Chapter Five

Casey kept pace with Kenny as they trotted down the wide porch steps, managing—just barely—not to glance back for another Dev ogle. "Randolph Scott?"

Kenny laughed. "I guess you could call Randolph Scott the town cat, a big ginger longhair. He seems to belong to everyone and no one at the same time." Kenny shoved his hands in the pockets of jeans even more worn than Casey's. "Nobody knows where he spends his nights, but you're likely to see him just about anywhere around Home during the day."

They followed the curve of the drive, their shoes crunching in the gravel. "So. Dev?"

Kenny grinned. "He's siiingle," he caroled, "if that's what you're asking."

Heat rose up Casey's throat. The only upside to his tendency to blush at the drop of an innuendo was that it camouflaged his freckles. Sort of.

He couldn't deny that he had been fishing, though, but who could blame him? Dev was a fine hunk of man: those broad shoulders, those golden-brown eyes, the black hair just long enough to curl, the warm brown skin. Yum.

Casey would be the first to admit that he had a definite thing for big men. Some of his friends his own size or smaller questioned him about it constantly: "Dude, he could crush you like a bug!"

But Casey had never associated big men with danger. In fact, the pastry chef who'd been his champion and protector in his dad's kitchen had been even bigger than Dev. It was men his own size—like his father—who represented danger to him.

Conditioning. What could you do?

Just as Donald's rigid rules about food had fueled Casey's eating disorder, so had Donald's physical intimidation colored Casey's taste in men. Sue him, he was a product of his environment, and while his therapist had helped him with the eating aversion, the two of them had never discussed Casey's attraction to big protectors.

Probably because that wasn't something she expected to address with a ten-year-old.

However, Dev's relationship status hadn't been the only thing Casey was curious about, and Kenny seemed inclined to spill the tea. Did it make Casey a bad person that he intended to take full advantage?

"Thanks for that—I mean, really. Thanks. But I was actually wondering about the bigger picture. Harrison House, for instance. Dev mentioned his brother. Is he away? Is that why the third floor renovations are on hold?"

As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Kenny grimaced. "You could say so." He pointed to the sidewalk, which wasn't concrete like New York pavement, but slabs of veined white stone. "Watch out for the sidewalks in the rain. It's marble from the old quarry and slippery as all get-out."

Marble sidewalks. Seriously?"Noted, and again, thanks. But why do I get the feeling you're dodging the question?"

Kenny heaved a sigh. "Dodging the feelings, more like. Garlan died a year and a half ago."

Casey froze mid-step and turned to Kenny. "I'm so sorry. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

He shook his head, gesturing for them to continue down the street, although he set a pace so leisurely it almost qualified as slo-mo. "No. You'll be in Home for the summer, living right in Harrison House, so it's best if you know the story." His gaze lifted, and he seemed focused somewhere over the treetops at the end of Main Street. "Home is… unique. The town was founded in 1791 by Dev's ancestor, Persistence Harrison, a minister whose interpretations of the scripture were decidedly unpopular with his Boston community."

"Was he fire and brimstone?"

"Quite the opposite. He never believed in the punitive school of religious zeal. He fell squarely on the side of love-your-brother and do-unto-others. He also fell in love with a Pequot woman and ran afoul of the Massachusetts law against interracial marriage. So he and his congregation pulled up stakes and moved out of Massachusetts and into Vermont, where they could make their own community, their own rules." Kenny smiled crookedly. "Did you know that Vermont is one of the few states in the US that's never had anti-miscegenation laws on the books?"

Casey blinked. "No. I did not."

"Well, Persistence accepted anyone into his flock who was ready to live and let live, and his descendants fully embraced his vision. Harrison House was even a stop on the Underground Railroad. His great-great-grandson married one of the former slaves who decided to stay."

"Really? That's… wow."

Kenny grinned. "I know, right? They've always offered a home to anyone who didn't belong elsewhere—hence the town's name. It's actually written into the town charter, the original of which hangs over the fireplace in the Harrison House living room, right opposite a cross-stitch sampler that Dev's mother made with the town's unofficial motto: Welcome Home. Don't be a dick."

Casey laughed. "Nice."

"Totally." Kenny held out his fist for Casey to bump. "The only people who were refused residence were those who weren't willing to follow that fundamental principle. Persistence's wife's sibling was two-natured, so there was queer representation as far back as the first settlers. That openness, that welcome, as well as the diversity, has continued ever since."

Casey swallowed against a throat gone tight. A whole town dedicated to acceptance. How cool was that? Man, his father would have hated it here.

"We had an influx of new residents after the World Wars, for instance," Kenny continued. "German-Americans who were run out of towns they'd lived in all their lives. Japanese-Americans released from internment camps with nowhere else to go. That's when my great-grandparents moved here. They were Chinese, but after the war, most people tarred any Asian with the Pearl Harbor brush."

"Wow."

"From the beginning, there's always been a Harrison at the helm." He wrinkled his nose. "Persistence was blind in one area, though—stupid primogeniture traditions. Ownership of Harrison House and responsibility for the town always goes to the eldest son. Dev is the younger of two. Since their dad was killed in action in the Gulf, his elder brother, Garlan, was groomed by their grandfather to take over from the time they were kids."

"Ouch. That sucks."

Kenny chuckled. "Actually, it suited them both just fine. Garlan, as first-born kids often are, had a definite control-freak side, and Dev… Well, he had other ambitions, other plans, that didn't include becoming the de facto Daddy to a town full of obstinate eccentrics." Kenny sighed. "All that changed when a semi skidded on the ice out by the quarry and plowed into Garlan's car, killing him and his grandfather instantly."

"That's awful."

"Yeah. The roads around here can be… Well, let's just say it's a good thing you're here during the summer and leave it at that. Anyway, Dev's been taking care of the place ever since. Which"—Kenny's smile was definitely sly—"is why Dev's single. His boyfriend objected strongly to Dev's decision to come home."

"Then I'm guessing said boyfriend wouldn't be welcome, anyway."

Kenny shot Casey a puzzled glance. "What do you mean?"

"He failed the unofficial motto test, of course. I mean, what's more dickish than not standing behind your partner when they experience hardship?" Casey caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and dared a quick look behind them. "Don't look now," he whispered, "but we've got a tail."

Kenny, to his credit, didn't look. "Randolph Scott?"

"Mmmhmmm. Unless Home's got another feline resident with a tail like a ginger squirrel's and a notch out of one ear."

Kenny bit his lip, brows bunched, then gave a tiny nod. "Okay. I was planning to take you to the Market and introduce you to Kat, the proprietor, but since we've collected a different sort of cat? Change of plan." Kenny veered off the sidewalk and cut across the wide lawn in front of a yellow Victorian with pristine white trim and a discreet sign that read Home Historical Society. "He still following?"

Casey dared another glance. "Yup. Where are we going?"

"Harrison Veterinary Clinic. It's on East Road."

Casey matched Kenny's casual amble. "Another Harrison?"

"Dev's cousin Ty."

"But if there was already a Harrison in town, why did Dev have to come home to run things?"

Kenny snorted. "Primogeniture, remember? Ty's not in the main hereditary line. He's actually Dev's second cousin. His grandfather was Dev's grandfather's adopted brother. He wouldn't be on the hook unless something happened to Dev, too."

"Why don't you change that rule? It seems like you risk getting saddled with poor or corrupt government when you're operating under a divine-right-of-Harrisons thing."

"Oh trust me, they've tried—the family, not the town. But every time the current Harrison-in-charge brings it up, the town votes it down again. It's almost a superstition with them now. As long as there's a Harrison at the helm, Home will be okay."

They emerged onto a narrower street, also tree-lined and shady. This side held several houses, but opposite them was a rambling, single-storied structure and behind it, a fenced area that ran the length of the short street. Barks, yips, and the occasional howl permeated the air, and Casey spotted several dogs racing along the fence.

"Harrison Veterinary Clinic, I presume?"

"Yep. Randolph Scott still there?"

"Yes, but he's got misgivings if the judgmental tilt of his ears is anything to go by."

"Hmmm. He's quicker than he looks, so we need to plan this." Kenny pulled his phone out of his back pocket and touched the screen. "Ty? We're out front with Randolph Scott. What's the game plan?" Kenny glanced back at the cat, who had sat down and shot out a rear paw, digging between some extremely impressive claws with his teeth. "Seriously? That's your plan?" He sighed. "Fine. But don't dawdle." He disconnected the call. "We're supposed to detain him."

"Us and what army?" Casey glanced down at the cat, who had moved on to the other paw. "Unless you've got a machete in your pocket, he's way better armed than we are. His feet are enormous."

"Polydactyly," Kenny said. "He's got six toes on each front paw."

Just then, Randolph Scott looked up and met Casey's gaze with wide golden eyes. "Uh oh. I think we've been made. Should we run for it?"

Kenny laughed, although it sounded to Casey as though there were an edge to it. "Nah. If he had it in for you, you'd know. He tends to express his disapprobation with dismembered rodents."

"Good to know." Casey glanced sidelong at Kenny as Randolph Scott sauntered forward, his tail in the air. Casey had never had a pet—his father claimed cats shed, dogs were too needy, and fish belonged on a plate with lemon.

While he was gathering ammunition to try to change his dad's mind—which had never happened, and not just about pets—Casey had watched a ton of videos on all kinds of domestic animals. He remembered that cats were evolutionarily wired to expect danger from above, so he took a sustaining breath and lowered himself to his haunches. Slowly.

"Hey, boy." He held out his hand, palm down, careful to keep it below the level of Randolph Scott's eyes. "I'm Casey."

The cat dabbed at Casey's fingers with his nose, then ducked his head under Casey's palm and nudged it imperiously, a purr that rivaled Pete's mower vibrating Casey's hand. Smile dawning, Casey obeyed the order and stroked the ginger fur, scratching behind the notched ear. "Wow. His fur is so soft."

"It is now." Kenny knelt down next to Casey. "Wait until the end of summer when the grasses go to seed. He gets covered in burrs. It takes Ty forever to get them out, since Randolph Scott scorns brushes."

"If I'm still around, I'll help. I don't mind. I like—"

A light brown hand reached over Casey's shoulder and scooped up the cat. By the time Casey registered what had happened, Randolph Scott was already on the ground again, shaking his leg before casting one baleful glance over his shoulder and darting off under a hydrangea bush. Casey rose reluctantly to face the owner of the hand, who was capping an empty syringe.

"Thanks, guys. He's been dodging me all week." He held out a hand. "Ty Harrison. You must be Sylvia's student."

Casey shook, trying not to be too obvious about comparing Ty to his cousin. While he was about Dev's height, or maybe an inch or two shorter, his eyes were more almond-shaped, his skin a couple of shades lighter, and his black hair straight, not curly. Their broad cheekbones were the same, however, as were the golden-brown eyes.

"That's me. Casey Friel. Nice to meet you." He glanced at the bushes, which were shaking alarmingly. "Is he going to hate me now?"

"Nah." Ty brandished the syringe. "He knows who to blame. You, he likes, or he wouldn't have let you pet him. Be careful or you'll find him underfoot constantly now."

Casey smiled. "I don't mind. I always wanted a pet when I was a kid, but my dad wouldn't allow it."

Ty gestured to his office. "I run a no-kill shelter out of my practice and I'm always looking for volunteers to socialize with the animals, so if you're ever in need of some one-on-one furbaby time, you're welcome to stop in."

Casey shrugged apologetically. "I kind of doubt I'll have much free time, but if I do, I'll keep it in mind."

"Excellent. Now, since you two have done me a signal service, allow me to buy you the beverage of your choice from the Market." Ty patted Casey's shoulder. "I'm impressed with how you charmed Randolph Scott, but if you can work the same magic on Kat Hathaway, I'm nominating you for sainthood."