1. Peyton

PEYTON

T he blue sky and bright sun were misleading—this close to the ocean, the wind could be fierce, even on the sunniest days. It didn't matter how cold it was, her growing boys needed milk and orange juice, and they were out.

From the gravel parking lot across the street, where Peyton stood, she saw a man walking in the entrance of the town's only supermarket. There was something familiar in the way he held himself. His worn barn jacket was taut across his shoulders, but hung loose over his narrow hips. Although his jeans were more metro than ranch, his boots were all cowboy, and so was his black, felt Stetson.

It wasn't the first time her mind had played this trick on her, making her believe she saw something she knew was impossible. Once inside the market, she glanced around, but didn't see the man who'd probably been a figment of her imagination anyway.

After filling half her cart with the aforementioned beverages, she read over her shopping list and was on the way to the produce section when her gaze met a pair of hauntingly familiar deep, blue eyes—those of Kade Butler, someone she thought she'd never see again.

This man, whose only resemblances to the other were his irises and the way he held himself, raised and lowered his chin. "Hey."

Peyton shuddered. She was intimately familiar with the deep timbre of his voice. "Sorry, you look so much like someone?—"

"Yes," he murmured.

"Get that a lot?" She tried to laugh, but the pain she felt whenever she allowed herself to think about Kade sat too close to the surface.

"No, I don't."

"I'm sorry, you don't what?"

"Get that a lot."

"Oh…uh…well." Her hands gripped the shopping-cart handle, but before she could move it forward, he grasped the wire basket.

"I've been looking for you."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm Brodie Butler."

Peyton closed her eyes long enough for tears to flood over her lids and down her cheeks.

"I didn't mean for it to happen this way."

"But you meant for it to happen?"

"As I said, I've been looking for you."

It wasn't as though she'd been hiding. If her former-and-now-deceased boyfriend's family was looking for her, she was easy to find. Her house on Moonstone Beach was a mile from here, in Cambria. The town had a population of under five thousand, and half of those weren't there full-time.

Right after Kade died, Peyton and her sons had spent time in the guesthouse on her parents' ranch. It was thirty miles inland. The boys still stayed there most weekends when Stave, the wine bar and tasting room she'd managed since she graduated from college, was open later.

She'd heard of Brodie but hadn't met him until today and was unaware of his strong resemblance to his oldest brother. There were differences, though. Brodie's chiseled face, while similar to Kade's, was thinner, more angular, with a dusting of scruffy facial hair. Peyton had never seen Kade without the dark, reddish-brown goatee he kept neatly trimmed.

"I have something for you," he explained. "From Kade."

"I'm sorry, but I don't want it." She left him and her grocery cart in the middle of the aisle before racing out of the store and across the street, to her car.

Once inside, she glanced over and saw him seated at a picnic table outside the market's entrance. It was as though he was waiting for her to retrace her steps, but she wouldn't. Whatever he had of Kade's, he could keep.

So often, Peyton thought she'd seen Kade walking on the beach or driving past Stave. She'd blink her eyes, and either he'd be gone, or she'd realize the person she thought was him wasn't. More memories? More things to remind her of her loss? No, thanks.

She'd return to the market later, after she picked the boys up from school. Maybe she'd let them choose meals they could heat up themselves, since cooking dinner at home was one more thing reminding her that the man who'd convinced her to give love another try was gone.

While it was early to go in, Peyton drove straight to Stave anyway. After unlocking the rear entrance and disarming the alarm, she turned up the heat on the thermostat and powered up her computer.

A few minutes later, she heard someone else come in the same door she had.

"Hey, Alex."

Peyton's best friend and marketing director for both the tasting room and the Westside Winery Collaborative sat in the chair next to her desk.

"How are you not cold?" she asked.

Alex wore a black, sleeveless, silk tank with jeans and four-inch-heel boots.

"Hot Hispanic blood runnin' through these veins, girlfriend."

"It's forty degrees, the wind off the ocean makes it feel closer to twenty, and you're never cold. I always am, even in summer."

"No meat on your bones; that's your problem."

"You weigh less than I do."

Peyton and Alex had been friends since they were teenagers. Her parents became friends with Alex's when they bought a ranch and decided to turn half of it into vineyards. Alfonso Avila, Alex's father, sold Peyton's dad rootstock and helped him get started in the wine business.

She and Alex had been scrawny "beanpoles" when they met—tall and lanky, before both their bodies matured and filled out. Apart from their stature and thin but curvy shapes, they were total opposites. Peyton was a green-eyed blonde, and Alex had long dark brown, almost-black hair and matching eyes.

"What's with the scowl this morning?"

"Sorry, it's been a crappy day so far."

Alex checked the time on her phone. "Already? Everything okay with the boys?"

"They're fine, Auntie Alex. No, this has nothing to do with the boys."

"What, then? Spill."

"I ran into Brodie Butler at the market this morning."

"Oh. Shit. I'm sorry, honey."

"I was rude to him, and now I feel bad."

"I didn't realize you knew Brodie."

"I don't. Or I didn't. He introduced himself."

"It's hard to see Kade's family?—"

"He said he had something for me from Kade."

"Oh. Shit, " Alex repeated.

"I left."

Her friend nodded.

"I mean I walked right out of the market. Poor Louie probably wonders why I left a cartful of milk and OJ in aisle six."

"Not a big deal, Peyton. Louie will understand."

"I'll apologize to him later, but what about Brodie? I owe him an apology too."

"No, you don't. What made him think confronting you in the supermarket was a good idea?"

"He didn't confront me. I don't think he expected to see me."

"You're right. I'm sure he drives forty miles out of his way to a grocery store a tenth of the size of the one located less than ten minutes outside the gates of Butler Ranch because…I don't know…Louie's selection of mortadella is better?"

"You aren't helping. I feel bad enough as it is."

Alex reached over and rested her hand on Peyton's. "I'm sorry, honey."

"Tell me what I should do. I don't want to call the ranch."

"Why not? Kade's parents ask about you all the time. I'm sure they'd like to hear from you."

"I can't."

"I can, if you'd like."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"They're our neighbors, right?"

Los Caballeros, the thousand-acre ranch owned by Alex's family, bordered Butler Ranch. The Avilas and Butlers hadn't always gotten along, but when Alex's father passed away a few years ago, the long-standing feud between Laird Butler and Alfonso Avila was set aside.

"Of course I don't mind. Do you want me to take whatever Brodie wanted to give you?"

"No. Please tell them…I can't."

"Can't what? I'm lost."

"Whatever it is, I don't want it."

"Peyton—"

She stood and left the office before Alex finished her sentence.

When her friend followed, Peyton covered her ears.

"Jesus, what are you? A ten-year-old? Stop this."

Without responding, Peyton exited through the rear door of the building and got in her car. For the second time that morning, she ran away.

Instead of going home, she parked her car near the trail leading down to the ocean's edge. A long walk on the beach might help clear her head, then maybe she'd be able to find the grown-up living inside her and stop acting like the child Alex had called her out as.