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A cold front was moving fast over the island bringing with it icy rain. She shivered, feeling the damp to her bones. She looked in the nearby corner at Thor, Taylor’s behemoth of a black dog, part Labrador, mostly Great Dane. The dog would curl up on his cushion by the warmth of the oven in inclement weather.
    “Don’t you worry, boy. The weather promises to be all blue skies tomorrow,” she told him. Thor raised his head to look at her with deep brown eyes, and his tail thumped the floor in a heavy staccato. “At least I hope so,” she muttered to herself. Carson couldn’t abide cold weather, either, and Harper wanted her sister to be in the best spirits possible.
    Harper’s small hands moved quickly, efficiently, to add the sautéed okra, celery, bell pepper, garlic, onion, and chicken to the roux. She lowered her head and inhaled the scents, tracing a finger over the gumbo recipe on the counter. The old recipe was one of dozens created by the family’s former housekeeper, Lucille. They were handwritten on index cards and assorted sheets of paper. Yellowed and stained, some of the pencil lettering was so faint Harper could barely read them. She had spent months attempting to re-create the recipes as a gift to her sisters.
    Thor’s head shot up, ears alert. In a leap he was on his feet, trotting to the door, his nails clicking on the hardwood floors. A moment later the door swung open and a gust of cold, wet air swept through the room.
    “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there.”
    Harper turned at the sound of Taylor’s voice, a wide smile on her face. His tall, large frame filled the entryway. He carried a large green cooler in his arms. Thor whined with joy at his side, torn between greeting his master and sniffing the shellfish inside the cooler.
    “You’re home late.”
    “Crazy day. My meeting finished early, so I headed up to McClellanville and got that shrimp you asked for.” He set down the large cooler on the floor, stretched, then slipped off his rain jacket. He stood a moment, shaking off water that splattered the floor. “Mama and Dad send their love.”
    Again she felt fortunate that Taylor’s father was once a shrimper. Like many others, Captain McClellan had tied his boat up at the dock and looked for work on land. He couldn’t afford to stay in the business. Imported shrimp was priced too low and diesel fuel was priced too high. Shrimping was a vanishing southern industry. But he still knew the few shrimpers left and could always get his hands on fresh shrimp right off the boat.
    Taylor hung his jacket on a peg and immediately crossed the room, slipping his arms around Harper’s waist. “How’s my girl?”
    Harper leaned back against him, relishing the feel of his strong arms around her. Over six feet, his broad frame dwarfed her slender five feet two inches. From the moment she’d met him, Taylor had made her feel safe. It was a new sensation for a girl who’d never known security. She ducked away when he nestled his lips at her neck.
    “Stop,” she protested. “I’m cooking!”
    “I’m starved.” He leaned over her shoulder and sniffed loudly. “Smells good.”
    “This isn’t for tonight.” She turned in his arms to slip her own around his neck. “It’s for tomorrow night. For Carson’s welcome-home party. I thought . . .” She laughed when he dove in for another nibble at her neck.
    “I told you I was starved.”
    She laughed again and pushed him, this time more firmly, away. “Bide your time, man. You’re going to make me burn my gumbo.” She turned again, this time successful in being released. “I thought tonight we’d have chicken salad.”
    “Nope.” Taylor walked to the fridge. He tugged it open, pulled out a beer, and flipped off the top. “Salad isn’t going to do it. I need something that’ll stick to my ribs.”
    “How about you order a pizza?”
    “Done.”
    While she stirred at the stove, she watched as he moved with easy familiarity