“I don’t know a lot about Kevin, and I know practically nothing about your sister. But from everything I’ve seen and heard so far … they deserve each other. And that’s not a compliment to either of them.”

Lucy’s fingertips found the glass panel of the door, and for a moment there was relief in the contact, the reassuring cool smoothness of it. She sent Susan a brittle smile. “It’s okay. Life goes on.”

Going to her car, Lucy sat and put her key in the ignition. When she turned it, nothing happened. An incredulous laugh broke from her. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, and tried it again. Click-click-click-click. The engine refused to turn over. Since the lights were still working, it couldn’t be the battery.

Getting back to the inn wouldn’t be a problem, since it was relatively close. But the idea of having to hassle with mechanics, and pay for budget-blowing repair work, was too much. Lucy leaned her head on the steering wheel. This was the sort of thing that Kevin had always handled for her. “One of the perks,” he’d quipped, after making certain the oil was changed and the wiper blades replaced.

Without a doubt, Lucy reflected bleakly, the worst part of being a single woman was having to take care of your own car. She wanted a drink, a shot of something strong and anesthetizing.

Climbing out of the lifeless car, she walked to a bar near the harbor, where people could watch the boats and see the loading and unloading of ferries. The bar had once been a saloon in the eighteen hundreds, established to serve prospectors on their way to British Columbia during the Fraser Gold Rush. By the time the prospectors had gone, the saloon had acquired a new clientele of soldiers, pioneers, and Hudson Bay employees. Over the decades, it had turned into a venerable old bar.

A series of musical notes spilled from her bag as the cell phone rang. Fumbling among the assortment of objects—lip gloss, loose change, a pack of gum—Lucy managed to pull the phone from her bag. Recognizing Justine’s number, she answered wanly. “Hi.”

“Where are you?” her friend asked without preamble.

“Walking in town.”

“Susan Seburg just called me. I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t either,” Lucy said. “Kevin’s going to be my brother-in-law.”

“Susan feels like shit for being the one to tell you.”

“She shouldn’t. I was going to find out about it sooner or later. My mom left a message this morning—I’m sure it had to do with the engagement.”

“Are you okay?”

“No. But I’m going out for a drink, and then I’ll be okay. You can meet me if you want.”

“Come home and I’ll whip up some margaritas.”

“Thanks,” Lucy said, “but it’s too quiet at the inn. I want to be at a bar with people. A lot of noisy people with problems.”

“Okay,” Justine said, “so where—”

The phone beeped, cutting her friend off. Lucy looked down at the tiny screen, which featured a blinking red battery symbol. She had just run out of juice.

“Figures,” she muttered. Dropping the spent phone back into her bag, she went into the shadowy interior of the bar. The place had a distinctive old-building smell, sweet and musty and dark.

Since it was still early evening, the after-work crowd hadn’t yet appeared. Lucy went to the end of the bar where the shadows were darkest, and studied the drink menu. Lucy ordered a lemon drop, made with vodka, muddled lemons, and triple sec, served in a sugar-rimmed glass. It went down her throat with a pleasant chill.

“Like a kiss from an iceberg, isn’t it?” the bartender, a blond woman named Marty, asked with a grin.

Draining the glass, Lucy nodded and set it aside. “Another one, please.”

“That’s pretty fast. You want some munchies? Nachos or jalapeсo poppers, maybe?”

“No, just another drink.”

Marty gave her a dubious look. “I hope you’re not driving after this.”

Lucy laughed bitterly. “Nope. My car just broke down.”

“One of those days, huh?”

“One of those years,” Lucy said.

The bartender took her time about getting her the next drink. Turning on the bar stool, Lucy glanced at the other patrons at the bar, some lined up at the other end, others gathered at tables. At one table, a half-dozen bikers knocked back beers and made raucous conversation.

Too late, Lucy realized they were from the biker church, and that Justine’s boyfriend, Duane, was among them. Before she could look away, he glanced in her direction.

From across the room, Duane motioned for her to join them.

She shook her head and gave him a little wave before turning back to the bar.

But the big, kindhearted biker lumbered over to her and clapped an amiable hand between her shoulder blades.

“Lucy-goosey,” he said, “how’s it going?”

“Just stopped for a quick one,” Lucy replied with a halfhearted smile. “How are you, Duane?”

“Can’t complain. Come sit with me and the guys. We’re all from Hog Heaven.”

“Thanks, Duane. I appreciate the invitation. But I really, really need to be alone right now.”

“What’s wrong?” At her hesitation, he said, “Anything bothers you, we’ll take care of it, remember?”

As Lucy stared up into the broad face swathed in oversized sideburns, her smile became genuine. “Yes, I remember. You guys are my guardian angels.”

“So tell me your problem.”

“Two problems,” she said. “First, my car is dead. Or at least it’s in a coma.”

“Is it the battery?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Duane said readily. “What’s the other problem?”

“My heart feels like something that should be scooped up with a folded newspaper and dropped in the trash can.”

The biker gave her a sympathetic glance. “Justine told me about your boyfriend. Want me and the boys to take him down for you?”

Lucy managed a little chuckle. “I wouldn’t want to encourage you to commit a mortal sin.”

“Oh, we sin all the time,” he said cheerfully. “That’s why we started a church. And it sounds like your ex could use a little righteous ass-kicking.” A grin connected his extended sideburns as he quoted, “‘For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the Lord shall reward thee.’”

“I’ll settle for the car being fixed,” Lucy said. At Duane’s prompting, she told him where her car was, and gave him the keys.

“We’ll have it back to Artist’s Point in a day or two,” Duane said, “all fixed and ready to go.”

“Thanks, Duane. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“You sure you won’t have a drink with us?”

“Thank you, but I’m really sure.”

“Okay. But me and the boys are going to keep an eye on you.” He gestured to the corner of the bar, where a small live band was setting up. “It’s going to get crowded in here soon.”

“What’s going on?” Lucy asked.

“It’s Pig War day.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s today?”

“June fifteenth, same as every year.” He patted her shoulder before returning to his friends.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Lucy muttered, picking up her second drink and taking a swallow. She was not in the mood for a Pig War party.

The tradition had resulted from an event in 1859, when a pig belonging to the British-owned Hudson Bay trading post had wandered into the potato field of Lyman Cutler, an American farmer. Upon finding the large pig rooting in his field and consuming his crop, the farmer shot the pig. That incident had launched a thirteen-year war between the British and the Americans, both of them establishing military camps on the island. The war finally ended through arbitration, with possession of the island being awarded to America. Throughout the long standoff between American and British military units, the only casualty had been the pig. Approximately a century and a half later, the start of the Pig War was celebrated with barbecued pork, music, and enough beer to support a flotilla of tall-masted ships.

By the time Lucy had finished her drink, the band was playing, platters of free pork ribs were being served at the bar, and every inch of the place was packed with boisterous people. She gestured for the tab, and the bartender nodded.

“Can I buy you another?” a guy on the stool beside her asked.

“Thanks, but I’m done,” Lucy said.

“How about one of these?” He tried to pass her a platter of pork ribs.

“I’m not hungry.”

“They’re free,” the guy said.

As Lucy frowned at him, she recognized him as one of Kevin’s landscaping employees—she couldn’t quite remember his name. Paul something. With his glazed eyes and his sour breath, he appeared to have started his celebrating much earlier in the day. “Oh,” he said uncomfortably as he realized who she was. “You’re Pearson’s girlfriend.”

“Not anymore,” Lucy said.

“That’s right, you’re the old one.”

“The old one?” Lucy repeated in outrage.

“I meant old girlfriend … uh … have a beer. On me.” He grabbed a large plastic cup from a tray on the bar.

“Thank you, but no.” She shrank back as he shoved the sloshing mug toward her.

“It’s free. Take it.”

“I don’t want a beer.” She pushed the cup away as he tried to give it to her. He was jostled by someone in the crowd behind him. As if in slow motion, the entire cup of beer hit Lucy’s chest and poured over her. She gasped in shock as the icy liquid soaked through her shirt and bra.

There was a brief, stunned moment as the people around them registered what had happened. A multitude of gazes turned in Lucy’s direction, some sympathetic, some cool with distaste. No doubt more than a few assumed that Lucy had spilled the beer on herself.