The Tributary was loud and dark. Jackson had only been inside once before, when Denny and Dally snuck him in ever-so-briefly during their last summer here. The Trib, as the locals called it, had been larger than life back then. A real pub, with beer on tap and a wall of hard liquor behind the bar. Not that Jackson had drunk any at the time; he'd been kicked out almost immediately. Unlike his brothers, who'd been sneaking into bars for years, at only sixteen Jackson had looked his age.

Now that he was grown, the Trib was smaller, but it had a kind of charm. Old license plates from all over Canada littered the walls, the velvet on the pool tables was scuffed, and the floors were smooth and worn from decades of dancing. The place had a lived-in feel, colloquial and almost sweet. It was a far cry from the citified clubs and backroom speakeasies Jackson was used to, but he liked it that way. He bet everyone in here knew each other's names.

"Jesus," said Denny beside him, too loudly. "This place is a dump."

Jackson elbowed him. "Be nice."

Denny shrugged. Beside him, Dally scanned the room with interest.

"It's quaint," Dally said.

It sounded to Jackson like he meant it. Dally was good like that; he was never one to deliver a low blow.

"Well, whatever," said Denny. "As long as there's an ice-cold drink in my future, I don't care where we are."

Jackson clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit."

As they sauntered toward the bar, weaving through the high tables, Dally nodded to a few locals. Jackson's head swivelled as he searched the room.

"Looking for someone?" Denny asked.

Jackson shook his head and almost blushed, but he covered it with a playful jab at Denny. "Just checking things out. Seems like the perfect place to find a wife. Just think, you can write your vows on the back of a bar napkin."

His brother glared at him. "Ha, ha."

The Trib had three beers on tap, and two of them were the same. Jackson ordered a lager from the young bartender, who couldn't have been more than twenty with his patchy beard and sincere smile, while the twins each ordered Manhattans.

"With your finest bourbon," said Denny, leaning his elbow on the bar. "And not too much vermouth. Just kiss the glass."

The bartender scrunched up his nose, squinting at Denny. "Vermouth?"

Denny looked affronted. He opened his mouth, but Dally intervened, holding up two fingers.

"We'll take two lagers instead." Dally smiled at the young bartender. "Please."

Denny grumbled under his breath about small towns.

When the kid returned with their drinks, Jackson swiped his off the bar. As he turned to look for a free table, he caught the temperature in the room, and his easy smile faltered. They were being stared at. More than a few heads had turned at their arrival, and they were still turned, weighing the McBride brothers with measuring gazes that rivalled Mr. Whitfield's back at the Creek House.

Jackson cleared his throat and started toward a table with his head lowered. It was possible the people of Dogwood had long memories. Denny, especially, had caused more than his share of trouble, those summers.

"Damn," Denny muttered. "I feel like the prodigal son."

Jackson smirked as he settled into a free seat in the corner by the jukebox. "What's it like to be notorious, Denny? I always wanted to know."

The twins chuckled as one as they took their seats across the table from him.

"I think you're the notorious one," Dally said, laughing warmly. "Denny and I were older. We had to set an example. But you were wild."

Denny broke in, grinning at Jackson. "Do you remember the time you and the caretaker's daughter stole rope from the hardware store, and the guy who owned the store—"

"Mr. Huang," interjected Dally.

"—he chased you two down First Avenue shaking his fist and calling you a little ginger bastard?" Gales of laughter erupted out of Denny's mouth. "I thought he was going to whup your ass. But the caretaker's daughter, she made up some story and got you out of it. God knows what she said." Denny quieted, then mused, "You know, I can't even remember her name."

Jackson took a slow breath through his nose, then said quietly, "Her name was Rose."

Denny slapped Jackson's shoulder. "Rose. That's right. Why were you two even stealing rope to begin with?"

Jackson shook his head. "I don't remember."

Denny chuckled. "Well, whatever you two were up to, it wasn't the first time you got in trouble in this town."

Jackson smiled and took a small sip of his drink. Denny and Dally began to trade stories, and he tuned them out. Sometimes, the twins forgot about everyone but each other, but Jackson didn't mind.

He knew exactly why he and Rose had nicked that rope from the hardware store. That was the summer they were twelve and old enough to ride their bikes into town on their own. They'd been building a treehouse, had been pilfering tools from her father's shed all summer long. Some nails here, a hammer there. They'd needed the rope to make a pulley. Unfortunately, they'd been caught when Rose fell out of the tree and broke her arm. Jackson cringed inwardly, remembering her screams.

Sometimes, it seemed he'd caused Rose Whitfield nothing but pain.

He took a long sip of foamy lager. His eyes drifted toward the door. He wondered what she was doing right now. There was a strange ache in his heart since seeing her at the airport. It was as though he had missed her, but he hadn't realized how deeply until now.

***

Rose tugged at the hem of her dress as she slid out of the Bronco. "Damn it, Lily. I told you this dress was too short to get into and out of a truck with any dignity."

Lily laughed as she helped their mother out of the vehicle. "Well, if you had a normal truck, instead of this relic from—what, the sixties—it would be less of a problem. You call this a back seat?"

"It's a nineteen-seventy," Rose muttered. "It's a classic."

She smoothed the dress over her thighs. Lily had picked out one of the few she owned: a short, swishy, flowered affair Rose had bought online and never worn. Paired with Rose's ancient, broken-in cowboy boots, it was...a look.

"I don't feel comfortable in this," she said as Lily came around the truck.

Lily had painted her lips a big city red. "Yeah, but you look like a snack."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Fine. Let's just have a drink, and then go."

She strode toward the Trib's double front doors, then held one open and ushered Lily and Mom through. When they'd passed by, Rose took a deep breath and followed.

It was dimly lit inside, and it took Rose a minute to adjust to it. She stood just inside the door blinking as Lily tottered straight for the bar in her fancy heels, her arm slung around their mother's shoulders. Rose expelled a sigh and strode after them. The dress swished over her bare legs, flouncing as she walked, and she tugged at it again.

She noted the music as she neared the bar, and she couldn't help the small smile that quirked her lips. Stevie Nicks' familiar tones filled the air, Fleetwood Mac playing on the jukebox.

"Remember this?" she said to Lily as she stopped beside her. "Dad's favourite song."

Lily grinned. "Do I ever. We used to sing this together at the cottage, all three of us." She balled up her fist and used it as a microphone, miming the words, then let her hand fall. "That is, when you weren't off gallivanting around the grounds with Jackson."

Rose grimaced.

Lily rubbed Rose's arm. "Relax. You're all out of sorts. Let's just have a good time. This night is about Mom, not Jackson Mc—"

Lily's hand stilled on Rose's upper arm. Rose frowned. Lily was looking past her. Rose attempted to turn to see what had captured Lily's attention, but her sister tightened her grip on her arm and shook her head.

"He's here," Lily hissed. "Don't look. He's over in the corner."

Rose shut her eyes. "Jackson?"

"I'm afraid so."

Rose opened one eye. "Is he alone?"

Lily looked away, toward the bar. "No. Those brothers of his are with him. God, they're tall, aren't they?"

Lily's cheeks bore a hint of pink. Rose raised her brows.

"Just...act natural, would you?" Lily muttered, still looking anywhere but at Rose. "They're looking over here."

Rose's lips tightened as indignant heat flared in her belly. Of course, Jackson was here. She wouldn't have expected anything less; she'd seen him online, in the papers and on those snide blogs that chronicled the lifestyles of the rich and famous, and he always had a drink in his hand. And a woman at his side. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. How dare he show up here and play the same games.

"This is my town," she said with more force than she intended. "Jackson McBride is a guest."

Lily narrowed her eyes. "You sure about that?"

Rose took a centering breath, then lifted her chin. "Am I the mayor of Dogwood, or not?"

As Lily straightened, her eyes flickered past Rose, then back. "There you go. You're a strong, independent woman. Now come on before Mom takes a patron home."

Rose started. Their mother was leaning on the bar behind Lily, talking to an older gentleman sitting on one of the stools. Lily gently guided their mother away from him with a chirpy apology.

"I was just saying hello," Mom said, smiling her gracious, pink-lipped smile. "Why, that's Dan McRae. You know him, Rose. He teaches biology at the high school." She leaned in conspiratorially. "I love a man with an understanding of human anatomy, if you know what I—"

"Mom," Rose interrupted, grimacing. "Please."

Lily snickered. "Oh, relax, Rose. You two go find a table. I'll order our drinks."

Mom sashayed forward, heading in the direction of the McBrides' table. Rose paled and grabbed her mother's hand, turning her.

"This way, Mom."

"But honey, I—"

Rose forced a smile. "I don't want to sit too close to the jukebox. That's all. Gives me a headache."

Mom tapped her hand lightly. "Don't be a killjoy, dear."

Rose set her jaw and followed her mother toward an open table, but it put her directly in Jackson's field of view. She let her gaze flicker toward the jukebox at the back of the bar. He was there, seated at a low table facing her, but he was looking down at his drink. Her shoulders relaxed by a hair. At least he was distracted. She glanced at him again, her heart racing. She couldn't help it.

He'd filled out. A lot. His arms were thick with muscle, his forearm flexing as he turned his glass round and round on the table. His broad, muscular chest strained the sleeves of his shirt. She wondered, briefly, if he had to have his clothes tailored to accommodate his frame. He hadn't been a skinny boy—he'd always leaned toward athleticism—and she'd seen his pictures before, but it hadn't prepared her for the full force of his physical presence. Jackson drew the eye of every woman in the room.

A spark of possessiveness flared at the base of her spine, a slow lick of heat. Rose stamped it out. Jackson was not hers. Not anymore.

Her mother finally chose a table and took a seat, her back to the McBride boys. Rose groaned. The only available stools would seat her directly in Jackson's line of sight.

She muttered to herself as she pulled out a barstool, "My town, my rules."

"What's that, Rose?" Mom tilted her head. "You know, you really should speak up."

Rose shook her head. "Nothing. Did you have to choose a high table?" She shimmied onto the stool, pulling her dress down over her thighs. "Are you aware that none of us is any taller than five-foot-two?"

Mom waved her hand dismissively. "Sit up, Rose. Men like a woman with confidence."

Rose braced herself for a talking-to about her perennial singlehood, which was always rich coming from their thrice-married mother, but Lily appeared and saved her.

"Hey-o, help me with these," Lily said, pushing a trio of drinks toward them. "Before I drop one."

Rose extricated a pint glass from Lily's fingers. "Thanks, Lil."

"There's more where that came from." Lily winked.

"I'm driving," Rose reminded her.

Her sister grinned. "Just because you drove us here doesn't mean you have to drive home. Dogwood has a taxi service, right?"

Rose laughed. "We have one cab. One. Besides, I am not leaving the Bronco at the Trib overnight. How would that look?"

Lily waved her hand. "Oh, Rose. Let your hair down for once."

"I'm the mayor of—"

"We know," said Lily and Mom in unison.

Rose narrowed her eyes. "Ha, ha." Still, she capitulated and took a sip of her beer. "See? I can have fun. I'm a real fun guy."

Lily and Mom shared a look.

"What?" asked Rose as she wiped beer foam off her upper lip. "Why are you doing that?"

"Rose," said Lily gently. "How do I put this delicately?" She compressed her lips for a moment. "You're meant for a life in politics."

Rose scrunched up her nose. "What do you mean by that?"

Mom broke in. "You're squeaky clean, darling."

"You need to live a little," Lily said. "When's the last time you went on a date?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Not you, too. Jesus, Lily. I'm fine. I'm busy."

"I know." Lily's gaze softened. "You have ambition. But sometimes you're so busy working, maybe there are other aspects of life that pass you by."

Rose furrowed her brow. She wasn't like Lily. Or her mother. The life of the party. She liked men; she'd dated her fair share in college, and she'd been on dates since coming home to Dogwood, but it was a small town with only so many single men in it. Besides, it was hard to find a man who understood her aspirations. She was a small-town girl, but she had big dreams, and not every man could accommodate a woman like that.

Jackson had, once. Rose looked down as a memory flashed in her mind: The two of them laying on their backs by the creek, scratchy grass pricking her thighs as she looked up at a blue and cloudless sky and dreamed aloud, drawing her hands through the air. You can do it, Rosie, he'd said, shifting in the grass to face her with his hand under his cheek. We'll do it. Together.

Suddenly, the air in the Trib was too thick and heavy to breathe.

Rose pushed back her stool. "I'll be back in a minute. I forgot something in the truck."

Lily nodded. Rose hopped down from her seat and scurried away from the table, flinging open the Trib's front door and barreling outside as though hell was on her heels. She staggered across the parking lot toward the grassy berm that separated the pub from the highway, then stopped, chest heaving tremulously. Tears blurred her vision.

Damn Jackson McBride. His mere presence was enough to unsettle her completely.

The sound of the door opening and closing brought her back to the present. She took a deep breath and pressed her fingertips to the delicate skin below her eyes. It wouldn't do for anyone to catch the mayor bawling her eyes out outside the local bar.

The voice behind her made her breath catch in her throat.

"Rosie?" There was a pause. "Can we talk?"