Free Island Home by Liliana Hart

Chapter One
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    “T his is stupid.”
    Luke Mallory pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes before sucking in a deep breath.
    “I’ve lost my mind. I’m just full-out, batshit crazy.”
    He directed the flashlight up the sandy path. The overarching palms cast nefarious shadows, and the scurry of lizards and God knows what else could be heard as he interrupted their slumber.
    Perspiration slicked his skin and his shaggy hair curled damply at his temples and at the base of his neck. A haircut was on his to-do list— way down on the list. He had other, more important, matters to deal with—the first being to have his sanity checked. Only a crazy person believed myths could become reality. And he didn’t believe. Not really. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
    The Florida heat and humidity pressed in on him, making the trek up the side of the hill that led to Seeker’s Spring as close to the path to hell as one could get without actually going there. He swatted at the palms with one hand while the flashlight held steady with the other. The waterfall gurgled in the distance and the temperature rose the closer he got to the springs.
    He was a native to the island and loved everything about the place generations of his family had called home—from the wickedly hot summers to the hurricanes that blew through every few years or so. The Mallory’s were Seeker’s Island. It was in his blood, and he’d be buried right alongside his ancestors in the Seeker’s Island Cemetery, whose graves sunk with haphazard uncertainty every time it rained.
    Once he reached the top of the hill, Luke tossed the high-powered flashlight to the ground, so it shone eerily over the moss-covered boulders and onto the blackness of the water. The waterfall splashed loudly against the rocks at its base—competing with the crashing waves of the ocean barely a hundred steps through the trees to the west—and sent ripples across the surface.
    “Idiot,” he muttered again, scrubbing his hands over his face and rolling his shoulders back to loosen the tightness.
    At least no one was present to witness his stupidity. The sun hadn’t yet come up, and theoretically, the springs were closed. Not that it mattered. The sheriff was his best friend—though Jed Wells, perverse bastard that he was, might enjoy throwing him behind bars just for the hell of it.
    Before Luke could talk himself out of it he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on one of the boulders. His cargo shorts went next along with his boxers. Hell, he hadn’t gone skinny dipping in the hot springs since he’d been eighteen and angry at the world. It was unfortunate that both times were because of the same woman—not that his wish had been granted the first time—but maybe he hadn’t asked for the right thing at the right time. Fate was a bitch like that.
    Jessie James had brought him nothing but heartache in his thirty-three years. She’d been his best friend growing up, though he knew Jessie had kept secrets from him. The shadows in her eyes were never hidden as well as she thought they were. And who could blame her, growing up with a bastard like old Jesse James? The old man had been harsh on her, and Jessie spent more time being confined to indoors as punishment than she had running wild and free around the island.
    They’d loved each other like friends should, even though she’d never trusted Luke with her secrets. And then came the time when they started noticing each other a little differently. Hormones and bodies changed, and they both took notice. They’d been sixteen the first time the innocent kisses they’d shared had turned into something more—both of them fumbling and inexperienced as they gave each other their innocence. They loved each other like crazy, as only the young knew how to do—without reservations or bitterness from life in general stealing away pieces of that happiness.
    At least that’s what he’d thought. Looking