At least, that’s where we were headed before we heard it: another yelp of pain from Socks.

“Oh, no.” Angela froze beside me. “Tell me he did not just—”

Before either of us could turn to see what was happening, we heard it: the sickening—and unmistakable—sound of bone crunching on bone. I spun just in time to see Rick crumpled on the Hartwells’ pavers, clutching his face in apparent agony.

“Yeeee-ow,” Rick wailed into his cupped hands. “Did you see that? Did y’all see that? Drew Hartwell hit me! He hit me in the face. Why’d you have to go and do that, Drew?”

Drew Hartwell stood a few feet away from the prone man, waving his right hand in the air. The knuckles seemed to be smarting.

“You know why I did that, Rick,” he said, calmly.

“You can’t say he didn’t warn you, Rick.” One of Drew’s fellow pool players was setting up for his shot as if nothing had happened. “You had it coming.”

“Get up, Rick,” said another. “You’re blocking the table.”

Rick did not seem inclined to get up, however. Instead, he rolled around on the Hartwells’ pavers, his fingers pressed to his face, while Socks worriedly tried to lick his face.

“My nose is probably broke,” Rick cried. “You all saw it! Drew Hartwell broke my nose! I’m going to sue. I’m going to sue you, Drew Hartwell!”

“Please be my guest,” Drew said politely, then walked over to the food table where there was a large ice cooler filled with beer and soda. He plunged his sore hand into it.

Ed gave his nephew an aggrieved look, then leaned down to help Rick to his feet. “Come on, Rick,” he said. “Your nose ain’t broke. But let’s go get you some ice for it. And maybe some black coffee, too, I think.”

“I don’t want no ice.” Rick yanked his arm from Ed’s grip. “And I don’t want coffee, neither. I want your boy arrested. Did you see what he did to me?”

“He didn’t do anything to you that you haven’t had coming for a long time, Rick, and you know it.” Ed was speaking to Rick, but he was glaring at Drew. “Now come with me—”

But it was too late. Rick darted out of Ed’s grasp, then disappeared from the pool table area into the darkest part of the yard, toward the rabbit hutches, still clutching his nose.

Socks, ever loyal to his master, would have followed if I hadn’t reached down and grasped him by the collar to keep him where he was. The two of us had a certain rapport since I always gave him water and biscuits at the Mermaid whenever Mrs. Hartwell wasn’t around to do it.

The dog only tried for a moment to break free, glancing nervously after his owner, whining softly, confused by my restraining him.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want Rick to have a pet. I just thought it might be better for him not to have a pet until he’d learned how to take better care of one.

“Shhh,” I said to the dog, stroking his droopy ear to calm him. He was a mixed breed, a lot of border collie with a little bit of everything else. It would probably be easier to tell after he’d had a bath. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay now. Sit, Socks. Stay.”

“Someone should give that dog some water,” Drew said testily, his right hand still soaking in the beer cooler.

“Do you think so?” Drew’s aunt Lucy looked furious. I wasn’t sure whether it was because her lovely party had been broken up by a fight or because her beloved nephew had been the one who’d thrown the first—and only—punch. “Do you think that might have been a better way to have handled the situation than to have knocked his owner’s lights out?”

Drew had the grace to look a little sheepish. “Yeah.” He lifted his hand from the cooler and examined his sore knuckles. “Well, I get a little hot under the collar when it comes to animal abuse.”

“Oh, and the rest of us think it’s just swell. But we somehow manage to restrain ourselves.”

He stared at his aunt for a beat, as if he couldn’t believe what she’d just said. I couldn’t believe it, either. Frankly, I wished I’d been the one who’d punched Rick Chance. I was glad someone, at least, had finally done it . . . and I couldn’t help a growing feeling of admiration for Drew Hartwell.

Admiration? For Drew Hartwell? No. This was not part of the plan. Not that there was a plan, exactly, but what there was did not include allowing myself to feel anything at all for Drew Hartwell. I was off men, I was man free, I was on a mancation . . . at least until I could figure out how I’d had the bad judgment to get involved with a guy like Caleb in the first place.

Fortunately Nevaeh appeared from nowhere, kneeling down to set a large bowl of fresh water in front of the dog, and divert me from my dark thoughts.

“Here you go, Socks,” she cooed. “Don’t pay any mind to those two, they’re just fussing, like always.”

Happily Socks, torn between the cool water and his beloved master, chose the water, and lowered his head to lap noisily, giving us all a welcome distraction.

“Poor baby.” Mrs. Hartwell turned her attention away from the dog and toward her nephew. “He really was thirsty. I should have brought out some water sooner. Then maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“It’s my mess, not ours, Lu,” Drew said, his jaw set and his gaze gone flinty. “I’ll take care of it.”

“How?” Mrs. Hartwell demanded. “How are you going to take care of it? Where is that poor man supposed to go to get his nose looked at? The ER is closed. The walk-in clinic is boarded up because all of the doctors have left town, except for Dr. Schmidt, but he’s a vet, and last I heard, he was at Martina Hernandez’s hurricane party up on Stork Key. To get any sort of medical care, Rick’ll have to go to Miami, but he’s certainly in no shape to drive, even if he had a car, which he doesn’t, because his wife took it away. Unless you care to drive him—”

“Uh, no, thanks.”

“You need to think about your actions. You never think. You just—”

“Excuse me.”

The click of pool balls, which had ratcheted up again once Rick had left the vicinity, stilled as a tall shadow fell across the patio. I could hardly believe it when I looked up to see the sheriff standing there—in full uniform, no less—with Rick Chance standing right behind him.

My eyes widening, I glanced from Rick to Drew, but the latter appeared unruffled, reaching down to take hold of Socks’s collar, since the dog had given a delighted whine at the appearance of his owner and made a motion to rush to his side.

“Lucy.” The sheriff gave a polite tip of his hat toward the older woman. “Ed. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Oh, you know you’re never interrupting, John.” Mrs. Hartwell’s face was lit with genuine pleasure. She didn’t seem to have any idea what the presence of the sheriff meant. “We were wondering when you were going to drop by. I saved a plate of my brisket for you. I know how much you love it.”

“Kind of you,” John Hartwell said. “I was actually just on my way over.”

He was tall, with Drew’s dark hair and blue eyes, since like almost everyone else on the island he was related to Ed Hartwell, as well—though exactly how, I wasn’t sure. I’d waited on him numerous times. He liked his coffee black and his eggs over easy. Like most of the Hartwells, he said little but tipped a lot.