If Josie had seen her at Edward’s graveside, she’d have known that something was horrifically wrong, something more than Anahera’s young and gifted playwright husband being dead.

The little bell over the door rang.

When Anahera looked over, it was to see Miriama walking in. She gave them a thumbs--up. “He took the cake and we’re five dollars richer.”

“She’s beautiful,” Anahera said quietly to Josie as the younger woman went to ring up the sale.

Josie caught the question in Anahera’s statement. “Thankfully, she’s managed to avoid the usual -small--town -traps—-she’ll be leaving Golden Cove before autumn falls into winter.” A low murmur. “If she ever decides to come back, it’ll be like you, on her own terms.”

Anahera knew Josie’s words didn’t apply to Josie herself. Her friend was exactly where she’d told Anahera she wanted to be when they were only fourteen: married to Tom Taufa, mother to his babies, and owner of her own café.

“Hey, Jo, you mind if I bug out a little early?”

Josie nodded at Miriama. “Going for a run?”

“Need to stretch out the legs.”

Anahera glanced at her watch after the girl left. “I better head out, too,” she said. “I want to have some time at the cabin while it’s still light.”

Josie frowned. “Ana, I didn’t think you were serious about staying out there, otherwise I’d have asked Tom to fix it up a bit. I made up my spare room for you.”

Anahera’s cold, hard heart threatened to crack. “I need to go there,” was all she said.

4

Josie had made her a care package because, despite her hopes, she knew Anahera.

Anahera was putting the box of supplies into her Jeep when she felt a prickling at her nape; she glanced back and saw the cop watching her from outside his post. Keeping an eye on the stranger in town.

How could this city cop know that Golden Cove was branded into every cell in her body, that even when she’d slept in a soft bed in an expensive terraced house in London, while manicured grass grew in their shared city garden and designer gowns hung in her closet, she’d dreamed of this tiny town perched on the edge of an ocean so pitiless it had taken more souls than the devil?

Box stowed, she turned to hug Josie again, then got in the Jeep to drive toward that same pitiless ocean, and when she passed a narrow road that led inland, she deliberately didn’t look its way.

There was nothing for her down there.

The -old--growth forest on the edge of town closed in around her for five minutes before it began to thin out, let in flashes of the sea. But the cabin that stood on the far side of that growth, overlooking the sand below the cliffs, was shadowed by a huge rata tree. Sunlight only speared through on the brightest days, but that was all right. There was plenty of light on the beach once you made your way down the precariously narrow track.

Bringing the Jeep to a stop facing the side of the cabin, she just sat and stared for a long while, but nothing changed. There was no one there. No one would come out with a big smile and wave her in for a cup of tea. No one would invite her for a walk on the beach. And when Christmas came and the rata bloomed as scarlet as fresh blood, no one would sit with her under its shade.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, then made herself open the driver’s--side door and get out. Leaving her stuff where it was, she crossed the short distance to the cabin and walked up the steps to the small porch. Leaves crunched underfoot and she saw a spider, legs furred and long, scuttle across the wood. Thick spiderwebs hung on the eaves, a thinner web around the doorknob.

Turning it, the mechanism stiff, she opened the door.

And walked into a thousand memories.

5

Will took a long drink of his beer, while beside him, Nikau nursed his. “She’s something, isn’t she?” the other man said.

Will didn’t have to ask to know who Nikau was talking about; he’d learned quickly enough that there was only one woman in town who put that tone in a man’s voice. “She’s a little young for you, Nik.” He looked over at where Miriama Hinewai Tutaia held court, her hair flowing past her waist and men buzzing around her like bees around a honeypot.

A woman that attractive to men didn’t usually have many female friends, but Miriama did. They buzzed around her, too, wanting her attention, wanting her laughter. She handled their need with generous ease, giving just enough that no one felt left out, no one felt as if they weren’t enough. And so that the -black--haired man with thin -wire--frame spectacles who had his arm possessively around her waist felt as if he mattered the most. “Dr. de Souza has also beaten you to the punch.”

“You realize he’s older than I am?”

“Only by a couple of years.” Far too young a doctor to end up a general practitioner in a desolate West Coast town, but when Will had checked up on Dominic de Souza, he’d found no black marks, no problematic history. Seemed like the man was here for exactly the reason he’d said: in a big city, he’d have been the junior in a big practice, but in Golden Cove, he got to be his own boss.

“She’ll get tired of him sooner or later,” Nikau predicted. “A woman with that much life in her, she’s not going to be happy with a podunk doctor. She’ll want wilder and I’ve got it.”