Chasing the Sun (Star Harbor Book 1), page 1
Copyright © 2025 by Lena Hendrix
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction, created without the use of AI technology. Any names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictional.
Developmental editing: Paula Dawn, Lilypad Lit
Copy editing: James Gallagher, Evident Ink
Proofreading: Julia Griffis, The Romance Bibliophile
Model & Discreet cover design: TRC Designs by Cat
Model cover photography: Ren Saliba
To every woman who has every been called “difficult,” just know that you’re exactly Callum Blackwood’s idea of a good time.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you for coming along with me into a new town. This place is part swoony, small town, part ghost story, and FULL of heart and heat.
Inside you’ll find deliciously dirty mouths, deep yearning, rivals that like to argue, and blurred lines between annoyance and arousal.
Don’t ever forget that you’re not hard to love. Maybe you’ve just been giving yourself to people who haven’t learned how to hold it.
Trust me, Cal can hold anything you’ve got to give.
CONTENTS
About This Book
1. Callum
2. Elodie
3. Elodie
4. Callum
5. Elodie
6. Callum
7. Elodie
8. Elodie
9. Callum
10. Elodie
11. Callum
12. Elodie
13. Callum
14. Elodie
15. Elodie
16. Callum
17. Elodie
18. Callum
19. Elodie
20. Callum
21. Callum
22. Elodie
23. Elodie
24. Elodie
25. Callum
26. Callum
27. Elodie
28. Callum
29. Callum
30. Elodie
31. Callum
32. Elodie
33. Elodie
34. Callum
35. Callum
36. Elodie
37. Callum
38. Elodie
EPILOGUE
Book 2 Sneak Peek
Acknowledgments
Untitled
About the Author
Also by Lena Hendrix
ABOUT THIS BOOK
He wants me to stay out of his way. I want to get under his skin.
One look at single dad Callum Blackwood, and I know I messed up. I never meant to save a farm—or steal it from under the grumpy innkeeper who had already claimed it as his future.
Now I’m the woman who swooped in on a whim and left him seething.
Trouble is, I have no idea what I’m doing.
Every smirk, every biting comment, is a reminder that he’s waiting for me to fail. But I don’t back down from a fight—even when the fight comes with a jawline that should be illegal and a scowl that sets my pulse racing.
Tempers flare, but when the lines between rivals and lovers begin to blur, I start to see him in a different light. The longer we go toe-to-toe, the more I understand the man behind the scowl. The one who loves his kid fiercely, who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, who looks at me like I’m the reason the sun rises.
Cal’s wrong if he thinks I’ll give up on this farm. He’s even more wrong if he thinks I’ll give up on him.
But holding a man like him is like chasing the sun—brilliant, blinding, and bound to set your entire life on fire.
ONE
CALLUM
If I have to get another rabies vaccine, I’m flipping a damn table.
My jaw flexed as I quietly pushed the front door open with the toe of my boot. The hinges groaned as I peered around the corner into the dark, musty cottage. My ears pricked at the faint sound of scurrying, and my instincts from my time in the Army sparked to life. My nostrils flared at the damp, stale air. My heart pounded as I listened.
Nothing.
Shouldering open the front door, I peered into the dilapidated home. I assumed at some point the house had been quaint and perfect for a small family just starting out. Now it was nothing more than an abandoned shack with rotting wood and a raccoon infestation.
A discarded candy bar wrapper caught my eye.
“Levi,” I called into the dim, early-morning light, my voice low but firm. “If you’re in here, kid, get your ass out. Now.”
When I had returned from my 5:00 a.m. run, I had peeked into Levi’s bedroom, only to find it empty, so I’d gone in search of him. I listened again, hoping for any sign of my fourteen-year-old son. A shuffle caught me off guard as two baby raccoons scampered across my boot. I bit back a yelp, knowing their mama wouldn’t be far behind. Sure as shit, the large raccoon hissed at me, baring her rabies-infected teeth before following her kits outside.
A shiver ran down my spine. “Fucking overgrown rats,” I murmured. I stayed rooted to the spot, heart hammering. She waddled her furry ass across the porch like she owned the damn place, before disappearing beneath it.
Assured that Levi wasn’t hiding out in the cottage again, I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed his number. My blood pressure climbed with each unanswered ring.
I gritted my teeth when it went to voicemail. Levi’s voice came over the line. “Hey, it’s me. You know what to do.” Beep.
My grip tightened on the phone. You know what to do? Yeah, I did. I knew exactly what to do. I just didn’t want to do it—track his ass down, drag him home, and try to talk sense into a kid who’d rather dodge me than listen.
“Where are you?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying my best not to completely lose it on the kid. “We talked about this. You cannot roam around without letting me know where you’re going first. It’s the last week of school. We made a deal.”
Frustrated, I pocketed my phone and exhaled. I loved my kid but he was going to be the death of me. A moment later, my phone buzzed, and I looked down at the new message.
Levi
I’m getting in the shower. Chill.
Chill.
A low growl vibrated in my throat. It would be a hell of a lot easier to chill if my kid didn’t insist on getting himself into so much trouble. I simply needed him to pass eighth grade and have a fresh start in high school.
Maybe things would be a little easier for him then.
I glanced at the time, noting that Helen should already be at the inn. As I looked across the overgrown lawn, my eyes landed on the Drifted Spirit Inn in the distance, and the knot in my chest eased a bit.
The layout of the land was simple: long ago, Stan’s land and my property had been one larger parcel of land. His dilapidated cottage hugged his property line and the Drifted Spirit was less than a hundred yards away with a post and rail fence dividing the grass between them.
Helen was already at the inn, keeping the place running. Keeping me running, if I was being honest. I wasn’t sure how much longer she’d put up with my shit, but if she ever left, I was royally screwed.
Helen was a saint and the only reason we didn’t go completely under after Levi’s mom died five years ago. Her self-appointed title of concierge was grossly inadequate for all the hard work she put in to help me ensure that our little inn ran like clockwork.
After my time as a Delta Force operator came to an end, running a successful inn in Western Michigan hadn’t been on my radar, yet there I was. I looked to the east and watched the first rays of June create streaks of magenta across an inky morning sky. For the briefest moment, I closed my eyes and imagined the warm June rays hitting my face.
I have shit to do.
Standing around, enjoying a sunrise simply wasn’t an option. With a sigh, I pulled the front door to the cottage closed and stepped across the rickety porch. On the second step, the wood buckled under my weight, and my foot crashed through the rotting boards. I caught myself, palms slamming onto the worn planks.
“Careful now, Cal.” My eyes whipped up to see Stan Stafford’s amused grin. “Been meaning to patch that up.”
“Yeah? You planning to do that before or after the raccoons unionize?” I grumbled with a halfhearted laugh and hauled myself up before traversing the rest of the porch and standing beside the old man.
I wiped the dirt from my palm and held out my hand. “Stan.”
We shook, and he thumped me on the back. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Stan’s property butted up to the parcel of land that Drifted Spirit Inn was on. Long ago, the Victorian and the adjacent farm had been part of the same parcel of land. Over time, pieces had been divided and my acreage split from the rolling hills and dune-lined cliffs of Star Harbor Farm.
At one time, Stan’s farm was at the center of the Star Harbor community. It had once been a highlight for passing tourists, but in his old age, the farm had fallen into disrepair. The fields that once held abundant crops were overgrown with weeds and wild grasses. The apple orchard’s scraggly trees looked more like something out of a horror movie than a place where produce thrived.
It was a mess, but that didn’t stop Stan from walking his property every single day.
“I was looking for Levi. I thought he might have snuck out here this morning,” I said, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
Stan shook his head. “Kids will be kids. Plenty from town seem to find their way out here and have a bonfire or two, sneak a few beers, and maybe even sweet-talk a pretty girl into a kiss.”
I shook my head and groaned. “He’s fourteen, Stan.”
Stan chuckled and patted my back. “You’re in the thick of it now.”
I stretched my neck, looking out onto the vast property that was once Star Harbor Farm. It was sprawling, and its gentle rolling hills led to an impressive dune cliff to the west. Soft waves of Lake Michigan glittered in the morning light.
“That leg okay?” Stan asked, pointing to the boot that had created a new hole in his front porch.
I nodded. “It’ll be all right.” I glanced at the old man. He was the only millionaire I knew who still wore threadbare denim and a Pioneer Seed hat from 1972. “You know, I could help clean up the place. Last thing you need is a tourist wandering around chasing ghost stories to get hurt.”
I walked alongside Stan as he continued his morning route that ran along the fence line where our properties met. I had replaced the old chain-link fence with stylish cedar posts and rails last spring.
Stan met my pace, step for step. “It was a lot easier to keep up when I wasn’t going it alone. When Karen passed . . .” He blew out a breath at the mention of his late wife, looking out across the property. The couple never had children, so when she passed, he was truly on his own. “Guess I just didn’t really see the point anymore.”
His words hit harder than they should have. I knew what it was like to lose the thing that made a place feel like home. To let something die with the person who’d kept it alive. Hell, I was never supposed to be here running an inn. That was my late wife Mary’s dream. I was just . . . keeping it together.
Barely.
Stan’s wife, Karen, had been a kind and gentle woman, always smiling and laughing. She was the heart of Star Harbor Farm, and without her, Stan had spent the last few years alone, living at their main residence and letting the farm die alongside her.
“I could help,” I offered. “Patch things up and mow the grass . . .”
He eyed me. “You have the free time?”
Fuck no.
I was up to my neck in my own projects, but I didn’t have the heart to tell Stan that his neglected property was starting to negatively affect my business. Recent reviews reflected the poorly maintained neighboring farm. It was an eyesore, and plenty of people assumed the sprawling land was a part of Drifted Spirit Inn.
My silence stretched and Stan shook his head. “That’s what I thought.” Stan’s eyes went wistful as morning sun slanted over his shoulder, highlighting the deep lines on his face. “Some days I’m ready for it all to be over,” Stan said, exhaling as he looked out over the fields.
I blinked at the old man. Ready for it to be over?
He’d said it before, in passing—I’m too old for this. Guess it’s about time to think about letting it go. It could be yours if you wanted it. Hell, I wasn’t even sure when he’d started saying it, but Stan letting go of the farmland had been in the back of my mind for years. I’d never been interested in farming, but the land? The space? That was interesting.
Maybe it was finally time to make something happen.
My jaw clenched as we walked in silence, and the possibilities rolled around in my head.
Taking time to fix his property would be stupid. Reckless. Just another thing to add to my already overloaded plate.
But buying it from him? Claiming this land as my own?
There was no denying that land itself could be useful. I could clear out the brush, renovate the barns, and create more guest spaces. Expand the Drifted Spirit beyond the main house and give visitors a full Star Harbor experience—fresh air, walking trails, maybe even a farm-to-table restaurant. If I played this right, I wouldn’t just be running the best inn in town, I’d be running a destination—a legacy for Levi instead of another thing left to rot.
I could finally open my own restaurant.
That felt more like my dream than simply running a glorified bed-and-breakfast.
Helen had been badgering me for years to expand—with enough sweat and hard work, Drifted Spirit Inn had been making more than enough money. But the thought of a second location seemed daunting. My days were already filled with maintenance, staff schedules, dealing with guests, and Levi.
Something less than a hundred yards away . . . now that could be an idea worth considering. I let the possibility roll over me, walking in companionable silence with my old friend.
We reached the bend in the road where Stan would continue on, and I needed to get inside the inn to make sure breakfast went off without a hitch.
But for the first time, I wasn’t just thinking about today’s to-do list.
I was thinking about what came next. The possibilities of expanding the inn and having my very own restaurant on-site burrowed into my chest. For the first time in my life, I let a tiny spark of hope ignite.
I turned, holding out my hand. “Tell you what—if you ever decide you’re ready for those changes, you tell me first, how about that?”
His eyes smiled as he shook. “You’ll be the first to know.” Stan’s grip was strong, and he didn’t let me go. “You should also think about coming with me to BOLD. We meet next week.” His eyebrows bounced alongside the offer.
I bit back a grimace. Stan had been hounding me for the last few years to join his widow/widower support group.
BOLD: Brave, Optimistic, Living Dynamically.
Even if it wasn’t designed for the over-sixty crowd, it was a hard pass.
“You could meet a nice lady,” he continued with a hint of mischief in his voice. “One who won’t even care about the scars.”
I suppressed a wince and tried to ignore the phantom pain in my shoulder.
I mustered up a smile for him, knowing the old man was meddlesome but always meant well. “I’ve got my hands full with a fourteen-year-old who thinks he’s twenty-five. Thanks for the invite, though.”
Stan nodded, knowing full well there was zero chance I would be hitting up BOLD.
My thoughts flicked to Mary and the gaping hole she’d left in Levi’s life. On the long list of ways I had failed her, Levi’s latest struggles were the hardest to ignore.
Much to Mary’s dismay, despite her unexpected pregnancy at twenty-two, I had never planned to leave the Army. Sure, I had agreed to marry her, but I had been selfish. I’d joined the Delta Force operators as soon as I was eligible and had been gone more than I was home. Her brother, Wes, was one of my best friends and a fellow operator.
When Mary died, he was the sole reason I managed to hold my shit together as a man who had no clue how to raise a son alone. Sometimes I wondered whether Wes ever regretted bringing me home to Thanksgiving that time and introducing me to his little sister.
With heavy shoulders, I dipped through the cedar fence and walked across the yard toward the Drifted Spirit Inn. The old Victorian stood proudly against the stark magenta sunrise. The three-story house had been built in the late 1880s and had survived various renovations over the past 140 years, but the goal was always to retain its historic charm. Mary had begged to take over the inn, saying she was a lot less lonely when I was gone if she was surrounded by people.
