Julia frowned, approaching the flat-faced, unremarkable house. Palmer had purchased it twenty years earlier—one of his friend-to-friend deals that he couldn’t pass up. Charleston was a small town that way, especially for the tight group that lived South of Broad. Someone had died and the beachfront house was available for a song. Palmer had told Julia with his usual bravado that beachfront property was always a good investment. It didn’t matter about the house, he said—one day they’d sell the place, or tear it down and she could build a spanking-new house, one she could design.

Julia had never cared much about beach houses. She was a Charleston girl, born and bred. When his father passed, Stratton had left the great house on Tradd Street to his only son, rather than to his wife, and Julia and Palmer had moved into the Rutledge House with their children, Linnea and Cooper. Palmer had considered it his duty to take care of his mother, and as for Julia, she’d doted on Olivia.

Palmer had rented out the Sullivan’s Island beach house every summer after buying it, needing the income. The arrangement suited them. A few weeks on the island for vacation was enough for Julia. She had always planned to sell the house one day and use the money to purchase one of the more attractive cottages that she coveted.

Then the Charleston export/import business that had been in the Rutledge family for generations had gone bankrupt under Palmer’s watch. Her world had flipped. They’d had to sell the family house on Tradd Street, as well as the hunting lodge, and were forced to retreat to the beach house. Palmer didn’t seem to mind much. The arrangement kept him in the game with plans to build a spec house. Palmer was always looking for a quick way to make his fortune. Linnea had left for California and Cooper for college.

It was harder on Julia. She’d loved living in Charleston. Loved the beautiful house on Tradd. She’d decorated each room with loving care, believing one day she’d pass it on to Cooper or Linnea. That was never going to happen.…

She felt the first drop of rain, cold and wet on her face.

“Hurry up, woman!”

They took off at a trot, reaching the house just as the sky opened up.

“We made it just in time,” Palmer declared, wiping the wet from his face with meaty palms.

Julia looked around, taking in the unadorned clapboard house. Ugly as ever, she thought, shaking the rain from her hair. There were times it pained her just to look at it. She turned her back on the sparse, sandy grass and the leggy azaleas.

Palmer punched in the key code and pushed open the front door, stepping aside. Julia hurried indoors just as thunder cracked above them.

“Sweet Jesus!” Julia exclaimed, hand on heart. “That one was right over us.”

The rain was coming down in torrents and the wind gusted as clouds raced over the island. Julia slipped out of her windbreaker and shook it over the tile, then hung it on the coatrack. She pushed her damp blond hair from her face and let her gaze sweep the large, open, and airy room, checking that the windows were closed.