like. It’ll be good to have an animal in the house again,” her mother said. “I’d thought I might keep one anyway.” Sam relaxed a little. One crisis averted, at least.

“Really? You’re moving back?” Jake asked. He sounded strangely interested. It was annoying.

“Sort of. For the time being,” Sam hedged. If he wanted more concrete information, he could just stick with whatever rumors were sure to come down the pike. It was what he’d done before. Why should that have changed?

“Great,” he said, and his easy smile included those damned dimples. She could almost believe he was sincere. That, Sam knew, would be a mistake. Everyone said that people changed, but in her experience, they didn’t change that much. And even if Jake had, she had better things to do than find out.

Like mope around her mother’s house in her pajamas eating queso out of the jar, for instance. With a spoon. Awesome.

When the silence dragged out, Sam finally realized why Jake was looking at her so expectantly. Sadly, it had nothing to do with wanting extra information about her scintillating life plans.

“You still want the kitten,” she said flatly.

Jake scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked almost apologetic. “Uh, well . . . yeah. Provided you’d like it to stay alive, I think this would be a good thing.”

Sam sighed heavily, looked down at the green eyes that were full of silent, obvious pleading, and began the arduous process of unhooking its claws from her shirt. It mewed and reattached itself almost immediately. She pursed her lips, looked at the kitten, then up at Jake. She might as well go all in on not caring what he thought.

“A little help?”

In the end it took all three of them to detach what Jake determined, with a quick look, was her brand-new male kitten from her now holey T-shirt. Sam hated seeing him put in the carrier with his siblings, already worried that she wouldn’t see him again. His piteous yowling, however, seemed to be a good sign, at least according to Jake.

“You’re going to have your hands full,” he told her as he loaded the carrier into the passenger seat of his truck. “I can already tell he’s not going to give you any peace.”

Sam just laughed. “I could use the distraction,” she replied before she could think better of it. But even when she did, it hardly mattered. She wasn’t a stupid sixteen-year-old anymore. Her life was her own, and she didn’t have to share it with anyone but whom she chose. And Jake Smith was long off her list.

Still, the look he gave her was speculative in a way that left her feeling off balance just before he walked away.

“I’ll give you a call,” he said.

“When you get a better idea of how he’s doing?” Sam asked.

“Sure. That, too,” Jake said, and flashed his gorgeous, infuriating grin before turning to walk around to the other side of the truck, giving Sam an excellent view of an ass that had lingered in her memory far longer than should have been allowed.

“Let me know how it goes, Jake,” her mother called. “I’ll pay for whatever they need. I won’t have them going in the shelter.”

“No, ma’am,” Jake called back. “Don’t worry. I will.”

Sam stepped back as he started the engine and backed out, turned, and headed off down the driveway with the gravel crunching beneath his tires. She stared after him, wondering what the hell had just happened. She’d definitely adopted a scrawny kitten. And she was pretty sure Jake Smith had just threatened to call her for reasons entirely unrelated to said kitten. Which made no sense, since she was still the same girl he’d ignored throughout school, with one notable exception, until he’d graduated and left her, along with her broken heart, in the dust.

Her mother’s arm slid around her waist.

“Sorry about that, honey. I’d hoped he’d be gone by the time you got here. I’m sure that’s not the first person you wanted to see, but believe it or not, he is a good vet.”

Sam shrugged, eyes still tracking the truck as it made the turn onto the Crescent. “No big deal. I grew up. I’m not going to go inside, lock myself in my room, and play “Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely” until your ears bleed. I promise.”

That had her mother laughing as she led her back toward the house, giving her a squeeze that allowed Sam to push all of her embarrassment and confusion, old and new, into the back of her mind in favor of simply being grateful for the moment.

“Good, or you’d be in the attic.” She paused, and Sam could feel her mother eyeing her. “Though I think you surprised him as much as he surprised you.”

Sam smirked to hide her discomfort. Jake was the last thing she wanted to think about. “Yeah, my hair is actually a shade found in nature now. This town will never be the same.”

“I liked it when it was purple,” her mother admitted.

“I don’t know how I feel about matching the mailbox, but I’ll keep that in mind. Lavender’s in right now, you know.”

Andi surprised her by stopping and hugging her tight. This time Sam slipped easily into the embrace, breathing in the light, herbal scent that would always be her mother’s.

“I’m so glad you’re back, Sammy. I always understood why you needed to go, but this is where you belong. You’ll see.”

Sam didn’t say a word. She just took in the comforting familiarity of the house, the meeting of sea and sky beyond, and tried to make herself believe it.

Chapter Two

Jake propped his boots on the railing of his front porch and took a swig of his beer, enjoying a few minutes’ peace while he looked out at the deepening twilight. Tucker, the cattle dog crossed with God-knew-what he’d brought home two years ago, was flopped at his feet, panting happily. Tucker was living proof that there were benefits to bringing your work home with you.

So was the pile of sleeping kittens in his laundry room. Well, until they woke up and started raising hell in there again. For a bunch of malnourished, flea-infested orphans, they’d perked up awfully quickly after a day of attention, medical and otherwise. Still, they were going to be plenty of work for a while yet. Feral kittens always were. And Sam’s little buddy didn’t like him nearly as well as the kitten liked her. Not that it was hard to understand the attraction.

Samantha Henry. Jake took another drink while he mulled what might have brought her back to the Cove. He hadn’t heard a word about it, and considering how many people he saw on a daily basis, he usually heard everything. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen Sam, thought it might have been nothing more than a glimpse of purple hair about six years ago when he’d been home on break. Even that brief sighting had piqued his interest with a strength that had surprised him—though it shouldn’t have. He’d never really gotten over that first bout of fascination with her. Of course, his younger self hadn’t been able to admit that’s what it was back then. Not to himself, and certainly not to anyone else.

From the reception he’d gotten earlier, Sam remembered that as well as he did. She sure as hell hadn’t forgiven him for it. He tapped a finger against the side of the bottle he held, frustrated by the hold she’d had on his thoughts all afternoon. It had been ten years. Didn’t people get to be absolved of their teenage stupidity at some point?

They ought to. Except . . . he remembered her face that day. And he knew that sometimes the answer was a resounding “no,” no matter how much time had passed.

Jake flexed his foot to get the rocking chair moving a little as he reached down to give Tucker a scratch behind the ears. The dog leaned into his touch, happy for the attention like he always was. Jake grinned, gave the furry head one last hard rub, and then leaned back into the chair and blew out a long breath.

“She still hates my guts,” he said, knowing it was mostly, if not entirely true. Tucker cocked his head, looked keenly interested until he realized that nothing Jake had said involved either a walk or food, and then returned his attention to sniffing the air while keeping watch for squirrels. Which was, Jake thought, a lot more productive than sitting here brooding.

He slid a look at the phone he’d brought out with him, thinking there was an off chance that Sam would call to ask about the kitten. A really off chance. Only slightly greater than a snowball’s in hell. Maybe.

Jake scrubbed his hand over his face when he realized what he was doing. Seeing Sam hadn’t just made him feel like a teenager again. It had turned him into a teenage girl.

“Screw it,” he muttered, grabbing the phone and punching in Andi’s number before he could talk himself out of it. He’d said he would call, so he was calling. In his professional capacity. It wasn’t a big deal.

“It’s not a big deal,” he told Tucker, who was so impressed that he decided it was a good time to start cleaning himself. Jake nudged him with his foot.

“You could at least act supportive, jerk.”

The phone rang just twice before someone picked up. Luck was with him.

“Hello?” Sam sounded a little breathless, like she’d had to run to get the phone. She also sounded a lot friendlier than she had earlier . . . which told him she just didn’t recognize his number. Yet.

“Sam,” he said easily, hoping that if he kept it casual and friendly, she would too.

“Jake.” The temperature of her voice changed so quickly that he was surprised the phone didn’t go cold in his hand. Just another reminder that this wasn’t the shy misfit he remembered . . . though there hadn’t been much question of that once he’d gotten a good look at her earlier.

“What do you need?”

He closed his eyes. That was, at the moment, a loaded question.

“I thought you might want a kitten update.”

“Oh.” He could almost hear her switching gears, deciding how to proceed with him. When she spoke again, Sam sounded cautious, cool, but less overtly homicidal. It was progress, Jake told himself. They had to start somewhere.

The question was, where did he want to go?

“Well . . . how are they? Is Loki okay?” she asked.

He paused. “Norse god of mischief?”

“Avengers supervillain. He’ll be an adopted orphan, misunderstood because of his fur color, and bent on world domination because he’s a cat. I think it fits.”

Despite the slightly defiant note in her voice, Jake burst out laughing. “I can’t actually argue with that. Loki it is. And he’s doing fine.”

“Good.” He heard surprise, relief . . . and the natural caution that she’d always had with him, with everyone around here, actually. It took him back to the first day he’d really noticed her, sketching in the park beneath the huge old oak they called the Witch Tree. It was early May, the first really warm day they’d had that year, and he’d been out enjoying it on his own, thinking of the upcoming party that night, the impending summer. He’d just turned eighteen, and the world seemed to be waiting for him. Sam had been just shy of seventeen, and she hadn’t known what to do with him then, either.

“What are you drawing?”

“Well . . . I . . . um . . . Just things, I guess.”

She’d tried to cover up the sketch pad she’d carried with her everywhere, but her hands weren’t big enough to hide what had been an incredible rendering of some dark, enchanted dragon, brooding atop a throne of skulls. Jake remembered noticing her chipped black nail polish as she’d hurriedly flipped the book shut. Mostly, he remembered being completely blown away that Sam, who normally only tripped his radar as a black-clad shadow who was teased mercilessly for being a wannabe witch, a freak, and a variety of other unflattering things, was actually talented. What he’d glimpsed had been at least as good as a lot of the comic book art he liked. Maybe better.

Then she’d looked up at him with those big blue-green eyes, and he’d seen her, really seen her, for the very first time.

“Earth to Jake.”

Her voice, now that of a w