That wasn't exactly smart, and I know it.

This isn't some townie girl, or some drunk bachelor party chick. This is the preacher's daughter, off limits, probably-saving-herself-for-marriage Eva Ellis.

Flirting with her - with any girl like her is wrong. And I know better.

Because as fast and loose as I am with women, I do - believe it or not - have guidelines. No married chicks, no one clingy, no one who doesn't move as fast as I do.

I might go ahead and add "no one with a fire-and-brimstone southern preacher of a father" to the list if anything my dad has told me about Leonard Ellis is true - and I warrant it is.

And so it's with that thought in mind that I do my d.a.m.nedest to get the images of Eva Ellis's perfect - and I do mean G.o.dd.a.m.n perfect - nipples poking through the wet, transparent cotton of her t-shirt out of my head as I walk back to the bar.

"Shouldn't you be slinging drinks, bucko?"

Aww, f.u.c.k.

I'm halfway back to the bar when I hear the voice from behind me, and I whirl.

"Hey, Rich."

Every town, however nice, and however postcard-picturesque for the tourists like Shelter Harbor, has a Richard Ling. A while back, our version of Richard was my friend Silas's uncle Declan, before he got shoved into Walpole State Penitentiary for the next twenty-five to thirty.

Since then, we've had all sorts of sc.u.mbags vying to be the next top, well, sc.u.mbag, I guess. Richard Ling ended up at the top of the heap.

It's worth mentioning that Rich is also a top-of-his-game loan shark.

It's also worth mentioning that I owe Richard Ling a substantial amount of money.

"You gonna answer the question?" Rich smirks at me, standing there in the ridiculous chunky-cut suit he's always wearing like he's G.o.dd.a.m.n Al Capone.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, man, I just had a thing to take care of."

"That 'thing' involve you jumping in the f.u.c.king harbor?" He chuckles at his own joke before elbowing the big guy accompanying him - appropriately known around town as Big Gus - in the ribs, prompting him to chuckle along.

Richard nods at my soaking wet clothes.

"Burst pipe."

"I'm sure. You know tomorrow's the first."

I swallow, eyeing Big Gus standing next to him and wondering how well I'll run a bar with my knee in a cast. Strangely enough, Gus is an old-school regular at O'Donnell's. Off the job, the guy chases five shots of Jameson with five Sam Adams pints, loves putting Aerosmith on the jukebox, and will even actively talk Red Sox with me at the bar.

On the job, the guy is one mean motherf.u.c.ker who could probably break me over his f.u.c.king knee.

"I know tomorrow's the first, Rich."

"Which means I'm sure my money will be waiting for Gus here when he stops by."

"Of course."

"Of course," he mimics, smiling.

Loan sharks are bad enough to deal with without them being twenty-four-year-old douchebags with an obnoxious sense of humor.

"There a reason you're stalking me out on the street like this, Rich?"

"Felt like a walk. I like walking don't you, Hammond?"

I spread my hands. "There's no need for dramatics, man."

Rich smiles at me, the predatory kind of smile only a predator like him can flash. It's the kind of smile that says he knows I'm twisting in the wind here.

O'Donnell's came cheap when I bought it from the Gerritson family after old Tom Gerritson who'd owned it for decades finally kicked the bucket. Cheap, but not free. My dad helped, but I wasn't about to go crying to my folks about just how little savings I had. Live in Shelter Harbor long enough - even if you've got the famous Hammond last name - and you get to know enough people that even the bad ones start to make themselves known.

Rich is the definition of bad people. Young, ambitious, and just enough of a connection to the Southie Boston crime world to be dangerous.

And I went and borrowed eighty-f.u.c.king-thousand dollars from him.

Not my best move, but it got me the bar.

"Look, man, why don't you stop by tomorrow too, huh? We'll have some drinks, and-"

"I don't give a s.h.i.t about your bar, Rowan." Rich pulls a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, elbowing Gus into lighting it for him in this eye rolling way like he's the G.o.dfather or something.

"I don't give a s.h.i.t about your bar, I don't give a s.h.i.t about whatever s.h.i.t beer you want to pour me, and I don't give nearly enough of a s.h.i.t to hang out with you and pretend we're buddies, okay?"

I clear my throat. "Right."

"I just want the money."

"It'll be there."

"Wonderful. I'm thrilled. You're doing what you're supposed to do. You want a f.u.c.king medal?"

"Sure, you got one?"

Rich narrows his eyes at me. "Gus, give the man his prize."

Thanks, mouth.

Gus's fist knocks me square in the jaw, knocking me to my a.s.s. I groan as I go down, stars blinking in front of my eyes as my head spins.

"We done here?"

I spit, my fists clenching and my jaw tightening as I start to get up, when Gus leans close.

"Stay the f.u.c.k down," he mutters.

Reason gets the best of me, and I sit on the curb.

"I said we done here?"

"Yeah, yeah we're done here," I mutter.

I hang on the curb, wishing to G.o.d I still f.u.c.king smoked until they're long gone. Eventually, I pull my a.s.s up, and swear and shuffle my way back to the bar in soaking wet jeans.

And you'd think wet clothes, a run in with my loan shark, and punch to the face would put a damper on the inappropriate thoughts of Evangeline Ellis's perfect t.i.ts through her wet, see-through white shirt.

You'd be wrong.

Chapter Seven.

Evangeline

"Dinner was fantastic, Irene, thank you."

Mrs. Hammond - Rowan's mother - smiles warmly at my father as he eases back in his chair. "Oh, of course, Leonard. We're just so glad you all could come up and help Jacob out with this whole thing."

She's warm, and homey in a way where I find myself thinking she'd fit right in with the southern ladies from back home.

"More scalloped potatoes?"

My father shakes his head and rubs his torso. "Oh, please, no, I don't think I could manage."

Jacob Hammond chuckles, reaching over to pat my father on the shoulder as he glances at my mother. "You know, Ruth, this guy used to pack it away back in seminary school."

My mother laughs quietly and abruptly, like she always does when showing any sort of joy or excitement around company. "Oh, well, he still does."

Her mouth purses as soon as she's finished, looking down at her plate. I wish I could say "she wasn't always like this", but the truth of it is, my mother's been quietly subservient to my father ever since I can remember.

"A woman's place is by her husband's side, abiding by him and caring for him, Evangeline."

Jacob grins as he pats his own stomach - much rounder than my father's lean form. "Well shoot, Leonard, you gotta let me in on your secret!"

His wife laughs, hers much warmer, and room-filling, and more genuine than my mother's. She pats her husband's hand before their fingers entwine in a squeeze. It's loving, and intimate, and I can't help but notice my mother look at the gesture before quickly darting her eyes back to her own plate.

"Eva? Chast.i.ty?" Irene reaches for the scalloped potatoes and pa.s.ses them our way. "There's plenty if you girls want seconds. There's more glazed carrots too, back in the kitchen."

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hammond," Chast.i.ty says with practiced formalness that feels weirdly out of place at this easygoing family dinner, in the warm, love-filled Hammond house.

I shake my head as well. "No, thank you."

"I'll take some more of those carrots, Ma."

Rowan stands from where he's been parked to my right. "Anyone want a beer while I'm up? Dad? Silas?"

Jacob shakes his head, but the quiet, good-looking man with dark hair sitting next to Rowan's sister Ivy shrugs. "Yeah, I could do one more. Thanks, man."

"Ivy?"

Rowan's gorgeous, blond-haired sister shakes her head. "Nah, I'm good."

He grins as he glances at his dad. "See? Told you she was pregnant."

"Rowan Murray Hammond!" His mother throws a napkin at him as he laughs.

"I am not!" Ivy shoots her brother a look, chucking her own napkin at him as well in a way that brings a smile to my face.

"She's not, dude, she's just driving tonight." Silas laughs before turning to his wife. "You're not, right?"

Ivy rolls her eyes. "No!"

Rowan beams. "Just teasing you, Slimy." He glances up the table at my father, who isn't showing an iota of the warmth or cheer the rest of the Hammond family is.

"How about you, Leonard? Beer?"

"I abstain from alcohol, son."

Rowan's brow arches. "Oh yeah? Health cleanse or you just don't-"

"Alcohol is just one of the many temptations meant to lead us astray from the gates of Heaven."

Rowan's mouth snaps shut. "Right, right. So, that's a no," he finishes under his breath as he heads for the kitchen with his plate.

"So, we're all set for Monday," Jacob says leaning back in his chair and turning to my father. "We've got some of the volunteers from my congregation coming at eight, and the fundraising team from over at First Parish in Stoughton will be joining them as well to help with the basic logistics."

He smiles at my father, who only nods solemnly.

"I'm glad you're here, Leonard. It's been too long."

"Indeed, Jacob, indeed," my father nods quietly. "You're doing G.o.d's work here with this project."

"Well, there's a lot of folks who are going to be benefited by having a safe place to come sleep and get some food."